THE MELTDOWN
Okay, so it's not quite a meltdown. I'm fully functioning and can't even cry. I've not thrown anything, cursed anyone out, or yelled. Nothing. I'm just flat out freaked out and frustrated. The weight of the frustration is mounting, and I just need a little hope right now.
On October 13th I had my year anniversary of living in North Carolina. The year seems to have flown by, yet included many lifetimes. I'm not sure how it can be one and the same, but it is. If I end up here another year, I may go insane though. This town is not for me. Though High Point may sound like a tiny, country bumpkin town from what I have written, in all actuality it isn't...at least not in appearances. It's not a city by any means, but it's not a suburb. It's this odd combination that reminds me of a blend of the town you see in the movie Hope Floats, with it's old vacant buildings that are only used twice a year for International Furniture Market, and what is known as "Auto Row" in Seattle off of Highway 99 where it's some cheap low-budget hotels, car dealerships and lots of fast food restaurants. High Point would not be as big as it is if sprawling boonies were not included as part of the town. When Eylin and her son first visited, I remember driving them down Main Street as they gazed at the scenery before them. "It's like the town that time forgot," she whispered. I think she pretty much summed it up with that.
I can't criticize some people for loving it here. There is no traffic, it's cheap, and for many who live here, the quiet lifestyle that provides bowling, a couple of bars, and Wal-Mart viewing, is enough to satisfy them. While I love the city, I also love more rural areas provided that they are near a big city that has culture and entertainment. Unfortunately this is not a place like that. Some have tried to convince me that Winston-Salem and Greensboro can provide that, but I've lived in suburbs bigger than those places. When you go out to the country here, you get stuck behind slow-moving tractors and can sometimes hear the echo of rifles hunting down Bambi in the nearby woods. When you're in the actual town it's slow-moving cars, raging semis, and sometimes ride-on lawn mowers driving to the store. Not for me.
Now, my time here hasn't been completely heinous. I've been able to reconnect with a dear friend from my first stint in Arizona many moons ago and made a couple of other really good friends, of course none live here, but are at least within 30-60 minutes away. I have enjoyed the blue skies, the cheaper cost of living, the opportunity to do extra work in a movie coming out next Spring, and most of all the opportunity to have time with my mom and sister, and to get to know my now 3-year old niece who is just the most precious person in the world to me.
Unfortunately the good things don't make up for the stuff I detest here - the lack of culture, the arts, good food, live music, things to do in general; the fact that I accepted a job before moving out here being promised a certain salary that they reneged on, so the fact that it's cheaper here doesn't matter; the humidity, which has finally gone away after five months of record-breaking Hell; and the narrow-mindedness and chauvinism. Some people this stuff wouldn't bother, but for me it does.
I've been trying to save up to move away, but the salary issue has prevented that. To combat that, I've been trying to find either a new full-time job or at least a second job for some savings money. Neither has panned out yet, but I'm still trying to remain hopeful. It's hard though. I even researched selling my eggs last week out of utter desperation. I figured that since I wasn't using my eggs, maybe someone else could. Unfortunately one of the biggest requirements I couldn't fulfill, which is probably good since having to take drugs to put you in a menopausal state does not sound fun at all! So I keep looking for a new job or a second job. Then today happened, and I feel like I've just absolutely, fucking had it.
It started at 3:30 AM. I've been sleeping with my windows open since it's cooled down at night and feels nice. I'm a fairly light sleeper, so I'm not surprised that I woke up to the echo of a rifle being fired. My eyes flew open and I sat straight up. Was that?
"Prrrreeewwwwwwwww. Prrrrreeeewwwwwwww."
Yes, it was a rifle.
"Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!"
Oh, and now we've got a handgun too!
Freaked out for a moment, then saddened that I can now identify the difference in a rifle and a handgun, I contemplated calling the police. I sat waiting for sirens; sure that this would be the next sound to ensue. It wasn't, just more gunfire. I got out of bed and headed to the phone to call the police, and then a thought popped into my mind…one that I'm ashamed of, which proves how tainted I've become.
"Fuck it. Let them kill each other and be done with it." And I drifted off to sleep.
Yes, I know. I'm not proud of this thought. I by no means advocate killing or want anyone dead. I think I've just become so angry at this place and my situation; I'm becoming cold about it. I realized that my thought was not good, and yet another sign that I'm so tainted and just need to get out of here. The guilt sat with me as I went to work this morning. I was telling myself I'm being too hard on this place, and it's just not a good match, but it's not horrible. Then I went to my Staff Meeting.
We were sitting there, five of the six of us, discussing some Developer when my boss mentioned the guy's brother owned "that titty bar." One of the guys's said the name of it, and I mentioned I drive by it each day. My boss then smiles and says, "Maybe you should work there for some extra money, Heather."
I was shocked! I'm a very open minded person, and would brush off a comment like that from one of my friends, but from my boss? In our Staff Meeting? I was really pissed knowing this was a knock at my recent attempt to find a better-paying job or a second job. I sat there, fuming. I hate my job. I hate staff meetings. I've had to sit there and listen to the man call a gay couple "fags" and now he's making sarcastic remarks suggesting I strip to make better money? Done. Done. Done.
I'm wondering how much I can get for a kidney?
On October 13th I had my year anniversary of living in North Carolina. The year seems to have flown by, yet included many lifetimes. I'm not sure how it can be one and the same, but it is. If I end up here another year, I may go insane though. This town is not for me. Though High Point may sound like a tiny, country bumpkin town from what I have written, in all actuality it isn't...at least not in appearances. It's not a city by any means, but it's not a suburb. It's this odd combination that reminds me of a blend of the town you see in the movie Hope Floats, with it's old vacant buildings that are only used twice a year for International Furniture Market, and what is known as "Auto Row" in Seattle off of Highway 99 where it's some cheap low-budget hotels, car dealerships and lots of fast food restaurants. High Point would not be as big as it is if sprawling boonies were not included as part of the town. When Eylin and her son first visited, I remember driving them down Main Street as they gazed at the scenery before them. "It's like the town that time forgot," she whispered. I think she pretty much summed it up with that.
I can't criticize some people for loving it here. There is no traffic, it's cheap, and for many who live here, the quiet lifestyle that provides bowling, a couple of bars, and Wal-Mart viewing, is enough to satisfy them. While I love the city, I also love more rural areas provided that they are near a big city that has culture and entertainment. Unfortunately this is not a place like that. Some have tried to convince me that Winston-Salem and Greensboro can provide that, but I've lived in suburbs bigger than those places. When you go out to the country here, you get stuck behind slow-moving tractors and can sometimes hear the echo of rifles hunting down Bambi in the nearby woods. When you're in the actual town it's slow-moving cars, raging semis, and sometimes ride-on lawn mowers driving to the store. Not for me.
Now, my time here hasn't been completely heinous. I've been able to reconnect with a dear friend from my first stint in Arizona many moons ago and made a couple of other really good friends, of course none live here, but are at least within 30-60 minutes away. I have enjoyed the blue skies, the cheaper cost of living, the opportunity to do extra work in a movie coming out next Spring, and most of all the opportunity to have time with my mom and sister, and to get to know my now 3-year old niece who is just the most precious person in the world to me.
Unfortunately the good things don't make up for the stuff I detest here - the lack of culture, the arts, good food, live music, things to do in general; the fact that I accepted a job before moving out here being promised a certain salary that they reneged on, so the fact that it's cheaper here doesn't matter; the humidity, which has finally gone away after five months of record-breaking Hell; and the narrow-mindedness and chauvinism. Some people this stuff wouldn't bother, but for me it does.
I've been trying to save up to move away, but the salary issue has prevented that. To combat that, I've been trying to find either a new full-time job or at least a second job for some savings money. Neither has panned out yet, but I'm still trying to remain hopeful. It's hard though. I even researched selling my eggs last week out of utter desperation. I figured that since I wasn't using my eggs, maybe someone else could. Unfortunately one of the biggest requirements I couldn't fulfill, which is probably good since having to take drugs to put you in a menopausal state does not sound fun at all! So I keep looking for a new job or a second job. Then today happened, and I feel like I've just absolutely, fucking had it.
It started at 3:30 AM. I've been sleeping with my windows open since it's cooled down at night and feels nice. I'm a fairly light sleeper, so I'm not surprised that I woke up to the echo of a rifle being fired. My eyes flew open and I sat straight up. Was that?
"Prrrreeewwwwwwwww. Prrrrreeeewwwwwwww."
Yes, it was a rifle.
"Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!"
Oh, and now we've got a handgun too!
Freaked out for a moment, then saddened that I can now identify the difference in a rifle and a handgun, I contemplated calling the police. I sat waiting for sirens; sure that this would be the next sound to ensue. It wasn't, just more gunfire. I got out of bed and headed to the phone to call the police, and then a thought popped into my mind…one that I'm ashamed of, which proves how tainted I've become.
"Fuck it. Let them kill each other and be done with it." And I drifted off to sleep.
Yes, I know. I'm not proud of this thought. I by no means advocate killing or want anyone dead. I think I've just become so angry at this place and my situation; I'm becoming cold about it. I realized that my thought was not good, and yet another sign that I'm so tainted and just need to get out of here. The guilt sat with me as I went to work this morning. I was telling myself I'm being too hard on this place, and it's just not a good match, but it's not horrible. Then I went to my Staff Meeting.
We were sitting there, five of the six of us, discussing some Developer when my boss mentioned the guy's brother owned "that titty bar." One of the guys's said the name of it, and I mentioned I drive by it each day. My boss then smiles and says, "Maybe you should work there for some extra money, Heather."
I was shocked! I'm a very open minded person, and would brush off a comment like that from one of my friends, but from my boss? In our Staff Meeting? I was really pissed knowing this was a knock at my recent attempt to find a better-paying job or a second job. I sat there, fuming. I hate my job. I hate staff meetings. I've had to sit there and listen to the man call a gay couple "fags" and now he's making sarcastic remarks suggesting I strip to make better money? Done. Done. Done.
I'm wondering how much I can get for a kidney?
GOOD MORNING, BEAUTIFUL!
So I have to share what happened at the post office this morning. I walk in and this older gentleman opens his P.O. box, hunches down to peer inside and bellows, "Well good morning, beautiful!" I stopped in my tracks to stare.
Oh my god, another crazy. This town is full of crazies! Though at least he's nice to the mailbox and doesn't beat it like the man who beats the dumpster on the other side of my ravine.
"Well hello, handsome!" replied the mailbox.
Holy shit! It answered him? A talking mailbox! I stood there gaping at the scene before me.
"Good to see you this morning," said the man.
He then reaches his hand into the mailbox and moves his arm up and down as if shaking a hand. And then I saw it, another hand in his mailbox. I leaned forward and saw he was talking to a postal worker, and burst out laughing! The man turned around to see me standing behind him laughing and gave me a funny look, as if what I was doing was strange.
And I realized it kind of was. Why did common sense elude me? Talking mailboxes? But of course I am the girl who would visit her invisible friend in their mailbox and jabber into it. I'm secretly disappointed there was a person on the other side.
Oh my god, another crazy. This town is full of crazies! Though at least he's nice to the mailbox and doesn't beat it like the man who beats the dumpster on the other side of my ravine.
"Well hello, handsome!" replied the mailbox.
Holy shit! It answered him? A talking mailbox! I stood there gaping at the scene before me.
"Good to see you this morning," said the man.
He then reaches his hand into the mailbox and moves his arm up and down as if shaking a hand. And then I saw it, another hand in his mailbox. I leaned forward and saw he was talking to a postal worker, and burst out laughing! The man turned around to see me standing behind him laughing and gave me a funny look, as if what I was doing was strange.
And I realized it kind of was. Why did common sense elude me? Talking mailboxes? But of course I am the girl who would visit her invisible friend in their mailbox and jabber into it. I'm secretly disappointed there was a person on the other side.
DAZED AND ABUSED
I hate to even say this, because at this point in life I know the reaction I get, but I have quit smoking...this time I want it to be for good. I know. I know. You are rolling your eyes, right? I don't blame you. I know I have quit many times before. Once I quit for a year and a half. Once for nine months. There were a couple of two to three month stints; a handful of one month quits; and more one to two week quits than I can count. What is the difference this time? I turned 35 and am freaking out. It is time to get my shit together before I rot inside and body parts start to fall off.
My goals with this strange thing called 35? Get fit, healthy and happy. I'm eating better, am back at the gym, have a lost a lot of weight since I moved here, have been working on readjusting my attitude and staying peaceful, and am trying to do things that make me laugh more. What's left? The smoking. Damn the smoking!!! The smoking MUST go. I am running out of time before it becomes too late. My original idea was to quit on my birthday so that I never smoked while 35. Thing is, I knew I was going out the following night and there would be smoking and drinking, so it would have to be delayed until Sunday. And Sunday it was.
Many of you have been around me when I've quit in the past. I vow to do things differently this time. No angry outbursts. No crying over stupid things like the store being out of a particular pop. No hermiting to avoid social situations. And I'm going to attempt to stay focused and alert. No living in a daze and forgetting how to spell my name again. The game plan? I'm not sure, but I'm trying to figure it out along the way. And while I can't control my thoughts and emotions through this challenge, I can control what I let out. This time I vow to stay optimistic, not yell at people, and cry as little as possible...at least in front of people. Am I making it so far? Read on to find out!
NICOTINE DIARY
DAY 1 - Sunday
Wake up. I miss cigarettes. I smell last night's cigarettes on me and decide maybe I don't. I realize as a new nonsmoker, I will no longer stink. Yay! Have coffee and nicotine lozenge. Spend day cleaning like crazy to keep hands busy. I realize it's not so bad. I've done SO many one-dayers. I can handle this. It's now the afternoon and I go to the gym and do elliptical. Come home and work out abs and arms for another hour. Take lozenge. Take a shower and wash last night's smoke and today's sweat off of me. Go to dinner at mom's. I stick with small portions for fear I will gain weight from not smoking. It's way too easy to turn to food instead of smokes. I stay pretty quiet and let the family do most of the talking. I am really tired and just want to go to bed. Go home and sleep for nine hours.
DAY 2 - Monday
Woo-hoo! I made it through my first day. Work will be fine. I often go through my entire workday without smoking. It's after 5 that I have to worry about. Get to work and have coffee and lozenge. Go to the gym at lunch. I can already tell a difference in my workout. I'm not coughing while I do my cardio. This is great! Go back to work and get lots done. Work is over and I'm scared to leave and I want pizza. I fight with myself in my head and compromise on a Lean Cuisine pizza. I stop at the new Wal-Mart by my house. I am SO anti-Wal-Mart, but hear the food is super cheap. I go in and buy carrots, apples, two cans of soup, two Lean Cuisine pizza and a single serving pack of Weight Watcher's ice cream. Stand in line forever because of morons. I feel my blood boil. I hate Wal-Mart. Hate Wal-Mart!!! I start to take deep breaths to calm down. The young boy behind me takes a few steps back. I think I may be taking very LOUD, deep breaths. A half-hour later I make it to the register and pay for my food. Oh my god, it IS cheap! I am scared that I am impressed by the Wal-Mart cost of food.
I come home and make one of the mini pizzas and have a beer. The night goes on and I email a bit and watch TV. The shows I wanted to watch aren't on and I'm annoyed. I space out. Who knows how long later, I realize I am gnawing on a card I started to write a thank you note on. The corner is slightly devoured and quite soggy. Instead, I chew on the remote for a while. ACK! I have Pica! Do not eat the wall Heather! No walls or cat litter, okay? I freeze and lay very still on my bed fearing that I might eat another inedible piece of anything. I can't take it anymore and eat the other Lean Cuisine pizza and start to tear up that I am binging on Lean Cuisine. After I finish it I realize I'm not so much hungry, as I am restless. What can I do? I need something to do. I decide to masturbate. I think I've found something to do with my hands! I finish and am relaxed and go to sleep.
DAY 3 - Tuesday
Wake up. Yay Day 3!!! I shower, but don't feel like washing my hair. I haven't washed it since Sunday, I realize. Huh. How did that happen? I will wash it tomorrow. Get to work a few minutes late and am agitated, but try not to let it show. You are peaceful. Have lozenge and coffee. Try to work. Today my mind is flitting about pretty bad and I can't concentrate, but I am trying to be sweet and not act grumpy. I space out most of the morning. A new turkey jumps my mom's window and I have my picture taken with it. Secretly I curse High Point for farm animals at the office. At lunch I go to the gym again and feel better. Take another lozenge. Get back to work and space out most of the afternoon thinking about my hunt for a new job and the slim pickings I'm encountering. Leave at 5. The person in front of me is SO slow. After ten minutes, there is a break and I pass them biting my lip. I want to yell, but I don't. I want to flip them off, but I don't. I hold the middle finger of my left hand down against steering wheel with my right hand so as not to flip off the slow motorist.
I get home and see a notice on my door. They were in my apartment changing the air filters on the vents. I walk in and see something horrible. Oh my god! I left my vibrator sitting on my night table in plain view of where the guy had to stand to change the filter. I want to die!!! I vow to never go to the office again, and never ask for a repair. If something falls apart I'm living with it. I take my shame, open the fridge for 15 minutes and stare. I'm hungry, but perplexed. I need to eat so I don't eat paper again. I finally close the fridge and decide upon soup. Eat dinner and have another lozenge. Start to write this. Have to poop. When did I last poop? Ciggies help poop and I always get constipated when I quit. I go into the bathroom and sit. No poop, but I can tell it wants out! I keep trying to go, but nothing is happening. I realize I am rubbing both my knees counter-clockwise. Stop! You have to push. Nothing happens. I rub my calves as I lean forward. I can tell the daily lotion use is paying off. My skin is soft. Focus! Poop! I give myself a "Come on ice cream" belly massage that my massage therapist ex-boyfriend once taught me to help you poop. Push. It finally starts to happen, but stops. Doesn't drop, doesn't retract. Just stays. Damn it! Push more. 15 minutes later I am done. I don't feel done, but I'm not spending the night here. I wipe and go to flush and see I have shat a crayon. Did I eat that in my Pica state last night? Wash hands and leave bathroom.
I need something to do with my hands!!! Stare at vibrator, but curse it for showing itself to the maintenance man. I put it back in its hiding spot. What can I do??? Sudoku! I will do Sudoku. I Sudoku away for a while and need a change of pace. I stop and stare towards my closet. Hmmmm. I DO need to chill out... Instead I write in my diary and pray for the day to end. I need things to get easier. I just need to get through these first two weeks. How will I ever do this?
Honestly? It’s nothing that a meal of paper, some lozenges, Sudoku and some self-abuse can't cure.
My goals with this strange thing called 35? Get fit, healthy and happy. I'm eating better, am back at the gym, have a lost a lot of weight since I moved here, have been working on readjusting my attitude and staying peaceful, and am trying to do things that make me laugh more. What's left? The smoking. Damn the smoking!!! The smoking MUST go. I am running out of time before it becomes too late. My original idea was to quit on my birthday so that I never smoked while 35. Thing is, I knew I was going out the following night and there would be smoking and drinking, so it would have to be delayed until Sunday. And Sunday it was.
Many of you have been around me when I've quit in the past. I vow to do things differently this time. No angry outbursts. No crying over stupid things like the store being out of a particular pop. No hermiting to avoid social situations. And I'm going to attempt to stay focused and alert. No living in a daze and forgetting how to spell my name again. The game plan? I'm not sure, but I'm trying to figure it out along the way. And while I can't control my thoughts and emotions through this challenge, I can control what I let out. This time I vow to stay optimistic, not yell at people, and cry as little as possible...at least in front of people. Am I making it so far? Read on to find out!
NICOTINE DIARY
DAY 1 - Sunday
Wake up. I miss cigarettes. I smell last night's cigarettes on me and decide maybe I don't. I realize as a new nonsmoker, I will no longer stink. Yay! Have coffee and nicotine lozenge. Spend day cleaning like crazy to keep hands busy. I realize it's not so bad. I've done SO many one-dayers. I can handle this. It's now the afternoon and I go to the gym and do elliptical. Come home and work out abs and arms for another hour. Take lozenge. Take a shower and wash last night's smoke and today's sweat off of me. Go to dinner at mom's. I stick with small portions for fear I will gain weight from not smoking. It's way too easy to turn to food instead of smokes. I stay pretty quiet and let the family do most of the talking. I am really tired and just want to go to bed. Go home and sleep for nine hours.
DAY 2 - Monday
Woo-hoo! I made it through my first day. Work will be fine. I often go through my entire workday without smoking. It's after 5 that I have to worry about. Get to work and have coffee and lozenge. Go to the gym at lunch. I can already tell a difference in my workout. I'm not coughing while I do my cardio. This is great! Go back to work and get lots done. Work is over and I'm scared to leave and I want pizza. I fight with myself in my head and compromise on a Lean Cuisine pizza. I stop at the new Wal-Mart by my house. I am SO anti-Wal-Mart, but hear the food is super cheap. I go in and buy carrots, apples, two cans of soup, two Lean Cuisine pizza and a single serving pack of Weight Watcher's ice cream. Stand in line forever because of morons. I feel my blood boil. I hate Wal-Mart. Hate Wal-Mart!!! I start to take deep breaths to calm down. The young boy behind me takes a few steps back. I think I may be taking very LOUD, deep breaths. A half-hour later I make it to the register and pay for my food. Oh my god, it IS cheap! I am scared that I am impressed by the Wal-Mart cost of food.
I come home and make one of the mini pizzas and have a beer. The night goes on and I email a bit and watch TV. The shows I wanted to watch aren't on and I'm annoyed. I space out. Who knows how long later, I realize I am gnawing on a card I started to write a thank you note on. The corner is slightly devoured and quite soggy. Instead, I chew on the remote for a while. ACK! I have Pica! Do not eat the wall Heather! No walls or cat litter, okay? I freeze and lay very still on my bed fearing that I might eat another inedible piece of anything. I can't take it anymore and eat the other Lean Cuisine pizza and start to tear up that I am binging on Lean Cuisine. After I finish it I realize I'm not so much hungry, as I am restless. What can I do? I need something to do. I decide to masturbate. I think I've found something to do with my hands! I finish and am relaxed and go to sleep.
DAY 3 - Tuesday
Wake up. Yay Day 3!!! I shower, but don't feel like washing my hair. I haven't washed it since Sunday, I realize. Huh. How did that happen? I will wash it tomorrow. Get to work a few minutes late and am agitated, but try not to let it show. You are peaceful. Have lozenge and coffee. Try to work. Today my mind is flitting about pretty bad and I can't concentrate, but I am trying to be sweet and not act grumpy. I space out most of the morning. A new turkey jumps my mom's window and I have my picture taken with it. Secretly I curse High Point for farm animals at the office. At lunch I go to the gym again and feel better. Take another lozenge. Get back to work and space out most of the afternoon thinking about my hunt for a new job and the slim pickings I'm encountering. Leave at 5. The person in front of me is SO slow. After ten minutes, there is a break and I pass them biting my lip. I want to yell, but I don't. I want to flip them off, but I don't. I hold the middle finger of my left hand down against steering wheel with my right hand so as not to flip off the slow motorist.
I get home and see a notice on my door. They were in my apartment changing the air filters on the vents. I walk in and see something horrible. Oh my god! I left my vibrator sitting on my night table in plain view of where the guy had to stand to change the filter. I want to die!!! I vow to never go to the office again, and never ask for a repair. If something falls apart I'm living with it. I take my shame, open the fridge for 15 minutes and stare. I'm hungry, but perplexed. I need to eat so I don't eat paper again. I finally close the fridge and decide upon soup. Eat dinner and have another lozenge. Start to write this. Have to poop. When did I last poop? Ciggies help poop and I always get constipated when I quit. I go into the bathroom and sit. No poop, but I can tell it wants out! I keep trying to go, but nothing is happening. I realize I am rubbing both my knees counter-clockwise. Stop! You have to push. Nothing happens. I rub my calves as I lean forward. I can tell the daily lotion use is paying off. My skin is soft. Focus! Poop! I give myself a "Come on ice cream" belly massage that my massage therapist ex-boyfriend once taught me to help you poop. Push. It finally starts to happen, but stops. Doesn't drop, doesn't retract. Just stays. Damn it! Push more. 15 minutes later I am done. I don't feel done, but I'm not spending the night here. I wipe and go to flush and see I have shat a crayon. Did I eat that in my Pica state last night? Wash hands and leave bathroom.
I need something to do with my hands!!! Stare at vibrator, but curse it for showing itself to the maintenance man. I put it back in its hiding spot. What can I do??? Sudoku! I will do Sudoku. I Sudoku away for a while and need a change of pace. I stop and stare towards my closet. Hmmmm. I DO need to chill out... Instead I write in my diary and pray for the day to end. I need things to get easier. I just need to get through these first two weeks. How will I ever do this?
Honestly? It’s nothing that a meal of paper, some lozenges, Sudoku and some self-abuse can't cure.
GOOD JUJU TO YOU-YOU
I was discussing a certain situation with a good friend of mine tonight. It can't be discussed in detail out of respect to that person. However, I can say this. Sometimes magic is ignited whether tangible or in hope. It got me thinking, which got me typing. The thinking and typing are almost like a fumbling parent's explanation of where babies come from to their small child.
"When a man and woman are in love, sometimes their love is so great that it meshes together and makes a baby."
The woman is my thoughts and the typing be the man. What comes out? A baby, a new story. Aren't they one and the same?
This is for you my friend. I'm sending that likey-likey juju your way for that new intrigue you've stumbled upon. I wish you the greatest of luck, even if it's just a fresh batch of hope.
*******************************
Michael was a teddy bear with a tough exterior. He liked to keep the teddy bear part a secret from all, but his friends. The rest of the world looked at him and only saw the tough. The ink he wore told stories that he liked to exaggerate to the women he'd meet at the bars. Now, Michael not only wore the tough, but he spoke it too. No one would could drop your jaw or make you cry out in protest at the words that came out of his mouth, the way he could. While offensive to those who didn't know him, all you had to do was truly listen to see that though he was honest, there was much more to him.
Life was good and life was crazy. He took the good and shook off the bad with a laugh. If life were a comic book you weren't quite sure if he would be the evil nemesis or the super hero himself? But the confusion and the puzzle is what made those whom he let in his life, realize just how truly awesome he was.
Michael had stories that could blow you away; more out of mere shock that the people he spoke of really did exist. One would like to think that people are innately good in general, yet after one of Michael's stories you found yourself wondering if we were basically living in one large loony bin? Either way it was entertaining. And while the stories he lived might taint most people, he would just laugh and move along. Or so it seemed. Secretly he contemplated the things he encountered and just accepted that this is how it was always going to be. Sometimes his heart was heavy with emotion, but he didn't let it show. The boy had quite the list of insane women he'd encountered who didn't deserve him, but he never let that drag him down.
Years passed through Michael's life and the stories piled up like magazines in a perpetual pooper's bathroom. Whether or not Michael knew this is unknown, but his friends were rooting for him. They wanted Michael to find the true happiness he would secretly divulge over Guinness or coffee. Little did Michael know that things were about to change.
One day his past met him for a drink. The past's name was Theresa. Theresa and Michael hadn't seen each other in years, but they ran into each other at the grocery store one day. Michael was spending entirely too much time deciding upon which flavor of Jell-O he would truly prefer, when he was hit by a grocery cart. The cart that hit Michael was being commandeered by Theresa. When Theresa had grabbed the cart with the bad wheel that drifted off to the left, she had no idea it would bring more than annoyance. Now it brought her to her past.
The two laughed and hugged and decided to meet up the following night. As Michael left his house to meet Theresa, he was simply happy to catch up with an old friend. He never fathomed that it would have the impact that it would
Michael and Theresa met for drinks and talked and laughed. The night went on and the two changed the locale, but the conversation and laughter stayed the same. Michael learned that Theresa was moving in two days and this would likely be the last time he could see her in a long time. As he looked at her he realized just how pretty she was, and wondered how he could let such a cool chick leave without making moves on her and trying to get the whole deal before she left? But as quickly as this thought entered his head, a new one entered. She is too cool for that, and in flooded a youthful innocence he hadn't experienced as far back as he could vividly remember. He didn't want to sleep with her, he just wanted to be with her and continue the night as it had gone. And so it did.
The night did end with some kissing, but it was a different type of kissing. It was sweet and exciting without the hope for more. He felt as if he'd just found a secret comic book that no one knew about, and all he wanted to do was just be happy that he'd found it and read it rather than try to sell it and have it leave his hands, he wanted to bask in this simple happiness.
Theresa left after the kissing ended, and as Michael closed the door. He closed the door to more than her. He closed the door to the secret taintedness he had indeed been carrying. He closed the door to frustrations, his past, and ever settling for more than those things in life that makes your heart skip a beat.
As Michael finally his closed his eyes as the sun rose, he smiled because with the new day came an old magic that he'd heard of but thought an urban legend. Yet here Michael lay alone in his bed, never having felt so full.
"When a man and woman are in love, sometimes their love is so great that it meshes together and makes a baby."
The woman is my thoughts and the typing be the man. What comes out? A baby, a new story. Aren't they one and the same?
This is for you my friend. I'm sending that likey-likey juju your way for that new intrigue you've stumbled upon. I wish you the greatest of luck, even if it's just a fresh batch of hope.
*******************************
Michael was a teddy bear with a tough exterior. He liked to keep the teddy bear part a secret from all, but his friends. The rest of the world looked at him and only saw the tough. The ink he wore told stories that he liked to exaggerate to the women he'd meet at the bars. Now, Michael not only wore the tough, but he spoke it too. No one would could drop your jaw or make you cry out in protest at the words that came out of his mouth, the way he could. While offensive to those who didn't know him, all you had to do was truly listen to see that though he was honest, there was much more to him.
Life was good and life was crazy. He took the good and shook off the bad with a laugh. If life were a comic book you weren't quite sure if he would be the evil nemesis or the super hero himself? But the confusion and the puzzle is what made those whom he let in his life, realize just how truly awesome he was.
Michael had stories that could blow you away; more out of mere shock that the people he spoke of really did exist. One would like to think that people are innately good in general, yet after one of Michael's stories you found yourself wondering if we were basically living in one large loony bin? Either way it was entertaining. And while the stories he lived might taint most people, he would just laugh and move along. Or so it seemed. Secretly he contemplated the things he encountered and just accepted that this is how it was always going to be. Sometimes his heart was heavy with emotion, but he didn't let it show. The boy had quite the list of insane women he'd encountered who didn't deserve him, but he never let that drag him down.
Years passed through Michael's life and the stories piled up like magazines in a perpetual pooper's bathroom. Whether or not Michael knew this is unknown, but his friends were rooting for him. They wanted Michael to find the true happiness he would secretly divulge over Guinness or coffee. Little did Michael know that things were about to change.
One day his past met him for a drink. The past's name was Theresa. Theresa and Michael hadn't seen each other in years, but they ran into each other at the grocery store one day. Michael was spending entirely too much time deciding upon which flavor of Jell-O he would truly prefer, when he was hit by a grocery cart. The cart that hit Michael was being commandeered by Theresa. When Theresa had grabbed the cart with the bad wheel that drifted off to the left, she had no idea it would bring more than annoyance. Now it brought her to her past.
The two laughed and hugged and decided to meet up the following night. As Michael left his house to meet Theresa, he was simply happy to catch up with an old friend. He never fathomed that it would have the impact that it would
Michael and Theresa met for drinks and talked and laughed. The night went on and the two changed the locale, but the conversation and laughter stayed the same. Michael learned that Theresa was moving in two days and this would likely be the last time he could see her in a long time. As he looked at her he realized just how pretty she was, and wondered how he could let such a cool chick leave without making moves on her and trying to get the whole deal before she left? But as quickly as this thought entered his head, a new one entered. She is too cool for that, and in flooded a youthful innocence he hadn't experienced as far back as he could vividly remember. He didn't want to sleep with her, he just wanted to be with her and continue the night as it had gone. And so it did.
The night did end with some kissing, but it was a different type of kissing. It was sweet and exciting without the hope for more. He felt as if he'd just found a secret comic book that no one knew about, and all he wanted to do was just be happy that he'd found it and read it rather than try to sell it and have it leave his hands, he wanted to bask in this simple happiness.
Theresa left after the kissing ended, and as Michael closed the door. He closed the door to more than her. He closed the door to the secret taintedness he had indeed been carrying. He closed the door to frustrations, his past, and ever settling for more than those things in life that makes your heart skip a beat.
As Michael finally his closed his eyes as the sun rose, he smiled because with the new day came an old magic that he'd heard of but thought an urban legend. Yet here Michael lay alone in his bed, never having felt so full.
ONLY HALFWAY THROUGH THE BOOK
I'm taking a break from Gilligan and the gang tonight because I've been OUT! Twice in a week? I know! It's like a slow week back in Seattle and it's quite refreshing. Anyways, I went out to dinner with my friend Tanya tonight and got back later so the reality show is on hiatus until tomorrow night. However, my mind is racing on the scenic pleasant route and I have to get it out before I lay my head on my pillow.
When I was a little girl I wanted to be a mermaid when I grew up. I remember watching Patrick Duffy in The Man from Atlantis, and while not a mermaid he had the mermaid swim down. I would study him, then go to the public pool and practice swimming like a mermaid or survivor from the sunken city. Should the universe ever go crazy and let me be a mermaid, I had the swim down.
At home my sister and I would play "jungle" on the landscaped island at the end of the cul-de-sac we lived on, or drive-thru with the transformer boxes that sat next to the street light. Sometimes when I wanted to be alone I would ride my hot pink, banana-seated bicycle to the mailbox, open it, and talk to my invisible friend Rachel. Neighbors would drive by and shake their head.
At night I would write in my diary or write short stories on notebook paper. Some were fantasies of a different world, a different life...my mermaid life. Others were daydreams of future loves, which I totally blame on my obsession with the movie Summer Magic. Then there were the dark stories. Some were of the hate I had for myself at that time, while others were tales of the scary things I'd sworn I'd seen as a kid...the witch woman in the window, or the scuba diver with the knife who gave me the fear that lasted for 20 years of sleeping with the bedroom door open.
Basically I was an imaginative kid who was always daydreaming of greater possibilities, different existences, or sometimes just some flat out warped shit. I loved fairy tales as much as I loved The Twilight Zone. Throughout my day random things would set off the stories in my mind, and it gave me ease through life. I was convinced that there was going to be something that someday made me say, "Okay, yes. This is it. I'm living in my story...one of the good ones." Now here I am a couple of days from 35 and I'm still that kid.
Why do I bring all this up? Tonight after dinner, Tanya and I walked around for a bit and then sat on a bench, continuing our conversation. We discussed my present discontent with living in High Point, and the recent speedbump I've hit. I spoke about wanting to move again and my plan to go back to Seattle. Something you need to know about my friend Tanya and my friend Eylin, whom I met her through, are that they are PhD students in Psychology. They never treat me like a patient, but let me tell you, it's nice to get some advice from someone specializing in that subject. I often leave from my time with them feeling like I got free therapy in a good way.
Back to the point. Tanya brought up something we'd discussed before, how I keep leaving Seattle and then always go back. Is this me just going back to my comfort? If so, why do I keep leaving Seattle in the first place? She has a very valid point. I was telling her how I've often planned to move back and then something else comes up and I go there instead. And the thing is...Seattle friends, do not shoot me for saying this...I feel this unsettling, yet slightly pleasant feeling that I'm not coming back....at least not yet. Stay here? Uh no. But I feel like I'm supposed to sit still for a bit because the answer will present itself loud and clear. This has happened before, and each time it happens it's like an internal Magic 8 Ball. Jump up and down, shake my ass, ask the question and then read what the floating triangle in my head says. Right now, there's no yes or no. It's "Reply Hazy. Ask again later."
I got home from dinner and my mind was racing. I went outside and sat on my balcony, closed my eyes and listened to the crickets. That's when it clicked. Holy shit! This picture of the perfect place to live isn't about the place. It's that little girl wanting a new story, a new adventure. I'm not trying to find a happy ending, I'm just trying to get to a new chapter! I can't believe that this story's locale remains constant, at least not now. My story travels through new places, new people, new adventures, and all the while not forgetting about how the story started and how it got there. No wonder I feel inclined to go back home sometimes. I had some good chapters there, but I had some really good ones in other places too. It's not the greatest one here, but it's had its moments.
I realize I may never have that HUGE moment of "Ta-dahhhh!" like many of my daydreams have, but maybe I will? Until then I will continue to have quieter "Ta-dahhhh's" and the adventures are in every day events and the seemingly simple things that take us to a different road. A "quick" stop at a random bar; a conversation with a stranger at a stop light; the wrong turn that leads you on a dirt road blocked by a cow; or the strange man on the corner with the homemade puppet son. It's the bizarre encounters with people, the touching friendships, and the stories they all share with you and bring you into, that make the story. And in realizing this, all of a sudden I feel really happy. The locale will change whether it's somewhere new or the old familiar, and the adventures will continue in big and small ways. Life all of a sudden seems a bit more rich to me, and a lot clearer. The daydreams will continue, but it's not so bad right now. I'm just on a slow chapter.
And hey, I'm only halfway through the book.
When I was a little girl I wanted to be a mermaid when I grew up. I remember watching Patrick Duffy in The Man from Atlantis, and while not a mermaid he had the mermaid swim down. I would study him, then go to the public pool and practice swimming like a mermaid or survivor from the sunken city. Should the universe ever go crazy and let me be a mermaid, I had the swim down.
At home my sister and I would play "jungle" on the landscaped island at the end of the cul-de-sac we lived on, or drive-thru with the transformer boxes that sat next to the street light. Sometimes when I wanted to be alone I would ride my hot pink, banana-seated bicycle to the mailbox, open it, and talk to my invisible friend Rachel. Neighbors would drive by and shake their head.
At night I would write in my diary or write short stories on notebook paper. Some were fantasies of a different world, a different life...my mermaid life. Others were daydreams of future loves, which I totally blame on my obsession with the movie Summer Magic. Then there were the dark stories. Some were of the hate I had for myself at that time, while others were tales of the scary things I'd sworn I'd seen as a kid...the witch woman in the window, or the scuba diver with the knife who gave me the fear that lasted for 20 years of sleeping with the bedroom door open.
Basically I was an imaginative kid who was always daydreaming of greater possibilities, different existences, or sometimes just some flat out warped shit. I loved fairy tales as much as I loved The Twilight Zone. Throughout my day random things would set off the stories in my mind, and it gave me ease through life. I was convinced that there was going to be something that someday made me say, "Okay, yes. This is it. I'm living in my story...one of the good ones." Now here I am a couple of days from 35 and I'm still that kid.
Why do I bring all this up? Tonight after dinner, Tanya and I walked around for a bit and then sat on a bench, continuing our conversation. We discussed my present discontent with living in High Point, and the recent speedbump I've hit. I spoke about wanting to move again and my plan to go back to Seattle. Something you need to know about my friend Tanya and my friend Eylin, whom I met her through, are that they are PhD students in Psychology. They never treat me like a patient, but let me tell you, it's nice to get some advice from someone specializing in that subject. I often leave from my time with them feeling like I got free therapy in a good way.
Back to the point. Tanya brought up something we'd discussed before, how I keep leaving Seattle and then always go back. Is this me just going back to my comfort? If so, why do I keep leaving Seattle in the first place? She has a very valid point. I was telling her how I've often planned to move back and then something else comes up and I go there instead. And the thing is...Seattle friends, do not shoot me for saying this...I feel this unsettling, yet slightly pleasant feeling that I'm not coming back....at least not yet. Stay here? Uh no. But I feel like I'm supposed to sit still for a bit because the answer will present itself loud and clear. This has happened before, and each time it happens it's like an internal Magic 8 Ball. Jump up and down, shake my ass, ask the question and then read what the floating triangle in my head says. Right now, there's no yes or no. It's "Reply Hazy. Ask again later."
I got home from dinner and my mind was racing. I went outside and sat on my balcony, closed my eyes and listened to the crickets. That's when it clicked. Holy shit! This picture of the perfect place to live isn't about the place. It's that little girl wanting a new story, a new adventure. I'm not trying to find a happy ending, I'm just trying to get to a new chapter! I can't believe that this story's locale remains constant, at least not now. My story travels through new places, new people, new adventures, and all the while not forgetting about how the story started and how it got there. No wonder I feel inclined to go back home sometimes. I had some good chapters there, but I had some really good ones in other places too. It's not the greatest one here, but it's had its moments.
I realize I may never have that HUGE moment of "Ta-dahhhh!" like many of my daydreams have, but maybe I will? Until then I will continue to have quieter "Ta-dahhhh's" and the adventures are in every day events and the seemingly simple things that take us to a different road. A "quick" stop at a random bar; a conversation with a stranger at a stop light; the wrong turn that leads you on a dirt road blocked by a cow; or the strange man on the corner with the homemade puppet son. It's the bizarre encounters with people, the touching friendships, and the stories they all share with you and bring you into, that make the story. And in realizing this, all of a sudden I feel really happy. The locale will change whether it's somewhere new or the old familiar, and the adventures will continue in big and small ways. Life all of a sudden seems a bit more rich to me, and a lot clearer. The daydreams will continue, but it's not so bad right now. I'm just on a slow chapter.
And hey, I'm only halfway through the book.
