I saw him there. I didn't think I would, but there he was. I had hoped... imagined...dreamed...but never really believed. Whether I believed or not, there he was. As gorgeous as I remembered, to me, anyway. Light brown hair tousled just so, blue-grey eyes taking everything in...and then those eyes caught mine and my breath caught in my throat. I felt the world stop around me; it blurred away to nothing but me and him. Our eyes held for a moment. I moved my head slightly, subtly, toward the door, asking him silently to meet me outside. He nodded back at me just as slightly. Anyone watching us would not have noticed the entire conversation we had in those small movements. I slipped away from my husband and the rest of the crowd and pushed through the door into the cool evening air. I wrapped my arms around myself as if fending a chill but really I was just trying to still my nerves. Loud heartbeats passed the time, pounding in my ears as I waited. And just at the moment I started to question whether he was going to meet me, the doors opened, and there he was. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until he was within arms' reach and I exhaled.
"Hi." I said.
"Hey." He answered.
I took another deep breath and plunged right in: "So do you hate me now, or what?"
"Is that what you think?" He squinted at me when he said this.
"I don't want to think that, but..."
"Lola, you know I..."
"I know." I nodded and sighed a bit.
"It's just that she and I..."
"I know. I know, I do, but...I miss you."
Then it was his turn to sigh.
"I'm sorry," I said, "It's just that, well, you just let go. You just let me go and it was so easy for you...It'll never be that easy for me."
"You think this is easy for me?"
"You seem to be doing just fine." I said this with more bite than was necessary and I saw the flash of pain behind his eyes. "I mean, you're gone, and you have her, and I'm here...without you. It's not like I'm alone, either, but..."
"I know. You know how I feel about you."
"No, I don't. I don't because you never tell me. You give me nothing but I still can't let go. I don't want to. Damnit. I didn't want to say that."
"Lola, you should know. You know me well enough to know, to know what my silence means. You know why I'm not around anymore. It's all just...it's too much."
"But don't you want that? Isn't too much exactly what everyone wants?"
"Please don't...We're not getting into this again."
"I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. Well, now, that's not entirely true..." I said flirtatiously, one eyebrow cocked at him as I looked up through my eyelashes.
He smiled, in spite of himself.
I smiled back, in spite of myself.
"We should probably, you know..." He nodded toward the door.
"What? You afraid she'll come looking for you? Would there be hell to pay if she found us out here together?"
"Please don't do that."
"I'm sorry. Again."
"You are forgiven. As always."
"We'll go in, but I want one thing from you first."
"Lola, I'm not kissing you out here...not like this."
"No, darling, that's not what I want."
"Okay...?"
I looked down at the ground and gathered my strength. "Please just say it. Tell me you miss me. That you still want me. That you love me. I want to hear it from you, just once." I didn't want to beg, but all I wanted was to hear him tell me how I knew he felt about me. And if that meant I had to beg to hear it, then beg I would. "Please. Please?" I finally looked back up into his eyes.
He reached out to me and took one of my hands in one of his. My heart stuttered. I felt a bit lightheaded. God, how I wanted him...
"You know how I feel about you. You know it in your heart. But I can't give you what you want. I can't say it. If I tell you...If I admit this out loud to myself, much less to you now, then everything we've built will fall apart. I will never be able to look you in the eye again. I will never be able to look your husband in the eye again. We will be finished. I mean it. There will be nothing left of us."
In spite of myself, I felt my eyes well with tears. Knowing in my heart how he felt and hearing it pass his lips were two different things, and at that moment I felt both sentiments were absent.
"Damnit, can't you just...?"
"No."
"Just once, just give me this..."
"NO."
The finality in his voice, the firm reserve, told me I would get nowhere by arguing with him.
"Fine. But I'll never forget this. The one time I asked you for something...something you could give me so easily...You know what? Never mind. I get it--you've given me all I'm going to get from you tonight. But I'm not going to give up."
He closed his eyes and dropped his head for a moment. I watched him. I watched him struggle, just for that brief moment. And I felt myself lose that struggle as he reached out for me, hugged me, kissed the top of my head, and then let go of me as he walked away.
I shivered again and fought to keep from blinking the tears out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I took a deep breath and I walked away from the tension that was still palpable in the air around me. I smoothed my hair and my dress and I walked proudly back to my husband, my reality, my grounding. I walked away from the fantasy but I'll never forget it.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
super-secret nostalgia...
WARNING: This blog is a little...PG-13 to possibly R-Rated. If you have any trouble at all acknowledging me as a sexual being, PLEASE do not read any farther. You have been warned and I cannot be held responsible for the outcome if you continue after this warning.
____________________________________________________________________
This morning while I was getting ready for work, I was listening to the Kidd Kraddick in the Morning radio show (as I do almost every morning), and they were talking about saying hurtful things to your partner and the motivation behind it, whether you really mean it or not when you say something in the heat of the moment, that sort of thing. As it usually does during a topic of this nature, someone pulled out the "I was drunk" excuse but not to use it or defend it--to call it out as false. One show member stated that he doesn't believe this is a valid excuse--that you wouldn't do or say anything drunk that you wouldn't do or say sober. I think this is patently untrue. While I don't necessarily think that you can say whatever you want to someone and then turn around after you sober up and blame it on the booze and try to say you didn't mean it, I don't think it's always one thing or the other--some statements or actions may have a kernel of truth in them, others may really just be the inhibitions flying away and allowing something to sound like a good idea at the time.
So this morning their discussion and that phrase, "I was drunk," brought up some old shit from the past. A boy, to be specific. A boy I've never disclosed my intimate involvement with, to this day. There's really not a good reason now to maintain this secret, as I'm not really in the same circle of friends & acquaintances as I was when this happened...Except that I'm still, well, abashed by it? I don't know. I don't want to say ashamed, but I'm certainly not proud. I am quite sure he feels the same way. I wouldn't know, because not long after we happened, he left town & I haven't seen or spoken to or even heard anything about him since. I'm not going to name names, and I'm going to keep the hints at a minimum, even though I sincerely doubt that anyone who is reading this would know him.
This old shit? I don't know why, but it all stays with me. The one-night-stands, the almost-boyfriends, the stupid mistakes and the really fabulous times--they all stay with me. And I dredge it up and share it with you all. So this morning...this boy from my past...
He was brown-eyed and pretty with dark hair and long eyelashes. He had a shy, quiet way about him which I found endearing. Not like I normally do, in that I want to corrupt it, but in the way that I found it precious. We met through the theatre. He actually dated someone I knew...I guess it was a pretty serious young relationship but I wasn't involved in it in any way. We had spoken when they were together, but I don't think we spent any more time than that with each other, and we were certainly never alone.
The way it happened, the way he & I ended up sleeping together, it seemed fated just because it felt so strange at the time--I mean, I would NEVER have predicted it, almost not up until...well, we'll get there together, darlings. I had that feeling I get sometimes when I'm not really in control of my own body--I feel almost like a puppet being tugged along by the strings of the fates, powerless to stop where I'm going even if certain disaster is looming. On this particular night, I went to see a play he was performing in. Ironically enough, my most recent ex-boyfriend was also in this play, along with The Boy and several other people I knew. I had actually already seen the play once before but came back, I'm not sure why, but I was probably volunteering at the theater as an usher or something that night. Here's where it gets interesting: I swear I could feel him watching me throughout the play...the whole time he was on stage. It was sort of bizarre, but I understood it because I've done the same thing; he never dropped character, never looked distracted, never lost his place in the scene...But I could feel his gaze on me. It was a bit...unsettling because I had honestly never regarded him that way before. Not that I didn't find him attractive, but he wasn't for me. I mean, he and I...I knew that was just not going to happen in any way, shape, or form. I never got that vibe of attraction from him...until that night.
So already, my senses are sort of humming and I'm on a sort of sexy high-alert. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting anything to happen, but the flirting seemed fun and harmless enough and this would just give it an extra sort of boost. After the show was over, I had to hang around to help clean things up, which meant I would be leaving at roughly the same time as most of the cast. I walked outside and there he was. We caught each others' eye. He came over to talk to me by my truck. I could feel him looking at me, and it was intense. I remember standing there, being completely unsure of myself--I had NO IDEA how to handle this! (I know this is hard to imagine for any of you who have spent time in my presence, particularly if you are male, but I promise, it happened just this way.) We talked, about what I have no idea, but we talked and flirted and stood there in awkward silence and neither of us could tear ourselves away from the other. He invited me to the cast party. I readily accepted. So we met up at the house where the party was already in full swing. We staked out a spot in the backyard that was far enough away from everyone else that we could have some privacy to talk and flirt and be awkward some more. The sexual tension built. My ex and his new girlfriend came over to us to say hello, and the vibe between The Boy and I was so intense, the ex and his new girl couldn't even stand to be near us. (Funny side note: The ex and his new girl actually wanted to hook up with me around that same time...Yes, the three of us. I didn't find her attractive and frankly thought the whole thing would be just too weird, even for me. But we had some fun talking about it.) Then along came a steady stream of other random theatre folks, guys in the play, etc., and NONE of them stayed near us for long. They would greet us, get the feeling they'd interrupted something, give us each a side-glance and then bolt for the hills. Subtlety has never been my strong suit and even with The Boy's natural shyness, we were just thrumming with...well, I think you get it.
As I'm sure many of you will understand, in my confused and heightened state, it sounded like a great idea to have a drink to calm myself down a bit. One drink led to a couple more and before long, I was nice and warmly drunk. Not falling down sloppy or obnoxious, but that perfect happy drunken medium we all try to maintain while drinking and either fall asleep or end up vomiting in a yard somewhere. It was early summertime and the night was mild. However, it was getting late and the party was starting to wind down some. Not that it mattered--we weren't engaged with anyone but each other. I kept saying that I needed to go home, to pry myself away from The Boy. I kept saying it but I didn't really act on it. Of course, then I got drunk and there was no way I was getting behind the wheel and driving myself home all the way across town. He offered to take me back to his place so we could watch a movie and I could sober up, then he would bring me back to my truck. This somehow managed to NOT sound like a pick-up line at all coming from his sweet, innocent mouth. I knew The Boy was not a player and if one of us should be afraid of the other, well, we all know I had the advantage of age and experience in this situation. So in my inebriated state and for want of any better options, I took him up on his offer.
Upstairs in his apartment, we laughed about our nearly identical movie collections. Needless to say, we did not end up watching a movie. We sat on his couch and talked, but it wasn't comfortable. I don't want to say it was uncomfortable, it was just...tense, but in a delicious way. There was some gazing into each others' eyes and some giggling and some looking away from one another. We settled in with me leaning against him, sort of under his arm, so we wouldn't have to look at each other at all, and we talked some more. When I finally did look up at him, he kissed me. I knew, and I think he knew, too, that it was the point of no return. I told him I didn't understand why he was interested in me. He said I was crazy if I didn't know how attractive I was. I retorted that I just never got that vibe from him. I asked him if he was playing me, or if he was using me to get back at his ex. He said he wasn't using me for that, and I don't think he was lying--but I do think he was using me as sort of a reasonable facsimile for her--our personalities were somewhat similar, at least to those who didn't know us well. I've found myself in that position before and I guess it should have bothered me but I got a strange sort of power charge from it--like, ok, you think I'm like her but I'm going to prove to you that I'm better and you'll never think of her again. That sort of thing. He asked me if I thought he was some sort of player. I told him he certainly seemed to have all the right moves and the right words, which usually indicates a boy is a player. He insisted that he was not like that at all. I believed him. He offered to take me back to my truck and I turned him down. I didn't want to tear myself away from the anticipation...the tension...the awareness. I still felt powerless to resist...I felt the inevitability of he and I together, just for this one night. It sounds sexy and romantic and in some ways it was, but in others it was just stupid and reckless.
Needless to say, after another hour or so of making out on the couch, we were both just...well, we needed to get it over with. So we went into his bedroom. There were no sheets on the bed. Hell, there was no bed on the bed...Just a mattress & box springs on the floor, with an egg crate on top. He apologized but by that point, I didn't care. We just laid down on the mattress and went for it. Unfortunately, it all ended up being rather...anti-climactic, I'm sorry to say. When it was over, I was sober and feeling numb but also empty...disappointed...angry...Though there was a strange satisfaction I still can't explain...I guess just because I got what I thought I wanted. But these feelings all were sort of muted and far-away (it's hard to explain--like an out-of-body experience but not). I got dressed while he waited in the living room. We both knew it was time for me to leave, so we went downstairs and got in his SUV so he could take me back to my truck. Even more unfortunately, it got worse. I made a stupid mistake and didn't make him use anything. I've been on the pill since I was 15 but yeah, it was dumb. So as we're on the way back to my truck, he looks over at me in a truly awful attempt to be funny and says, "By the way, I have an STD." I wish he had just punched me in the gut, because that's exactly what it felt like. My skin felt numb and on fire at the same time...I completely froze...He said, "I'm kidding! I swear!" I knew he was (yes, I knew his sexual history and there was just the 1 other girl), and I got the motivation behind what he was doing--trying to release some of the tension in a different way that had built up since we...well, you know. But it still blind-sided me. I mean, it could have just as easily turned out that way. We rode in silence until we got to my truck. I don't remember if we even bothered to kiss one another good-night. I got in my truck and drove home and fell asleep. I only saw him one other time after that and he wouldn't meet my eye. Not long after that, he was gone.
I said before that I don't regret it. I don't regret any of my choices, good or bad, "right" or "wrong." I learned something from this and had a new experience and made a (however unstable and brief) connection with another human being. Yes, I was drunk, but I wanted what I wanted--my body wanted what it wanted and I could not deny it. The alcohol just left me less able to fight...though I doubt the outcome would have been different if I'd been sober.
So this morning on the radio, I heard "I was drunk." And those sweet brown eyes and dark thick lashes peered back at me from my past. In spite of it all, I couldn't help it--I smiled.
Love,
Lola
____________________________________________________________________
This morning while I was getting ready for work, I was listening to the Kidd Kraddick in the Morning radio show (as I do almost every morning), and they were talking about saying hurtful things to your partner and the motivation behind it, whether you really mean it or not when you say something in the heat of the moment, that sort of thing. As it usually does during a topic of this nature, someone pulled out the "I was drunk" excuse but not to use it or defend it--to call it out as false. One show member stated that he doesn't believe this is a valid excuse--that you wouldn't do or say anything drunk that you wouldn't do or say sober. I think this is patently untrue. While I don't necessarily think that you can say whatever you want to someone and then turn around after you sober up and blame it on the booze and try to say you didn't mean it, I don't think it's always one thing or the other--some statements or actions may have a kernel of truth in them, others may really just be the inhibitions flying away and allowing something to sound like a good idea at the time.
So this morning their discussion and that phrase, "I was drunk," brought up some old shit from the past. A boy, to be specific. A boy I've never disclosed my intimate involvement with, to this day. There's really not a good reason now to maintain this secret, as I'm not really in the same circle of friends & acquaintances as I was when this happened...Except that I'm still, well, abashed by it? I don't know. I don't want to say ashamed, but I'm certainly not proud. I am quite sure he feels the same way. I wouldn't know, because not long after we happened, he left town & I haven't seen or spoken to or even heard anything about him since. I'm not going to name names, and I'm going to keep the hints at a minimum, even though I sincerely doubt that anyone who is reading this would know him.
This old shit? I don't know why, but it all stays with me. The one-night-stands, the almost-boyfriends, the stupid mistakes and the really fabulous times--they all stay with me. And I dredge it up and share it with you all. So this morning...this boy from my past...
He was brown-eyed and pretty with dark hair and long eyelashes. He had a shy, quiet way about him which I found endearing. Not like I normally do, in that I want to corrupt it, but in the way that I found it precious. We met through the theatre. He actually dated someone I knew...I guess it was a pretty serious young relationship but I wasn't involved in it in any way. We had spoken when they were together, but I don't think we spent any more time than that with each other, and we were certainly never alone.
The way it happened, the way he & I ended up sleeping together, it seemed fated just because it felt so strange at the time--I mean, I would NEVER have predicted it, almost not up until...well, we'll get there together, darlings. I had that feeling I get sometimes when I'm not really in control of my own body--I feel almost like a puppet being tugged along by the strings of the fates, powerless to stop where I'm going even if certain disaster is looming. On this particular night, I went to see a play he was performing in. Ironically enough, my most recent ex-boyfriend was also in this play, along with The Boy and several other people I knew. I had actually already seen the play once before but came back, I'm not sure why, but I was probably volunteering at the theater as an usher or something that night. Here's where it gets interesting: I swear I could feel him watching me throughout the play...the whole time he was on stage. It was sort of bizarre, but I understood it because I've done the same thing; he never dropped character, never looked distracted, never lost his place in the scene...But I could feel his gaze on me. It was a bit...unsettling because I had honestly never regarded him that way before. Not that I didn't find him attractive, but he wasn't for me. I mean, he and I...I knew that was just not going to happen in any way, shape, or form. I never got that vibe of attraction from him...until that night.
So already, my senses are sort of humming and I'm on a sort of sexy high-alert. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting anything to happen, but the flirting seemed fun and harmless enough and this would just give it an extra sort of boost. After the show was over, I had to hang around to help clean things up, which meant I would be leaving at roughly the same time as most of the cast. I walked outside and there he was. We caught each others' eye. He came over to talk to me by my truck. I could feel him looking at me, and it was intense. I remember standing there, being completely unsure of myself--I had NO IDEA how to handle this! (I know this is hard to imagine for any of you who have spent time in my presence, particularly if you are male, but I promise, it happened just this way.) We talked, about what I have no idea, but we talked and flirted and stood there in awkward silence and neither of us could tear ourselves away from the other. He invited me to the cast party. I readily accepted. So we met up at the house where the party was already in full swing. We staked out a spot in the backyard that was far enough away from everyone else that we could have some privacy to talk and flirt and be awkward some more. The sexual tension built. My ex and his new girlfriend came over to us to say hello, and the vibe between The Boy and I was so intense, the ex and his new girl couldn't even stand to be near us. (Funny side note: The ex and his new girl actually wanted to hook up with me around that same time...Yes, the three of us. I didn't find her attractive and frankly thought the whole thing would be just too weird, even for me. But we had some fun talking about it.) Then along came a steady stream of other random theatre folks, guys in the play, etc., and NONE of them stayed near us for long. They would greet us, get the feeling they'd interrupted something, give us each a side-glance and then bolt for the hills. Subtlety has never been my strong suit and even with The Boy's natural shyness, we were just thrumming with...well, I think you get it.
As I'm sure many of you will understand, in my confused and heightened state, it sounded like a great idea to have a drink to calm myself down a bit. One drink led to a couple more and before long, I was nice and warmly drunk. Not falling down sloppy or obnoxious, but that perfect happy drunken medium we all try to maintain while drinking and either fall asleep or end up vomiting in a yard somewhere. It was early summertime and the night was mild. However, it was getting late and the party was starting to wind down some. Not that it mattered--we weren't engaged with anyone but each other. I kept saying that I needed to go home, to pry myself away from The Boy. I kept saying it but I didn't really act on it. Of course, then I got drunk and there was no way I was getting behind the wheel and driving myself home all the way across town. He offered to take me back to his place so we could watch a movie and I could sober up, then he would bring me back to my truck. This somehow managed to NOT sound like a pick-up line at all coming from his sweet, innocent mouth. I knew The Boy was not a player and if one of us should be afraid of the other, well, we all know I had the advantage of age and experience in this situation. So in my inebriated state and for want of any better options, I took him up on his offer.
Upstairs in his apartment, we laughed about our nearly identical movie collections. Needless to say, we did not end up watching a movie. We sat on his couch and talked, but it wasn't comfortable. I don't want to say it was uncomfortable, it was just...tense, but in a delicious way. There was some gazing into each others' eyes and some giggling and some looking away from one another. We settled in with me leaning against him, sort of under his arm, so we wouldn't have to look at each other at all, and we talked some more. When I finally did look up at him, he kissed me. I knew, and I think he knew, too, that it was the point of no return. I told him I didn't understand why he was interested in me. He said I was crazy if I didn't know how attractive I was. I retorted that I just never got that vibe from him. I asked him if he was playing me, or if he was using me to get back at his ex. He said he wasn't using me for that, and I don't think he was lying--but I do think he was using me as sort of a reasonable facsimile for her--our personalities were somewhat similar, at least to those who didn't know us well. I've found myself in that position before and I guess it should have bothered me but I got a strange sort of power charge from it--like, ok, you think I'm like her but I'm going to prove to you that I'm better and you'll never think of her again. That sort of thing. He asked me if I thought he was some sort of player. I told him he certainly seemed to have all the right moves and the right words, which usually indicates a boy is a player. He insisted that he was not like that at all. I believed him. He offered to take me back to my truck and I turned him down. I didn't want to tear myself away from the anticipation...the tension...the awareness. I still felt powerless to resist...I felt the inevitability of he and I together, just for this one night. It sounds sexy and romantic and in some ways it was, but in others it was just stupid and reckless.
Needless to say, after another hour or so of making out on the couch, we were both just...well, we needed to get it over with. So we went into his bedroom. There were no sheets on the bed. Hell, there was no bed on the bed...Just a mattress & box springs on the floor, with an egg crate on top. He apologized but by that point, I didn't care. We just laid down on the mattress and went for it. Unfortunately, it all ended up being rather...anti-climactic, I'm sorry to say. When it was over, I was sober and feeling numb but also empty...disappointed...angry...Though there was a strange satisfaction I still can't explain...I guess just because I got what I thought I wanted. But these feelings all were sort of muted and far-away (it's hard to explain--like an out-of-body experience but not). I got dressed while he waited in the living room. We both knew it was time for me to leave, so we went downstairs and got in his SUV so he could take me back to my truck. Even more unfortunately, it got worse. I made a stupid mistake and didn't make him use anything. I've been on the pill since I was 15 but yeah, it was dumb. So as we're on the way back to my truck, he looks over at me in a truly awful attempt to be funny and says, "By the way, I have an STD." I wish he had just punched me in the gut, because that's exactly what it felt like. My skin felt numb and on fire at the same time...I completely froze...He said, "I'm kidding! I swear!" I knew he was (yes, I knew his sexual history and there was just the 1 other girl), and I got the motivation behind what he was doing--trying to release some of the tension in a different way that had built up since we...well, you know. But it still blind-sided me. I mean, it could have just as easily turned out that way. We rode in silence until we got to my truck. I don't remember if we even bothered to kiss one another good-night. I got in my truck and drove home and fell asleep. I only saw him one other time after that and he wouldn't meet my eye. Not long after that, he was gone.
I said before that I don't regret it. I don't regret any of my choices, good or bad, "right" or "wrong." I learned something from this and had a new experience and made a (however unstable and brief) connection with another human being. Yes, I was drunk, but I wanted what I wanted--my body wanted what it wanted and I could not deny it. The alcohol just left me less able to fight...though I doubt the outcome would have been different if I'd been sober.
So this morning on the radio, I heard "I was drunk." And those sweet brown eyes and dark thick lashes peered back at me from my past. In spite of it all, I couldn't help it--I smiled.
Love,
Lola
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Sarah says it best...
"What ravages of spirit conjured this temptuous rage?
Created you a monster, broken by the rules of love
And fate has led you through it, you do what you have to do
And fate has led you through it, you do what you have to do
...And I have the sense to recognize that I dont know how to let you go
Every moment marked with apparitions of your soul
I'm ever swiftly moving, trying to escape this desire
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
But I have the sense to recognize that I dont know how to let you go
I dont know how to let you go
A glowing ember, burning hot, burning slow
Deep within I'm shaken by the violence of existing for only you
I know I cant be with you, I do what I have to do
I know I cant be with you, I do what I have to do
And I have sense to recognize that
I dont know how to let you go
I dont know how to let you go
I dont know how to let you go"
--Sarah McLachlan, "Do What You Have To Do"
I was listening to this song tonight and it managed, as music often does, to stir up some old shit as well as some current shit. I'm a Cancer, as many of you know, and that makes me nurturing, emotional, intuitive, and sensitive. I say this because we Cancerians have a tendency to hang on to old shit and dredge it back out, whether it be to ourselves (crying in the bathtub with a glass of wine listening to Sarah McLachlan) or to others ("bringing up old shit" with exes or currents or friends). We like to regurgitate emotions...we hang on to it, internalize it, marinate in it, wallow around in it, then bring it back up and chew on it some more. We are also occaisionally known to emotionally vomit these feelings onto others. This is really just me over-explaining that the song brought up some old shit.
The thing is, at varying points in my life, this has made me think of men with whom I've been involved, both past and present loves. I should explain that I do believe we can be in love with more than one person at a time, for very different reasons. I believe that we fall in and out of love with others depending on what they bring to us--our minds, our bodies, our souls, our hearts--at any given time through our lives. Even people who are in loving, committed relationships would likely admit to falling in love with someone else (yes, I'll go ahead and include harmless crushes and infatuations, but also close friendships). The lynchpin is how we do or do not act upon those feelings. I must say that as a married woman, I took a vow to remain faithful to my husband and I have upheld that. I also know that there are people who are in "open" but committed relationships and that is just fine for them. Of course, that's not really what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about finding something in someone else that connects with something inside you, in a completely different way than you're connected with anyone else in your life. This is possible without infidelity or physicality or any of that getting in the way, though I won't say I've never been physically attracted to other men. The difference for me is that the attraction remains pure fantasy. As for the rest of it, it's simply a connection, nothing more and nothing less.
That being said, these relationships that I've found myself in...Even when I'm given every sign that it is one-sided (mine) and that the other person has at least put on a good front of moving on, I don't know how to let them go. I think the thing for me is that I don't want to. I still hold out hope. These people, they have touched my life and shaped who I am today. I am friends with many of my exes, and I mean very close friends. I can't imagine my life without them even now. And the ones I'm not friends with? I still credit them with creating me--the woman I have become and the woman I am becoming.
You know what I find particularly amusing? When I've finally brought myself to the point of almost-letting-go, when I've gotten to that point in my mind and heart and sould to say "ok, enough is enough, let's move on and find something else," here they come again. It's like they know. One of my current fake boyfriends, aka Adam Levine, is particularly good at this. Just when I've gotten so angry and so tired of being ignored or disregarded or let down...I get a text. I get a message. I have a dream about him. I get some kind of re-connection and I am snapped right back to where I was before. It's heart-wrenching and exciting and glorious and awful all at once. Truth be told, my emotional instincts tell me that it's better this way--it's better to hang on, to maintain that faint thread of hope. Because I just can't let go. I don't know how to let them go...
Love, lust, friendship, soulmates...However you may define them, they are all connections that we forge throughout our lives. We all wonder "what if?" What if things had been different then, or what if things were different now, what would happen? Who would I be? I don't believe in dwelling in the past, but I certainly believe that we shouldn't forget our pasts. The past has shaped us, past, present, and future. So these connections I've forged, I'll keep. I'll hang on to them, despite the pain. Because the wonderful glory of loving and connecting makes it all worth it.
Love,
Lola
P.S. Please comment on this--I'm getting the feeling I'm not getting my point across because I'm keeping certain details from you. This is one of those posts I need to write but I'm not sure I've let it all out. Protecting myself and my loved ones is important to me, but so is expressing what I'm really feeling. I suspect that many of you will recognize that DA is certainly someone who is still on my mind even now, but I'm not sure how much of that to dredge back out here. So folks, if you're curious, if you want more details, or if you want me to just stop at this obtuse, vague rambling-type writing, then let me know. Your feedback is very important to me. ; .)
P.P.S. When I say comment, I mean comment on here or via Facebook or the email address I have on this blog (lolalouboutin@hotmail.com). I do NOT mean comment to me in person. It's hard to explain, but it's almost more difficult to be honest out here if I think you're going to bring it up face-to-face. It's also hard for me to hear from third-parties about what's on my blog. Does it make sense for me to ask that this remain somewhat separate? I mean, unless I bring it up in conversation myself...I hope this doesn't sound hateful or ungracious. I hope you can all understand. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it would help me if those of you who know me personally can separate this blog persona from the "real" me. Maybe it would help if I said that you shouldn't always believe what you read... ; .)
Created you a monster, broken by the rules of love
And fate has led you through it, you do what you have to do
And fate has led you through it, you do what you have to do
...And I have the sense to recognize that I dont know how to let you go
Every moment marked with apparitions of your soul
I'm ever swiftly moving, trying to escape this desire
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
The yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
But I have the sense to recognize that I dont know how to let you go
I dont know how to let you go
A glowing ember, burning hot, burning slow
Deep within I'm shaken by the violence of existing for only you
I know I cant be with you, I do what I have to do
I know I cant be with you, I do what I have to do
And I have sense to recognize that
I dont know how to let you go
I dont know how to let you go
I dont know how to let you go"
--Sarah McLachlan, "Do What You Have To Do"
I was listening to this song tonight and it managed, as music often does, to stir up some old shit as well as some current shit. I'm a Cancer, as many of you know, and that makes me nurturing, emotional, intuitive, and sensitive. I say this because we Cancerians have a tendency to hang on to old shit and dredge it back out, whether it be to ourselves (crying in the bathtub with a glass of wine listening to Sarah McLachlan) or to others ("bringing up old shit" with exes or currents or friends). We like to regurgitate emotions...we hang on to it, internalize it, marinate in it, wallow around in it, then bring it back up and chew on it some more. We are also occaisionally known to emotionally vomit these feelings onto others. This is really just me over-explaining that the song brought up some old shit.
The thing is, at varying points in my life, this has made me think of men with whom I've been involved, both past and present loves. I should explain that I do believe we can be in love with more than one person at a time, for very different reasons. I believe that we fall in and out of love with others depending on what they bring to us--our minds, our bodies, our souls, our hearts--at any given time through our lives. Even people who are in loving, committed relationships would likely admit to falling in love with someone else (yes, I'll go ahead and include harmless crushes and infatuations, but also close friendships). The lynchpin is how we do or do not act upon those feelings. I must say that as a married woman, I took a vow to remain faithful to my husband and I have upheld that. I also know that there are people who are in "open" but committed relationships and that is just fine for them. Of course, that's not really what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about finding something in someone else that connects with something inside you, in a completely different way than you're connected with anyone else in your life. This is possible without infidelity or physicality or any of that getting in the way, though I won't say I've never been physically attracted to other men. The difference for me is that the attraction remains pure fantasy. As for the rest of it, it's simply a connection, nothing more and nothing less.
That being said, these relationships that I've found myself in...Even when I'm given every sign that it is one-sided (mine) and that the other person has at least put on a good front of moving on, I don't know how to let them go. I think the thing for me is that I don't want to. I still hold out hope. These people, they have touched my life and shaped who I am today. I am friends with many of my exes, and I mean very close friends. I can't imagine my life without them even now. And the ones I'm not friends with? I still credit them with creating me--the woman I have become and the woman I am becoming.
You know what I find particularly amusing? When I've finally brought myself to the point of almost-letting-go, when I've gotten to that point in my mind and heart and sould to say "ok, enough is enough, let's move on and find something else," here they come again. It's like they know. One of my current fake boyfriends, aka Adam Levine, is particularly good at this. Just when I've gotten so angry and so tired of being ignored or disregarded or let down...I get a text. I get a message. I have a dream about him. I get some kind of re-connection and I am snapped right back to where I was before. It's heart-wrenching and exciting and glorious and awful all at once. Truth be told, my emotional instincts tell me that it's better this way--it's better to hang on, to maintain that faint thread of hope. Because I just can't let go. I don't know how to let them go...
Love, lust, friendship, soulmates...However you may define them, they are all connections that we forge throughout our lives. We all wonder "what if?" What if things had been different then, or what if things were different now, what would happen? Who would I be? I don't believe in dwelling in the past, but I certainly believe that we shouldn't forget our pasts. The past has shaped us, past, present, and future. So these connections I've forged, I'll keep. I'll hang on to them, despite the pain. Because the wonderful glory of loving and connecting makes it all worth it.
Love,
Lola
P.S. Please comment on this--I'm getting the feeling I'm not getting my point across because I'm keeping certain details from you. This is one of those posts I need to write but I'm not sure I've let it all out. Protecting myself and my loved ones is important to me, but so is expressing what I'm really feeling. I suspect that many of you will recognize that DA is certainly someone who is still on my mind even now, but I'm not sure how much of that to dredge back out here. So folks, if you're curious, if you want more details, or if you want me to just stop at this obtuse, vague rambling-type writing, then let me know. Your feedback is very important to me. ; .)
P.P.S. When I say comment, I mean comment on here or via Facebook or the email address I have on this blog (lolalouboutin@hotmail.com). I do NOT mean comment to me in person. It's hard to explain, but it's almost more difficult to be honest out here if I think you're going to bring it up face-to-face. It's also hard for me to hear from third-parties about what's on my blog. Does it make sense for me to ask that this remain somewhat separate? I mean, unless I bring it up in conversation myself...I hope this doesn't sound hateful or ungracious. I hope you can all understand. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it would help me if those of you who know me personally can separate this blog persona from the "real" me. Maybe it would help if I said that you shouldn't always believe what you read... ; .)
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
it's just not good...
Dearest faithful readers (and unfaithful alike),
I'm terribly sorry it's been so long since I've written. I hate when I actually have a moment to check in on some of my favorite blogs and they haven't posted in months--it's so disappointing. I was on vacation, plus work is nutty, and for a while I was just feeling overwhelmed and uninspired, so again, I say I'm sorry. I'm assuming of course, that you have 1) checked this blog for something new and 2) are actually disappointed that there wasn't much there...Alright, let's just get on with this...Apology accepted? Good. Thank you.
I am having a supremely shit-tastic day today. It really started last night and has simply spilled over into today and the hits just keep a'comin'. I couldn't spend the night at the hospital with the DH last night (for those of you who are unaware, he had a "disk-ectomy with plating over C6 & C7" surgery yesterday morning). I couldn't because I'm not the kind of woman who is physically able to sleep in an uncomfortable-ass chair that doesn't recline or anything. I also needed to get home & take care of my kittehs, who were lacking air conditioning. (Yes, that's right, 2 days before the DH has surgery, the a/c goes down. We finally got someone to come out on a Sunday and we made the decision to replace the unit. Let's just say that our comfort apparently has some very expensive taste. Lucky for us, they finance. Anyway, the company that's taking care of us lent us a portable unit, so at least it's not 90 degrees in here anymore.) I didn't feel comfie leaving the cats alone with no air for so long, and neither did the DH. So he basically kicked me out. Leaving that hospital room was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. For one thing, I hate sleeping without him and I hate being alone in the house at night. I also just felt like an epic failure for not being able to stick it out. And honestly, I just wanted to be there to take care of him and look out for him and make sure he was doing alright.
So I came home, and I opened the bedroom window & got the vent hose all situated and plugged in that portable unit. I closed all the doors so the space was smaller and prayed for some quick cooling. Then I just started crying. Ya'll should know, I'm NOT a crybaby. No one would describe me that way--I HATE to cry and will fight it as hard as I can. But once I start? Oh hell, the floodgates are open, I might as well just let it all out. I texted the DH for some reassurance and we went back & forth a few times. I got completely freaked out at the thought of the window being open (back to that utter fear of being alone in the house) and kept hearing "noises" outside. So I read for about an hour then unplugged the portable unit and closed & locked the window. It was not cool. Not in any way, shape, or form. But I figured I'd rather be hot than on high alert fearing for my life all night long, so that was on me. This morning, I lugged the fucking thing back into the living room & got it all set back up out here so that DH wouldn't be suffering in here when I brought him home. (Note: It's actually fairly comfie in here, but probably only because we have all the bedrooms closed off and it's only in the 80's outside.) I knew the a/c guys were coming today and opted to clean out the cat boxes so they wouldn't be quite so offensive. Well, it was nice and cool and breezy out this morning, so I tried to open the window in that room. 15 minutes and another sob storm later, I still couldn't get the fucking thing open. So I just sucked it up and had sweat running everywhere, including into the litter. Blech. Once I had showered and put on a cute outfit and felt somewhat human again, I had some cereal and watched TV waiting for the DH to call & let me know he was being released. I had to stay here to make sure I let the a/c guys in. When the call came, I was READY, so I launched myself out into the world again to pick him up, hoping for a Starbucks run before we got home.
I got to the room and he was dressed & waiting for me, but wasn't in a very good mood. I don't blame him, he's uncomfie and tired and in pain, and normally I'm calm & rested enough to put it in check (nicely) or keep it in perspective. Today? Not so much so. By the time I got him home, we got into it and I lost my temper. I was cranky from having no sleep and worrying about him and he was cranky from pain & discomfort, which is just not a good combo. My mood was worsened at the realization that I would have to go to the pharmacy to pick up his pain meds. The pharmacy at the military hospital. Ugh. Plus Walgreen's for vitamins and other supplements. Double Ugh. I did make a side trip to Starbucks, feeling decaffeinated and blaming that for some of my crankiness. That perked me up a bit, until I got to the gate nearest the hospital pharmacy and was treated quite harshly by the gate guard. You see, I had the new car and I haven't gotten my post permit for her yet, but I had my military ID & figured they would want to inspect the vehicle then send me on my way. Nope. He made me do a u-turn and go to a DIFFERENT gate, where he told me I had to get a temporary pass to get on post. FMyLife! I started crying again! I wanted to tell him I was just going to the pharmacy and that it was RIGHT THERE and I could see it and please, I have my ID and my husband is at home waiting for his pain meds and I don't want him to suffer anymore...But I could tell he was not receptive. I could tell because he had already walked away from the car before I could formulate the thought. So I'm crying and driving and trying to pull myself together and all I have is my Starbucks napkin to dab my eyes (thank goodness this cry was snot-free!). I get to the other gate expecting an ordeal, and instead she looks at my ID, looks at the front of my car, hands my back the ID and says, "Have a nice day."
I get to the pharmacy and wouldn't you just know, it's crazy busy and they've got (yet another) new system for checking in and such, and the take a number machine is rather complicated for my simple mind...I'm standing there trying to figure the fucking thing out and people are lining up behind me and I feel like a complete imbecile! Finally, I get my numbers and go sit down. Some ancient Asian woman starts squawking at me and I nod and mutter something then go back to ignoring her. Suddenly, we all hear a scrape and a thud, and people start getting up and moving to just inside the front door...Someone fell down. Guess that guy's having a worse day than me. I felt bad for him, because he couldn't get up and everyone is just sort of standing there gawking at him (the employees were actually helping by sending for the emergency department and a doctor to tend to him and probably aren't allowed to touch him otherwise--I get it) and he was wailing and gnashing his teeth and people are staring. I couldn't see anything but his feet and noticed he was wearing a boot-cast on one foot and had a walker. I'm not sure if he slipped on the floor or tripped or what, but he had landed flat on his back. Ancient Asian squawks at me some more and I mutter some more back and again ignore her. They call my number (the 1st one--for me to turn in my prescription...er, DH's prescription), and I go and hand the nice lady everything and she takes my number and I go sit back down. I get my DS out to play and think that since someone just fell, I should probably pick my 'Bux cup off the floor and wipe up the moisture. As I do, I manage to spill my coffee drink (iced, luckily) all over my cute outfit. Great...now my boob is stained, my skirt is stained, and I smell like espresso. I throw it away and go back to my game. Fallen guy is still being tended to until finally, the ER stretcher comes down. The kicker? They can't take him back the way they came, they have to take him OUTSIDE and around to the ER entrance. Oh, and it's RAINING. Nice. He's wailing and crying (not that I blame him) until they wheel him out the door. I finally hear them call my number (again!), get my drugs and get the hell out of there. Yup, still raining. Good. I needed to get wet on top of everything else. Did I mention that my shirt is white?
Walgreen's was actually pretty easy, though I very nearly got into an accident on the way. I get the vitamins and I grab a cute Beanie monkey for DH as an apology for yelling at him. I get home and give the DH his goodies, get him medicated, and try to get myself situated to relax. I pick up the bag DH brought home from the hospital (one of his military-issue) and reach in it to get one of his other prescriptions out...and my hand is wet. WTH? Ah, I see...He just stuck the plastic mug they gave him (still full of ice) into his bag when we left...I thought he emptied it; clearly I was wrong. So his bag is soaked, the stuff in the bag is soaked, and yup, the couch and one of my dupioni silk pillows is soaked. Lovely. Waterworks #4 begins...I just can't help it. I'm feeling so frustrated and wrung out and overwhelmed...Poor DH comes in and tries to comfort me, which sort of makes me feel sort of worse, because I'm supposed to be taking care of him, not making him anxious about me. OK, let's regroup. I'm going to sit down & relax and get some lunch in my tummy.
No sooner do I finish my entree (hot dog & sunchips, if you must know), the guys come back and inform me that our hot water heater has been leaking and the platform is completely rotted and must be replaced. Oh, and it's going to cost $50 just for them to come out & look at it. Great. No choice in the matter, so there ya go. And here we are. I'm exhausted, my eyes are sticky, my clothes still smell like coffee and have brown spots...
Just to recap: No a/c, window won't open, 4 crying jags, spilled espresso drink, pharmacy line, rain, cranky Asian, recuperating hubby, near-accident, mean gate guard, lost mileage, leaky hot water heater, and construction/repair going on at the house. I'm also running on about 4 hours of crappy sleep in 2 days, the cats are being bratty, the dishwasher needs to be unloaded, groceries need to purchased, laundry needs to be done...All of my resources are running on empty.
On the bright side, I must say that having such amazing friends (they've kept me company, brought me food and drinks, checked on DH for me--AND one of his also-hospitalized co-workers!, and sent me thoughts & prayers & warm wishes that really did get me through yesterday. I don't want anyone to think that I have hit bottom--I know things could always get worse, I'm still very lucky, and I'm very grateful for everything.
If you're still reading this, thanks for "listening."
Love,
Lola
Update/footnote/postcript/whatever:The hot water heater has to be replaced as well. Yippee. Did I mention that I'm also having a bad hair day?
I'm terribly sorry it's been so long since I've written. I hate when I actually have a moment to check in on some of my favorite blogs and they haven't posted in months--it's so disappointing. I was on vacation, plus work is nutty, and for a while I was just feeling overwhelmed and uninspired, so again, I say I'm sorry. I'm assuming of course, that you have 1) checked this blog for something new and 2) are actually disappointed that there wasn't much there...Alright, let's just get on with this...Apology accepted? Good. Thank you.
I am having a supremely shit-tastic day today. It really started last night and has simply spilled over into today and the hits just keep a'comin'. I couldn't spend the night at the hospital with the DH last night (for those of you who are unaware, he had a "disk-ectomy with plating over C6 & C7" surgery yesterday morning). I couldn't because I'm not the kind of woman who is physically able to sleep in an uncomfortable-ass chair that doesn't recline or anything. I also needed to get home & take care of my kittehs, who were lacking air conditioning. (Yes, that's right, 2 days before the DH has surgery, the a/c goes down. We finally got someone to come out on a Sunday and we made the decision to replace the unit. Let's just say that our comfort apparently has some very expensive taste. Lucky for us, they finance. Anyway, the company that's taking care of us lent us a portable unit, so at least it's not 90 degrees in here anymore.) I didn't feel comfie leaving the cats alone with no air for so long, and neither did the DH. So he basically kicked me out. Leaving that hospital room was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. For one thing, I hate sleeping without him and I hate being alone in the house at night. I also just felt like an epic failure for not being able to stick it out. And honestly, I just wanted to be there to take care of him and look out for him and make sure he was doing alright.
So I came home, and I opened the bedroom window & got the vent hose all situated and plugged in that portable unit. I closed all the doors so the space was smaller and prayed for some quick cooling. Then I just started crying. Ya'll should know, I'm NOT a crybaby. No one would describe me that way--I HATE to cry and will fight it as hard as I can. But once I start? Oh hell, the floodgates are open, I might as well just let it all out. I texted the DH for some reassurance and we went back & forth a few times. I got completely freaked out at the thought of the window being open (back to that utter fear of being alone in the house) and kept hearing "noises" outside. So I read for about an hour then unplugged the portable unit and closed & locked the window. It was not cool. Not in any way, shape, or form. But I figured I'd rather be hot than on high alert fearing for my life all night long, so that was on me. This morning, I lugged the fucking thing back into the living room & got it all set back up out here so that DH wouldn't be suffering in here when I brought him home. (Note: It's actually fairly comfie in here, but probably only because we have all the bedrooms closed off and it's only in the 80's outside.) I knew the a/c guys were coming today and opted to clean out the cat boxes so they wouldn't be quite so offensive. Well, it was nice and cool and breezy out this morning, so I tried to open the window in that room. 15 minutes and another sob storm later, I still couldn't get the fucking thing open. So I just sucked it up and had sweat running everywhere, including into the litter. Blech. Once I had showered and put on a cute outfit and felt somewhat human again, I had some cereal and watched TV waiting for the DH to call & let me know he was being released. I had to stay here to make sure I let the a/c guys in. When the call came, I was READY, so I launched myself out into the world again to pick him up, hoping for a Starbucks run before we got home.
I got to the room and he was dressed & waiting for me, but wasn't in a very good mood. I don't blame him, he's uncomfie and tired and in pain, and normally I'm calm & rested enough to put it in check (nicely) or keep it in perspective. Today? Not so much so. By the time I got him home, we got into it and I lost my temper. I was cranky from having no sleep and worrying about him and he was cranky from pain & discomfort, which is just not a good combo. My mood was worsened at the realization that I would have to go to the pharmacy to pick up his pain meds. The pharmacy at the military hospital. Ugh. Plus Walgreen's for vitamins and other supplements. Double Ugh. I did make a side trip to Starbucks, feeling decaffeinated and blaming that for some of my crankiness. That perked me up a bit, until I got to the gate nearest the hospital pharmacy and was treated quite harshly by the gate guard. You see, I had the new car and I haven't gotten my post permit for her yet, but I had my military ID & figured they would want to inspect the vehicle then send me on my way. Nope. He made me do a u-turn and go to a DIFFERENT gate, where he told me I had to get a temporary pass to get on post. FMyLife! I started crying again! I wanted to tell him I was just going to the pharmacy and that it was RIGHT THERE and I could see it and please, I have my ID and my husband is at home waiting for his pain meds and I don't want him to suffer anymore...But I could tell he was not receptive. I could tell because he had already walked away from the car before I could formulate the thought. So I'm crying and driving and trying to pull myself together and all I have is my Starbucks napkin to dab my eyes (thank goodness this cry was snot-free!). I get to the other gate expecting an ordeal, and instead she looks at my ID, looks at the front of my car, hands my back the ID and says, "Have a nice day."
I get to the pharmacy and wouldn't you just know, it's crazy busy and they've got (yet another) new system for checking in and such, and the take a number machine is rather complicated for my simple mind...I'm standing there trying to figure the fucking thing out and people are lining up behind me and I feel like a complete imbecile! Finally, I get my numbers and go sit down. Some ancient Asian woman starts squawking at me and I nod and mutter something then go back to ignoring her. Suddenly, we all hear a scrape and a thud, and people start getting up and moving to just inside the front door...Someone fell down. Guess that guy's having a worse day than me. I felt bad for him, because he couldn't get up and everyone is just sort of standing there gawking at him (the employees were actually helping by sending for the emergency department and a doctor to tend to him and probably aren't allowed to touch him otherwise--I get it) and he was wailing and gnashing his teeth and people are staring. I couldn't see anything but his feet and noticed he was wearing a boot-cast on one foot and had a walker. I'm not sure if he slipped on the floor or tripped or what, but he had landed flat on his back. Ancient Asian squawks at me some more and I mutter some more back and again ignore her. They call my number (the 1st one--for me to turn in my prescription...er, DH's prescription), and I go and hand the nice lady everything and she takes my number and I go sit back down. I get my DS out to play and think that since someone just fell, I should probably pick my 'Bux cup off the floor and wipe up the moisture. As I do, I manage to spill my coffee drink (iced, luckily) all over my cute outfit. Great...now my boob is stained, my skirt is stained, and I smell like espresso. I throw it away and go back to my game. Fallen guy is still being tended to until finally, the ER stretcher comes down. The kicker? They can't take him back the way they came, they have to take him OUTSIDE and around to the ER entrance. Oh, and it's RAINING. Nice. He's wailing and crying (not that I blame him) until they wheel him out the door. I finally hear them call my number (again!), get my drugs and get the hell out of there. Yup, still raining. Good. I needed to get wet on top of everything else. Did I mention that my shirt is white?
Walgreen's was actually pretty easy, though I very nearly got into an accident on the way. I get the vitamins and I grab a cute Beanie monkey for DH as an apology for yelling at him. I get home and give the DH his goodies, get him medicated, and try to get myself situated to relax. I pick up the bag DH brought home from the hospital (one of his military-issue) and reach in it to get one of his other prescriptions out...and my hand is wet. WTH? Ah, I see...He just stuck the plastic mug they gave him (still full of ice) into his bag when we left...I thought he emptied it; clearly I was wrong. So his bag is soaked, the stuff in the bag is soaked, and yup, the couch and one of my dupioni silk pillows is soaked. Lovely. Waterworks #4 begins...I just can't help it. I'm feeling so frustrated and wrung out and overwhelmed...Poor DH comes in and tries to comfort me, which sort of makes me feel sort of worse, because I'm supposed to be taking care of him, not making him anxious about me. OK, let's regroup. I'm going to sit down & relax and get some lunch in my tummy.
No sooner do I finish my entree (hot dog & sunchips, if you must know), the guys come back and inform me that our hot water heater has been leaking and the platform is completely rotted and must be replaced. Oh, and it's going to cost $50 just for them to come out & look at it. Great. No choice in the matter, so there ya go. And here we are. I'm exhausted, my eyes are sticky, my clothes still smell like coffee and have brown spots...
Just to recap: No a/c, window won't open, 4 crying jags, spilled espresso drink, pharmacy line, rain, cranky Asian, recuperating hubby, near-accident, mean gate guard, lost mileage, leaky hot water heater, and construction/repair going on at the house. I'm also running on about 4 hours of crappy sleep in 2 days, the cats are being bratty, the dishwasher needs to be unloaded, groceries need to purchased, laundry needs to be done...All of my resources are running on empty.
On the bright side, I must say that having such amazing friends (they've kept me company, brought me food and drinks, checked on DH for me--AND one of his also-hospitalized co-workers!, and sent me thoughts & prayers & warm wishes that really did get me through yesterday. I don't want anyone to think that I have hit bottom--I know things could always get worse, I'm still very lucky, and I'm very grateful for everything.
If you're still reading this, thanks for "listening."
Love,
Lola
Update/footnote/postcript/whatever:The hot water heater has to be replaced as well. Yippee. Did I mention that I'm also having a bad hair day?
Monday, July 20, 2009
a little bit of this and a little bit of that...
So, once again, those of you who followed me here from MySpace know that sometimes I add bits of history mixed with fiction and blurred memory. This style of writing is how I imagine my book will be, should I ever finish it to my own satisfaction. I'd like to share a short bit that came to me on Friday, and I'd like to know what you all think:
____________________________________________________________________
I walked into my boss' office to ask her a question. On her desk was a small plastic bag that said "Chik-Fil-A Seasoned Croutons." In that moment, I had a flash of memory so powerful it almost buckled my knees. Something so random, so unobtrusive...so seemingly innocuous as a bag of croutons that came with a salad from a fast-food restaurant...nearly brought me down. It was a strange flashback...happy and sad and nostalgic and bittersweet and everything a good flashback should be, I suppose. You see, I once shared a bag of croutons just exactly like that with a boy I'll call Stu. (I'll leave y'all to figure out who this is, and a big ol' batch of brownie points to the person who guesses correctly!) Stu & I had both been hired for seasonal employment by the lovely Eskimo Joe's Clothes that was coming to our mall for the Winter Holiday Season. (I'm not offended by Christmas season, but I'm trying to be inclusive here and I think that's a fairly open & respectful term. Again, this is a blog for another time.) We were there in a huge store piled high and packed full with boxes and boxes of t-shirts and sweatshirts and plastic cups and key rings and pencils and bandanas. Stu & I were in the first blush of our very long-standing and eventually very complicated flirtation. The way he smiled at me that day, when he offered me a crouton out of that baggie...I couldn't comprehend that that bright grin was meant for me. I had a boyfriend at the time, but Stu was single (I think--I wasn't very good at keeping track of his relationships because later, it mattered very little to me if he was seeing someone or not...I wanted what I wanted and I very nearly always got it).
At any rate, his smile...it did more than disarm me. It flipped my feelings for him inside-out. My intuition told me that he and I would end up tangled together emotionally and physically, but my reason wouldn't allow me to believe it. Turns out, my intuition was right, but that's a story for another day, children. On that day, that smile and those croutons were enough for me.
The day after the crouton-sharing flirtation incident, I was fired from that job because the woman who'd been hired to be the manager of that store was a complete idiot. I had 2 other jobs but had given her 3 days of the week that I could work and she couldn't figure out how to work me into the schedule. I so badly wanted to tell her that but for school and my other jobs, I could've easily been in her position, but I was too stunned to speak. I'd never been fired before (nor since) and I couldn't wrap my brain around it. I knew it wasn't for anything I'd done wrong but I cried nonetheless. Rejection stings, regardless of the source. I walked quickly past Stu on the way out and with one look, he had a pretty good idea what had happened. I knew he was sad for me but also sad that the possibility of the 2 of us would have to be postponed for another time. I called my boyfriend, who left work in the middle of the day to come home and mope with me over this stupid job at which I'd only worked for a few hours. He felt to both of us like a hero, at least for that day.
But Stu with his long-limbed fluidity and daylight-bright grin and his croutons and whip-smart jokes...He was still there with me, in my mind, my heart, my soul...I guess I should say, he is still with me. Stu is part of my history, my creation, my growth...he is hilarity and heartbreak and ice cream in bed and soaking in the hot tub and driving around aimlessly...There is so much more to this story, boys and girls, but I'm sorry to say that you'll just have to wait.
I hope you enjoyed this little snippet. Feedback, please.
All my love,
Lola
____________________________________________________________________
I walked into my boss' office to ask her a question. On her desk was a small plastic bag that said "Chik-Fil-A Seasoned Croutons." In that moment, I had a flash of memory so powerful it almost buckled my knees. Something so random, so unobtrusive...so seemingly innocuous as a bag of croutons that came with a salad from a fast-food restaurant...nearly brought me down. It was a strange flashback...happy and sad and nostalgic and bittersweet and everything a good flashback should be, I suppose. You see, I once shared a bag of croutons just exactly like that with a boy I'll call Stu. (I'll leave y'all to figure out who this is, and a big ol' batch of brownie points to the person who guesses correctly!) Stu & I had both been hired for seasonal employment by the lovely Eskimo Joe's Clothes that was coming to our mall for the Winter Holiday Season. (I'm not offended by Christmas season, but I'm trying to be inclusive here and I think that's a fairly open & respectful term. Again, this is a blog for another time.) We were there in a huge store piled high and packed full with boxes and boxes of t-shirts and sweatshirts and plastic cups and key rings and pencils and bandanas. Stu & I were in the first blush of our very long-standing and eventually very complicated flirtation. The way he smiled at me that day, when he offered me a crouton out of that baggie...I couldn't comprehend that that bright grin was meant for me. I had a boyfriend at the time, but Stu was single (I think--I wasn't very good at keeping track of his relationships because later, it mattered very little to me if he was seeing someone or not...I wanted what I wanted and I very nearly always got it).
At any rate, his smile...it did more than disarm me. It flipped my feelings for him inside-out. My intuition told me that he and I would end up tangled together emotionally and physically, but my reason wouldn't allow me to believe it. Turns out, my intuition was right, but that's a story for another day, children. On that day, that smile and those croutons were enough for me.
The day after the crouton-sharing flirtation incident, I was fired from that job because the woman who'd been hired to be the manager of that store was a complete idiot. I had 2 other jobs but had given her 3 days of the week that I could work and she couldn't figure out how to work me into the schedule. I so badly wanted to tell her that but for school and my other jobs, I could've easily been in her position, but I was too stunned to speak. I'd never been fired before (nor since) and I couldn't wrap my brain around it. I knew it wasn't for anything I'd done wrong but I cried nonetheless. Rejection stings, regardless of the source. I walked quickly past Stu on the way out and with one look, he had a pretty good idea what had happened. I knew he was sad for me but also sad that the possibility of the 2 of us would have to be postponed for another time. I called my boyfriend, who left work in the middle of the day to come home and mope with me over this stupid job at which I'd only worked for a few hours. He felt to both of us like a hero, at least for that day.
But Stu with his long-limbed fluidity and daylight-bright grin and his croutons and whip-smart jokes...He was still there with me, in my mind, my heart, my soul...I guess I should say, he is still with me. Stu is part of my history, my creation, my growth...he is hilarity and heartbreak and ice cream in bed and soaking in the hot tub and driving around aimlessly...There is so much more to this story, boys and girls, but I'm sorry to say that you'll just have to wait.
I hope you enjoyed this little snippet. Feedback, please.
All my love,
Lola
Friday, July 10, 2009
as if that wasn't enough...
So, my Dad called me this morning to let me know that his mother (my grandmother aka MiMa) passed away. She had been in hospice care at home for over 5 years, so it's not like we weren't prepared for this. It's almost more of a relief because now I know she's not so uncomfortable anymore and that she's finally found some peace and respite. She lived a good, long life, and she fought really hard to stay as long as she could, but I know she was ready for this. And to be awfully blunt about it, we weren't close. Having older parents has meant having older grandparents. My paternal grandfather died when I was 2 or 3, so I don't really remember him. My Momsie was adopted by her aunt as a child after her parents essentially abandoned her, so her Aunt (aka Nana) was essentially my maternal grandmother, and she died several years ago. Needless to say, I'm not really close to anyone in my family beyond my parents. My siblings & I (there are a LOT of us, and that's a blog for another day) have our moments, but I wouldn't say we're close. It's alright; we're just not like that...I don't know how to explain it, but it works for us. (I will say that we ALL have our groups of what DH & I call "Framily," or "friend family," which is essentially family we've chosen for ourselves. I think they're just as important as blood relatives.)
At any rate, MiMa and I have never really understood each other or even spent a great deal of time together. I've often wondered if I would feel guilty about this after she died. Well, here we are, and I have to say I really don't. The effort wasn't there on either side. She was a very sweet, darling woman, but her favorite topic was who was sick, dying, and dead (and these were NEVER people I knew in any way). The grandparents never really participated in my upbringing or ever came to grandparent's days at school or attended my theatre or musical performances, and I never really went over there to visit with them. I tried attending church with them a few times, but even then, organized religion made me nervous (and nothing against the Church of Christ, but it's REALLY not my cuppa tea.) I guess what I'm trying to say in a really long-winded way is that I'm not really sad about it. I'm more sad for my dad and for her husband, who's left behind with Alzheimer's and diabetes, and I reckon he's probably not far behind her, sadly.
I'm also just sort of thinking that the timing of all this is really sucky, but whatever. I told a friend on the phone earlier that I've reached the point where if I don't laugh, I will break down and scream and cry and throw things, which is not going to solve anything. All these things have happened and/or are happening, and there's nothing I can do to change any of it. So all I can do is just keep moving forward, focused on the future. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time.
Lola
At any rate, MiMa and I have never really understood each other or even spent a great deal of time together. I've often wondered if I would feel guilty about this after she died. Well, here we are, and I have to say I really don't. The effort wasn't there on either side. She was a very sweet, darling woman, but her favorite topic was who was sick, dying, and dead (and these were NEVER people I knew in any way). The grandparents never really participated in my upbringing or ever came to grandparent's days at school or attended my theatre or musical performances, and I never really went over there to visit with them. I tried attending church with them a few times, but even then, organized religion made me nervous (and nothing against the Church of Christ, but it's REALLY not my cuppa tea.) I guess what I'm trying to say in a really long-winded way is that I'm not really sad about it. I'm more sad for my dad and for her husband, who's left behind with Alzheimer's and diabetes, and I reckon he's probably not far behind her, sadly.
I'm also just sort of thinking that the timing of all this is really sucky, but whatever. I told a friend on the phone earlier that I've reached the point where if I don't laugh, I will break down and scream and cry and throw things, which is not going to solve anything. All these things have happened and/or are happening, and there's nothing I can do to change any of it. So all I can do is just keep moving forward, focused on the future. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time.
Lola
Thursday, July 9, 2009
the latest but for sure not the greatest...
Well, boys & girls, it's official: The DH is having spinal surgery August 17th. That's 2 days before school starts...in other words, CRUNCH TIME for me at my job. Imagine working in retail and having to tell your manager that you can't work the day after Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve...only my Black Friday and Christmas Eve are all rolled into one and repeated over & over for nearly 2 weeks. I hate doing this to my co-workers. I know they understand and are really supportive, and that if an emergency had come up, the result would be the same. But I feel that if I could do anything to prevent them from having to do my job at the worst possible time of year for them to be doing it, I would love to. Unfortunately, all I can do is pre-emptively strike everything possible, and stay on top of the current work so that I don't leave them in a deficit right out of the box.
This also means that we are cutting our precious vacation in half. I simply cannot take 2 weeks off, at the busiest time of the year, then come back for 2 weeks and then take 2 more weeks off to take care of DH. So instead of our lovely, leisurely drive down to Dallas to visit friends, then up to Washington with a week to hang out in Seattle...a new tattoo for me...the Seattle Aquarium...Pike Place Market...and great shopping, followed by a week of hanging out with his family and then his 20th high school reunion, then driving home? We get just the 2nd week, with the family and the reunion. There will be nothing leisurely about this trip. Not much in the way of relaxation or great shopping, and definitely no tattoo. No visiting Mecca for Coffee Drinkers (aka the original Starbucks!) and no going to the top of the Space Needle or spending the day at the Music Experience, if that's what we want to do. Instead, it's family and a huge group of people I don't know. Please don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge DH the family visit or the reunion. I bought a smokin' hot dress and a new Coach purse and some Louboutins so that I can strut in there and let them know that 20 years ago, I was starting 7th grade and how does that make them feel? (What can I say? It's good to be the "trophy wife.") I am sure we will both enjoy the reunion and relaxing on the farm and eating fish tacos at Cactus Ya-Ya. But none of this trip is about me. The me part has been cut right out. Yes, I know how selfish this sounds. Know what? I don't care. A vacation is all about being selfish, especially when you don't have any children to worry about. It's my bloody vacation, too, and I should be able to do something I want to do. We aren't going to Disney World or Boston as we originally wanted, and now we're not even going to the compromise part of the 3rd string vacation to Seattle! *Le Sigh* Honestly, though, it's not just the "me" part I'm going to miss, it's the "us" part. No quality time for DH & Wifey-Pooh (that's me, ya'll!) No romance, no dates, no nada. Just stress, family, rushing, and then hauling our a$$es back. I wish I could say I'm sorry if I sound like a bitter hag, but I'm not. I get that we're still lucky enough to take this time (I hope!) and at least won't miss out on his reunion. But it's not what we wanted. Not entirely, anyway.
I am lucky enough to have an amazing group of friends around me, who are all lending their love and support. Thank you all for that, and please keep it up! You shall be handsomely rewarded.
Freaked out but loved,
Lola
This also means that we are cutting our precious vacation in half. I simply cannot take 2 weeks off, at the busiest time of the year, then come back for 2 weeks and then take 2 more weeks off to take care of DH. So instead of our lovely, leisurely drive down to Dallas to visit friends, then up to Washington with a week to hang out in Seattle...a new tattoo for me...the Seattle Aquarium...Pike Place Market...and great shopping, followed by a week of hanging out with his family and then his 20th high school reunion, then driving home? We get just the 2nd week, with the family and the reunion. There will be nothing leisurely about this trip. Not much in the way of relaxation or great shopping, and definitely no tattoo. No visiting Mecca for Coffee Drinkers (aka the original Starbucks!) and no going to the top of the Space Needle or spending the day at the Music Experience, if that's what we want to do. Instead, it's family and a huge group of people I don't know. Please don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge DH the family visit or the reunion. I bought a smokin' hot dress and a new Coach purse and some Louboutins so that I can strut in there and let them know that 20 years ago, I was starting 7th grade and how does that make them feel? (What can I say? It's good to be the "trophy wife.") I am sure we will both enjoy the reunion and relaxing on the farm and eating fish tacos at Cactus Ya-Ya. But none of this trip is about me. The me part has been cut right out. Yes, I know how selfish this sounds. Know what? I don't care. A vacation is all about being selfish, especially when you don't have any children to worry about. It's my bloody vacation, too, and I should be able to do something I want to do. We aren't going to Disney World or Boston as we originally wanted, and now we're not even going to the compromise part of the 3rd string vacation to Seattle! *Le Sigh* Honestly, though, it's not just the "me" part I'm going to miss, it's the "us" part. No quality time for DH & Wifey-Pooh (that's me, ya'll!) No romance, no dates, no nada. Just stress, family, rushing, and then hauling our a$$es back. I wish I could say I'm sorry if I sound like a bitter hag, but I'm not. I get that we're still lucky enough to take this time (I hope!) and at least won't miss out on his reunion. But it's not what we wanted. Not entirely, anyway.
I am lucky enough to have an amazing group of friends around me, who are all lending their love and support. Thank you all for that, and please keep it up! You shall be handsomely rewarded.
Freaked out but loved,
Lola
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