I think I've ranted about most, if not all, of the things I needed to about running into the ex and his new girl (aka The Obsession). It was the long time comin' final nail in the coffin of our dead relationship. As much as it fucking hurts, there's nowhere to go but forward because I'm sure as hell not staying in the same place.
I'm not sure at what point in our relationship I handed him the keys to my happiness and never asked for them back. But, I want them back. I want it all back.
The inner critic--the little bastard who lives in our head and shouts nasty things to us all day--has been having a fucking field day with this situation. He's been yelling at me non-stop since Thursday night, and basically, I'm ready for him to shut the fuck up. Enough already.
Truth is, I'll never know what went on in my ex's head or what his situation is now or how things could've been different if I'd held back more or asked for less or learned to live in a state of complacency rather than asking for what I wanted. I could spend the rest of my life trying to figure this thing out, but what kind of life would that be?
Is it possible not to take to heart the fact that you weren't what someone else wanted? And not just anyone else, but the person you loved the most? Just who I was wasn't enough for him. Shouldn't that turn me off instead of making me feel like I should have just been someone else? I'm trying to move away from the latter and into the former. Because damn it, I am enough. I can't let his acceptance, or lack thereof, serve as the measuring stick of my worthiness as a human being.
Enough, inner critic. Enough, ex-boyfriend. Enough already. Because I am enough.
Showing posts with label Single Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Single Life. Show all posts
What I Wanted
I wanted to be the one to be move on and have a new partner before he did. It only seemed fair after I'd had my heart broken to be the one to mend first. I threw myself back out there, started dating and even fell for a few of the assholes I encountered. Somehow he can live essentially as a recluse and get a new girlfriend.
I wanted him to be lonely and miserable because of it. Instead I was there for him, letting him string me along as I spoke sugar-coated lies of false hope to myself that maybe now that the circumstances were different, he'd realize that we belonged together.
It's not that I want him back. I don't, at least for the most part. I'm just pissed that he gets the girl, and I get nothing.
What I want now is to forget him, to remove every trace of him from my memory, to extract every dream of a life with him from my mind. To quit torturing myself over him and what I could have done differently, to stop replaying Thursday's confrontation in my head.
I want out of this sinking hole. I want something to start making sense to me. The pain of this will never go away completely, I don't think. But I want something to click for me, something that reinforces that this was never the life I was supposed to live.
I want to meet someone who reassures me that my ex wasn't the best I'd ever get.
I wanted him to be lonely and miserable because of it. Instead I was there for him, letting him string me along as I spoke sugar-coated lies of false hope to myself that maybe now that the circumstances were different, he'd realize that we belonged together.
It's not that I want him back. I don't, at least for the most part. I'm just pissed that he gets the girl, and I get nothing.
What I want now is to forget him, to remove every trace of him from my memory, to extract every dream of a life with him from my mind. To quit torturing myself over him and what I could have done differently, to stop replaying Thursday's confrontation in my head.
I want out of this sinking hole. I want something to start making sense to me. The pain of this will never go away completely, I don't think. But I want something to click for me, something that reinforces that this was never the life I was supposed to live.
I want to meet someone who reassures me that my ex wasn't the best I'd ever get.
Love Advice for Your Mom: Part Deux
Remember when I told you about my mom's high school boyfriend contacted her out of the blue?
Well, apparently they've been talking. A lot. For the past six weeks. You guys, this is HUGE. After my parents' divorce, my mom swore off men for life. And now she's actually kind of excited about a guy? I can't help but feel a little giddy inside.
Of course, she throws in the self-protective statements like, "I know it won't go anywhere" and "I'll never move back to Alabama," but underneath that I can tell she is really enjoying this reconnection. So, I'm just trying to be supportive, listen well, and encourage her to keep the conversation going.
It's strange--when a friend starts talking about a crush, I sometimes check out because I'm still getting over the relative newness (or the acceptance of) my singleness. But the fact that it's my mom, someone who swore she'd never talk to another man, who never thought she could be pursued by someone, who never thought she'd be open to those feelings--it gives me a lot of hope.
I have experimented with dating again. I thought I was ready. I'm not sure I am just yet. I told my therapist that I pretty much get a sick feeling right before all of my dates; I have this deep sense of not wanting to go through with it. She said, "Sweetie, then why are you doing it?"
I'm doing it because I feel like in order to get what I want, I have to try really, really hard--balls to the wall hard. And if I don't date now, I'm never going to get what I want (hello, inner critic with your unhelpful superlative talk). But, if dating is making me unhappy, then why would I do it?
So, knowing that my mom has just been going about her life as a content single woman and she's found connection again--it just gives me hope. It makes me feel ok about focusing on other things. And, it makes me incredibly happy for the woman who's given so much love to me to be on the receiving end for a change.
Well, apparently they've been talking. A lot. For the past six weeks. You guys, this is HUGE. After my parents' divorce, my mom swore off men for life. And now she's actually kind of excited about a guy? I can't help but feel a little giddy inside.
Of course, she throws in the self-protective statements like, "I know it won't go anywhere" and "I'll never move back to Alabama," but underneath that I can tell she is really enjoying this reconnection. So, I'm just trying to be supportive, listen well, and encourage her to keep the conversation going.
It's strange--when a friend starts talking about a crush, I sometimes check out because I'm still getting over the relative newness (or the acceptance of) my singleness. But the fact that it's my mom, someone who swore she'd never talk to another man, who never thought she could be pursued by someone, who never thought she'd be open to those feelings--it gives me a lot of hope.
I have experimented with dating again. I thought I was ready. I'm not sure I am just yet. I told my therapist that I pretty much get a sick feeling right before all of my dates; I have this deep sense of not wanting to go through with it. She said, "Sweetie, then why are you doing it?"
I'm doing it because I feel like in order to get what I want, I have to try really, really hard--balls to the wall hard. And if I don't date now, I'm never going to get what I want (hello, inner critic with your unhelpful superlative talk). But, if dating is making me unhappy, then why would I do it?
So, knowing that my mom has just been going about her life as a content single woman and she's found connection again--it just gives me hope. It makes me feel ok about focusing on other things. And, it makes me incredibly happy for the woman who's given so much love to me to be on the receiving end for a change.
They Say It's Your Birthday
Oh, the birthday of an ex. It's a weird day, right? It's difficult, if not impossible, not to think of them. Even without the reminder of Facebook, I would still remember them because for years they were important dates, days I spent planning dinners out, baking (ok, more likely ordering) cakes, and wrapping presents. And it's weird not to wish them a happy birthday. The other 364 days of the year, it seems perfectly acceptable to act as if the person doesn't exist in your world, but on a birthday, it's hard to ignore them. Or, I guess what I mean is on any other day, it really isn't ignoring them, but birthdays are different.
So, when SCL's birthday was on the horizon, naturally I began to think about him and last January 21, 2010. He and I spent the evening at a nice Indian restaurant in Old Town, and later cuddled up on the couch with full glasses of wine and indulgent slices of chocolate cake. I had put together an album of our pictures from St. Lucia, and we looked through them, recalling the the feeling of closeness, of intimacy, of the fun we'd shared there. Even though things between us had probably already begun to deteriorate, it was a good day, which is a dangerous thing when you're looking for a sign of hope that things will finally be fine again.
When I look back at who I was to SCL, I see myself as the one who nurtured him, who looked out for him, who made sure he got out and did fun things because it hardly ever occurred to him that doing so was important. And even now it's hard for me to break out of that mindset. I worried, would he have a lonely day? Who would buy him a cake? Would he go out to dinner? Would anyone besides his mom wish him a happy birthday? Sure, it isn't my responsibility to make sure these things happen, but there's part of me that still cares.
I didn't buy him a gift or even a card. I didn't send his friends a message to remind them of his birthday. I didn't plan a happy hour or a group dinner or make him a Duncan Hines cake. But when he called to see if I wanted to come over for a bit, I said sure. We ordered some pizza (I paid), some beer and ice cream (he paid) and watched Big Love together. It was nothing like last year--there were no kisses or fancy wine or getting dressed up. But, it was good to spend time together, as exes attempting to be friends.
Maybe we'll make the friend thing work after all. .
Don't Be Tardy for the Party
My bestie from childhood invited me to ring in the New Year in the ATL. Rather than dropping $100 on tickets to some overrated NYE party, we decided to get our club fix last night at Tongue and Groove in Buckhead. Turns out, we weren't the only ones with this bright idea and ended up waiting in line, shivering in the cold for a good half hour. Why they wouldn't just let everyone in, I don't know. Let's be real; this is Atlanta, not New York. The club was next to a damn Taco Mac and a Five Guys.
Once we finally got inside and avoided paying cover (thanks to a bartender who'd put our names on the list), we waded through the sea of peeps who were, despite rocking music, just standing there. No one except the scantily clad cage dancer was even doing so much as a fist pump. People were just milling around, overpriced drinks in hand, looking like middle schoolers at an overcrowded, smoky sock hop. My bestie, a light weight, and her friend did two shots in a row, so I figured someone ought to stay sober.
We managed to find a spot upstairs to dance. Naturally the douchebags began to pounce. My friend, newly single and a total hottie, was deservedly getting a lot of attention--just not from very nice dudes. My overprotective side came out when one persistent asshole kept grabbing her, even after I pulled her from him away three different times. I yelled in his ear, "She doesn't like you. Go away!" He grabbed her again, and that was it. I was PISSED. I pushed him off of her and shrieked, "STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER, ASSHOLE!" My bestie's friend turned to her and said, "I like her."
Eventually we found a better spot to dance. One stumbling drunk told me I look like the girl in the Bourne Identity. I told him I live in DC. He said, "Oh, so you must work for the government?" "No, actually I don't." "Good," he replied. "One less person to pay."
Being the sober one in a crowded, smoky club isn't the most fun thing in the world. But the other two were having such a good time that I just had to laugh and join them in dancing up on one of the stages. That's when I realized we were almost at eye level with the DJ, and I realized this was my chance to redeem the night. I was going to get this guy to play my favorite song. I started shouting, "Ceelo! Ceelo!" I made a pathetic attempt at sign language, forming a "C" then an "L" and then an "O" with my hands. He still didn't get it. So, I flicked him off with two hands and mouthed, "Fuck you!"
Hmm. Maybe should have thought that one through first. Quickly I shook my head and said, "No no no!" and did the pathetic sign language again. "Ceelo! Ceelo!" "One minute," he mouthed back. Song after song played, but no Ceelo. The music began winding down and they did a "practice" countdown for NYE. I thought all hope was gone...and then "Fuck you" came on. I started jumping up and down, both of my hands flicking the crowd off and acting a fool as I blew kisses to the DJ, my new best friend.
Who cares if I was sober, had to deal with asshole guys, and got cigarette smoke in my hair? I managed to get the DJ to play the best song of all time. I call that a good night.
Happily Uninteresting
I was told, on another blog (and on this one at one point), that I write a boring blog. I suppose it was meant to be an insult, but I didn't receive it that way. In part, I have to kind of agree: my blog is not all that interesting as of late. And believe it or not, I'm actually kind of happy about that.
A few months ago I was blogging daily, getting tons of hits, and receiving loads of comments. Ah, those were the days. Except for the fact that I was dealing with terrible heartache. While it was a temporary ego-boost to have more readers and to have new comments every time I logged into blogger, sadly that didn't make things in real life any less shitty. If I had to choose between having a lot of blog readers and not feeling shitty, guess which one I'd pick. The same applies to being subjected to horribly awkward first dates. Fun to blog about, not fun to endure. Plus you've already got Katie blowing that shit out of the water. .
Sitting in therapy today, I struggled to find anything over the last week that I felt was in need of serious conversation. Strangely, the same thing had happened at last week's session, too. At first I felt like this was because I hadn't been reflecting on my life enough (self-judgment), but then I saw that it has simply been a time of...normalcy. Took me awhile to recognize it. Sure, the remnants of homesickness are still there, as are the ever-passing thoughts of moving somewhere else, but I'm not longer feeling like I'm in some inescapable abyss that I'll never pull out of. And contrary to my own belief that I have to work really hard to get anywhere with anything, I didn't have to do shit to get out of it other than wait and accept that was where I was. It was in the not-doing that I was lifted out. Who knows if I'll find myself back there next week or next month, but for now, I'm out. That is something to give thanks for.
Maybe my life is boring. Or maybe it's actually just what life looks like when the storm has exhausted itself and the calm and stillness set in. After the ups and downs of the last few months, I'm grateful for this unfamiliar peace. I'm grateful that the excitement in my life is coming through attending a counter-protest in yesterday's freezing cold weather, getting interviewed by a news website, Christmas shopping for my Star Wars-obsessed nephew, celebrating my friend's retirement, and eating sweet potato latkes for the first time. Non-boy related things, things I typically don't talk about in my blog. Things I keep within my own heart and my community in real life.
Maybe it's boring to read about. But it's sweet to live it. And really, that's all that matters to me.
P.S. You still have time to enter my giveaway!
A few months ago I was blogging daily, getting tons of hits, and receiving loads of comments. Ah, those were the days. Except for the fact that I was dealing with terrible heartache. While it was a temporary ego-boost to have more readers and to have new comments every time I logged into blogger, sadly that didn't make things in real life any less shitty. If I had to choose between having a lot of blog readers and not feeling shitty, guess which one I'd pick. The same applies to being subjected to horribly awkward first dates. Fun to blog about, not fun to endure. Plus you've already got Katie blowing that shit out of the water. .
Sitting in therapy today, I struggled to find anything over the last week that I felt was in need of serious conversation. Strangely, the same thing had happened at last week's session, too. At first I felt like this was because I hadn't been reflecting on my life enough (self-judgment), but then I saw that it has simply been a time of...normalcy. Took me awhile to recognize it. Sure, the remnants of homesickness are still there, as are the ever-passing thoughts of moving somewhere else, but I'm not longer feeling like I'm in some inescapable abyss that I'll never pull out of. And contrary to my own belief that I have to work really hard to get anywhere with anything, I didn't have to do shit to get out of it other than wait and accept that was where I was. It was in the not-doing that I was lifted out. Who knows if I'll find myself back there next week or next month, but for now, I'm out. That is something to give thanks for.
Maybe my life is boring. Or maybe it's actually just what life looks like when the storm has exhausted itself and the calm and stillness set in. After the ups and downs of the last few months, I'm grateful for this unfamiliar peace. I'm grateful that the excitement in my life is coming through attending a counter-protest in yesterday's freezing cold weather, getting interviewed by a news website, Christmas shopping for my Star Wars-obsessed nephew, celebrating my friend's retirement, and eating sweet potato latkes for the first time. Non-boy related things, things I typically don't talk about in my blog. Things I keep within my own heart and my community in real life.
Maybe it's boring to read about. But it's sweet to live it. And really, that's all that matters to me.
P.S. You still have time to enter my giveaway!
Friends in Low Places?
"All logistics aside, whom among your friends here would you want to be with you right now?" my therapist C asked.
Just minutes before I'd given her a laundry list of depression-like symptoms I'd been experiencing over the past several weeks: anxiety, inability to focus, excessive sleep, weight loss. Overall I felt like I was being pulled underwater by an undertow, or riding my bike uphill with a full-force wind gusting against me. No matter how much I fought, I could not seem to pull myself up. For a relatively competent, strong-willed person, this was proving to be...well, depressing.
Of course the break-up and subsequent flailing about have been tough on me. But lately it had begun intensifying, and the feelings of sadness were becoming more extreme and debilitating. I've had my bouts of gloominess and mourning at different times in my life, but never had I experienced the despair of feeling like I could not get out of bed, could not take a shower, could not function normally. And it was freaking me the hell out. Part of me was hoping she'd say, "Let's get you an appointment with a psychiatrist." Let me pop some pills, let me be abdicated of any responsibility. But the symptoms were relatively new. At least for the time being it was "episodic," a "depressive state."
In addition to feeling like shit, I was feeling isolated, too. At some of my hardest moments, all I wanted was some company, to be with somebody else. But when C asked me the question, "Who do you want to be here?" and I mentally went through my list of friends in the area, I could not come up with a single person I felt I could call to come sit with me in my puffy-eyed, unshowered misery. "I can't think of anyone." The truth killed me.
Somehow in the following days I managed to get my momentum going. I forced myself out of the house, to happy hours, to friends' houses, to the gym. I bought myself ingredients to make my favorite soup and cozy new sweatpants. I practiced the kindness to self that's so new to me. And by the next week I returned to my time with C feeling like things were getting back to normal again.
Feeling normal, that is, until my weekend in North Carolina when I was reminded of what it's like to be loved and known. I cried the entire six hour drive back to DC. I kept saying to myself, "Why am I torturing myself by living here?" Hell, even if I was just as miserable in NC, at least I'd have friends there who care for me just down the road and family close by. And since then I've barely managed to get out of bed. I'm back down in the valley and feeling more discouraged than before. How can I muster up the energy to pull myself out of this shit yet again?
I see now that what I really want is what I'm lacking most here. Not friends, not acquaintances, not social groups, not outings, not happy hours. It's the feeling of belonging somewhere. Of having friends who not only are up for a night out but are there in the dark places. Of having community, connection, realness. The person I have that most with here is SCL.
My friend L said it best: "It's like you are having to fight for every ounce of happiness you have there." That's exactly how it feels--a fight, a battle both internal and external. And I'm just getting exhausted. C says it's normal to feel like there won't be anything other than these feelings. I guess in that way at least I'm "normal" because I'm just not seeing a way out of this one.
Just minutes before I'd given her a laundry list of depression-like symptoms I'd been experiencing over the past several weeks: anxiety, inability to focus, excessive sleep, weight loss. Overall I felt like I was being pulled underwater by an undertow, or riding my bike uphill with a full-force wind gusting against me. No matter how much I fought, I could not seem to pull myself up. For a relatively competent, strong-willed person, this was proving to be...well, depressing.
Of course the break-up and subsequent flailing about have been tough on me. But lately it had begun intensifying, and the feelings of sadness were becoming more extreme and debilitating. I've had my bouts of gloominess and mourning at different times in my life, but never had I experienced the despair of feeling like I could not get out of bed, could not take a shower, could not function normally. And it was freaking me the hell out. Part of me was hoping she'd say, "Let's get you an appointment with a psychiatrist." Let me pop some pills, let me be abdicated of any responsibility. But the symptoms were relatively new. At least for the time being it was "episodic," a "depressive state."
In addition to feeling like shit, I was feeling isolated, too. At some of my hardest moments, all I wanted was some company, to be with somebody else. But when C asked me the question, "Who do you want to be here?" and I mentally went through my list of friends in the area, I could not come up with a single person I felt I could call to come sit with me in my puffy-eyed, unshowered misery. "I can't think of anyone." The truth killed me.
Somehow in the following days I managed to get my momentum going. I forced myself out of the house, to happy hours, to friends' houses, to the gym. I bought myself ingredients to make my favorite soup and cozy new sweatpants. I practiced the kindness to self that's so new to me. And by the next week I returned to my time with C feeling like things were getting back to normal again.
Feeling normal, that is, until my weekend in North Carolina when I was reminded of what it's like to be loved and known. I cried the entire six hour drive back to DC. I kept saying to myself, "Why am I torturing myself by living here?" Hell, even if I was just as miserable in NC, at least I'd have friends there who care for me just down the road and family close by. And since then I've barely managed to get out of bed. I'm back down in the valley and feeling more discouraged than before. How can I muster up the energy to pull myself out of this shit yet again?
I see now that what I really want is what I'm lacking most here. Not friends, not acquaintances, not social groups, not outings, not happy hours. It's the feeling of belonging somewhere. Of having friends who not only are up for a night out but are there in the dark places. Of having community, connection, realness. The person I have that most with here is SCL.
My friend L said it best: "It's like you are having to fight for every ounce of happiness you have there." That's exactly how it feels--a fight, a battle both internal and external. And I'm just getting exhausted. C says it's normal to feel like there won't be anything other than these feelings. I guess in that way at least I'm "normal" because I'm just not seeing a way out of this one.
Coming Home
Homecoming is one of those compound words I never thought about having actual meaning. I know, it's not that complicated: Coming + home = Coming home = Homecoming. But that's because in high school Homecoming was just an excuse to have a popularity contest with the whole queen thing, buy an expensive dress and pretend you are having fun at an awkward dance. But this weekend I experienced a true "coming home" when I arrived on my college campus for the first time since I graduated in 2005.
Although I expected to feel out of place therer, especially in my singleness, I rarely felt lonely while I was there. Honestly the formal events--the receptions, the dinners, etc--were not that great. It's fun to have a glass of wine with someone from your freshman hall, but I could only take so much of that. Not the wine part, the bullshitting part. Especially when my Barbie doll roommate (aka "Blondeboobs") is there, making me feel all inadequate and shit. Most of my close friends are from grad school, not my undergrad.
But, I really made an effort to make the weekend my own home coming. Instead of booking a hotel, I stayed with the chair of the biology department who also happened to be my ballroom dance coach while I was a student. I met up with my major advisor for lunch and visited my voice teacher's studio. I even made a trip (nerd alert) to the library to "visit" my senior honors thesis, bound and with my name on the spine. I saw friends from other classes who now live in the area and all claim to love it. They're even working on me to move there.
The real highlight was a four-hour breakfast I had with my favorite prof A. She and I have the quintessential relationship that my alma mater brags about--in school she was my mentor, and as an alum she's my friend. A really good friend in fact. I've been on vacation with her family. We have phone dates at least once a month. When I got to her house, the first thing I did was dump an entire mug of scalding hot coffee on her white place mat and her pristine hardwood floors, not to mention my own lap. In any other situation, I would have been completely humiliated. What'd she do? Handed me her favorite pair of yoga pants, threw my jeans in the washer, and told me she'd done the same thing just days before. If that's not love, I don't know what is. I heart friends you can be your own idiotic self with--and who insist that you are not an idiot even when you know you really are.
It was a fantastic, peaceful weekend. I definitely felt at home, relaxed, and completely normal in my messiness. I felt connected, known, and understood. If only I could figure out a way to feel that way in DC.
Although I expected to feel out of place therer, especially in my singleness, I rarely felt lonely while I was there. Honestly the formal events--the receptions, the dinners, etc--were not that great. It's fun to have a glass of wine with someone from your freshman hall, but I could only take so much of that. Not the wine part, the bullshitting part. Especially when my Barbie doll roommate (aka "Blondeboobs") is there, making me feel all inadequate and shit. Most of my close friends are from grad school, not my undergrad.
But, I really made an effort to make the weekend my own home coming. Instead of booking a hotel, I stayed with the chair of the biology department who also happened to be my ballroom dance coach while I was a student. I met up with my major advisor for lunch and visited my voice teacher's studio. I even made a trip (nerd alert) to the library to "visit" my senior honors thesis, bound and with my name on the spine. I saw friends from other classes who now live in the area and all claim to love it. They're even working on me to move there.
The real highlight was a four-hour breakfast I had with my favorite prof A. She and I have the quintessential relationship that my alma mater brags about--in school she was my mentor, and as an alum she's my friend. A really good friend in fact. I've been on vacation with her family. We have phone dates at least once a month. When I got to her house, the first thing I did was dump an entire mug of scalding hot coffee on her white place mat and her pristine hardwood floors, not to mention my own lap. In any other situation, I would have been completely humiliated. What'd she do? Handed me her favorite pair of yoga pants, threw my jeans in the washer, and told me she'd done the same thing just days before. If that's not love, I don't know what is. I heart friends you can be your own idiotic self with--and who insist that you are not an idiot even when you know you really are.
It was a fantastic, peaceful weekend. I definitely felt at home, relaxed, and completely normal in my messiness. I felt connected, known, and understood. If only I could figure out a way to feel that way in DC.
Carolina in My Mind
I'm packing up to hit the road, but this time not for work. Imagine that! Tomorrow I'll be heading down to North Carolina for my fifth year college reunion. I've been looking forward to this since last fall when life looked a lot different.
I haven't been talking about my ex SCL on the blog much anymore, but he's been on my mind this week, mostly because of this reunion. This may be the last occasion that I'd really looking forward to doing together. My college is the one place I idealize, and I smiled at the thought of worlds colliding, of bringing him into my circle of friends and beloved professors and memories. I pictured the ring that would inevitably be on my finger by then, one like this, and how I'd get to talk with my old classmates about save-the-dates and honeymoon plans.
It was a pretty picture. And now it's another loss.
My college town is straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. It's got a Main Street with an old-school soda shop. The town is manicured and picturesque in a way that normally would irritate me. I love the city, especially for its diversity and realness. But for me this college town is my happy place, the one place I've forgiven all the bad and romanticized the reality. I think we all need something like that.
But, I don't feel like I'm going to fit back into that pretty picture. I see my classmates who seem to fit right in with their gorgeous wedding photos and chubby-cheeked cherub children. They will fit, I think to myself. But me? I feel like I've fallen behind on some understood timeline, that regardless of its ridiculousness does at times like these make me feel inadequate.
As much as I don't want it to, I realize that this weekend may bring feelings of loneliness, of grief, and I should try to prepare myself for that possibility. It's an opportunity for me to practice that kindness toward self that I keep talking about, to allow for the space to feel what I'm feeling. And, I also know it's going to be fantastically fun to be back in my college town. I've already got three catch-up sessions with my favorite professors lined up! And of course I will enjoy seeing old friends and talking about old times.
So, it will be a bittersweet weekend, but one that I'm looking forward to regardless. It's just one of those times I really wish I could share with SCL.
Let the Sunshine In
For those of you who haven't seen the show, it doesn't have much of a plot. As one of my friends said, it's more of a mood than a plot. And by mood, I mean drug-induced hallucination. But, it is a rockin', energetic show that engages the audience like none other I've seen. So much in fact that at the end, they invite audience members to join the cast on stage to dance and sing with them.
Now, I was sitting in the second tier (read: nosebleed section), and I was trying to figure out if I could get down there in time. My friend and I looked at each and then booked it down four flights of stairs, only to hear what we thought was the end of the music. Damn. Not to mention people were exiting the show, so we were going against traffic. But, at that point I was determined to get my ass up there.
That was when we heard them start "Let the Sunshine In." We rushed down the aisle, and were met by two cast members who took us by the hand, helping us on stage and took us right to the very front. It was the most thrilling experience I've had in a long time, being up there with hundreds of people all dancing and singing together. And when the music was over, one of the leads came over and threw her arms around me, thanking me for coming to the show! I couldn't believe how gracious they were and how connected I felt, how I was totally feeding on their post-performance high.
I'll admit, when I was up in the balcony, I was hesitant to rush the stage. No one else in our section was moving. But then I thought, Fuck it. I'm probably never going to get to dance and sing on the Kennedy Center stage again. And I'm so glad I didn't let that fear of looking like a fool get in my way.
The Freedom of Not Dating
I realize my posts have been less frequent, which is not because I don't want to write. I do. But with my new "I'm not chasing boys anymore" attitude, I don't have any dates to agonize over with you all. While I'm a little bummed about that, the trade-off is that I feel good. Really freaking good. Not all the time, certainly, but in general, I'm good.
What I see now that I couldn't see a few months ago is that many of my motives for doing the dating thing in the first place were fear-based. Fear that I wouldn't find someone. Fear that no one would want to date me. Fear that I couldn't possibly connect with another man. For someone who just got out of a two-year relationship with the man she thought she'd marry, that was to be expected. And I don't think it was foolish or dumb to jump into dating. I think it was my way of proving to myself that I could date. But, what I realized after the disaster with Dr. Not-so-much was that I'm not ready to date.
I'm not saying I'm closed off to the idea of meeting someone, but I'm certainly not going to make it my life's mission. For awhile there, I was expending most of my mental and emotional energy on men, which put me in a high-risk situation. High risk of getting my heart stomped on again. And I did.
But, once again my heart is healing. It's getting pretty damn good at that. And I'm experiencing a sense of freedom that I haven't felt...well, maybe ever. My mind isn't racing. I'm not being bombarded by winks and requests for communication and repetitive form questions in my inbox. I'm not swapping out my evenings with friends--or my quiet nights at home in my sweats--to try to pump myself up for yet another first date. Once I realized that it wasn't fun, I realized it wasn't worth my time now.
Of course I still hope to meet someone. But it's not the only hope I have for my life.
What I see now that I couldn't see a few months ago is that many of my motives for doing the dating thing in the first place were fear-based. Fear that I wouldn't find someone. Fear that no one would want to date me. Fear that I couldn't possibly connect with another man. For someone who just got out of a two-year relationship with the man she thought she'd marry, that was to be expected. And I don't think it was foolish or dumb to jump into dating. I think it was my way of proving to myself that I could date. But, what I realized after the disaster with Dr. Not-so-much was that I'm not ready to date.
I'm not saying I'm closed off to the idea of meeting someone, but I'm certainly not going to make it my life's mission. For awhile there, I was expending most of my mental and emotional energy on men, which put me in a high-risk situation. High risk of getting my heart stomped on again. And I did.
But, once again my heart is healing. It's getting pretty damn good at that. And I'm experiencing a sense of freedom that I haven't felt...well, maybe ever. My mind isn't racing. I'm not being bombarded by winks and requests for communication and repetitive form questions in my inbox. I'm not swapping out my evenings with friends--or my quiet nights at home in my sweats--to try to pump myself up for yet another first date. Once I realized that it wasn't fun, I realized it wasn't worth my time now.
Of course I still hope to meet someone. But it's not the only hope I have for my life.
On Being a "Nice Girl": Week Thirteen of Therapy
I managed to pull myself out of the slump I was in last week through various means: Zumba class, Glee with friends, turning down dates, a Batgirl costume, and attending church. But the real kicker was the intentional focus on my self-talk and shifting toward being a better friend to myself.
I'm finding that like most changes, it's a matter of pushing through that initial stubborn, slow start where it feels as if it's taking all of my energy simply to get going. But once I've pushed over that hump, it's easier to maintain that trajectory. For example, I felt terrible when Mr. Tennis Pro, who'd been calling for weeks, finally asked me for a date and I turned him down. I hated the idea of disappointing him, even though we'd never met before.
And this is where the whole "Nice Girl" complex comes into play. C and I talked about this extensively in my session today, how girls often are taught to be nice, obliging others and putting their own desires and needs at the bottom of the list. In elementary school, I had a friend who always let me decide what we were going to play--if I were at her house, she'd say that I was the guest and that's why I got to pick; if we were at my house, she'd say it was my house and that's why I got to pick. Kind of a silly example, but I think the point is clear enough.
The remnants of the "nice girl" complex are alive and well in this 27-year-old. And I can see now how it's been a barrier to being something much better than nice--being kind. Especially to myself. I felt like Mr. Tennis Pro had been so sweet, patient, and consistent--why wasn't I giving him a chance? I felt like I should give him a chance. But then I remembered, this isn't what I want right now. Yes, he was disappointed, but I knew that going out on a date with him was not what was right for me.
I can already see how I'm trying to change: in my decisions to stop trying so hard in the romance department; to cut off ties with Dr. Not-so-much; to be more careful in what I choose to share on this blog (and spend more time in my personal journal); to ask for space in my office to get me out of the house more often; to let certain calls go to voice mail. It's a process, and like most things, I'm expecting a roller coaster, not a steady uphill climb. But, I do know that I am feeling infinitely better than I was just a week ago, not only because I've been doing the external things to lift my spirits but also because I'm getting a handle on changing the internal.
I'm finding that like most changes, it's a matter of pushing through that initial stubborn, slow start where it feels as if it's taking all of my energy simply to get going. But once I've pushed over that hump, it's easier to maintain that trajectory. For example, I felt terrible when Mr. Tennis Pro, who'd been calling for weeks, finally asked me for a date and I turned him down. I hated the idea of disappointing him, even though we'd never met before.
And this is where the whole "Nice Girl" complex comes into play. C and I talked about this extensively in my session today, how girls often are taught to be nice, obliging others and putting their own desires and needs at the bottom of the list. In elementary school, I had a friend who always let me decide what we were going to play--if I were at her house, she'd say that I was the guest and that's why I got to pick; if we were at my house, she'd say it was my house and that's why I got to pick. Kind of a silly example, but I think the point is clear enough.
The remnants of the "nice girl" complex are alive and well in this 27-year-old. And I can see now how it's been a barrier to being something much better than nice--being kind. Especially to myself. I felt like Mr. Tennis Pro had been so sweet, patient, and consistent--why wasn't I giving him a chance? I felt like I should give him a chance. But then I remembered, this isn't what I want right now. Yes, he was disappointed, but I knew that going out on a date with him was not what was right for me.
I can already see how I'm trying to change: in my decisions to stop trying so hard in the romance department; to cut off ties with Dr. Not-so-much; to be more careful in what I choose to share on this blog (and spend more time in my personal journal); to ask for space in my office to get me out of the house more often; to let certain calls go to voice mail. It's a process, and like most things, I'm expecting a roller coaster, not a steady uphill climb. But, I do know that I am feeling infinitely better than I was just a week ago, not only because I've been doing the external things to lift my spirits but also because I'm getting a handle on changing the internal.
Heal Over, Friends
On a beautiful walk along the Potomac, Date Me, DC! and I discussed how while we are certainly feeling a bit down on this whole dating thing, our dear ones--our friends--are having even tougher times--lost jobs, broken relationships, and for one of my closest, the loss of her mother. I spent Saturday afternoon at her memorial service, in awe of this amazing woman's life and even more in awe of my friend, who read from the Gospel of John with such poise, passion, and insight. A true testament to her strength and faith.
During a much-needed nap, I got a text from my friend L who had visited last weekend, saying that she'd broken up with her boyfriend of six months--this after she'd just been through a divorce. I immediately called her, and my heart broke as she cried. All of the feelings, the confusion, the sense of "there's something wrong with me"--I got it. She didn't need to explain it. I was there with her. And I realized then how that is an internal battle we all face when the rug is yanked out from under us, and we are left with thousands of unanswered questions.
I want to hold my friend close, to tell her in person that she is the most amazing woman I've ever met and that she deserves someone who will not leave at the first sign of difficulty. And I want it even more because I remember wanting her to be there with me when my inner critic was torturing me like that with self-doubt and self-hatred, so much so that I couldn't muster up the strength to tell it to shut up.
I want her to know how brave she is to have trusted someone again, to have opened herself up after all of the hurt she's endured. That she is anything but a loser, despite her feeling that way right now. I want to cook for her and do her laundry, be with her as she cries and as she laughs again. More than anything, I want her to know that she will be alright. She will heal over someday.
And so will
Saved By the Bell: The Quickest (and Worst) Date Ever...And This Whole Dating Thing in General
It all started when Mr. Homeland Security texted me mid-afternoon to ask if I could pick him up from the Metro station and take him to our date. This kind of threw me off as, in my opinion, it's not something you ask on a second date. It got worse when he replied to my "How are you going to get home?" text with "Oh, you can just drop me off at the Metro on your way home." Presumptuous, much?
Needless to say, by the time 5:45 rolled around and I was heading to the Metro, I was feeling a little bit annoyed, even though I'd agreed to pick him up. (What was I supposed to say?) Then I got even more annoyed when he got into the car and kissed me--dude, we've only been out once! We do not have that kind of familiarity yet.
Then he proceeded to YAMMER ON for the next TWENTY MINUTES about the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT. Not once did he ask, "How was your day?" No, he went on a tangent about God knows what, and I was getting more and more irritated. I thought, "What am I doing with this guy? He's annoying me! He's unaware of his talkativeness and he's presumptuous. And he's bald!"
By the time we got to the bar, I'd had enough. And like an angel from Heaven above, my phone rings. It's my friend J who was staying with me and needed me to let her into my house. SCORE. "Sorry," I said, trying to sound remorseful. "But I've really got to go let my friend in. What bad timing!" We literally got right back into the car, I dropped him off, I winced as he kissed me again and said "Sure, we'll get together some time next week!"
NOT.
Everyone, can you feel it? Can you tell that I'm kind of not feeling this whole dating thing? As I was driving Mr. Homeland Security around town, all I could think is, "Why am I doing this to myself?" It felt like torture. I feel like I'm putting myself through hell right now--with SCL, with Dr. Nutrition, with all of these stupid dates that I'm not excited about. When I get a message from eHarmony, I feel stressed out, not excited. I feel pulled apart and torn open and fucked up.
I am BROKEN. My heart is BROKEN. I feel like SHIT about myself. I am TIRED of it.
When I feel this bad, I tend to make rash decisions without thinking it through. But, I just disabled my OkCupid account, turned off matching for eHarmony (why didn't I let the damn thing expire?), and have committed to really thinking through this whole dating thing and if it's what I need right now. All I know is I don't feel like myself and that something is not right in my life. And, if I care about myself at all, I will spend the time trying to figure out what that is.
Needless to say, by the time 5:45 rolled around and I was heading to the Metro, I was feeling a little bit annoyed, even though I'd agreed to pick him up. (What was I supposed to say?) Then I got even more annoyed when he got into the car and kissed me--dude, we've only been out once! We do not have that kind of familiarity yet.
Then he proceeded to YAMMER ON for the next TWENTY MINUTES about the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT. Not once did he ask, "How was your day?" No, he went on a tangent about God knows what, and I was getting more and more irritated. I thought, "What am I doing with this guy? He's annoying me! He's unaware of his talkativeness and he's presumptuous. And he's bald!"
By the time we got to the bar, I'd had enough. And like an angel from Heaven above, my phone rings. It's my friend J who was staying with me and needed me to let her into my house. SCORE. "Sorry," I said, trying to sound remorseful. "But I've really got to go let my friend in. What bad timing!" We literally got right back into the car, I dropped him off, I winced as he kissed me again and said "Sure, we'll get together some time next week!"
NOT.
Everyone, can you feel it? Can you tell that I'm kind of not feeling this whole dating thing? As I was driving Mr. Homeland Security around town, all I could think is, "Why am I doing this to myself?" It felt like torture. I feel like I'm putting myself through hell right now--with SCL, with Dr. Nutrition, with all of these stupid dates that I'm not excited about. When I get a message from eHarmony, I feel stressed out, not excited. I feel pulled apart and torn open and fucked up.
I am BROKEN. My heart is BROKEN. I feel like SHIT about myself. I am TIRED of it.
When I feel this bad, I tend to make rash decisions without thinking it through. But, I just disabled my OkCupid account, turned off matching for eHarmony (why didn't I let the damn thing expire?), and have committed to really thinking through this whole dating thing and if it's what I need right now. All I know is I don't feel like myself and that something is not right in my life. And, if I care about myself at all, I will spend the time trying to figure out what that is.
Enjoying the Awkwardness...Er, Newness
There's no getting around the initial awkwardness of a first date with a person you've never met before. No matter how much "e-chemistry" you might think you have with an online match, it may or may not be there when you meet in person. Yesterday I had a date with Mr. Civics Teacher, who had made me laugh like a maniac on e-mail and even on the phone. But in person, there was really nothing there. Thankfully we were able to cut it short, using my truly sore throat as an excuse to head home before it got dark.
All of this sitting in awkwardness (and with Dr. Nutrition at least, feeling some butterflies and giddiness, too) has got me thinking a lot about the comfort I had with SCL. Sometimes I think I want him back--but what I really want is familiarity. With familiarity, there's less vulnerability, less fear, and less unknown. There is less risk involved. I think in my mini-freak-out on Monday, that's what was going on. I didn't know this man next to me. What is lurking under his positive exterior? What secrets is he keeping? What will the process of getting to know him be like?
The truth is yes, SCL and I did have familiarity. We did know one another. But, oh yeah, I was miserable. And that familiarity had nothing to do with him in particular. It had to do with the time we'd spent together, memories we made, life lived over time. I can and will have that again with someone else.
When I let myself feel what I'm feeling, I realize that despite the unknown, I want to keep doing this--keep meeting new people, have some so-so dates, have some potentially awesome ones, but regardless, I want to keep putting myself out there. It is risky and scary, but I also have already met some great people--and Dr. Nutrition and I are scheduling our third date! I'm glad I don't have the option of staying in that miserable familiarity. I'm glad that I've found the strength to put myself out there, to give myself another chance to connect with another person.
A little awkwardness never killed anyone, right?
All of this sitting in awkwardness (and with Dr. Nutrition at least, feeling some butterflies and giddiness, too) has got me thinking a lot about the comfort I had with SCL. Sometimes I think I want him back--but what I really want is familiarity. With familiarity, there's less vulnerability, less fear, and less unknown. There is less risk involved. I think in my mini-freak-out on Monday, that's what was going on. I didn't know this man next to me. What is lurking under his positive exterior? What secrets is he keeping? What will the process of getting to know him be like?
The truth is yes, SCL and I did have familiarity. We did know one another. But, oh yeah, I was miserable. And that familiarity had nothing to do with him in particular. It had to do with the time we'd spent together, memories we made, life lived over time. I can and will have that again with someone else.
When I let myself feel what I'm feeling, I realize that despite the unknown, I want to keep doing this--keep meeting new people, have some so-so dates, have some potentially awesome ones, but regardless, I want to keep putting myself out there. It is risky and scary, but I also have already met some great people--and Dr. Nutrition and I are scheduling our third date! I'm glad I don't have the option of staying in that miserable familiarity. I'm glad that I've found the strength to put myself out there, to give myself another chance to connect with another person.
A little awkwardness never killed anyone, right?
Time for a Name Change?
This has come up a few times in comments, so I'm wondering what you all think. Is it time for a blog name change?
When I was with SCL, I really liked "Grad-Student Girlfriend." It was cute, alliterative, and captured the essence of the blog, which was mostly about our relationship.
But now I'm branching out, writing about me and not just in terms of who I am in relationship to SCL. In fact, I'd like to move away from that as much as possible--he doesn't define me. I let him define me too much before.
The thing is, I don't what to call this blog. Suddenly Single? That still seems to be about my relationship status (and thus connected to SCL in a way).
So, I need your help. I need your ideas. What would you call this blog?
When I was with SCL, I really liked "Grad-Student Girlfriend." It was cute, alliterative, and captured the essence of the blog, which was mostly about our relationship.
But now I'm branching out, writing about me and not just in terms of who I am in relationship to SCL. In fact, I'd like to move away from that as much as possible--he doesn't define me. I let him define me too much before.
The thing is, I don't what to call this blog. Suddenly Single? That still seems to be about my relationship status (and thus connected to SCL in a way).
So, I need your help. I need your ideas. What would you call this blog?
Take Me Out Tonight. Meow.
Since returning to D.C. for good (and by "for good," I mean for a month...which at this point feels like a long time to stay put), I have succeeded in going out every single night. This is huge for me.
Let's get real here. SCL and I were B-O-R-I-N-G most of the time. He's much more content to sit at home, make pizza, watch The Office, and play on the computer. There's nothing wrong with this...for him. But me? I'm someone who needs to be around people, and since I work from home, I have to spend my after-work hours getting all of that social interaction I lack from not working in an office. But for the last year or so, I'd really secluded myself, convinced myself I was happy a lot of the time to hang out at home and be with SCL. It was really enjoyable, but it also made me a less interesting person.
Now that I'm going out and doing things, I am beginning to feel more like myself. And I don't feel like I'm doing it to spite him, to prove to myself how much more fun I am than SCL is. It's just that we're really different when it comes to how we like to spend our time, and for whatever reason I felt like I had to tone down my socialite tendencies. And very rarely did I ask him to do the same for me. This was a big mistake I made in the relationship.
So, last night I had a fucking blast doing one of my favorite things--singing karaoke at the gay bar next to my house. One of the groups I've recently joined was having a special event there, and I thought, "Hells yeah, perfect excuse to sing and make a fool of myself whilst drinking beers." I dragged my friends A. and B. with me, and signed them up for songs.
I find it's a lot easier to flirt on stage than off it, so karaoke is actually a good way for me to start talking to guys because I get a lot less nervous singing a song than I do talking with a new guy. Especially in a bar when it's hard to hear and other people are doing really horrible renditions of Journey, and I have to keep screaming "What?!" No, it's more fun to get up on stage and kick some ass singing Reba McIntire's "Fancy."
When I got off stage, I found about five (straight!) guys had joined the table. Now most of them were pretty nerdy, but one was actually pretty cute, although he had strangely manicured eyebrows which made me think twice about the straight thing. But he was hitting on me. Big time. Now it's been several years since I've been single, and my flirting muscles have atrophied. I felt like a bumbling idiot at first. But the thing about flirting is, it doesn't take too much long to get it back, and by the end of the night I was actually enjoying it.
That's why I decided to get up and sing "Out Tonight." Right after I signed up, the amazing Katie at Date Me, DC! showed up, despite having to be up in the wee hours of the morning. (She kicked some serious ass on "Son of a Preacher Man.") I went up to the bar to get us some beers when a woman approached me at the bar and asked if I was singing again. When I told her I'd be singing Rent, she asked if I planned to do the whole dance--and then offered to be my pole. Yikes. Well, I was at a gay bar. Later she asked if she could buy me a drink. She looked kind of heartbroken when all I wanted was a glass of water. Is it a tease to be a straight person at a gay bar?
But anyway, Well-Manicured-Eyebrows guy was upping the flirtation ante, and Katie informed me, "He really wants to bang you!" Instead of asking for my number, he asked me if I was on Facebook. Now forgive my ignorance, but is this the new version of "Can I have your number?" I guess with smartphones it's easier to look someone up that way, and you know a helluva lot more about them if you're Facebook friends. You know, like a person's last name.
The night ended innocently, but I seriously had a blast. And when I got home at 1:00 am, I had five new friend requests--one from each of the men at the table.
Maybe this being single won't be so bad after all.
Let's get real here. SCL and I were B-O-R-I-N-G most of the time. He's much more content to sit at home, make pizza, watch The Office, and play on the computer. There's nothing wrong with this...for him. But me? I'm someone who needs to be around people, and since I work from home, I have to spend my after-work hours getting all of that social interaction I lack from not working in an office. But for the last year or so, I'd really secluded myself, convinced myself I was happy a lot of the time to hang out at home and be with SCL. It was really enjoyable, but it also made me a less interesting person.
Now that I'm going out and doing things, I am beginning to feel more like myself. And I don't feel like I'm doing it to spite him, to prove to myself how much more fun I am than SCL is. It's just that we're really different when it comes to how we like to spend our time, and for whatever reason I felt like I had to tone down my socialite tendencies. And very rarely did I ask him to do the same for me. This was a big mistake I made in the relationship.
So, last night I had a fucking blast doing one of my favorite things--singing karaoke at the gay bar next to my house. One of the groups I've recently joined was having a special event there, and I thought, "Hells yeah, perfect excuse to sing and make a fool of myself whilst drinking beers." I dragged my friends A. and B. with me, and signed them up for songs.
I find it's a lot easier to flirt on stage than off it, so karaoke is actually a good way for me to start talking to guys because I get a lot less nervous singing a song than I do talking with a new guy. Especially in a bar when it's hard to hear and other people are doing really horrible renditions of Journey, and I have to keep screaming "What?!" No, it's more fun to get up on stage and kick some ass singing Reba McIntire's "Fancy."
When I got off stage, I found about five (straight!) guys had joined the table. Now most of them were pretty nerdy, but one was actually pretty cute, although he had strangely manicured eyebrows which made me think twice about the straight thing. But he was hitting on me. Big time. Now it's been several years since I've been single, and my flirting muscles have atrophied. I felt like a bumbling idiot at first. But the thing about flirting is, it doesn't take too much long to get it back, and by the end of the night I was actually enjoying it.
That's why I decided to get up and sing "Out Tonight." Right after I signed up, the amazing Katie at Date Me, DC! showed up, despite having to be up in the wee hours of the morning. (She kicked some serious ass on "Son of a Preacher Man.") I went up to the bar to get us some beers when a woman approached me at the bar and asked if I was singing again. When I told her I'd be singing Rent, she asked if I planned to do the whole dance--and then offered to be my pole. Yikes. Well, I was at a gay bar. Later she asked if she could buy me a drink. She looked kind of heartbroken when all I wanted was a glass of water. Is it a tease to be a straight person at a gay bar?
But anyway, Well-Manicured-Eyebrows guy was upping the flirtation ante, and Katie informed me, "He really wants to bang you!" Instead of asking for my number, he asked me if I was on Facebook. Now forgive my ignorance, but is this the new version of "Can I have your number?" I guess with smartphones it's easier to look someone up that way, and you know a helluva lot more about them if you're Facebook friends. You know, like a person's last name.
The night ended innocently, but I seriously had a blast. And when I got home at 1:00 am, I had five new friend requests--one from each of the men at the table.
Maybe this being single won't be so bad after all.
Reflections on My Return
Last night I was sitting on the plane back to DC, reflecting on my time at home and my return back to my lonely apartment.
I can’t remember a time during the last few years when I didn’t cry when I had to leave home. I think perhaps it was during college when I loved seeing my family but was perfectly happy to make the drive back to my friends, my life, my sweet boyfriend.
But now when my mom drives me to the airport, I’m filled with dread. Different kinds of dread at different times, but always dread. Despair. During graduate school, it was that I hated school; that I had to remain in a place where I’d been violated; that I was battling with anxiety attacks that made me throw-up daily. Every time I cried and cried, my mother comforting me and reassuring me that all would be well. Somehow she gave me enough courage to get on the plane every single time. One time I came back home a week later. But every time I managed to go.
After I finished graduate school, the dread was in my job that I despised. I was miserable and isolated and hated being micromanaged, questioned, and patronized on a daily basis. I had an hour long commute each way, and came home feeling angry and discouraged most days. It was exhausting. I wanted out. I wanted comfort, home, familiarity. And again, my mom would comfort me, remind me that this was only temporary, that I would move on to bigger and better things. I just needed to hang in there. And again, off I went, tears streaming down my face as I threw my shoes and travel-sized bottles of shampoo into the security bin. I’d pray that the metal detector wouldn’t go off. I just couldn’t take one more shitty thing.
And here I am today, what I would consider a grown woman, and still I’m on the brink of tears again, wanting nothing more than the embrace of my mother. Her comfort, her familiarity, her steadfast love. I don’t just want to hear it on the phone or read it in an email. I want to feel it with me. I’m 26 years old, and I just want my mom.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the near future, about when my contract for my job is up and I have to start thinking of what I’m going to do next. Maybe I’ll stay in DC. Maybe I won’t. The part I hate the most is how far away my family is. Being with them this weekend, as much as they drive me crazy, made me feel alive and connected. There was no room for isolation, for loneliness with them by my side. It didn’t numb the pain I’m feeling, but they held me. My brother shared this precious time with his son with me. My mom stroked my head and understood when there were no words. My nephew made me light up every time he said my name and grabbed my hand to show me some new wonder.
I didn’t know what I’d been missing. And had the events of the last month or so been different, I might never have known that.
Sassy New Single Girl: Online Flirting
Driving back from Orlando, and I am loving my little netbook and my tethered Internet connection from my phone. Blogging from the road while my brother drives like a fucking maniac down I-4. Better to be distracted than to watch what I fear may be the end of my life on this earth.
Despite having a blast with my nephew, mom, and brother in Orlando, I still had a few minutes of "WTF? Why is this my life now?" I had zero privacy and zero alone time, which normally I don't really need, but going through this, I need time to just be alone and cry. I have to say it has been nice to have my mom around to comfort me and my nephew to make me laugh as he dances to Lady Gaga's "Telephone" video. I am not making this up. After we went on the E.T. ride and saw a little photo op with ET dressed up in the doll clothes in the closet with all of the toys, he said, "ET looks like Lady Gaga!" I think he might be slightly gay.
Anyway, after feeling sorry for myself, I decided I needed to just look at okcupid again. I'd gotten freaked by it a few weeks ago, but now I really need a distraction from thinking about SCL. So I reactivated my account, and guess what? A really, really cute boy favorited me! I could get used to this. We chatted, debated who had the better pizza-making abilities (me obviously), and I don't know, maybe something will come of it. Right now it's just super fun and what I need to get my confidence back.
My problem is I don't quite know how to reject people. There are a lot of weirdos out there, and I feel like I should be nice and give everyone a chance. I ended up in this conversation with a sweet-enough looking guy...who then confessed that he likes women's shoes. Wearing them. Ballet floots, heeled boots, etc. I didn't quite know what to say other than "I think you know more about shoes than I do." Yikes.
Who knows if anything will come of this, but it's good to start flexing those flirting muscles and see there are a lot of men out there who are interested in me, at least on a surface level. Not sure if I'm quite ready to take them up on their offers, but I know they're there when I want them.
Sassy New Single Life: Vacation
I made last minute plans to travel to Orlando to celebrate my nephew's fourth birthday (and forget about what would have been my two-year-anniversary with SCL) at Disney World. I'll be blogging again in a few days.
I'll miss all of you! Keep rocking it out.
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