Note to self: It's never a good sign when someone makes you feel like getting sick in your mouth a little...common sense to most but I am forever the idio....t....er...optimist. Uh-huh.



So I kicked a girl in the ankle today, walking on the sidewalk. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, but I thought it would be an all out, wound up, punt to someone's shin. This wasn't actually on purpose...she meandered across my path like the UES brat she likely was, and I just didn't yield...and kicked her in the ankle. I'm not proud, but she seemed an idiot and there really wasn't any other option.

And P.S. - I want this one. If it is right and real, I want it. Because, my GAWD.

I'm just sayin'...

Old OLD stuff that yous guys asked me to bring to the forefront again. Not so much to remind you, but to remind me, huh? I get it ;-)




Saturday, February 23, 2008

Figured I’d trot this one out again.

I've stopped trying to explain a long time ago, in order to preserve my sanity and my faith in mankind. What I will reiterate, even though I'm more than fairly certain it won't make a tad bit of difference, is that when I write, it is for me. When I write on here, it is for me and my friends, who know the deal and the demons, to see what's going on in my brain b/c I either cannot express it verbally or don't get to talk to them much. When I do write about "you" it is a way for me to process; to try and figure out what I think and feel about things. My communication talents and my introspection abilities are rustic at best, and this is the one way I've learned to work things out.

Therefore, if you are offended, I will not apologize. If you don't like it, then don't read it. If you think it's about you, it's probably not. In moments that there is a specific "you" it's more than likely a trial of an issue that "you" have brought to the surface than a specific indictment of you as a person or a friend.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Evidently the Power Point presentation wasn’t a bad idea after all, Alicia.Because I am at a loss. I, throughout my life, have done everything I know to make you understand. Pictures, charts, maps, mimes, informational films (and not the good kind), smoke signals, pig latin, hieroglyphs…you name it, I have done it all, while standing on my head, holding my breath, painting my toenails and whistling Dixie. And for God’s Sake I am quite sure that I don’t even know the proper tune, I was always just winging it. All of that to have you look at me like I am speaking another language (although I think I’ve tried that too) altogether different from the one that you know.
A little dramatic? Well, yeah, sure. Duh. But it is how I feel sometimes. Like I did something in a previous lifetime that sealed my fate in this one to be invisible and mute.

Even as I continually shriek with all of the force of my lungs and pirouette at odd, jerking angles that make me stand out from the back of the fluid, albeit unremarkable, chorus. Listen, I’m not trying to be a pretty ballerina here, just an expressive one. The theory of "what’s that girl doin’?""Don’t know but it looks different. Let’s pay attention to her."Has clearly failed me.

But where I once thought it was for your attention, I have quickly come to realize that my black sheep, odd man out, carve my own path out of stone mentality had nothing to do with you, them or anything else at all other than becoming who I am.Huh.You mean I am not a bobble-head doll, here to please you?You mean, even if I make you angry or hurt or confused, or God forbid if I make you think, that it is ok because it’s all coming from a pure place, instead of a calculated, ill-contented, off balanced one?Interesting.

So, what I’m hearing here is, all this drama could be about me, and not you?

Ok, let me catch up. This could be about me figuring out my life, exorcising my previously internalized demons and healing the wounds that they left so deeply inside of me? I could be re-learning how to communicate; i.e. open mouth let words that express true feelings escape without the strange urge to throw myself into traffic and then, be patient enough, not cringing and twitchy, to see how they were received and then reciprocate accordingly? I could be learning how to let my walls down…you mean to tell me that I could be testing the water to see how it feels to me? To me without being concerned with you?Well, that is astounding, really.That all of my fumbling and fussing, loving and hurting, clarity and confusion when it comes to every last one of you can be about me until it becomes about us.

That it doesn’t matter if you understand, as long as I am true to myself, my family, my friends and my faith. All of this is going to come together eventually no matter how hard I clamor at the wrong human being to be heard.

This is all very mind-blowing and revolutionary.

I might need to sleep on it.For a few years.

Until I get woken up.Or until I get tired of chasing my tail and entertaining myself for the moment in my dreams.Whichever comes first.Because, believe it or not (and I know you don’t believe it at all) through all of this, I still believe in Prince Charming. I just don’t believe that I have to wait for him to wake me up. I’ll do that myself. Then draw my sword to slay a few dragons and ogres before I meet him in the Land of Happy Medium. I work my way towards him, he works his way towards me.
Get it? (Sorry, still a little bit stuck in the spelling it out for you phase).

What? I can’t write my own fairy tale?

Saturday, June 30, 2007

This one seems to be doing the rounds for a reason

..> ..> I wrote this over three years ago. Matt reposted it on his page, and I am reposting it now on mine...Every now and then, old friends need a reminder. And then there are new friends who need to be informed, because they clearly have issues with understanding.

But for real, thank God for my Monkeys.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006
..> ..>
i hope she doesn't hate me for this...
the following, my friends, is why i feel it is necessary to wake up on days that i would normally pray the sun would never rise. its not enough just to know someone who can write these words; rather, the ultimacy lies in the fulfilling nature of being a part of it. knowing that any percentage could be directed at you.

When it all comes down to it, maybe it is a question of how much you mean to me. Maybe you don't understand. Fair enough. Now I'm telling you. My love is strong, and pure. If I love you, I worship you for your strengths, and realize who you are for your weaknesses. Because I am such a potent mixture of both strength and weakness, I see the beauty even in the things that you hate about yourself. I am the one who will see the greatness in you, even when you hurt me. I will defend you, your right to be mixed up, anti-social, angry, sad, silly, skippingly happy, glaringly wrong or triumphantly right. Whatever in this world you could possibly feel is necessary to being you, I support you.

Once I have told you, there is still room to mess up. To disappoint. To annoy and ignore. Because when I say I love you forever, I mean forever. If I have claimed you as mine, a possession of my heart, which is rare, you will exist there always. Love is something that I was born to give, freely and generously with no exceptions. Relationships and friendships are existences that follow the tides. Sometimes full of warm, lolling waves and moon kissed waters. Sometimes waning and choppy, dark and cold. There is no way in our power to control the consistency of the surf, and where the waves will break. But that doesn't mean that we ignore the ocean...we jump in, embrace it, and just hope that we make it out alive. I've come to the point that I've made it out alive enough to know that, even if you hurt me, I will continue to live and live well.

Here is where I warn you: It takes a strong person to love me back. I deal in respect, consideration, love, loyalty and honesty. All of these things are intertwined. Even if I love you eternally, if you hand me back anything less than what I give you, continually or maliciously or flippantly, I don't have room for you in my life. In my big and strong heart always, but not my life. I will always take care of myself, and if knowing you detracts from the complicated beauty of my life, than I just won't know you anymore.

my only wish is that everyone could know somebody that wise and willing to love. as for you, you know who you are, thank you for letting me in.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Zombie thoughts of a tired girl

There is a "special needs" cat named Ty that I want to adopt. My heart always yearns to love something broken. It's not sure what do to with offerings from other hearts that are whole. My computer is not working and I will continue to die a slow spiritual death if I can't find some sort of creative outlet. Other than drinking. But that's not creative it's numbing.

I have no TV and just bought a Jack Kerouac compilation b/c when the book fell open in my hands he was writing of San Francisco on one page and New York on the opposite page...I spent five minutes dreaming of the descriptive words of opposite Beloved Cities being mashed together when the book was closed and reshelved, spending the night in it's place between the other books and wished suddenly and passionately that I could somehow mash myself in between those words and breath. I took it as a sign and bought the book. Along with Friedrich Nietzsche's "Thus Spake Zarathustra" simply because it mentioned discussion of the intricate relationship between Christianity and Judaism.

I have a crush on an Irish Bartender whose music makes my muse run high and who doesn't seem to have enough pens; not to mention it is evident that he's no idea what to do with me (surprise) and who would (once again) be a bad choice in the long run, but (for the first time) I don't think that I will choose him.

I am restless, I know that things are changing I can feel it in everything and I know that I have to wait and act. All at once. I can't keep my body still I could never make my mind stop and I see that I am going to start testing my boundaries more than ever very soon. I am told that I am hyper-aware of time, that I just know things and have always known things and will always know...that I will save women and those weaker, that I run away from what I don't know how to deal with and will be stuck in this very same holding pattern until I deal with why and stop acting like I don't care.

I realize that what I have been stuffing back down my throat for years is power that I am afraid I can't contain once it's been released...and I find that I am not afraid anymore. Stirring the pot is a good way to make everything come to the surface - I'll take the good that comes from upsetting that balance even if it means that there is a lot of bad that comes up with it.
Safe is nowhere in my heart, my head. Not for awhile.

Someday.

Friday, October 19, 2007

Shouldn't we get an f-ing manual? Some sort of guideline/rule book/in case of emergency outline...something?

There must be some way to deal with this other than avoidance, resistance and shots. Of Jameson, God yes please. There's gotta be some zen-esque plane that we can all relax on - a sort of male/female common ground that nobody will fuck with.

It's quite a shocking revelation to notice that I've been throwing stones at a mirror; not quite living in a glass house but really tossing some monster unfairness around at others when I should be looking long and hard at my very own green-eyed reflection. Entienda? No? Me either. Intente explicar? Ok. I get impatient with people who are closed. Unresponsive. Passive, nonchalant and unforthcoming. If you will not offer yourself up to me, I cannot be bothered with you. So be gone.

Or so it seems...because I know I am not that way. I just haven't a clue how to tell any of you that I am not that way.

Anybody who has dated me, feel free to chime in with all of the instances in which I have been all of the above towards you. Don't all rush in here at once, now. Because while I am just as guilty as anyone who I try to poke a finger at, these things are a defense mechanism (it does sound lame, doesn't it?) honed to perfection by years of disbelief over all of the scandalous ways that people treat each other. It's not because I don't care. It's not because I am aloof or duplicitous, it's not because I can't be moved or don't have any feelings. It's because I have watched and learned, vicariously and personally.

It's a thick skin indeed that I have crafted around this painfully sensitive soul.

I'm ready to feel the tiny pin-pricks that mean my being is becoming un-numb. I am ready to get hurt again, be angry again, and deal with it. Because until I allow myself to feel these things, I won't be ready to love.

And that's what I'm here for, really.

OLD STUFF:

Wednesday, July 09, 2008
"Who’s butt did you kiss to get in here?" Current mood: determined
..."Well, the list is long, but distinguished."
A cute reference to Slider's package is made at this point in the movie, which I will substitute with:
"Yeah, so is the list of frogs that I am accumulating..."
Evidently I am on a Top Gun quoting spree today, good for me.
I am the kind of dork that likes to type. I like to hear the sound of the keys click-clacking, the fact that I've been able to type without looking at the keyboard since I was about 10 or so; I like to watch the words form quickly, letter by letter across the screen. What was once vast whiteness is now marked with something that I created. Even if it's just an e-mail.
I like writing with a pen better, though. Especially gel or fountain pens with that richly pigmented ink. I like to watch it sink into the paper, tatooing the pulpy skin of a fresh sheet. I like to imagine writing on my own skin, letting the ink sink in and mingle with my blood. Ink and blood in my veins. Words to spare, sentences forming as quick as the sheen of sweat on a muggy day. I got your stories. I got your words. I got it all right here...
...yeah. Right Here.


Monday, March 24, 2008
Souls on a River Current mood: sad
I’m walking along the streets of New York and my eyes are day-glo green because I’m crying them out. I walk along, never slowing, not even noticing that people are looking at me, and listen to my Mom tell me that my 82 year old Grandfather was happy that he got to hug and kiss his 92 year old brother good-bye before he died.
Sure puts an interesting spin on the happiness we strive for, right?
One day I think we’ll all be by the River again. Catch a few for me, Uncle Wilmer.


Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Oh for God’s Sake.
Ag, GOD!!!! Grrrrr...back up OFF of me!! I swear to God, it was like I was a magnet for...just...CRAP this morning!! I get up at 5:30 am. That's disharmony enough for the day, right there. My pants were too tight, the cat shredded my hamper, and then proceeded to scratch me in the face for good measure. It was too warm when I was walking to the train, so I try to wiggle out of my coat, looking like a maniac in the process, only to find that somewhere in the shuffle I lost the rubber part of my earbud to the abyss. I HATE riding the train without my ipod. BOO! Then I get on a nearly empty train, and at the VERY NEXT stop some jackass with personal space issues gets on and stands about 2- seconds-away-from-getting-a-back-hand away from me. He proceeds to pull out his broke down refilled since last April water bottle that sounds like 35 sheets of bubble wrap being popped at one time when he drinks from it and suckles from it like a baby COW. And he's still 2 inches from me, by the way, no matter how many times I do the "get away from me" dance. Then at the NEXT stop (I've only been awake for two hours at this point, folks. This day is looking questionable) a power-walking purse-flauntin' Starbucks-carryin' woman gets on and stands right behind me. Well hell, now I'm boxed in. I got bottle sucker on the side and Louis V gym rat to the rear. I'm pretty sure I had a small seizure trying to keep my composure. I looked around at 23rd St. when I got off to find that I had left a hole in the crowd of every single standing person on the train, while tumble weed blew by down the emptiness that was the REST of the car.
...WTF!?!?!?
Now all I can think of is soothing my frayed nerves with a large dose of caffeine. As I am making my way to my usual coffee station, this big bleary man with the coloring of a tomato steps IN FRONT OF ME, takes a cup, and gets his coffee. I just stand there, jaw agape and wagging in the wind. I say "WOW." 'Cause I really am just amazed right now. He turns around looks at me and says, cheerfully mind you (can't he even have the decency to be rude at this point?) "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you behind me."
Huh.
Then how'd he know why I said wow?


Monday, February 11, 2008
Acting as opposed to... Current mood: chill
Reacting, no?
Instead of "here's what I'm going to do b/c of what you did."
I prefer "Here's what I'm going to do." Period.
I know what I have asked for is going to be a hard one. I know what it will take and when I don't know what it will take I know that I will have the where-with-all to figure it out. My mantra, as my fingers worry the cool stone beads of a rosary made for me by a woman who, in her illness, learned of "faith" instead of "religion"...my mantra is act instead of react.
If I spend my energy dancing whenever you aim your gun at my shoes, I am going to lose. Lose a lot more than the leather from my boots, too. I am going to lose me. And I am working so hard to maintain that girl. I"m not ready to let her go yet to bad habits and ghosts.
Tangible is my goal. I'll look you in the eyes someday. Stroke your check.
Until then, I'll worry my beads. And listen when spoken to.


Thursday, December 13, 2007
"When you fish for love... Current mood: giddy
bait with your heart, not your brain."
That Mark Twain. Whatta smart man.
Although, as I've recently come to see it, I ain't fishin' for shit. My heart can be fed with other nourishing things and my brain can be occupied with making my life what it will be. Besides. When I used to fish with my grandfather off the end of their dock with bamboo poles, he always caught more fish than me. Ya know why? Because while I jiggled my foot, slapped at misquitoes, made the bobber dance around on the surface of the water, pulled my bait up ten thousand times to see if it was still there, jerked my pole back b/c I always thought I got something when I didn't, he would just sit there. Sometimes I thought he was dead. He didn't talk. He didn't sigh or fidget, he just sat. And the fish came to him. When I was little I always wondered what he was thinking about to keep him so quiet. When I got older I realized that he wasn't thinking about a darn thing, and that's why he could sit there like that. He was content. Just happy to be sitting on his dock, with his granddaughter and a pole in the water.
And the fish came to him.

The light you give off
did not come from a pelvis.

Your features did not begin in semen.
Don't try to hide inside anger
radiance that cannot be hidden.

-Rumi


Her fingers brush the glossy wood railing - she pauses for a moment in her concurrent yet gushing thoughts to appreciate the old-school craftmanship of the warm piece of wood, worn to a shine by all of the hands that had come before her. She is skipping up the stairs now, but knows by the time she reaches her destination she will be puffing slightly and wondering why she never paced herself.

Images of a winter day short-stopped in front of her through windows set into each landing. She saw the snow making it's descent in fat, succulent flakes as she stopped for a breath - it wouldn't do to arrive with a sheen - and she flashed back to a time, not so long ago, that she brushed such fat flakes from his hat, taking her glove off to cup his jaw in her hand so that she could use her thumb to skim off the condensing crystals that had dusted his long lashes. She had looked into his eyes then, something that was hard for her to do, and had found all of the different inflections that life had left in their hazel discs. She knew then how judgemental and wrong she had been, but knew at the same time that it was time to move along...there was no back-peddling anymore.

She came back to the surface of reality and realized that she had dallied for too long...daydreaming was such a luxurious bad habit and she couldn't afford it right now. As she continued her climb upward - halfway there - she remembered how powerful the edge of his jaw had felt in her palm and how absolutely she surrendered to the thought of his trust in her hands. Her dismay came over how quickly she dismissed that power and her ability to handle it.

Her step slowed to a trudge and all of a sudden she felt like a pack mule...very useful but totally expendable.

I need to find a way to detach my mind from my mind - the creative subconscious from the nagging conscious, the feeling thoughts from the plaguing, worrying ones. A delicate balance, it would seem - to keep from detaching myself from reality...whatever that is. It's like I need to float over my body, come completely out of whatever inhibiting skin that surrounds my heart and just form this other self. Deal only with this other complete person that hasn't been created by nature or nurture, she just is. She is nothing else, nothing described, but herself. I know that person - I run into, no stumble (because it's never quite on purpose), upon her on occasion. I see moments of her and they make me so happy. When I see her, images of Matanzas Bay from my perch on the seawall come to mind. Sitting on the balcony of A1A with Shawn, Amber and Jolie, tellin' each other about each other. I feel myself, lying flat on my back on my beach chair, trying to absorb the lazy, heavy heat from the sun into my bones.

I know where she is, but I can't return to her until I learn to quiet, or at least contain the other girl. The one who personifies suppression. I don't want to be rid of her completely, she's a part of who I am, but she clamors so much more loudly than anything else that I can hear right now. She stomps around, banging pots and pans while humming into a kazoo...the problem is, if you corner her, take her pots and pans and rip the kazoo out of her mouth, she can't honestly tell you exactly what she wants. It's like being possessed by a poltergeist. They make a lot of noise but have no way of telling you what the hell they're doing there. You, the chump, gotta guess how to make that ghost follow the light to her peace.


The point is, contentment is not something I consistently am at this point in my life. But I can't claim my place as content girl until obnoxious hey look at me I've got homes and ambitions girl is pacified.

Murph. Came around the bar to hug me before I left the bar...

Do what now? I was so flustered by this sudden display from the typically crank-ass bartender that I didn't put my coat on for two blocks...it's 20 degrees outside!!

I guess it doesn't take much now, does it?

I would like to ground down my soul; powder it into a pigment, the deepest hue- to show you, the world and myself the true color that I am.

WET. SOCKS. SUCK.

Facebook updates...
Kelly...
wonders when it became standard operating procedure to go home and have a good cry.
has just learned that scotch warms from the inside out.
is also starting to realize that other people are becoming impatient with her "single choices."
thinks she knows how Tinkerbell feels.
noticed that the only time she feels “right” is when she “feels” instead of “thinks obsessively.”
is so in love with music it hurts sometimes.
wonders what belonging means.
wants to define her own success…but doesn’t.
likes the smell of her finger tips after slicing a lemon.
thinks her freckles are cool.
loves what happens to her mind when her hands aren't idle.
wonders why her lips feel bitten when they haven’t been.
is the most eternally hopeful cynic you will ever meet
would like to know how, exactly, cold manages to seep into her bones
wants to ingest everything beautiful she sees, hears and touches…she wants to make it a part of her.

knows that she might not get it now, or ever. Period. But still feels, all the way down to whatever is her center, that she is extremely blessed. Period.

Sleepy.

And disquieted. I went to visit Evan and he fussed at me for not getting my locks changed...I kinda knew I needed to do it, but now I have to. I only hope I see the person who did this...I might look purely sweet and innocent, but I got a lotta rage...especially when you f with things that are meaningful to me.

I'm just sayin' ;-)

Anchors Aweigh


Stand Navy out to sea
Fight our battle cry:
We'll never change our course
So vicious foes steer shy-y-y-y
Roll out the T. N. T.
Anchors Aweigh
Sail on to victory
And sink their bones to Davy Jones, hooray!

Yo ho there shipmate
Take the fighting to the far off seas
Yo ho there messmate
Hear the wailing of the wild banshees
All hands, fire brands
Let's Blast them as we go. So

Anchors Aweigh my boys
Anchors Aweigh
Farewell to college joys (or "Farewell to foreign shores")
We sail at break of day day day day
Through our last night ashore
Drink to the foam
Until we meet once more
Here's wishing you a happy voyage home!

Heave a ho there sailor
Everybody drink up while you may
Heave a ho there sailor
For your gonna sail at break of day
Drink away, Drink away,
For you sail at break of day, Hey!

Blue of the Mighty Deep
Gold of God’s Sun
Let these our colors be
Till all time be done
On seven seas we learn
Navy’s stern call
Faith, Courage, Service True
With Honor Over, Honor Over All.

Country music on a Friday morning was probably a bad idea...eh. F it.
It wasn't Tim McGraw though, was it?...Trisha Yearwood? Yep.

Tim McGraw
(Taylor Swift)

You said the way my blue eyes shined,
Put those Georgia stars to shame that night
I said: "That's a lie"
Just a boy in a Chevy truck,
That had a tendency of gettin' stuck,
On backroads at night
An' I was right there beside him all summer long
An' then the time we woke up to find that summer'd gone

But when you think: Tim McGraw,
I hope you think my favorite song
The one we danced to all night long:
The moon like a spotlight on the lake
When you think happiness,
I hope you think: "That little black dress"
Think of my head on your chest,
An' my old faded blue jeans
When you think Tim McGraw,
I hope you think of me

September saw a month of tears,
An' thankin' God that you weren't here,
To see me like that
But in a box beneath my bed,
Is a letter that you never read,
From three summers back
It's hard not to find it all a little bitter sweet,
An' lookin' back on all of that, it's nice to believe:

When you think: Tim McGraw,
I hope you think my favorite song
The one we danced to all night long:
The moon like a spotlight on the lake
When you think happiness,
I hope you think: "That little black dress"
Think of my head on your chest,
An' my old faded blue jeans
When you think Tim McGraw, I hope you think of me

And I'm back for the first time since then:
I'm standin' on your street,
An' there's a letter left on your doorstep,
An' the first thing that you'll read:
Is: "When you think: Tim McGraw,
"I hope you think my favorite song"
Some day you'll turn your radio on,
I hope it takes you back to that place
When you think happiness,
I hope you think: "That little black dress"
Think of my head on your chest,
An' my old faded blue jeans

When you think Tim McGraw,
I hope you think of me
Oh, think of me,
Mmmm
You said the way my blue eyes shined,
Put those Georgia stars to shame that night
I said: "That's a lie"

My whole body hurts and I want to sleep but I won't.

The television tells me that a pretty little pill will sooth the pain but I know the only thing that will work is heat...I've recently noticed that I seek it out like a fiend during winter in NYC, in any form that I can take it.

Jesus Christ, I am annoyed.

Part of this irritation stems from the chip on my shoulder, but knowing that doesn't help the irritation that I am sure is displaying itself boldly on my face.

Dammit.

George Bailey: What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary.
Mary: I'll take it. Then what?
George Bailey: Well, then you can swallow it, and it'll all dissolve, see... and the moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and your toes and the ends of your hair... am I talking too much?

's not too much to ask, is it?

Just the moon. I don't need the sun - someone else can use that as their token of affection.

My thoughts are flying randomly around the apartment like the 50 cent rubber ball I bought this weekend...God this book is long, God he's pretty, you're a hugely frustrating human being and I move between wanting to hug you and wanting to smack you all in the span of 6 minutes, I wonder if I can just will my laundry to get done...5 am is gonna come really quick tomorrow morning............

I've been thinking (again, yeah I know) of getting a street bike. Sometimes having no way out of the city beyond a bus or train is stifling. And since I am having the "I gotta go" stirrings again *checks watch: three years, well that's about right* I feel like I need to find more ways to coax my roots into growing deeper here. I don't feel like starting all over again, or going home to...I dunno what...not yet, anyway. But, regrettably, I barely have enough money for the hot shoes that I want, so getting a hot bike is probably right on the outskirts of my budget.

Shrugging my shoulders and crooking my lips to one side in "oh well" are becoming surprisingly familiar gestures to me.

Gotta post it every year...who says a brat lacks tradition?


Damn.
November again.


It’s only November
passing swiftly
as I plead for you
and fight against everything
that being on my knees will bring

It’s only November
and I wonder
fleetingly
whether or why
there is any reason to cast tears
or remain with grudges everlastingly

It’s only November
and I marvel constantly
why I give small aspects
of me
only to snatch them back
and judge them all unworthy

It is only November
and I am tired
the strain of my forged smile
wearing on the person that I could be
if only I could just let go of November

I can call you Betty,
And Betty when you call me,
You can call me Al.

I was going to start with, "it's strange" but who is callin' me strange except myself. Hadn't I better start saying "it's really cool" when I begin an observation about me?

So I got a text today. In this text, some news, happy news, was shared with me. The happy nature of this text caused me to chalk up the weakness in my knees to the 3 mile walk/run that I had just completed (I am way out of shape even though I walk up six flights of stairs everyday). I went about my business, merely putting my friends on alert should I "decide to freak out." Because, for the most part, when it comes right down to it, I really do decide whether or not I am going to flip my shit. Granted, sometimes it's better to decide in favor of flipping it, because internalizing it is clearly the wrong choice. Or so I'm told.

Most everyone knows that my ex-fiance is remarried. Nope, this isn't the maybe-I'm-gonna-shriek-and-pull-all-of-my-hair-out inducing moment. While I am appropriately happy with the fact that he is wed, what I concentrate on as being more important to my life is the fact that I am happy with myself and everything that has happened since I knew him, indicating to me that I made the right choice. Though, J.R. Moehringer makes an interesting point in his book, The Tender Bar: "...I didn't know why fate and free will needed to be mutually exclusive. Maybe, I thought, when we come to our crossroads, we choose freely, but the choice is between two fated lives."

Interesting.

Anyway, I bring it up to point out that I have loved, twice in my life. Shocker shocker, I know. The first love is wed, and the second, as I was informed tonight, is about to be. Cue the "well this is interesting and I feel as though I should react but I'm not really even sure that I care but of course I do but not for the reason that might be obvious, so...freak out or no?" conversation in my head.

The thing that I feel troubles me the most, and I've heard a couple of girls lament about something similar over cocktails and stolen glances at the cute bartender, is that essentially, I was the one before they met the one. Hmmm. One friend told me "I prepared him for her. I did all of the work, sorted through all of the baggage and put it away, made him settle down and appreciate being domestic..." Whoa. First of all, this chick is taking way too much credit upon herself for "raising" her boyfriend...isn't it just the case that guys (girls too, we should be doing this too, right?) mature and grow from their experiences and finally decide (sometimes) through a combination of "I'm done with worrying about pyscho girls and whether or not I've contracted something dirty" with "this is a girl who makes it worth it to stop worrying about these things, because after all, even though it's a bit scary, it's kind of fun" that makes them ready and willing to "pick just one girl"? And second of all, appreciate being domestic? Gross.

I struggle with this because on one hand, it doesn't really bother me. If you asked me now if I was ready, and I mean, stable enough kind of ready, to deal with either of them, I might giggle maniaclly and hiccup "ahaha uh NO." I STILL have a thing or two to learn, a demon or ten to put to rest, and an urge or 330 that I need to be out of my system before I am humming "dum dum de dum." I realize that, and on a good day, which is most of the time, I a golden.

But as I walked down 79th street tonight, typing away a congratulatory text to the ex who just got engaged, I got all choked up and weak-kneed again. As strong as I am, as much as I know that things are going the way that they should be, I can't help but think, why wasn't it me? And then I walk past a couple having a stand-off on the side walk. She had her hip cocked, her hand balled in a fist and rammed onto her hip as if she was afraid of what she might do with it if she didn't rest it there. He had his shoulders squared, jaw set, defiant. And no one was sayin' a word. They were just eye-balling each other...a similar stare that I remember holding all too well. I remember, when I did speak, I said "I can't talk to you anymore. Ever. I just can't." I remember when I did speak, all I talked about was moving. I'm leaving. I can't stay here. I gotta go. I gotta go now...

I remember making choices. Most were conscious, some I didn't realize that I had made until years later. But I chose where I am now, and there is not a bone in my body that feels that I might be happier had I not.

So, freak out, or no?