I found that once I accepted I could no longer trust the people I once trusted implicitly I was left with an eerie calm.
I think when you try and fight something, when you want to change someone or something, it's exhausting. You'll pull your hair out and grow weary and every effort you make in either direction affects nothing, changes nothing.
So I've accepted defeat.
I don't want to change them.
I accept them as is and all they are not, all they will never be.
And they will read this and sneer and declare I've no talent for words and I'll just shrug my shoulders and say Ok, you win.
But I don't write for accolades, I don't love for reciprocity, I don't act for you, I live for me.
And I'm done letting any of them in anymore.
I'll never be enough, I'll never be the missing link.
Not in their eyes anyway.
Their eyes are hard, transfixed on past horrors and incapable of melting away the iciness that's slowly blinded them.
But I won't care.
Your disease is not in these genes.
I will not be poisoned by your bitterness.
I will not doubt because of your hesitancy.
You haven't won.
You're together, alone.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Everything's just fine
People are dishonest.
I don't mean specifically that everyone tells lies but people rarely are uncandidly honest. Because to be that raw, to strip away all subtext and nuance and innuendo and just say what you actually mean takes guts.
And it is my summation that we are all big insecure cowards.
Sadly, I add myself to that category.
But I'm self aware and I'm working on it.
I've decided if I can be uncandid with a rare few than I can work up the courage to be that way no matter who chooses to toss words my way.
The other day at work a coworker who I would say I trust, someone I thought I was pretty tight with, was extremely judgmental and condescending toward me. That shocked me and it pissed me off. And I already felt like I wanted to stab something repeatedly and I was in no mood for someone to treat me that way, let alone someone I thought was a friend.
But this is error number one: just because someone is a friend, a family member, a lover, a co worker, does not in fact mean they will treat you any differently than a complete stranger.
We think that if someone loves us, if they care for us or spend time with us or really know us then they will treat us differently than the general hostility of the indifferent world.
FALSE.
People are selfish. People are fickle, emotional, inconsistent, self serving, pious, hypocritical, ego driven, quick to judge, manic, moody bastards.
And those are just the ones who care about you.
Do you know why we get upset? Because people let us down.
They judge when we expect them to understand. They condescend when we anticipate compassion. They aren't there when we need them, they don't believe the best, they aren't quick to forgive, they won't always return texts and always, always, always, we're left feeling disappointed, feeling bitter, feeling distrusting.
Because they're not who we thought they were.
But my dear one, they never were. They never are.
The freeing truth is that no one is who we think they are.
Because we are all dirty little liars.
We are much too cowardly to say what we think.
We are far too insecure to be the person we truly are because we're too busy portraying the person we think we should be.
My coworker who reacted like a bitch when I told her something personal knew right away something was up with me. I didn't have the energy to pretend I was fine when I wasn't so I let my disdain known: by passively remaining silent. The truth is I'm generally, under most normal, day to day circumstances, a bubbly happy -go- lucky person. And people expect consistency. They think that once they've figured you out, once they've labeled you, boxed you up and put you on the shelf, that's the way you are and any deviation from that is subject to scrutiny. And years ago I might have feigned effervescence just to keep from ruffling any feathers. But I didn't care about the box people had me in. I was in the livid box and I was damned if I was going to paint a smile across the rage that was fuming behind my lips.
Eventually she commented that I was "acting differently" and still I ignored her. I wouldn't tell her I was mad at her and hurt by what she said. She is so frightfully timid and shy I felt like if I told her it would really upset her. She is the type of girl to cry when we run out of whipped cream so I certainly didn't anticipate her handling me telling her how pissed I was at her insensitivity. But she knew I was upset. And why? Because when we say or do something we know is unloving it's painted on our insides. So the next day when she said "I thought you were mad at me" what she really meant was I knew you were mad at me.
Why do we waste so much energy pretending things we all know are lies?
Aren't you as fucking tired as I am?
I can't stand it when people are passive aggressive with me.
You have a problem, then tell me.
And you know what, I'll work on tossing aside my sensitivity to how you might take the truth and just throw it out there. Because regardless of what I do or don't do, whether I just smile nicely or sigh in annoyance, you will think what you want to think, you will not do the things you say you will and judge me for the things I don't do and I can't waste any more of my life worrying about the lot of YOU.
I have some other important things to do.
Like go to work at the coal mines with all the other nameless nobody's and rejects.
But hey, at least I'll be damn honest about it.
And the next time you piss me off you won't have to ask because I'll make sure and tell you.
And I'll say, No, actually everything is not fine.
But you already knew that.....didn't you?
I don't mean specifically that everyone tells lies but people rarely are uncandidly honest. Because to be that raw, to strip away all subtext and nuance and innuendo and just say what you actually mean takes guts.
And it is my summation that we are all big insecure cowards.
Sadly, I add myself to that category.
But I'm self aware and I'm working on it.
I've decided if I can be uncandid with a rare few than I can work up the courage to be that way no matter who chooses to toss words my way.
The other day at work a coworker who I would say I trust, someone I thought I was pretty tight with, was extremely judgmental and condescending toward me. That shocked me and it pissed me off. And I already felt like I wanted to stab something repeatedly and I was in no mood for someone to treat me that way, let alone someone I thought was a friend.
But this is error number one: just because someone is a friend, a family member, a lover, a co worker, does not in fact mean they will treat you any differently than a complete stranger.
We think that if someone loves us, if they care for us or spend time with us or really know us then they will treat us differently than the general hostility of the indifferent world.
FALSE.
People are selfish. People are fickle, emotional, inconsistent, self serving, pious, hypocritical, ego driven, quick to judge, manic, moody bastards.
And those are just the ones who care about you.
Do you know why we get upset? Because people let us down.
They judge when we expect them to understand. They condescend when we anticipate compassion. They aren't there when we need them, they don't believe the best, they aren't quick to forgive, they won't always return texts and always, always, always, we're left feeling disappointed, feeling bitter, feeling distrusting.
Because they're not who we thought they were.
But my dear one, they never were. They never are.
The freeing truth is that no one is who we think they are.
Because we are all dirty little liars.
We are much too cowardly to say what we think.
We are far too insecure to be the person we truly are because we're too busy portraying the person we think we should be.
My coworker who reacted like a bitch when I told her something personal knew right away something was up with me. I didn't have the energy to pretend I was fine when I wasn't so I let my disdain known: by passively remaining silent. The truth is I'm generally, under most normal, day to day circumstances, a bubbly happy -go- lucky person. And people expect consistency. They think that once they've figured you out, once they've labeled you, boxed you up and put you on the shelf, that's the way you are and any deviation from that is subject to scrutiny. And years ago I might have feigned effervescence just to keep from ruffling any feathers. But I didn't care about the box people had me in. I was in the livid box and I was damned if I was going to paint a smile across the rage that was fuming behind my lips.
Eventually she commented that I was "acting differently" and still I ignored her. I wouldn't tell her I was mad at her and hurt by what she said. She is so frightfully timid and shy I felt like if I told her it would really upset her. She is the type of girl to cry when we run out of whipped cream so I certainly didn't anticipate her handling me telling her how pissed I was at her insensitivity. But she knew I was upset. And why? Because when we say or do something we know is unloving it's painted on our insides. So the next day when she said "I thought you were mad at me" what she really meant was I knew you were mad at me.
Why do we waste so much energy pretending things we all know are lies?
Aren't you as fucking tired as I am?
I can't stand it when people are passive aggressive with me.
You have a problem, then tell me.
And you know what, I'll work on tossing aside my sensitivity to how you might take the truth and just throw it out there. Because regardless of what I do or don't do, whether I just smile nicely or sigh in annoyance, you will think what you want to think, you will not do the things you say you will and judge me for the things I don't do and I can't waste any more of my life worrying about the lot of YOU.
I have some other important things to do.
Like go to work at the coal mines with all the other nameless nobody's and rejects.
But hey, at least I'll be damn honest about it.
And the next time you piss me off you won't have to ask because I'll make sure and tell you.
And I'll say, No, actually everything is not fine.
But you already knew that.....didn't you?
Monday, December 20, 2010
Forget me nots
I got a phone call from a friend who, in all honesty, has gotten under my skin a few too many times the past several months. No matter how many times I tell myself, They mean well, it still stings when someone says something that feels uncharacteristically hurtful. Words are unbelievably powerful things. And this friend in their succinct way told me this eve, "You're always so nice to me and I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate that. I guess I just needed to hear your smiles tonight."
Nice felt like a comical word to choose considering there have been times of late where I bite my tongue to keep from telling this person where they can shove their bias and judgment. But I grimmace and I grumble and force myself to be loving because if you can't love the bastards you call friends how the hell are you ever gonna learn to love your enemies?
I shudder to think.
The truth is, I almost didn't answer the phone tonight. I feel sort of ashamed to admit it but I was sitting on the couch with my book, my hot chocolate, the quiet of solitude and I honestly didn't feel like being disturbed, especially by this particular person. But I had literally just been reading about love and ignoring the efforts of someone reaching out to me for my own selfish endeavors hardly felt the embodiment of love, in its ideal purity. So then to hear that they kind of needed a little dose of the love I do try and genuinely send their way felt very poignant somehow.
We underestimate our value.
We lack comprehension over our profound impact on those around us.
And conversely we lack acceptance of the effect hate possesses as it inevitably invades our sensitivity.
Case in point.
An email I read once then promptly deleted months ago still haunts me.
I really only read it once. It was so seething, so grotesquely ugly that my instinct upon finishing the last word was a quick tap of the key delete because the only way to respond to such a violent attack is to remove it, never to engage. The only other time I can recall having such a swift delete reaction was when someone left me a voicemail message telling me they wanted nothing to do with me ever again, simply because I was and there was nothing to do, nothing to say but delete.
The problem with the swiftness of delete is that it doesn't erase the words that were just burned into your brain. You can remove the evidence, you can speak new words of truth, of love, but our damned memories are like mine fields where unexpected bombs blow up when you least expect it.
I had a dream recently and the words from that email were being spoken to me again.
It's amazing to me my ability to recall with such lucidity the exact words that were used to try and hurt me. You could almost see the wicked smile painted across my senders face as they typed up with thorough verboseness the evidence against me.
And why would it matter what someone I don't even know thought of me?
It didn't. It doesn't. And yet their words.
Words matter.
Lies or truth they matter.
They impact, they alter, they find their way into our minds and wriggle their way into tiny burrows buried deep into the reccesses of the memories we forgot we remembered.
So the parallel?
I chose not to remember the feelings with which my friend stirred in me when he said less than loving things and instead chose to act outside of how I felt, to act in love, to speak kindly even though the bitch in me was screaming to be heard.
And he noticed.
And he was appreciative.
And somehow he was drawn to me and sought me out when he was feeling less than fantastic.
And the bitch who unleashed her venom on me?
I would choose to ignore the feelings that made me want to doubt, to accept defeat, to lose faith, to lose hope. And instead I would believe the best, hope for things unseen, overcome evil with good.
Because it would be so much more satisfying if people remembered me for how good I made them feel rather than for how wretched they truly are.
Nice felt like a comical word to choose considering there have been times of late where I bite my tongue to keep from telling this person where they can shove their bias and judgment. But I grimmace and I grumble and force myself to be loving because if you can't love the bastards you call friends how the hell are you ever gonna learn to love your enemies?
I shudder to think.
The truth is, I almost didn't answer the phone tonight. I feel sort of ashamed to admit it but I was sitting on the couch with my book, my hot chocolate, the quiet of solitude and I honestly didn't feel like being disturbed, especially by this particular person. But I had literally just been reading about love and ignoring the efforts of someone reaching out to me for my own selfish endeavors hardly felt the embodiment of love, in its ideal purity. So then to hear that they kind of needed a little dose of the love I do try and genuinely send their way felt very poignant somehow.
We underestimate our value.
We lack comprehension over our profound impact on those around us.
And conversely we lack acceptance of the effect hate possesses as it inevitably invades our sensitivity.
Case in point.
An email I read once then promptly deleted months ago still haunts me.
I really only read it once. It was so seething, so grotesquely ugly that my instinct upon finishing the last word was a quick tap of the key delete because the only way to respond to such a violent attack is to remove it, never to engage. The only other time I can recall having such a swift delete reaction was when someone left me a voicemail message telling me they wanted nothing to do with me ever again, simply because I was and there was nothing to do, nothing to say but delete.
The problem with the swiftness of delete is that it doesn't erase the words that were just burned into your brain. You can remove the evidence, you can speak new words of truth, of love, but our damned memories are like mine fields where unexpected bombs blow up when you least expect it.
I had a dream recently and the words from that email were being spoken to me again.
It's amazing to me my ability to recall with such lucidity the exact words that were used to try and hurt me. You could almost see the wicked smile painted across my senders face as they typed up with thorough verboseness the evidence against me.
And why would it matter what someone I don't even know thought of me?
It didn't. It doesn't. And yet their words.
Words matter.
Lies or truth they matter.
They impact, they alter, they find their way into our minds and wriggle their way into tiny burrows buried deep into the reccesses of the memories we forgot we remembered.
So the parallel?
I chose not to remember the feelings with which my friend stirred in me when he said less than loving things and instead chose to act outside of how I felt, to act in love, to speak kindly even though the bitch in me was screaming to be heard.
And he noticed.
And he was appreciative.
And somehow he was drawn to me and sought me out when he was feeling less than fantastic.
And the bitch who unleashed her venom on me?
I would choose to ignore the feelings that made me want to doubt, to accept defeat, to lose faith, to lose hope. And instead I would believe the best, hope for things unseen, overcome evil with good.
Because it would be so much more satisfying if people remembered me for how good I made them feel rather than for how wretched they truly are.
Friday, December 10, 2010
I love therefore I'm Resa
I had to love in order to be.
We all have talents and gifts and the one I was sincerely learning this year was how to love.
I seemed to be surrounded at work, in the theatre, with new and old friendships by women whose lives I managed to somehow influence. I have an assertive personality. I'm pushy and forward and bold. And it always felt good when my lack of silence or behaving demurely was actually a good thing. I influenced lives with my big mouth and that gave me purpose. It brought a smile to my crimson lips.
And I thought about my inability to maintain a relationship (my boyfriends always needed to go find themselves or marry someone else or just go home to the familiar) but I began to wonder if the reason there were so few men in my life was because they distracted me from my purpose: I was here to bless, encourage, nourish the spirits of other women and unleash their buried boldness by accosting them with mine.
And men, ooh boy, men were a beast I seemed unable to resist. Satan knows my weakness, I told a friend once to which she replied, And it ain't chocolate. I love with such intensity that I will easily sacrifice myself on the altar of self if it will make the man I love smile.
When a passion is uncontrollable it is dangerous, moreover, it deters, it becomes a hindrance.
I told my mother once that in a nutshell I'm helpless to beautiful men who need me.
How can I think of my own needs when those adoring eyes look to me pleading for escape?
So my lack of boundaries with men who inevitably take more than they give leaves me susceptible to great heartache and tear stained sheets.
But more importantly it debilitates me from strengthening anyone else.
So maybe the men who vanished weren't merely great fools, maybe it really was me. Maybe those who held me back had to be removed so I could learn to get out of my own way, so I could learn that the overwhelming desire in my heart to love wasn't meant for just some man.
Maybe this love was meant for a great many others.
Maybe it was just too intense a thing to offer one person.
We all have talents and gifts and the one I was sincerely learning this year was how to love.
I seemed to be surrounded at work, in the theatre, with new and old friendships by women whose lives I managed to somehow influence. I have an assertive personality. I'm pushy and forward and bold. And it always felt good when my lack of silence or behaving demurely was actually a good thing. I influenced lives with my big mouth and that gave me purpose. It brought a smile to my crimson lips.
And I thought about my inability to maintain a relationship (my boyfriends always needed to go find themselves or marry someone else or just go home to the familiar) but I began to wonder if the reason there were so few men in my life was because they distracted me from my purpose: I was here to bless, encourage, nourish the spirits of other women and unleash their buried boldness by accosting them with mine.
And men, ooh boy, men were a beast I seemed unable to resist. Satan knows my weakness, I told a friend once to which she replied, And it ain't chocolate. I love with such intensity that I will easily sacrifice myself on the altar of self if it will make the man I love smile.
When a passion is uncontrollable it is dangerous, moreover, it deters, it becomes a hindrance.
I told my mother once that in a nutshell I'm helpless to beautiful men who need me.
How can I think of my own needs when those adoring eyes look to me pleading for escape?
So my lack of boundaries with men who inevitably take more than they give leaves me susceptible to great heartache and tear stained sheets.
But more importantly it debilitates me from strengthening anyone else.
So maybe the men who vanished weren't merely great fools, maybe it really was me. Maybe those who held me back had to be removed so I could learn to get out of my own way, so I could learn that the overwhelming desire in my heart to love wasn't meant for just some man.
Maybe this love was meant for a great many others.
Maybe it was just too intense a thing to offer one person.
Clear as mud
I do surprising things when I drink.
Once a girlfriend and I calculated how many guys we'd had interludes with and tried to factor in how many would have happened if we didn't count the ones that happened at night. We decided we would have been very single and without a lot of amusing dating stories.
The other night after a few cocktails I drunk emailed.
I've matured past drunk dialing or drunk texting and moved on to drunk emailing. It was almost like I was possessed and even sort of looking down on myself watching me and the whole time thinking what are you doing? I'm sure that when he reads it he's going to wonder where the hell that came from and why I felt the need to suddenly share an amusing story about a squirrel.
There's this guy at my work who is engaged. Him and his fiancee are revoltingly cute. She came in the other day to visit him and they stood at the counter making googily eyes at each other. It reminded me of a tall stranger on the other side of a counter I once knew. It also made me realize how jaded I've become. The other day as I walked around couples at the mall, I looked at them distrustingly. I doubted their fidelity, their sincerity. I feel like Prince Charming took something from me I hadn't even noticed I'd lost: he took a portion of my optimism. In the span of very few moons, I'd become a realist. Somewhere the naively hopeful optimist of years past had died and somewhere between her and the jaded, cynical pessimist was me.
And at first, this revelation kind of pissed me off. That son of a bitch was making me doubt a lot of things, second guess my own heart, my own fate.
And that was my fault, not his. I let him play that role, I let him mistakenly stand on that pedestal.
And maybe the truth was, removing that pedestal was a good thing.
Maybe seeing people for the ugly, flawed, shallow beasts that they are was the biggest surprise of all.
Because somewhere, buried inside, I could love the monsters.
And that made me a pretty stellar woman.
Once a girlfriend and I calculated how many guys we'd had interludes with and tried to factor in how many would have happened if we didn't count the ones that happened at night. We decided we would have been very single and without a lot of amusing dating stories.
The other night after a few cocktails I drunk emailed.
I've matured past drunk dialing or drunk texting and moved on to drunk emailing. It was almost like I was possessed and even sort of looking down on myself watching me and the whole time thinking what are you doing? I'm sure that when he reads it he's going to wonder where the hell that came from and why I felt the need to suddenly share an amusing story about a squirrel.
There's this guy at my work who is engaged. Him and his fiancee are revoltingly cute. She came in the other day to visit him and they stood at the counter making googily eyes at each other. It reminded me of a tall stranger on the other side of a counter I once knew. It also made me realize how jaded I've become. The other day as I walked around couples at the mall, I looked at them distrustingly. I doubted their fidelity, their sincerity. I feel like Prince Charming took something from me I hadn't even noticed I'd lost: he took a portion of my optimism. In the span of very few moons, I'd become a realist. Somewhere the naively hopeful optimist of years past had died and somewhere between her and the jaded, cynical pessimist was me.
And at first, this revelation kind of pissed me off. That son of a bitch was making me doubt a lot of things, second guess my own heart, my own fate.
And that was my fault, not his. I let him play that role, I let him mistakenly stand on that pedestal.
And maybe the truth was, removing that pedestal was a good thing.
Maybe seeing people for the ugly, flawed, shallow beasts that they are was the biggest surprise of all.
Because somewhere, buried inside, I could love the monsters.
And that made me a pretty stellar woman.
Hello, My name is....
"I am someone who is looking for love, real love, ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't live without each other love."
We are what we do
We care about what we spend time doing
We identify ourselves by the people around us.
I've spent the last decade as a performer, as an actor and a singer. It's what I do, it's how I've learned to use my gifts, to share in an art I adore. But this year I have only performed in one show and it was a role I was cast in last year. I haven't even had a desire to audition for things this year. I have auditioned for some but I can count on one hand the number of auditions I went to. People have asked me if I'm working on a project right now or have one coming up. Recently a girl said she saw my movie trailer and asked me how many movies I've been in. And I had this moment where I sort of forgot that I had even filmed a movie. I told a close friend over cocktails, I've spent the past decade as an actor, it's what I've always done and I don't even seem to have a desire to do it anymore. That's really strange. I'm an actor. I'm a singer. That's what I am. But what happens when what you do is no longer who you are? What happens when you become someone else?
I told a psychologist who came into Starbucks once that the three great loves of my life were all avid tea drinkers and while I was with them I drank tea all the time but when I'm alone I never make myself tea. I have always prefered coffee to tea. I asked him what he thought it meant, mostly in jest, trying to make the 'what does it mean, doctor?' sort of remark. But without hesitation, without a second thought, he told me to stop trying to change myself for the men I'm with. Just be you and enjoy what you enjoy, stop trying to become something else for them.
I remember laughing out of nervousness.
It was jarring that something I'd never understood was so blatantly obvious to a complete stranger.
And I realized in some way that was the shift, that was the loss, the mourning I was experiencing. It was less about the players and more about my identity to that player. My role within my story had in effect been connected to these different people and once those people were removed it left me dazed. It wasn't the romantic notion I'd latched onto; it wasn't that it had to be them or what will I do without them? or any other sort of beautifully tragic romantic ideal. No, it was much more concrete and simple than all that: without them to pour all this passion into, where was I to put it all?
Some people have their work, others their hobbies, their arts, their credit cards, their affinities for chocolate. And I still hadn't yet figured out what my outlet was. Maybe I'd have many. Maybe there'd be no more great loves and my road was taking me somewhere unexpected.
But I had to stop and consider, if something I'd started an overwhelming passion for in high school, then went on to major in college and spend years and hours of my time devoted to it could suddenly, just like that, halt as an overwhelming passion, surely, something very different was in store. And it must be waiting, right around the corner, even as I sit here on my bed, with my little pink laptop.
I was done trying to be something for so many others. I had the luxury of being whatever I wanted because there was no one laying next to me expecting me to be something I'd convinced them I was.
Yes, there were some nights I spent huddled in a tight ball from the cold of one beating heart.
But ever always, with each new day, the sun brought with it warmth enough.
And I couldn't shut out parts of me anymore.
Not even for a pair of dashing eyes.
The cost was just too great.
And it felt really satisfying on the other side, feeling like me again.
Feeling totally Resa.
"The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous."
We are what we do
We care about what we spend time doing
We identify ourselves by the people around us.
I've spent the last decade as a performer, as an actor and a singer. It's what I do, it's how I've learned to use my gifts, to share in an art I adore. But this year I have only performed in one show and it was a role I was cast in last year. I haven't even had a desire to audition for things this year. I have auditioned for some but I can count on one hand the number of auditions I went to. People have asked me if I'm working on a project right now or have one coming up. Recently a girl said she saw my movie trailer and asked me how many movies I've been in. And I had this moment where I sort of forgot that I had even filmed a movie. I told a close friend over cocktails, I've spent the past decade as an actor, it's what I've always done and I don't even seem to have a desire to do it anymore. That's really strange. I'm an actor. I'm a singer. That's what I am. But what happens when what you do is no longer who you are? What happens when you become someone else?
I told a psychologist who came into Starbucks once that the three great loves of my life were all avid tea drinkers and while I was with them I drank tea all the time but when I'm alone I never make myself tea. I have always prefered coffee to tea. I asked him what he thought it meant, mostly in jest, trying to make the 'what does it mean, doctor?' sort of remark. But without hesitation, without a second thought, he told me to stop trying to change myself for the men I'm with. Just be you and enjoy what you enjoy, stop trying to become something else for them.
I remember laughing out of nervousness.
It was jarring that something I'd never understood was so blatantly obvious to a complete stranger.
And I realized in some way that was the shift, that was the loss, the mourning I was experiencing. It was less about the players and more about my identity to that player. My role within my story had in effect been connected to these different people and once those people were removed it left me dazed. It wasn't the romantic notion I'd latched onto; it wasn't that it had to be them or what will I do without them? or any other sort of beautifully tragic romantic ideal. No, it was much more concrete and simple than all that: without them to pour all this passion into, where was I to put it all?
Some people have their work, others their hobbies, their arts, their credit cards, their affinities for chocolate. And I still hadn't yet figured out what my outlet was. Maybe I'd have many. Maybe there'd be no more great loves and my road was taking me somewhere unexpected.
But I had to stop and consider, if something I'd started an overwhelming passion for in high school, then went on to major in college and spend years and hours of my time devoted to it could suddenly, just like that, halt as an overwhelming passion, surely, something very different was in store. And it must be waiting, right around the corner, even as I sit here on my bed, with my little pink laptop.
I was done trying to be something for so many others. I had the luxury of being whatever I wanted because there was no one laying next to me expecting me to be something I'd convinced them I was.
Yes, there were some nights I spent huddled in a tight ball from the cold of one beating heart.
But ever always, with each new day, the sun brought with it warmth enough.
And I couldn't shut out parts of me anymore.
Not even for a pair of dashing eyes.
The cost was just too great.
And it felt really satisfying on the other side, feeling like me again.
Feeling totally Resa.
"The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous."
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Life's too short for a fake Fendi
The other day a very sexy married Grandpa came up to my register and was so thrilled by my red lipstick he said, Wow look at those lips! They make me want a kiss! And as he walked away he said, You take care of my lips for me!
My red lips have become my staple as of late. I adore makeup. I probably have more lipstick than the average ten women combined. But red, red is like a tall, debonair, handsome man; it never goes out of style. And red lipstick seemed to hold a power to move people in a way I couldn't explain. People I've never met have something to say about it and that always makes me chuckle. Ladies have asked me the brand and the color before. And when I reveal that it's Chanel sometimes their reaction is comical. You work at Starbucks, how can you afford Chanel? And I had this thought that many people feel that way about a lot of things.
The truth was that even at $27 for one tube of lipstick, and even if worn every day, applied with a lip brush, that $27 tube of lipstick is going to last a long time. I would calculate it exactly but like I said, I have so much makeup that if I never bought another cosmetic item again I would still never use all the makeup I had. And why would I stop buying sparkly new makeup? That's just crazy talk!
But You can't afford Chanel made me wonder what else we convince ourselves we can't have. I know many beautiful, smart, talented, capable women who seem to always end up with men who treat them like Cinderella the chimney sweep rather than the Cinderella in the ball gown. And they think that they should take what they can get. Some of them secretly believe they deserve to be treated with such contempt. And if these women who endure such mistreatment ever miraculously escape their prisons when they finally do meet someone who treats them right there is this awe and disbelief. They simply can't wrap their brains around such chivalry because they'd never known the real thing. Their relationships had always been fake Fendi's.
I think that we mistakenly replace delight with distraction. We want something and we want something now. Waiting takes patience and who has time for that? I even joked recently that I didn't want to learn from my errors and grow and mature. Can't I just fall into another relationship like so many women do? And Mother wisely pointed out that the plan for me involved a great deal more than just being another woman hopping from guy to guy without ever pausing to wonder why she'd wasted her time.
The truth was, having fewer things but of the highest quality was worth so much more than a plethora of designer impostors. Wasn't having one tube of vibrant lipstick better than having 10 cheap ones? Wasn't saving to buy the real bag more satisfying than picking up one of those fakes wrapped in plastic? Wasn't it worth the cold, lonely nights to wait for the man who would treat you like the goddess you are instead of settling for the one who just deigns to sit next to you?
Life was too short for a fake Fendi, for a fake anything.
I certainly had learned the hard way that more just turned into junk, it cluttered, it impeded my space to grow. And I wanted what was genuine, not simply what was blowing up my phone.
"I could really be with you. And you should have everything you want."
My red lips have become my staple as of late. I adore makeup. I probably have more lipstick than the average ten women combined. But red, red is like a tall, debonair, handsome man; it never goes out of style. And red lipstick seemed to hold a power to move people in a way I couldn't explain. People I've never met have something to say about it and that always makes me chuckle. Ladies have asked me the brand and the color before. And when I reveal that it's Chanel sometimes their reaction is comical. You work at Starbucks, how can you afford Chanel? And I had this thought that many people feel that way about a lot of things.
The truth was that even at $27 for one tube of lipstick, and even if worn every day, applied with a lip brush, that $27 tube of lipstick is going to last a long time. I would calculate it exactly but like I said, I have so much makeup that if I never bought another cosmetic item again I would still never use all the makeup I had. And why would I stop buying sparkly new makeup? That's just crazy talk!
But You can't afford Chanel made me wonder what else we convince ourselves we can't have. I know many beautiful, smart, talented, capable women who seem to always end up with men who treat them like Cinderella the chimney sweep rather than the Cinderella in the ball gown. And they think that they should take what they can get. Some of them secretly believe they deserve to be treated with such contempt. And if these women who endure such mistreatment ever miraculously escape their prisons when they finally do meet someone who treats them right there is this awe and disbelief. They simply can't wrap their brains around such chivalry because they'd never known the real thing. Their relationships had always been fake Fendi's.
I think that we mistakenly replace delight with distraction. We want something and we want something now. Waiting takes patience and who has time for that? I even joked recently that I didn't want to learn from my errors and grow and mature. Can't I just fall into another relationship like so many women do? And Mother wisely pointed out that the plan for me involved a great deal more than just being another woman hopping from guy to guy without ever pausing to wonder why she'd wasted her time.
The truth was, having fewer things but of the highest quality was worth so much more than a plethora of designer impostors. Wasn't having one tube of vibrant lipstick better than having 10 cheap ones? Wasn't saving to buy the real bag more satisfying than picking up one of those fakes wrapped in plastic? Wasn't it worth the cold, lonely nights to wait for the man who would treat you like the goddess you are instead of settling for the one who just deigns to sit next to you?
Life was too short for a fake Fendi, for a fake anything.
I certainly had learned the hard way that more just turned into junk, it cluttered, it impeded my space to grow. And I wanted what was genuine, not simply what was blowing up my phone.
"I could really be with you. And you should have everything you want."
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Veronica's lazy day
I have been working so much lately to have an actual twenty four hour period to myself was odd. It was literally that halting what should I do with myself feeling and I reveled in my lack of productivity. Sometimes doing nothing is the best something to be done.
I made love to a new novel (we spent so much time together in bed, we might as well have been lovers) and drank in the grey wetness of the day. When you don't have to be somewhere, when you don't have to be doing something in particular, hours just drip slowly by and I relished in it. I even delighted in looking at my calendar and noticing I didn't work before the sun tomorrow. Any more surprising delights and I might jump right out of the red lace that clothed me.
I glanced through old writings and remembered the Delilah Spell and smiled playfully over memories of illusions past. Some faded memories haunted in that icy, creepy goosebumps down your neck sort of way. But others merely lingered softly with confusing vagueness. And I was glad some things were written with disappearing ink so that chapters merely turned corners rather than slamming book covers shut. I even gathered something in my possessions that I thought should my path stumble with theirs I'd disclose the surprise.
Days continued revealing the unexpected and ever always that made me giggle at the thought of tomorrow. I hadn't had a PC or Mr. Dreamy sighting in more days than I cared to recall. But sooner or later some handsome stranger was bound to walk through those doors and this new chapter could begin its story.
I made love to a new novel (we spent so much time together in bed, we might as well have been lovers) and drank in the grey wetness of the day. When you don't have to be somewhere, when you don't have to be doing something in particular, hours just drip slowly by and I relished in it. I even delighted in looking at my calendar and noticing I didn't work before the sun tomorrow. Any more surprising delights and I might jump right out of the red lace that clothed me.
I glanced through old writings and remembered the Delilah Spell and smiled playfully over memories of illusions past. Some faded memories haunted in that icy, creepy goosebumps down your neck sort of way. But others merely lingered softly with confusing vagueness. And I was glad some things were written with disappearing ink so that chapters merely turned corners rather than slamming book covers shut. I even gathered something in my possessions that I thought should my path stumble with theirs I'd disclose the surprise.
Days continued revealing the unexpected and ever always that made me giggle at the thought of tomorrow. I hadn't had a PC or Mr. Dreamy sighting in more days than I cared to recall. But sooner or later some handsome stranger was bound to walk through those doors and this new chapter could begin its story.
My dearest friend
I was writing a letter today to a girlfriend, someone who has been going through a really rough time and I realized as I was writing that the encouragement I was offering her was just as much for myself.
Sometimes it's really easy to remind someone else how to keep a positive outlook yet look in your own mirror and second guess the reflection staring back at you.
It's harder to keep a clear head regarding yourself.
You know you so well after all and see all that so few ever do.
But take a moment to remind yourself to remember the truth and disregard the lies.
There are so many circling about sometimes they grow so loud, drowning out your hope.
I don't know if this makes you feel any better but even after the rollercoaster I was put through I spent this weekend missing him. And I thought what's wrong with me?! And I know you must be going through that too. Mother always says our relationships, our love, is an extension of ourselves, so the good we see in the bastards we love is from us. We love with the purity of our own hearts and trust that's what the men we choose to offer it to will give us in return. And then when they don't, we feel our hearts have failed us.
But have hope! You are such a vibrant, caring, beautiful, amazing woman and don't doubt for a second that there exists a man who is not such a bone head that he won't see that.
You are lovely and anyone who fails to open his eyes and see that is a fool.
And you should pity him.
Remember you can never go wrong believing the best of people.
Stay strong.
Trust in the plan He has for you.
Believe in the impossible.
Hope for the moon.
And I will too.
Sometimes it's really easy to remind someone else how to keep a positive outlook yet look in your own mirror and second guess the reflection staring back at you.
It's harder to keep a clear head regarding yourself.
You know you so well after all and see all that so few ever do.
But take a moment to remind yourself to remember the truth and disregard the lies.
There are so many circling about sometimes they grow so loud, drowning out your hope.
I don't know if this makes you feel any better but even after the rollercoaster I was put through I spent this weekend missing him. And I thought what's wrong with me?! And I know you must be going through that too. Mother always says our relationships, our love, is an extension of ourselves, so the good we see in the bastards we love is from us. We love with the purity of our own hearts and trust that's what the men we choose to offer it to will give us in return. And then when they don't, we feel our hearts have failed us.
But have hope! You are such a vibrant, caring, beautiful, amazing woman and don't doubt for a second that there exists a man who is not such a bone head that he won't see that.
You are lovely and anyone who fails to open his eyes and see that is a fool.
And you should pity him.
Remember you can never go wrong believing the best of people.
Stay strong.
Trust in the plan He has for you.
Believe in the impossible.
Hope for the moon.
And I will too.
I luff you, with two f's
I like you. Do you like me?
Or should I start liking someone else?
--Me, A la fourth grade
There's a guy at my new Starbucks who has a crush on me. It's very sweet actually. He's about as subtle as the Miraculous bra from Victoria's Secret (that's like the equivalent of what a train wreck does for the eyes; the Miraculous adds two cup sizes. Helloooo second date!)
This guy is such an eager beaver I can see the saliva form at the corners of his mouth when he's around me. His eyes light up and he finds any excuse to touch me or get me to look in his direction.
Of course, as luck would have it, I'm not interested at all. Isn't that the way the Starbucks cookie crumbles? But what fun would it be if I met a guy who was as crazy for me as I was for him? We've already written that chapter, on to more amusing things.
The best part about this new Romeo is that his name is Jared. Yes, Jared, which happens to be the name of the nemesis I left behind at my last store. One Jerad abhors me, another Jared adores me. Perhaps the inverse of letters affects their affection.
Hey, anything is possible.
But this new Jared was good for me. I think all women need a Jared in their life. A sweet, harmless, doting, everything you do is amazing to them kind of guy to remind yourself, Aw, so THIS is what interest looks like. It does not play mind games with you. It does not say one thing but do another. It doesn't grow overwhelmed by its devotion to you. It just dotes. Passionately, genuinely, with all sincerity, dotes. And even though I couldn't return the sentiment it painted my cheeks crimson in all feminine bashfulness.
Mama always said the best way to get over a lost cat was to get a new cat. And I couldn't seem to find one, which I knew was part of my whole growing-maturing-character building-strength enduring testy-majig. Good ol' Big G, doesn't give us more than we can handle but comes pretty damn close. I wasn't at a breaking point but I certainly contemplated bawling or stabbing something more often than I ought. But I blamed the water retension in my brain. And as the days ticked by, the swelling was going down. And so was my insanity level.
At least that's what I kept telling myself.
So, ok, I thought, I don't get a new kitty, at least not anytime soon. But, I do get a very attentive puppy dog. It really is a shame I have zero fondness for dogs. But that's life, right? You want what you can't have and by the time you get it your desire has waned and you've moved onto something else. That's why life is one big tragi-comedy. And it always made me laugh. And as this year had already proven time and time again, there were more plot twists than there were curls on my head.
And that, that I did love.
With all that I had.
Or should I start liking someone else?
--Me, A la fourth grade
There's a guy at my new Starbucks who has a crush on me. It's very sweet actually. He's about as subtle as the Miraculous bra from Victoria's Secret (that's like the equivalent of what a train wreck does for the eyes; the Miraculous adds two cup sizes. Helloooo second date!)
This guy is such an eager beaver I can see the saliva form at the corners of his mouth when he's around me. His eyes light up and he finds any excuse to touch me or get me to look in his direction.
Of course, as luck would have it, I'm not interested at all. Isn't that the way the Starbucks cookie crumbles? But what fun would it be if I met a guy who was as crazy for me as I was for him? We've already written that chapter, on to more amusing things.
The best part about this new Romeo is that his name is Jared. Yes, Jared, which happens to be the name of the nemesis I left behind at my last store. One Jerad abhors me, another Jared adores me. Perhaps the inverse of letters affects their affection.
Hey, anything is possible.
But this new Jared was good for me. I think all women need a Jared in their life. A sweet, harmless, doting, everything you do is amazing to them kind of guy to remind yourself, Aw, so THIS is what interest looks like. It does not play mind games with you. It does not say one thing but do another. It doesn't grow overwhelmed by its devotion to you. It just dotes. Passionately, genuinely, with all sincerity, dotes. And even though I couldn't return the sentiment it painted my cheeks crimson in all feminine bashfulness.
Mama always said the best way to get over a lost cat was to get a new cat. And I couldn't seem to find one, which I knew was part of my whole growing-maturing-character building-strength enduring testy-majig. Good ol' Big G, doesn't give us more than we can handle but comes pretty damn close. I wasn't at a breaking point but I certainly contemplated bawling or stabbing something more often than I ought. But I blamed the water retension in my brain. And as the days ticked by, the swelling was going down. And so was my insanity level.
At least that's what I kept telling myself.
So, ok, I thought, I don't get a new kitty, at least not anytime soon. But, I do get a very attentive puppy dog. It really is a shame I have zero fondness for dogs. But that's life, right? You want what you can't have and by the time you get it your desire has waned and you've moved onto something else. That's why life is one big tragi-comedy. And it always made me laugh. And as this year had already proven time and time again, there were more plot twists than there were curls on my head.
And that, that I did love.
With all that I had.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Gracie
Once upon a time there was a girl.
She was always looking for something.
She'd lost it so long ago she'd forgotten what it looked like.
But she knew it was missing.
And she wanted it back.
She was persistent, sometimes forcefully so.
She embodied drama.
She knew how to make things happen.
But she didn't know how to make them stay.
And that always left her rattled.
She spent a lot of time alone.
She'd discovered it was easier to search alone.
People distracted, they took and they deceived.
They poisoned truth with their seductive lies.
And she always believed them.
She couldn't lie and she couldn't distrust.
Her heart wouldn't allow it.
She always believed.
One day she was driving, it was raining.
And her lonliness was palpable.
And she felt ashamed.
She wasn't lonely because of them.
She was lonely because of her own heart.
And it made her cry.
She was running in circles and she was tired.
She hit every stop light red.
And so she just sat there.
And waited.
She missed Him and didn't understand how He'd become so far away.
But she guessed that was why she never got what she wanted.
She kept catching glimpses of all that could be but never was.
Being wrong all the time was draining.
She no longer trusted her heart.
And that frightened her.
What could she trust if she couldn't trust what was inside her?
So she walked back to her huddled corners, her safety and she remembered.
She remembered believing.
She remembered all the things she'd done that had put fear in her gut
But she'd done them anyway.
And she remembered the mountains that had leapt into the sea
And the words that had found love sifting through all the ashes from the mountains
And the medicine that had healed hope
And the heartless that had been moved to compassion
And she was very thankful for second chances.
For 2,538 chances.
Because she knew she would need them.
And she wished more than anything that for tonight He could have skin on.
Just tonight.
Because all she wanted was a hug.
Just to know it would be ok, to feel it.
But she believed.
And as she tasted the salt once again
She remembered.
She remembered what she forgot,
She remembered what she was looking for.
And she would find it.
She had to.
She was always looking for something.
She'd lost it so long ago she'd forgotten what it looked like.
But she knew it was missing.
And she wanted it back.
She was persistent, sometimes forcefully so.
She embodied drama.
She knew how to make things happen.
But she didn't know how to make them stay.
And that always left her rattled.
She spent a lot of time alone.
She'd discovered it was easier to search alone.
People distracted, they took and they deceived.
They poisoned truth with their seductive lies.
And she always believed them.
She couldn't lie and she couldn't distrust.
Her heart wouldn't allow it.
She always believed.
One day she was driving, it was raining.
And her lonliness was palpable.
And she felt ashamed.
She wasn't lonely because of them.
She was lonely because of her own heart.
And it made her cry.
She was running in circles and she was tired.
She hit every stop light red.
And so she just sat there.
And waited.
She missed Him and didn't understand how He'd become so far away.
But she guessed that was why she never got what she wanted.
She kept catching glimpses of all that could be but never was.
Being wrong all the time was draining.
She no longer trusted her heart.
And that frightened her.
What could she trust if she couldn't trust what was inside her?
So she walked back to her huddled corners, her safety and she remembered.
She remembered believing.
She remembered all the things she'd done that had put fear in her gut
But she'd done them anyway.
And she remembered the mountains that had leapt into the sea
And the words that had found love sifting through all the ashes from the mountains
And the medicine that had healed hope
And the heartless that had been moved to compassion
And she was very thankful for second chances.
For 2,538 chances.
Because she knew she would need them.
And she wished more than anything that for tonight He could have skin on.
Just tonight.
Because all she wanted was a hug.
Just to know it would be ok, to feel it.
But she believed.
And as she tasted the salt once again
She remembered.
She remembered what she forgot,
She remembered what she was looking for.
And she would find it.
She had to.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Awake is the new sleep
I'm tired of being patient and mature
I want to be spoiled and selfish and important
Just for tonight, just for right now
I'm taking this moment in all self indulgence
And declaring it as mine
If you're reading this then you know
The complexity of all that no one sees
But I can't avert my eyes
The numbness that's trying to work its way up from my toes
Has been halted
I don't want to be another drone
I see them
The mass of quiet desperation
And I offer out my hand
As they look right through me
Seeing only shadows
I want something contrary
Complex Heavy Consuming
I can't become all I ran away from
Surely then The Resa will fade
And the inevitability frightens me
That as I blink your shell will harden
And you will embody the robots I fear
Clouds of black and white washing past
Yet this grey stands alone
Waiting
And free
I want to be spoiled and selfish and important
Just for tonight, just for right now
I'm taking this moment in all self indulgence
And declaring it as mine
If you're reading this then you know
The complexity of all that no one sees
But I can't avert my eyes
The numbness that's trying to work its way up from my toes
Has been halted
I don't want to be another drone
I see them
The mass of quiet desperation
And I offer out my hand
As they look right through me
Seeing only shadows
I want something contrary
Complex Heavy Consuming
I can't become all I ran away from
Surely then The Resa will fade
And the inevitability frightens me
That as I blink your shell will harden
And you will embody the robots I fear
Clouds of black and white washing past
Yet this grey stands alone
Waiting
And free
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Tucked Away
I thought after this year that I had learned patience.
But apparently there are still a few areas that need working on.
*Ahem*
I've only ever lived alone once in my whole life. It was when I was 21 and I hated it. I hated being alone all the time. The joke of it is if I had the financial means I would choose to live alone now. I can think of very few things that aggravate me more than feeling like my space is being invaded.
My current roommate is 86 years old so if ever there was the defense being set in their ways, she definitely warranted that. But Grandma is a bit of a pistol, as am I, and she has some habits that are very reminiscent of the male at my last residence and that's making the intensity of my heart palpitations increase.
She reads through my mail. She goes through my garbage. Yes, she looks through the garbage and if she thinks I shouldn't throw something away she takes it out of the garbage. I reached for a pen that looked like one I'd thrown away and as I started writing with it there was no ink.
Grandma, I asked, is this the pen I threw away?
Yes, Grandma said, I rescued that from the trash.
I internally hit my head against the counter.
Grandma the pen doesn't work, that's why I threw it away.
I can't tell you how many different items she has removed from the trash after I've discarded them. I can't handle it anymore. It makes me feel like I'm either living with a looney tune or I am one. I've started taking my garbage to work. Seriously. I'm afraid if it's not just kleenex or dental floss she's going to start saving it and questioning me about things I want gone from my life.
It is the weirdest feeling to be living with someone who doesn't want me to get rid of anything. At my old house I was constantly enduring complaints for having way too much of everything.
Once while still at home the head of the household got annoyed that I'd left something in the downstairs bathroom and so he put it in the garbage. When I'd found it and confronted him about it, asking him why he hadn't just asked me to move the 'offensive' item he claimed he knew I'd see it in the trash. Passive Aggressive 101, ladies and gentlemen. Why communicate about an issue when you can act out on it?
By the bye, the offensive item that warranted dumpster love? A pink magic 8 ball. On the counter.
*Cough*
I know that some people don't mean their actions to come off as crazy as they do but I found myself flashing back to old feelings and falling into old habits of wanting my space, of not wanting to be at home, of hiding out in my room. I actually remember feeling similarly when I was living where I was before Grandma's. People are not respectful of space. People are needy and clingy and selfish and invasive. The more I thought about it the more I thought people should be surprised when married couples don't act out in crazy ways not the other way around. Why does it shock us when people suddenly do things that are uncharacteristic? How can anyone handle living with someone who demands so much of them all the time? And every couple has one of those. You think you're safe, you think We're different but you're not. There's the controller and the controlled, the aggressor and the passive. And they each wear their role like a forlorn badge of dishonor, too stubborn to budge, too clueless to question.
I think that's why relationships are so frightening.
I am doomed to either be the one who has no boundaries or won't respect boundaries.
Oh, I know, I know.
I'm different.
But I'm also unfortunately not ignorant so I don't have that bliss as a luxury.
I know that some people, some very rare, the few and far between are different.
I had seen this year how surprising people can be, how unorthodox relationships could feel healthier than ones I'd always known as safe.
I know things don't always have to be black and white.
But I didn't like feeling this way; feeling once again like the space I claimed as my own was not mine.
I think as I'm getting older my wants, my dreams are simplifying and I feel like that's a good thing.
There's a whole lot I don't know, specifics I'm not concerned about.
But I think all I want, all I really truly wanted, was a place that was mine, a home.
And maybe, in the most hopeful of fairytales, there would be someone there to share in it.
But apparently there are still a few areas that need working on.
*Ahem*
I've only ever lived alone once in my whole life. It was when I was 21 and I hated it. I hated being alone all the time. The joke of it is if I had the financial means I would choose to live alone now. I can think of very few things that aggravate me more than feeling like my space is being invaded.
My current roommate is 86 years old so if ever there was the defense being set in their ways, she definitely warranted that. But Grandma is a bit of a pistol, as am I, and she has some habits that are very reminiscent of the male at my last residence and that's making the intensity of my heart palpitations increase.
She reads through my mail. She goes through my garbage. Yes, she looks through the garbage and if she thinks I shouldn't throw something away she takes it out of the garbage. I reached for a pen that looked like one I'd thrown away and as I started writing with it there was no ink.
Grandma, I asked, is this the pen I threw away?
Yes, Grandma said, I rescued that from the trash.
I internally hit my head against the counter.
Grandma the pen doesn't work, that's why I threw it away.
I can't tell you how many different items she has removed from the trash after I've discarded them. I can't handle it anymore. It makes me feel like I'm either living with a looney tune or I am one. I've started taking my garbage to work. Seriously. I'm afraid if it's not just kleenex or dental floss she's going to start saving it and questioning me about things I want gone from my life.
It is the weirdest feeling to be living with someone who doesn't want me to get rid of anything. At my old house I was constantly enduring complaints for having way too much of everything.
Once while still at home the head of the household got annoyed that I'd left something in the downstairs bathroom and so he put it in the garbage. When I'd found it and confronted him about it, asking him why he hadn't just asked me to move the 'offensive' item he claimed he knew I'd see it in the trash. Passive Aggressive 101, ladies and gentlemen. Why communicate about an issue when you can act out on it?
By the bye, the offensive item that warranted dumpster love? A pink magic 8 ball. On the counter.
*Cough*
I know that some people don't mean their actions to come off as crazy as they do but I found myself flashing back to old feelings and falling into old habits of wanting my space, of not wanting to be at home, of hiding out in my room. I actually remember feeling similarly when I was living where I was before Grandma's. People are not respectful of space. People are needy and clingy and selfish and invasive. The more I thought about it the more I thought people should be surprised when married couples don't act out in crazy ways not the other way around. Why does it shock us when people suddenly do things that are uncharacteristic? How can anyone handle living with someone who demands so much of them all the time? And every couple has one of those. You think you're safe, you think We're different but you're not. There's the controller and the controlled, the aggressor and the passive. And they each wear their role like a forlorn badge of dishonor, too stubborn to budge, too clueless to question.
I think that's why relationships are so frightening.
I am doomed to either be the one who has no boundaries or won't respect boundaries.
Oh, I know, I know.
I'm different.
But I'm also unfortunately not ignorant so I don't have that bliss as a luxury.
I know that some people, some very rare, the few and far between are different.
I had seen this year how surprising people can be, how unorthodox relationships could feel healthier than ones I'd always known as safe.
I know things don't always have to be black and white.
But I didn't like feeling this way; feeling once again like the space I claimed as my own was not mine.
I think as I'm getting older my wants, my dreams are simplifying and I feel like that's a good thing.
There's a whole lot I don't know, specifics I'm not concerned about.
But I think all I want, all I really truly wanted, was a place that was mine, a home.
And maybe, in the most hopeful of fairytales, there would be someone there to share in it.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The me you'll never see
I heard from this girl I haven't seen or talked to in months.
We used to be really close. She worked at a Starbucks I was a regular at back when I wasn't working for the company. The first time I met her she said, I don't mean this to sound weird but you smell really good. I told her I was wearing Chance by Chanel and from then on out she always called me Chanel. And so did all the other girls that worked at that Starbucks. I became pretty good friends with several of the girls there. And eventually Mr. Indecisive began working there which understandably changed the entire dynamics of my relationship with those girls. Breakups never involve only two people; when you have joint custody of friends they have to choose who they're going to stick with. In an ideal world we'd all be mature enough to coexist.
But that only works when you're not dealing with a man who has the emotional maturity of a zygote.
Feeling nostalgic for that chapter of my life this girl had been a part of I opened up the journal I'd kept earlier this year concerning the rollercoaster of a love affair I'd been stuck on. I could barely read through any of it, 'twas nauseating to read how codependent I was on someone so unworthy of my affections. And the games, Lord have mercy, the ongoing inconsistency.
Do you know how many times he invited me on one of his trips and then uninvited me? FIVE times! Yet he still showed up at my work with cds he'd burned for me and followed me to a concert he'd said he didn't want to go to.
You're still the only girl I ever bought flowers for, that has to mean something.
The saddest thing I read, though, was sometime in the middle of the haze when he said I loved you and I still love you. And I want to hold onto you. I want to keep you in my life.
I can only think of one other man in my life that I shared an uglier goodbye with than him.
God, that's just sad, isn't it?
I don't know how people stay friends with their exes. I would love to be one of those people. But I just don't see how it's done. It's like you have to take all those feelings, all that intensity, all that was and never would be and channel it into this new title: friendship. And that relationship is so limiting compared to all the two of you once shared. And for some, it proves to be too difficult a transition to try and fit their overflowing heart into such a small box. Him and I couldn't do it. But you can't make someone trust you. And he never trusted me. I remember the night of my movie premiere as we were walking, I stopped and grabbed his shoulders, looking in his eyes and almost yelled at him, I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore! He never believed me. He didn't understand how I could be a loving friend to him without suspecting me of wanting something from him. It was tragic, really. I'd never learned to love such a frustrating human with such forgiving patience before. I see now that God was preparing me for something else, someone else. Mr. Indecisive was like the guinea pig and I passed the test. Maybe he just didn't pass his. And part of me hoped, like the other ugly farewell that haunted my past, I would be protected from ever crossing paths with him again.
When God wants someone removed from your life, he removes them. Like Grandma joked about the disappearance of Mr. Wonderful, that regular I was smitten over at my old Starbucks. Well, didn't you pray that if he wasn't a believer he wouldn't come to your show? she'd asked me.
Yeah, Grandma, I did pray that.
Well, God must have thought it best to just remove him from your life.
And God knows best.
So if there was ever a great failed love that didn't run screaming for the mountains, that didn't send me hateful messages of contempt, if there ever existed one who remained loving with a love that distanced, merely out of a desire to stay connected, out of a love that couldn't bear never seeing me again, I don't think I'd know how to respond. I've never known a love to stay in my life after the love fermented.
It was so foreign to me, it made my stomach nervous, the thought of it.
How would that work? What would it look like? If such a man even existed would he grow to resent me for sticking around like my lost love prior had done? Would he glare at me with black eyes and spit out words that mirrored We should have stopped talking months ago I just don't know how to set boundaries. We can never have anything to do with each other ever again.
I don't know.
I don't understand a lot of things.
I especially don't understand the men who fall in love with me.
I guess loving me drives the calmest men mad.
I don't know if that's a good thing or not.
But it kind of overwhelms me,
the thought of having another Anna Karenina ending to a failed love story.
I don't know if I could bear it again.
I'd rather hide with my memories.
But maybe I'm asking for the moon.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8ACzEFtcc4&feature=related
We used to be really close. She worked at a Starbucks I was a regular at back when I wasn't working for the company. The first time I met her she said, I don't mean this to sound weird but you smell really good. I told her I was wearing Chance by Chanel and from then on out she always called me Chanel. And so did all the other girls that worked at that Starbucks. I became pretty good friends with several of the girls there. And eventually Mr. Indecisive began working there which understandably changed the entire dynamics of my relationship with those girls. Breakups never involve only two people; when you have joint custody of friends they have to choose who they're going to stick with. In an ideal world we'd all be mature enough to coexist.
But that only works when you're not dealing with a man who has the emotional maturity of a zygote.
This girl contacted me because she found out I'd transferred from my old store and wanted to know what was going on. I think I kind of laughed out loud when I read her message. It just sort of put into perspective how long it had been since she'd been a part of my life. It's strange to think about how a matter of months becomes a long time. And I started thinking about how different people know you in different ways, they know pieces of you or parts of yourself that remain frozen in certain times. I think it's a rare few who transition with you as you grow and change, as you stop being that person they first grew to love.
Feeling nostalgic for that chapter of my life this girl had been a part of I opened up the journal I'd kept earlier this year concerning the rollercoaster of a love affair I'd been stuck on. I could barely read through any of it, 'twas nauseating to read how codependent I was on someone so unworthy of my affections. And the games, Lord have mercy, the ongoing inconsistency.
Do you know how many times he invited me on one of his trips and then uninvited me? FIVE times! Yet he still showed up at my work with cds he'd burned for me and followed me to a concert he'd said he didn't want to go to.
You're still the only girl I ever bought flowers for, that has to mean something.
The saddest thing I read, though, was sometime in the middle of the haze when he said I loved you and I still love you. And I want to hold onto you. I want to keep you in my life.
I can only think of one other man in my life that I shared an uglier goodbye with than him.
God, that's just sad, isn't it?
I don't know how people stay friends with their exes. I would love to be one of those people. But I just don't see how it's done. It's like you have to take all those feelings, all that intensity, all that was and never would be and channel it into this new title: friendship. And that relationship is so limiting compared to all the two of you once shared. And for some, it proves to be too difficult a transition to try and fit their overflowing heart into such a small box. Him and I couldn't do it. But you can't make someone trust you. And he never trusted me. I remember the night of my movie premiere as we were walking, I stopped and grabbed his shoulders, looking in his eyes and almost yelled at him, I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore! He never believed me. He didn't understand how I could be a loving friend to him without suspecting me of wanting something from him. It was tragic, really. I'd never learned to love such a frustrating human with such forgiving patience before. I see now that God was preparing me for something else, someone else. Mr. Indecisive was like the guinea pig and I passed the test. Maybe he just didn't pass his. And part of me hoped, like the other ugly farewell that haunted my past, I would be protected from ever crossing paths with him again.
I hadn't seen Narcissus in two and a half years and as far I know, he still lives around here.
That was divine protection. When God wants someone removed from your life, he removes them. Like Grandma joked about the disappearance of Mr. Wonderful, that regular I was smitten over at my old Starbucks. Well, didn't you pray that if he wasn't a believer he wouldn't come to your show? she'd asked me.
Yeah, Grandma, I did pray that.
Well, God must have thought it best to just remove him from your life.
And God knows best.
So if there was ever a great failed love that didn't run screaming for the mountains, that didn't send me hateful messages of contempt, if there ever existed one who remained loving with a love that distanced, merely out of a desire to stay connected, out of a love that couldn't bear never seeing me again, I don't think I'd know how to respond. I've never known a love to stay in my life after the love fermented.
It was so foreign to me, it made my stomach nervous, the thought of it.
How would that work? What would it look like? If such a man even existed would he grow to resent me for sticking around like my lost love prior had done? Would he glare at me with black eyes and spit out words that mirrored We should have stopped talking months ago I just don't know how to set boundaries. We can never have anything to do with each other ever again.
I don't know.
I don't understand a lot of things.
I especially don't understand the men who fall in love with me.
I guess loving me drives the calmest men mad.
I don't know if that's a good thing or not.
But it kind of overwhelms me,
the thought of having another Anna Karenina ending to a failed love story.
I don't know if I could bear it again.
I'd rather hide with my memories.
Truth has a way of morphing into whatever circumstances hinder it.
And I wanted my truth untainted.
I wanted truth that was frightfully real, inconveniently true.
I wanted a truth that wouldn't lie to me.But maybe I'm asking for the moon.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8ACzEFtcc4&feature=related
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Sparkle Shopping
Countdown
Till my birthday: 33 Days
Till Christmas: 46 Days
Till a brand New Year: 52 Days
That's a whole lotta sparkles!!
I love the holidays.
I am one of those annoyingly chipper people who starts listening to Christmas music way too early and would have her lights up year round if propriety allowed it.
I am someone who is excited that there is Christmas crap everywhere when there's still Halloween crap everywhere.
I am also someone who has no problem buying myself presents while I also buy for others (See what I treated myself to above. I was very surprised with my own generosity but I definitely deserved it).
I am also one of those people who laughs loudly when standing in the Shoebox aisle at Hallmark.
I even kind of enjoy retail during the holidays.
Oh sure, sometimes it brings out the worst in people and I get to witness the mounting tension as the days go by and procrastinators run out of time and options for mandatory gifts.
What do you mean you're out of it?
Well, sir, we've had our Christmas ornaments since July.
Hallmark is definitely the epitomy of the angriest of the crazies.
People don't usually get their feathers quite as ruffled over eggnog.
Plus, you can always offer them some complimentary sugar to placate them.
Gotta love Starbucks for that.
There was this really sweet older couple that came into my store the other day and they wanted eggnog lattes but we were out of eggnog. So when they settled on peppermint mochas I joyfully declared, It's Christmas in a cup! And when I called out their drinks, Two Christmases in cups! I also added, Now all you have to do is find yourselves some mistletoe! The older gentlemen who had been genuinely disappointed over his loss of eggnog got a twinkle in his eye. Say, you're pretty good at this, aren't you? he said. I grinned back in agreement, Yes, yes I am. As he walked away the lady leaned toward me and said quietly, We have our own invisible mistletoe and that works just fine.
It was so perfect! I love it when old people are still frisky. That's how I'm going to be, frisky at every age. And telling random sales girls about me and my guys invisible mistletoe.
And how!
I wandered around the mall today taking in all the sparkly decorations and musing over the fact that cheesy Christmas stuff still makes me giddy like a little girl. I guess I've just always loved Christmas and no matter how old I get and what all I go through, I still become that hopeful little girl, delighting in the Charlie brown ornaments, gazing longingly at every sparkly piece of jewelry, giggling over the new naughty negliges I bought (well, that might be the hopeful woman, not the little girl).
But you get the picture.
It's transcendent, somehow, and I loved that.
I also loved being the rare person that actually smiles at the cashier and talks to them like a person and not a robot. I went to the post office today to mail a surprise to a friend and I cannot tell you how stressed out those employees looked. This one employee was telling someone what they needed to do for changing their address and the way she delivered her words you would have thought she was a programmed robot who uttered the same 27 words over and over again. It took everything in me to stifle my laughter. People are so ridiculously amusing if you just take a few minutes to stop and watch them. They say and do the most absurd things and get so upset over so little. It really is like one giant ongoing comedy, right before your very eyes.
I freaking loved that.
I guess I was just excited to see what would happen next.
The ends of things often made way for new beginnings.
And newness was always extra sparkly and extra exciting to unwrap.
And anticipating all that lay in store added extra giddiness to this girls already overwhelmingly hopeful excitement.
Your birthday is soon! Grandma said to me tonight. You're going to be twenty-nine! Are you so excited?
And I was.
I was beyond excited.
For something tremendous surely was in store.
Skewed Perspective
It's amazing what a little perspective can do.
I felt really foolish,
Thankful, relieved, reassured,
Humbled.
I saw a friend I hadn't seen in....a year? Neither of us even knew the last time we saw each other, it had been that long. Needless to say we had much to catch up on.
She had a little baby boy, not yet one, and she was raising him solo.
But she still had many interactions with the Father.
And hearing of him made my skin tighten in discomfort.
He was the kind of man who would use my friends food stamps.
He was the kind of man that would make her meet him to pay for baby formula because he was too cheap to pay for it himself.
He was the kind of man who wouldn't visit his son unless she let him sleep in her bed when he visited.
And then laying next to her he would play mind games of wanting her and rejecting her.
And on and on and on.
And my stomach was filled with nausea.
I'm writing this down, my friend said, reaching for a pen and pad.
I need help, he's like heroin. I can't do this on my own.
And so we started brainstorming new tactics of things she was to do to gain some control in her life once again, to stop letting him walk all over her, to be free.
To learn that she was enough.
If he wants to visit his son then he will need to make accommodations other than your place, I started.
But if I won't let him stay with me he won't see his son. He won't pay for a hotel, she countered.
Well, then I guess he won't see him, I said firmly. Men do what they want to do. You have to stop enabling him. You have to stop thinking that what you do is going to make him be what you want. You said he always makes you feel bad when he's around, right?
Right, she sighed.
Then maybe him visiting less will actually be a good thing?
You're right, she agreed. What else?
And so she talked and I listened and I talked and she listened for hours.
And it felt comforting knowing that all the wisdom I'd gained the hard way I was able to impart to her.
You will likely fail and fall back into old habits in some way at some point, I told her. We're human, we err. But you can't think, 'Well, since I messed this one thing up I might as well just give up entirely.' You will find that as you make little steps of independence you'll feel proud of yourself. And you'll want to do more. You'll think, 'Hey, I did it! What else can I do?' And you'll get to the point where you not only don't want to talk to him when he calls, you'll stop caring so much. You'll learn what it feels like to let your heart be the center of your needs.
And as I drove home I felt this wave of reality wash over my heart.
My failed Princes may have been a lot of things, they may have been narcissistic, self serving, inconsistent juvenilles but they'd never treated me with the severity of heartless contempt that mongrel violently tossed upon my dear friend.
I really couldn't see any of them trying to use my food stamps instead of letting me use them for our baby.
That was some renewed perspective.
And I hoped in some knowing secrecy, they knew I valued all they were even in spite of everything they never would be.
Some things are best left alone.
And some things reminded me what a gift it was to have time alone.
To revel in being alone.
To choose to be alone.
I felt really foolish,
Thankful, relieved, reassured,
Humbled.
I saw a friend I hadn't seen in....a year? Neither of us even knew the last time we saw each other, it had been that long. Needless to say we had much to catch up on.
She had a little baby boy, not yet one, and she was raising him solo.
But she still had many interactions with the Father.
And hearing of him made my skin tighten in discomfort.
He was the kind of man who would use my friends food stamps.
He was the kind of man that would make her meet him to pay for baby formula because he was too cheap to pay for it himself.
He was the kind of man who wouldn't visit his son unless she let him sleep in her bed when he visited.
And then laying next to her he would play mind games of wanting her and rejecting her.
And on and on and on.
And my stomach was filled with nausea.
I'm writing this down, my friend said, reaching for a pen and pad.
I need help, he's like heroin. I can't do this on my own.
And so we started brainstorming new tactics of things she was to do to gain some control in her life once again, to stop letting him walk all over her, to be free.
To learn that she was enough.
If he wants to visit his son then he will need to make accommodations other than your place, I started.
But if I won't let him stay with me he won't see his son. He won't pay for a hotel, she countered.
Well, then I guess he won't see him, I said firmly. Men do what they want to do. You have to stop enabling him. You have to stop thinking that what you do is going to make him be what you want. You said he always makes you feel bad when he's around, right?
Right, she sighed.
Then maybe him visiting less will actually be a good thing?
You're right, she agreed. What else?
And so she talked and I listened and I talked and she listened for hours.
And it felt comforting knowing that all the wisdom I'd gained the hard way I was able to impart to her.
You will likely fail and fall back into old habits in some way at some point, I told her. We're human, we err. But you can't think, 'Well, since I messed this one thing up I might as well just give up entirely.' You will find that as you make little steps of independence you'll feel proud of yourself. And you'll want to do more. You'll think, 'Hey, I did it! What else can I do?' And you'll get to the point where you not only don't want to talk to him when he calls, you'll stop caring so much. You'll learn what it feels like to let your heart be the center of your needs.
And as I drove home I felt this wave of reality wash over my heart.
My failed Princes may have been a lot of things, they may have been narcissistic, self serving, inconsistent juvenilles but they'd never treated me with the severity of heartless contempt that mongrel violently tossed upon my dear friend.
I really couldn't see any of them trying to use my food stamps instead of letting me use them for our baby.
That was some renewed perspective.
And I hoped in some knowing secrecy, they knew I valued all they were even in spite of everything they never would be.
Some things are best left alone.
And some things reminded me what a gift it was to have time alone.
To revel in being alone.
To choose to be alone.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Sometimes you feel like a nut
Love never is envious nor boils over with jealousy.
Love does not insist on its own rights or its own way for it is not self seeking.
Love is not touchy or fretful or resentful.
Love takes no account of the evil done to it, it pays no attention to a suffered wrong.
Love is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances.
Relationships are complicated. People are also crazy and those people have relationships so it stands to reason those nutty nuts are going to embark on nutty interactions. They are, after all, reflections of one another, extensions of self, of how they each view themselves. That's why, thank the Lord, there are so many different kinds of people because some relationships I'd never have the patience for. My Grandma asked me what I thought of my best friend's husband and while I said I liked him alright if I ever ended up with a man like him, Lord have mercy.
We're too alike, he'd said to me when I told him of Grandma's comment.
Yeah, I'd agreed. I'd end up singing 'He had it comin' in the slammer because you pushed me too far and one day ended up choking on some poisonous sparkles.
Well, at least I'd get creative about it.
Some people inadvertently or by choice develop codependencies. They learn to rely so heavily on one another that they are incapable of functioning alone and are frightened of the possibility of being apart. Often they check in with one another more times than they do anything else throughout their days and they're satisfied in that ongoing connection. They have nothing that separates themselves from their counterpart, no financial accounts, no email, no hidden practices of any kind. In some extreme cases they may even compose emails and text messages together.
Why reply to someone with your own candid honesty when you can have someone censor it for you? Who wants their constitutional rights of freedom of speech anyway when you can have someone else take all the pressure away? I mean, it really is exhausting having to actually deal with self, all the complex, inconsistent layers and sort through them all and deal with the reality of all you're trying to bury.
No way.
That's too much.
Best to just keep that leash on tight, I mean, it's what you deserve anyway, right?
Excuse me, it's what you prefer, I should say.
Imagine being in a relationship of respect, freeing, trusting respect.
What would that even look like?
Respect:
Love does not insist on its own rights or its own way for it is not self seeking.
Love is not touchy or fretful or resentful.
Love takes no account of the evil done to it, it pays no attention to a suffered wrong.
Love is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances.
Relationships are complicated. People are also crazy and those people have relationships so it stands to reason those nutty nuts are going to embark on nutty interactions. They are, after all, reflections of one another, extensions of self, of how they each view themselves. That's why, thank the Lord, there are so many different kinds of people because some relationships I'd never have the patience for. My Grandma asked me what I thought of my best friend's husband and while I said I liked him alright if I ever ended up with a man like him, Lord have mercy.
We're too alike, he'd said to me when I told him of Grandma's comment.
Yeah, I'd agreed. I'd end up singing 'He had it comin' in the slammer because you pushed me too far and one day ended up choking on some poisonous sparkles.
Well, at least I'd get creative about it.
Some people inadvertently or by choice develop codependencies. They learn to rely so heavily on one another that they are incapable of functioning alone and are frightened of the possibility of being apart. Often they check in with one another more times than they do anything else throughout their days and they're satisfied in that ongoing connection. They have nothing that separates themselves from their counterpart, no financial accounts, no email, no hidden practices of any kind. In some extreme cases they may even compose emails and text messages together.
Why reply to someone with your own candid honesty when you can have someone censor it for you? Who wants their constitutional rights of freedom of speech anyway when you can have someone else take all the pressure away? I mean, it really is exhausting having to actually deal with self, all the complex, inconsistent layers and sort through them all and deal with the reality of all you're trying to bury.
No way.
That's too much.
Best to just keep that leash on tight, I mean, it's what you deserve anyway, right?
Excuse me, it's what you prefer, I should say.
Imagine being in a relationship of respect, freeing, trusting respect.
What would that even look like?
Respect:
to hold in esteem or honor;
to show regard or consideration for: to respect someone's rights.
to refrain from intruding upon or interfering with: to respect a person's privacy.
The saddest thing to me is when people live their lives in cages and never keep their eyes open long enough to see the bars. Somehow, through Divine intervention, I had managed to break free from the several prisons that had tried to enslave me. And being now on the other side, I wished I could pick the lock on the doors of those desperately wanting to break free.
But you can't help those who won't admit the truth.
And sometimes even when someone has awakened from their comatose state, seeing all that is can overwhelm and they might believe they can easily fall back asleep.
But once awakened, the idea of going back to comatose is too unbearable.
People say that's normal, that's to be expected, that's how it must be, he tells me.
Ahem, I'm sorry, but people?
Normalcy is an illusion.
Wouldn't you prefer genuineness, any day?
Wouldn't you prefer what is real, truthful and frighteningly captivating?
What's normal is not craving the thing that screwed up your life up in the first place.
Normal is choosing the choice you're failing to convince yourself you want and not sending out SOS messages to someone who sees through your transparency.
Words are tired, give me action anyday.
I always judge a man by what he does, his words are hollow.
Tell me again how much you don't want a take two and I will flash you a knowing look of condescension.
You are possibly crazier than I am.
I've met my match.
And I'm cautious.
He knew what I was gonna do before I did and somehow the feeling is mutual.
Be careful, friend or you'll take me out with you.
I'm no good when it comes to my heart.
Satan knows my weakness and it ain't chocolate.
A friend told me, He turns into a different person when he talks about you.
And it made me think: which one is the real one?
And does he even know.
Words have an uncanny ability to lose themselves on the lips of those misusing them. They like to hoard their favorites and muddle them around in their mouth, letting them soak for awhile, raping them of all their meaning, until all that remains are fragments of all that never was.
Those are the ones to be wary of.
And somewhere exist those who see the truth in all real relationships; those that embody love, respect and trust. Those that are freeing.
Those that release.
Trust:
Reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety of a person or thing; confidence.
The saddest thing to me is when people live their lives in cages and never keep their eyes open long enough to see the bars. Somehow, through Divine intervention, I had managed to break free from the several prisons that had tried to enslave me. And being now on the other side, I wished I could pick the lock on the doors of those desperately wanting to break free.
But you can't help those who won't admit the truth.
And sometimes even when someone has awakened from their comatose state, seeing all that is can overwhelm and they might believe they can easily fall back asleep.
But once awakened, the idea of going back to comatose is too unbearable.
People say that's normal, that's to be expected, that's how it must be, he tells me.
Ahem, I'm sorry, but people?
Normalcy is an illusion.
Wouldn't you prefer genuineness, any day?
Wouldn't you prefer what is real, truthful and frighteningly captivating?
What's normal is not craving the thing that screwed up your life up in the first place.
Normal is choosing the choice you're failing to convince yourself you want and not sending out SOS messages to someone who sees through your transparency.
Words are tired, give me action anyday.
I always judge a man by what he does, his words are hollow.
Tell me again how much you don't want a take two and I will flash you a knowing look of condescension.
You are possibly crazier than I am.
I've met my match.
And I'm cautious.
He knew what I was gonna do before I did and somehow the feeling is mutual.
Be careful, friend or you'll take me out with you.
I'm no good when it comes to my heart.
Satan knows my weakness and it ain't chocolate.
A friend told me, He turns into a different person when he talks about you.
And it made me think: which one is the real one?
And does he even know.
Words have an uncanny ability to lose themselves on the lips of those misusing them. They like to hoard their favorites and muddle them around in their mouth, letting them soak for awhile, raping them of all their meaning, until all that remains are fragments of all that never was.
Those are the ones to be wary of.
And somewhere exist those who see the truth in all real relationships; those that embody love, respect and trust. Those that are freeing.
Those that release.
Trust:
Reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety of a person or thing; confidence.
Confident expectation of something; hope.
Fire Swings Part deux
Veronica had returned to her new favorite spot, the bar where swings accompanied her wine, the one Fiona had first brought her to. She was meeting another close friend, Cece, who was also an actress. Actors were many things but one thing that Veronica especially delighted in was that they always seemed extra tapped in to their emotions, to their self awareness and in Veronica's case in particular, to processessing events quickly.
Cece hadn't seen Veronica in several weeks so there was quite a bit to catch up on.
That all just sounds so exhausting! Cece declared falling back in her swing chair. My life just seems so boring compared to that!
Veronica laughed at Cece's dramatics, though saying everything aloud in a row like that did bring to light the intensity of all that had transpired.
Sometimes Veronica herself felt a little hazy about the whole thing.
But one thing they each agreed on was truly anything was possible.
People very often surprised and at the most inopportune moments.
Timing and Fate didn't always see eye to eye and with our inability to cease sticking our hands into things we often gummed up the works.
But that always made the story more interesting.
And Veronica loved stories with surprising twists.
After a few hours of wine and secret swapping a band set up to play. There were three guys and suddenly Veronica remembered months ago hearing a similar band and being unable to take her eyes off the drummer. It really wasn't that long ago and yet it felt like a life time. Back when it overwhelmed that he even delighted to see her. Time was many things not the least of which was irrelevant. She hadn't told him she was going, in fact she had said she wasn't going to make it but she showed up minutes before his band was going to play to surprise him. He was so excited to see her he'd jumped up and given her a big hug and then sought to get her a drink right away. She remembered how radiant she'd felt that night, nervous but calm. And Veronica liked that unlike many shadows in her past she was able to reflect on one with such pleasant appreciation.
Maybe its briefness was why it left room for smiles of longing, Veronica thought aloud to Cece.
Yeah, maybe, Cece agreed. It's hard for me to understand such short relationships because my guy and I have been together for four and a half years.
Veronica breathed in a sigh of contemplation.
What a long time, she thought. Love is certainly very inconsistent when it chooses its times.
But unpredictability seemed to be Veronica's speciality.
And that's why driving there and even driving home she couldn't wipe that stupid grin off her face.
Cece hadn't seen Veronica in several weeks so there was quite a bit to catch up on.
That all just sounds so exhausting! Cece declared falling back in her swing chair. My life just seems so boring compared to that!
Veronica laughed at Cece's dramatics, though saying everything aloud in a row like that did bring to light the intensity of all that had transpired.
Sometimes Veronica herself felt a little hazy about the whole thing.
But one thing they each agreed on was truly anything was possible.
People very often surprised and at the most inopportune moments.
Timing and Fate didn't always see eye to eye and with our inability to cease sticking our hands into things we often gummed up the works.
But that always made the story more interesting.
And Veronica loved stories with surprising twists.
After a few hours of wine and secret swapping a band set up to play. There were three guys and suddenly Veronica remembered months ago hearing a similar band and being unable to take her eyes off the drummer. It really wasn't that long ago and yet it felt like a life time. Back when it overwhelmed that he even delighted to see her. Time was many things not the least of which was irrelevant. She hadn't told him she was going, in fact she had said she wasn't going to make it but she showed up minutes before his band was going to play to surprise him. He was so excited to see her he'd jumped up and given her a big hug and then sought to get her a drink right away. She remembered how radiant she'd felt that night, nervous but calm. And Veronica liked that unlike many shadows in her past she was able to reflect on one with such pleasant appreciation.
Maybe its briefness was why it left room for smiles of longing, Veronica thought aloud to Cece.
Yeah, maybe, Cece agreed. It's hard for me to understand such short relationships because my guy and I have been together for four and a half years.
Veronica breathed in a sigh of contemplation.
What a long time, she thought. Love is certainly very inconsistent when it chooses its times.
But unpredictability seemed to be Veronica's speciality.
And that's why driving there and even driving home she couldn't wipe that stupid grin off her face.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Restoration Chapter
I've seen so many airplanes this week, it's kind of ridiculous.
Yesterday alone I can't even remember how many I saw.
I saw so many that I actually lost count.
That's a lot of frequent flyer miles.
That's also a lot of little nudges from the Big G.
Planes are sort of this thing between Him and I.
It's kind of a long story, but basically, it's like my own personal little rainbow.
And whenever there's a plethora over head then I know He's moving, something fierce.
Mr. Dreamy came in again today. I was on bar, donning my extra sparkles in honor of the holy day that is Sparkle Friday and he walked in through the door that's closest to the bar. He got this big grin on his face when he saw me. Good morning, Resa, he said. And I'm quite certain my grin was so large it momentarily extended beyond the parameters of my cheekbones. He remembered my name! I thought. Eeeeee!!
Do you have any idea what it feels like when you're feeling one thing internally but you have to make your face showcase something entirely different, almost conflicting? Cool, aloof, detached. No guy wants little Miss Eager Pants. They want the elusive, independent, indifferent chicks that are hard to catch. It's not a game, it's reality. It is not sexy when a guy is too available or too doting or too infatuated. We all crave balance. Well, I should say most of us do.
The thing that was so different with this new stranger was that I had no desire to make something happen. Oh, my instinct was always to be way too forward and there have already been moments where I've thought something and chosen to ignore it (being a true lady definitely takes active work). But I'm tired of getting what I want. I want to be got. I want to be sought after, chased down, hunted with the ferocity that only the most devoted, amorous ones possess.
I admitted to one of my girlfriends tonight that my impulse was to try and think of something to say that might encourage him to ask me out. But then I had this moment where I halted, literally stepped out of myself long enough to face me eye to eye and give me a loud slap across my cheek to wake up the sense buried inside of me. Men don't need help. At least not when it comes to their level of interest. They either are or they aren't. Those that are half way are bullshit. And why would I want to snuggle on the couch with bullshit? I mean, really.
I had already seen the most sane men do the most insane things this year and the amazing part of it is that some of the most romantic, loving gestures have been by men after they had cast me aside.
Figure that one out. I'd love to be enlightened.
I don't think that love, with all of its passion and fire and romance has room for logic.
It simply doesn't go with the outfit it's wearing.
Logic does for love what black does for brown; they just get in the way of one another.
They don't compliment each other, they take away from each other.
If love were sound and reason played a heavy part in it we'd all still have arranged marriages. It certainly would make more sense to marry someone within our class or even above us to benefit our family and our name, someone who could draw connections for others outside of ourselves.
But that is unromantic, that clashes with the ideals of love.
And we love love.
We believe in it.
We just foolishly forget how inconsistent and selfish it can be.
But we forgive because love always believes the best.
That's the beautiful thing about all the ugliness I'd seen over the years.
I do still believe in love.
I still believe love never dies, never fades out, never comes to an end.
And I've learned I don't need to take into consideration the actions of someone else in determining the level with which I love.
No one has that power any more.
This love thing is between me and Him and loving for Him, through Him because of Him has always given me a joyous high far superior than any vindictive thing I could ever think of to do in reaction to all the hard hearted heartless that seem to crowd my path.
My interaction with Mr. Dreamy today may have been brief, even as I went around with samples to have an excuse to be near him again. And truth be told, while the old impatient part of me was dancing around singing, Ask me out! Ask me out! Ask me out! the new trusting me enjoyed waiting, was content in not knowing, reveled in the possibility. Sometimes we're so quick to reach our goal, to see the end results that we forget to enjoy the ride while we're on it.
And I really liked this new ride.
It didn't seem to carry the hesitancy that had been plaguing my year like a raincloud hovering above my curls.
And the magic was that in a room full of people I'm the one he chose to look at.
Just me.
And those moments are the little beginnings, they are what memories draw from.
And ever always His timing is perfect.
Just as it needs to be, just as it always is.
Yesterday alone I can't even remember how many I saw.
I saw so many that I actually lost count.
That's a lot of frequent flyer miles.
That's also a lot of little nudges from the Big G.
Planes are sort of this thing between Him and I.
It's kind of a long story, but basically, it's like my own personal little rainbow.
And whenever there's a plethora over head then I know He's moving, something fierce.
Mr. Dreamy came in again today. I was on bar, donning my extra sparkles in honor of the holy day that is Sparkle Friday and he walked in through the door that's closest to the bar. He got this big grin on his face when he saw me. Good morning, Resa, he said. And I'm quite certain my grin was so large it momentarily extended beyond the parameters of my cheekbones. He remembered my name! I thought. Eeeeee!!
Do you have any idea what it feels like when you're feeling one thing internally but you have to make your face showcase something entirely different, almost conflicting? Cool, aloof, detached. No guy wants little Miss Eager Pants. They want the elusive, independent, indifferent chicks that are hard to catch. It's not a game, it's reality. It is not sexy when a guy is too available or too doting or too infatuated. We all crave balance. Well, I should say most of us do.
The thing that was so different with this new stranger was that I had no desire to make something happen. Oh, my instinct was always to be way too forward and there have already been moments where I've thought something and chosen to ignore it (being a true lady definitely takes active work). But I'm tired of getting what I want. I want to be got. I want to be sought after, chased down, hunted with the ferocity that only the most devoted, amorous ones possess.
I admitted to one of my girlfriends tonight that my impulse was to try and think of something to say that might encourage him to ask me out. But then I had this moment where I halted, literally stepped out of myself long enough to face me eye to eye and give me a loud slap across my cheek to wake up the sense buried inside of me. Men don't need help. At least not when it comes to their level of interest. They either are or they aren't. Those that are half way are bullshit. And why would I want to snuggle on the couch with bullshit? I mean, really.
I had already seen the most sane men do the most insane things this year and the amazing part of it is that some of the most romantic, loving gestures have been by men after they had cast me aside.
Figure that one out. I'd love to be enlightened.
I don't think that love, with all of its passion and fire and romance has room for logic.
It simply doesn't go with the outfit it's wearing.
Logic does for love what black does for brown; they just get in the way of one another.
They don't compliment each other, they take away from each other.
If love were sound and reason played a heavy part in it we'd all still have arranged marriages. It certainly would make more sense to marry someone within our class or even above us to benefit our family and our name, someone who could draw connections for others outside of ourselves.
But that is unromantic, that clashes with the ideals of love.
And we love love.
We believe in it.
We just foolishly forget how inconsistent and selfish it can be.
But we forgive because love always believes the best.
That's the beautiful thing about all the ugliness I'd seen over the years.
I do still believe in love.
I still believe love never dies, never fades out, never comes to an end.
And I've learned I don't need to take into consideration the actions of someone else in determining the level with which I love.
No one has that power any more.
This love thing is between me and Him and loving for Him, through Him because of Him has always given me a joyous high far superior than any vindictive thing I could ever think of to do in reaction to all the hard hearted heartless that seem to crowd my path.
My interaction with Mr. Dreamy today may have been brief, even as I went around with samples to have an excuse to be near him again. And truth be told, while the old impatient part of me was dancing around singing, Ask me out! Ask me out! Ask me out! the new trusting me enjoyed waiting, was content in not knowing, reveled in the possibility. Sometimes we're so quick to reach our goal, to see the end results that we forget to enjoy the ride while we're on it.
And I really liked this new ride.
It didn't seem to carry the hesitancy that had been plaguing my year like a raincloud hovering above my curls.
And the magic was that in a room full of people I'm the one he chose to look at.
Just me.
And those moments are the little beginnings, they are what memories draw from.
And ever always His timing is perfect.
Just as it needs to be, just as it always is.
It's Ok
Breathe.
Take a deep breath.
Now get out of your head, for just a minute.
It may not be as safe a place as you imagine.
Sometimes we let thoughts consume us.
Sometimes the culprit is reason or logic or rationale.
Sometimes it's love; irrational, inconvenient, can't live without it love.
I've always sort of had this philosophy that if I wanted something I would wait and think on it. And if I still felt the same way after a time then it must be significant enough for me to have it. Because there are those things that are fleeting, those desires and impulses that leave as quickly as they started.
And sometimes, in those rare instances, they linger.
Confusion is not something that Providence created to consume us.
Confusion buries the truth from surfacing because it argues every angle, it counters any argument, it rationally rationalizes the most irrational rationale.
It is not your friend, confusion is the antithesis of peace.
It doesn't deserve your worship.
Whatever is noble, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is lovely and admirable, think on such things. All else is mere distraction.
Step out of the shell you're hiding in.
There is someone waiting to see the moon in there.
Don't be another guy, be a MAN.
Be so consumed with passion that you must have me.
Or be so overwhelmingly good that your altruism outpours and inspires awe in those around you.
But don't just be someone who can't have me and won't let me go because then you're just like him. Then you're just another guy and you sacrifice your crown on the altar of PC's everywhere, phonies and fakes who fell short and once again a disillusioned princess stands holding onto the remains.
I am further gone than you realize, dear one.
Not only out of the rabbit hole but out of sight from the rabbit hole.
A great big hop, skip and bunny jump away.
So can't you see? If I, being female, being the emotional, irrelevant, irrational one am more than fine...what island are you alone on?
Can it be that what you so quickly dismissed has shed light on things greater than even you?
Is it possible your gut quivers once again beyond your control?
And over something so elusive, over such fantasy?
I thought everything was just fine, that things were really great.
Darling, why am I the one you speak to with such uncandid honesty?
Shouldn't you be directing such overtures elsewhere?
Are you so afraid of letting me go entirely because then you will be left alone with your choice and the weight of that reality has finally sunk in?
I told you long ago I am no sexy little side dish. Nor am I the aphrodisiac.
This foxy lady wants so much more.
And for the first time in possibly the history of time I am done settling for less than everything.
I want the moon.
I want the golden ball.
I want to be followed to the ends of the pyramids just so they can look into these eyes.
Love endures all things.
It does not block and unblock and end and unend.
It is not Mr. Indecisive's cousin.
It just IS.
Like all I believed you to be.
Real Genuine Raw Vulnerable Honest
Why are you choking on a love that releases?
Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you
it will set you free.
Be more like the man you were made to be.
Let go.
Trying to hold onto everything will make you drown. It's way too much for one man's arms.
You already told your words what to do. Why are your actions lagging behind?
Do they know something your words are masking?
You may do well to set out ALONE for a few days. Away from all that would smother the fire within your soul. Perhaps some time alone, sans phone, sans computer, sans anyone would shed light on the lies bouncing around inside of you. Such conflicting things cannot be truth. There are grey areas and then there are just muddled areas. You're like the paint when it all runs together and creates one muted reddish tan, vague, undefined.
Stop lying to yourself and uttering the mantra Everything's fine, we're all fine, it's gonna be fine.
Nothing is fine.
This is a flippin volcano you're dancing on and it's stagnance ain't gonna last for much longer.
What is really going on here?
What's behind that reflection in the mirror, what's inside that man desperately trying to break free from his glass cage?
Prisons are often self inflicted, my dear little masochist.
Ignorance is only bliss if you're actually ignorant and you're far too savvy to pretend to be such an idiot.
Get out
Go away
Make a break for it
And take no one with you
I swear,
I know you will come back with the actual truth
The entire naked ugly truth
The one you've been ignoring for years
He is waiting for you, darling.
He has the answers.
It's not me.
I love in spite of you.
I love PC, and all his flaws.
But I know who I am.
Don't you want to know too?
Take a deep breath.
Now get out of your head, for just a minute.
It may not be as safe a place as you imagine.
Sometimes we let thoughts consume us.
Sometimes the culprit is reason or logic or rationale.
Sometimes it's love; irrational, inconvenient, can't live without it love.
I've always sort of had this philosophy that if I wanted something I would wait and think on it. And if I still felt the same way after a time then it must be significant enough for me to have it. Because there are those things that are fleeting, those desires and impulses that leave as quickly as they started.
And sometimes, in those rare instances, they linger.
Confusion is not something that Providence created to consume us.
Confusion buries the truth from surfacing because it argues every angle, it counters any argument, it rationally rationalizes the most irrational rationale.
It is not your friend, confusion is the antithesis of peace.
It doesn't deserve your worship.
Whatever is noble, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is lovely and admirable, think on such things. All else is mere distraction.
Step out of the shell you're hiding in.
There is someone waiting to see the moon in there.
Don't be another guy, be a MAN.
Be so consumed with passion that you must have me.
Or be so overwhelmingly good that your altruism outpours and inspires awe in those around you.
But don't just be someone who can't have me and won't let me go because then you're just like him. Then you're just another guy and you sacrifice your crown on the altar of PC's everywhere, phonies and fakes who fell short and once again a disillusioned princess stands holding onto the remains.
I am further gone than you realize, dear one.
Not only out of the rabbit hole but out of sight from the rabbit hole.
A great big hop, skip and bunny jump away.
So can't you see? If I, being female, being the emotional, irrelevant, irrational one am more than fine...what island are you alone on?
Can it be that what you so quickly dismissed has shed light on things greater than even you?
Is it possible your gut quivers once again beyond your control?
And over something so elusive, over such fantasy?
I thought everything was just fine, that things were really great.
Darling, why am I the one you speak to with such uncandid honesty?
Shouldn't you be directing such overtures elsewhere?
Are you so afraid of letting me go entirely because then you will be left alone with your choice and the weight of that reality has finally sunk in?
I told you long ago I am no sexy little side dish. Nor am I the aphrodisiac.
This foxy lady wants so much more.
And for the first time in possibly the history of time I am done settling for less than everything.
I want the moon.
I want the golden ball.
I want to be followed to the ends of the pyramids just so they can look into these eyes.
Love endures all things.
It does not block and unblock and end and unend.
It is not Mr. Indecisive's cousin.
It just IS.
Like all I believed you to be.
Real Genuine Raw Vulnerable Honest
Why are you choking on a love that releases?
Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you
it will set you free.
Be more like the man you were made to be.
Let go.
Trying to hold onto everything will make you drown. It's way too much for one man's arms.
You already told your words what to do. Why are your actions lagging behind?
Do they know something your words are masking?
You may do well to set out ALONE for a few days. Away from all that would smother the fire within your soul. Perhaps some time alone, sans phone, sans computer, sans anyone would shed light on the lies bouncing around inside of you. Such conflicting things cannot be truth. There are grey areas and then there are just muddled areas. You're like the paint when it all runs together and creates one muted reddish tan, vague, undefined.
Stop lying to yourself and uttering the mantra Everything's fine, we're all fine, it's gonna be fine.
Nothing is fine.
This is a flippin volcano you're dancing on and it's stagnance ain't gonna last for much longer.
What is really going on here?
What's behind that reflection in the mirror, what's inside that man desperately trying to break free from his glass cage?
Prisons are often self inflicted, my dear little masochist.
Ignorance is only bliss if you're actually ignorant and you're far too savvy to pretend to be such an idiot.
Get out
Go away
Make a break for it
And take no one with you
I swear,
I know you will come back with the actual truth
The entire naked ugly truth
The one you've been ignoring for years
He is waiting for you, darling.
He has the answers.
It's not me.
I love in spite of you.
I love PC, and all his flaws.
But I know who I am.
Don't you want to know too?
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