Monday, December 27, 2010
My Greatest Teacher: Version 1
The battered shell of a beauty stood to the right of the oak before me, asking what it was that I wanted. I stood in awe, silence and fear trying to conjure up the courage to tell her it was her that I wanted.
In May of 1999, just after turning 21-years old and trying to recover from a broken heart, I worked a construction job which I loved doing. With construction, as some of you may know, there tends to be a little alcohol involved with those who work in the trade. The beauty was a 31-year old divorced mother of two who worked as the middle school secretary by day and as the sexiest bartender in the tri-county area by night at the bar we'd frequent after the long days of work.
As I sat with the guys I worked with back then, around the old wooden table next to the fireplace, playing cards and shooting pool, I'd glance over at her behind the bar from time to time and see her looking back at me with a smile. I watched her shoot down the attempts of others to buy her drinks and shots and the offers to take her to breakfast.
I can't say I blame them for trying to become the lucky one for the night. I say lucky one for the night because she was kinda slutty. But she was a dead sexy kinda slutty with natural blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, a 36 D chest, a size 2 waist and carried all kinds of sexuality.
I knew I wouldn't have the same level of sexual skill as she, but when she asked me, I didn't let my lack of knowledge, or experience for that matter, hamper my choice to accompany her home after the bar closed.
When we finally got to her house, it took a total of 30 seconds before she started taking her clothes off and ordering me to do the same.
She told me to lie on the bed.
She was the second partner I'd ever had, so I really didn't know too much yet. I knew where things went, but that was seriously the most of it. She taught me how to watch a woman while the act was happening and how to feel, how to touch and how to taste, too. All while not feeling, touching or tasting anything.
She covered it all.
Each time we had finished, we'd lie together in bed and talk. She told me how her ex used to beat her. And why she never went to college. The dreams she held for her little girl and boy. How she still held hope that somebody would come find her and she'd fall in love again.
The tryst's continued until February of 2000 and only stopped because of a wreck I was in. She gave up on me as I lie dying in a hospital bed. She thought I was as good as dead. She moved on. Can't say I blame her.
So now, ten years after the classes I was in with the sexiest teacher I've ever had have ended, I wish I could go back and thank her. Thank her for teaching me that hope, and love, and compassion are in our lives each and everyday. And to thank her for teaching me more about life, than she ever took credit for
In May of 1999, just after turning 21-years old and trying to recover from a broken heart, I worked a construction job which I loved doing. With construction, as some of you may know, there tends to be a little alcohol involved with those who work in the trade. The beauty was a 31-year old divorced mother of two who worked as the middle school secretary by day and as the sexiest bartender in the tri-county area by night at the bar we'd frequent after the long days of work.
As I sat with the guys I worked with back then, around the old wooden table next to the fireplace, playing cards and shooting pool, I'd glance over at her behind the bar from time to time and see her looking back at me with a smile. I watched her shoot down the attempts of others to buy her drinks and shots and the offers to take her to breakfast.
I can't say I blame them for trying to become the lucky one for the night. I say lucky one for the night because she was kinda slutty. But she was a dead sexy kinda slutty with natural blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, a 36 D chest, a size 2 waist and carried all kinds of sexuality.
I knew I wouldn't have the same level of sexual skill as she, but when she asked me, I didn't let my lack of knowledge, or experience for that matter, hamper my choice to accompany her home after the bar closed.
When we finally got to her house, it took a total of 30 seconds before she started taking her clothes off and ordering me to do the same.
She told me to lie on the bed.
She was the second partner I'd ever had, so I really didn't know too much yet. I knew where things went, but that was seriously the most of it. She taught me how to watch a woman while the act was happening and how to feel, how to touch and how to taste, too. All while not feeling, touching or tasting anything.
She covered it all.
Each time we had finished, we'd lie together in bed and talk. She told me how her ex used to beat her. And why she never went to college. The dreams she held for her little girl and boy. How she still held hope that somebody would come find her and she'd fall in love again.
The tryst's continued until February of 2000 and only stopped because of a wreck I was in. She gave up on me as I lie dying in a hospital bed. She thought I was as good as dead. She moved on. Can't say I blame her.
So now, ten years after the classes I was in with the sexiest teacher I've ever had have ended, I wish I could go back and thank her. Thank her for teaching me that hope, and love, and compassion are in our lives each and everyday. And to thank her for teaching me more about life, than she ever took credit for
My Greatest Teacher: Version 2
The battered shell of a beauty stood to the right of the oak before me, asking what it was that I wanted. I stood in awe, silence and fear trying to conjure up the courage to tell her it was her that I wanted.
In May of 1999, just after turning 21-years old and trying to recover from a broken heart, I worked a construction job which I loved doing. With construction, as some of you may know, there tends to be a little alcohol involved with those who work in the trades. The beauty was a 31-year old divorced mother of two who worked as the middle school secretary by day and as the sexiest bartender in the tri-county area by night.
I knew I wouldn't have the same level of sexual skill as she, but when she asked me, I didn't let my lack of knowledge, or experience for that matter, hamper my choice to accompany her home after the bar closed.
At the bar, she continuously slid pints at me for no charge. Perhaps she was trying to build me up to lengthen my endurance level in bed, which would be put to the test later in the evening. Perhaps she knew she'd be taking on the role of instructor, I, her student. I never asked why she kept giving me the free pints, and she never brought it up.
As I sat with the guys I worked with back then, around the old wooden table next to the fireplace, playing cards and shooting pool, I'd glance over at her behind the bar from time to time and see her looking back at me with a smile. I watched her shoot down the attempts of others to buy her drinks and shots and the offers to take her to breakfast.
I can't say I blame them for trying to become the lucky one for the night. She was a slut. But she was a dead sexy slut with natural blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, a 36 D chest, a size 1 waist and carried more than enough sexuality.
When we finally got to her house, it took a total of 30 seconds before she started taking her clothes off and ordering me to do the same.
She told me to lie on the bed.
She was the second partner I'd ever had, so I really didn't know too much yet. I knew where things went, but that was seriously the most of it. She taught me how to watch a woman while the act was happening and how to feel, how to touch and how to taste, too. All while not feeling, touching or tasting anything.
"Go slower. Now faster. Down a half inch. Over a bit. Pull my hair. Smack my ass! Twists my nipples! Lick my pussy! FUCK ME!"
She covered it all.
Each time we had finished, we'd lie together in bed and talk. She told me how her ex used to beat her. And why she never went to college. The dreams she held for her little girl and boy. How she still held hope that somebody would come find her and she'd fall in love again.
Those tryst's continued until February of 2000 and only stopped because of a wreck I was in. She gave up on me as I lie dying in a hospital bed. She thought I was as good as dead. She moved on. Can't say I blame her.
So now, ten years after the classes I was in with the sexiest teacher I've ever had have ended, I wish I could go back and thank her. Thank her for teaching me that hope, and love, and compassion are in our lives each and everyday. And to thank her for teaching me more about life, than she ever took credit for.
In May of 1999, just after turning 21-years old and trying to recover from a broken heart, I worked a construction job which I loved doing. With construction, as some of you may know, there tends to be a little alcohol involved with those who work in the trades. The beauty was a 31-year old divorced mother of two who worked as the middle school secretary by day and as the sexiest bartender in the tri-county area by night.
I knew I wouldn't have the same level of sexual skill as she, but when she asked me, I didn't let my lack of knowledge, or experience for that matter, hamper my choice to accompany her home after the bar closed.
At the bar, she continuously slid pints at me for no charge. Perhaps she was trying to build me up to lengthen my endurance level in bed, which would be put to the test later in the evening. Perhaps she knew she'd be taking on the role of instructor, I, her student. I never asked why she kept giving me the free pints, and she never brought it up.
As I sat with the guys I worked with back then, around the old wooden table next to the fireplace, playing cards and shooting pool, I'd glance over at her behind the bar from time to time and see her looking back at me with a smile. I watched her shoot down the attempts of others to buy her drinks and shots and the offers to take her to breakfast.
I can't say I blame them for trying to become the lucky one for the night. She was a slut. But she was a dead sexy slut with natural blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, a 36 D chest, a size 1 waist and carried more than enough sexuality.
When we finally got to her house, it took a total of 30 seconds before she started taking her clothes off and ordering me to do the same.
She told me to lie on the bed.
She was the second partner I'd ever had, so I really didn't know too much yet. I knew where things went, but that was seriously the most of it. She taught me how to watch a woman while the act was happening and how to feel, how to touch and how to taste, too. All while not feeling, touching or tasting anything.
"Go slower. Now faster. Down a half inch. Over a bit. Pull my hair. Smack my ass! Twists my nipples! Lick my pussy! FUCK ME!"
She covered it all.
Each time we had finished, we'd lie together in bed and talk. She told me how her ex used to beat her. And why she never went to college. The dreams she held for her little girl and boy. How she still held hope that somebody would come find her and she'd fall in love again.
Those tryst's continued until February of 2000 and only stopped because of a wreck I was in. She gave up on me as I lie dying in a hospital bed. She thought I was as good as dead. She moved on. Can't say I blame her.
So now, ten years after the classes I was in with the sexiest teacher I've ever had have ended, I wish I could go back and thank her. Thank her for teaching me that hope, and love, and compassion are in our lives each and everyday. And to thank her for teaching me more about life, than she ever took credit for.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
My New Favorite Sports Reporter
Sarah Spain was born August 18, 19?? (my guess is 1980, since she graduate high school in '98. Unless she was quick smart and graduated early, which might make her born in '81, which might make her 29. I really don't think she was held back a grade because of her college GPA, but we'll get to that later) in Cleveland, Ohio and raised in Lake Forest, Illinois. She is a graduate from Cornell with a degree in English. Hope you weren't thinking she was all body and no brains 'cause she grabbed her diploma with a GPA of 3.8. She is also a giant fan of the Cubs and Bears. Brains, beauty and a loyalty to Chicago sports? She may possibly be the perfect woman.
Sarah caused a stir a few years back when she tried to auction herself off on eBay to a lucky bloke who spent enough cash to take her to the Super Bowl to watch her beloved Chicago Bears play the Colts. Before eBay pulled the auction off its site, even though Sarah clearly stated "I am not an escort. I am just offering my companionship in exchange for a ticket to the biggest game of the year", she received bids up to $20,000.
She moved on from that episode to a career as a movie actress with roles in Souvenir, La La Land, That Ying Yang Thing and The Playbook. She's an accomplished writer (love her in the RedEye), radio host (SportsCenter anchor for ESPN 1000) and television personality, but most importantly, a professional fan.
She stands 5'11 and weighs in at a buck-fifty, but as far as her measurements go, you know, what size bra she wears, that info is top secret, only known by herself and her man, I assume.
Though she hasn't had a peep hole film made of her (yet?) like Erin Andrews, you surely can imagine the debate of which would be the better film to see.
Enjoy the pics.
Enjoy the pics.
![[sarahs.jpg]](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_nEiGkmbueAk/R-0BxGNBy3I/AAAAAAAAC8k/1QCHLXyoJeo/s1600/sarahs.jpg)
Friday, November 12, 2010
november twelve(comma) twenty(hyphen)ten
this is a test(comma) do not be alarmed(period) what i(apostrophe)m trying to do is write everything down(comma) to get it all out(period) there will be no punctuation in the following words i write(comma) but like i(apostrophe)ve previously said(comma) nothing but words(period)
it might be hard for you to follow(comma) or you just might be brighter than the average bear and have no problemo at all reading what i fell like typing(period)
anywho(comma) today is november twelve(comma) twenty(hyphen)ten and it is currently four twenty ocho in the afternoon(period) i have a date with a swell gal tonight and hope both parties involved(comma) both she and i(comma) have a splendid good time with one another(period)
it seems we will go throw balls down a wooden lane to knock over some ivory pins to start the night(comma) but not too certain where the adventure will go from there(period)
o(period)k(period)(comma) this is harder than i thought it would be so this post is done(period)
bye(hyphen)bye(period)
it might be hard for you to follow(comma) or you just might be brighter than the average bear and have no problemo at all reading what i fell like typing(period)
anywho(comma) today is november twelve(comma) twenty(hyphen)ten and it is currently four twenty ocho in the afternoon(period) i have a date with a swell gal tonight and hope both parties involved(comma) both she and i(comma) have a splendid good time with one another(period)
it seems we will go throw balls down a wooden lane to knock over some ivory pins to start the night(comma) but not too certain where the adventure will go from there(period)
o(period)k(period)(comma) this is harder than i thought it would be so this post is done(period)
bye(hyphen)bye(period)
Thursday, November 4, 2010
I Forgot to Forget: Part 2
this was written March 16, 2010...tonight, i feel an update may be in order.
I told her as she walked down the hall and out of my life how I'd love her always and forever. how she'd never escape my heart and the door to our home would remained unlocked, waiting for her to come back through, no matter when the day was.
Her last suitcase lugged behind her as she told me to get over her and move on. The last words shared in person.
For a lengthy time I didn't want to move on without her, so I didn't. I thought there might have been a chance of her changing her mind, or her heart, and she'd come back home to me. Maybe somewhere still inside her, she'd find the courage to tell her mother, for the first time, she wasn't going to do what she wanted.
But she hasn't changed her mind and she hasn't told her mom to fuck off and, more likely than not, she'll keep thinking and living the way her mom tells her to.
A few months after she left, I felt I was over her so I took a look around. As I assumed, I witnessed nothing to catch my eye. Sure, there were a few girls who grabbed my attention for a few minutes and blah, blah, blah but after talking with them for a bit, I realized they were all talking about shit that meant absolutely nothing to anybody beside themselves.
So now I sit, a little over a year since she left, still thinking about her everything because I have forgotten how to forget. How to forget her most importantly.
The way those dark eyes looked when we kissed with our eyes open, the tone of her voice when she whispered i love you's into my ear in bed, the way she'd bite her bottom lip when surprised, the things we did together at her house, at my house and at OUR house, each and every time we would forgive each other after a fight.
Except the last one. We didn't forgive each other after the last one.
UPDATE
Seen a picture of her the other day, she still looks amazing. She was with her new guy. She looks happy. I'm happy for her happiness. And I'm happy for me. Because I started over too. And it feels fucking great!
I told her as she walked down the hall and out of my life how I'd love her always and forever. how she'd never escape my heart and the door to our home would remained unlocked, waiting for her to come back through, no matter when the day was.
Her last suitcase lugged behind her as she told me to get over her and move on. The last words shared in person.
For a lengthy time I didn't want to move on without her, so I didn't. I thought there might have been a chance of her changing her mind, or her heart, and she'd come back home to me. Maybe somewhere still inside her, she'd find the courage to tell her mother, for the first time, she wasn't going to do what she wanted.
But she hasn't changed her mind and she hasn't told her mom to fuck off and, more likely than not, she'll keep thinking and living the way her mom tells her to.
A few months after she left, I felt I was over her so I took a look around. As I assumed, I witnessed nothing to catch my eye. Sure, there were a few girls who grabbed my attention for a few minutes and blah, blah, blah but after talking with them for a bit, I realized they were all talking about shit that meant absolutely nothing to anybody beside themselves.
So now I sit, a little over a year since she left, still thinking about her everything because I have forgotten how to forget. How to forget her most importantly.
The way those dark eyes looked when we kissed with our eyes open, the tone of her voice when she whispered i love you's into my ear in bed, the way she'd bite her bottom lip when surprised, the things we did together at her house, at my house and at OUR house, each and every time we would forgive each other after a fight.
Except the last one. We didn't forgive each other after the last one.
UPDATE
Seen a picture of her the other day, she still looks amazing. She was with her new guy. She looks happy. I'm happy for her happiness. And I'm happy for me. Because I started over too. And it feels fucking great!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Thoughts from Kimberly
I must say that both Boston and I have taken far too much time off of this here little experiment. We both say we're too busy for this. And it makes me want to kick my own ass. Writing is what has always been my release. It was probably hers too. But neither of us write anymore. Wish I knew why.
Some people stay around us to better themselves. To make them feel better about the worthless fucks they really are. The best thing for us to do in a situation like this? Remove every last fucking one and care none what they're gonna think.
I came across the following today, and it really made me see others feel the same as Boston and I once did, maybe still do. (*note: how we once felt about the feelings of others, not each other.) Thanks Kimmy.
what do i really have left
muted self expression ?
love ?
myself ?
after a hard month, year, life time, i seek refuge in the only town i know that can always make me smile. and its ripped away from me, why? because i was on an uncommon street? because people get drunk and lost in iv? because i went out of my way to pick a friend up and offer a ride home? "nice guys finnish last" or maybe never at all. i feel like ive been battered and broken, physically & mentally. my friends were never really my friends. my lovers not my lovers.
and what now im supposto hold on for more? why? so that the few people that still enjoy my company can be comfortable knowing im around. not for me. for them so i dont hurt my family that turned their back on me in the first place. if you were really my friend you would want the best for me, no matter what the was .
im a lost soul. ive been through hell and back. ive lived more chapters than a life time and im 20. and i still try and put other peoples "feelings" before my general well being. so let me know how people that are so outspoken, people that sit on highhorses talking about how they are better, have better hearts, better intensions? how someone can say they have love for you watch you fall so hard without one action not even a wink? its because they dont have courage they dont love enough they dont have passion.
i am a person with courage, courage to win even myself, courage and passion to stand up for the people around me, to take a low blow so they dont have to feel the heat. i am so loving. and when i need a break need a second for YOU to love me, its really just to much to ask. and now im a bad person because im not their to answer your phone calls, seriously?
what if i just cant do it anymore ? what if this hearts loved all it can? what if my body just cant get out of bed anymore? what if i just cant?
we all make mistakes, we all embares ourselvs and fuck up. but theirs a line because if you cant even admit to yourself that you did something wrong...
so yeah im heartbroken, i feel as though i cant express myself. i feel abondoned, i feel broken.
so thanks to the people that see this and really really give a shit .
but thing is idk if i can do this again. idk if i can come back better or stronger. idk if i want to jump of a clif or swolow some pills or sit in a room at my parrents house untill i turn to dust. or if i want to come back and ignore the stupid people and their insults ignore the people that broke my heart. broke my confidence. broke me.
i cant get out of bed. my thoughts are irrational. i cant eat. ive lost weight. im losing hair. im losing faith. the people i need arnt here. the people i need are the people that hurt me. and the people here are the people i didnt know i had.
and thats it .
Who would'a thought that somebody could be as beat up, worn and faded as the guy and gal who started this blog?
Some people stay around us to better themselves. To make them feel better about the worthless fucks they really are. The best thing for us to do in a situation like this? Remove every last fucking one and care none what they're gonna think.
I came across the following today, and it really made me see others feel the same as Boston and I once did, maybe still do. (*note: how we once felt about the feelings of others, not each other.) Thanks Kimmy.
what do i really have left
muted self expression ?
love ?
myself ?
after a hard month, year, life time, i seek refuge in the only town i know that can always make me smile. and its ripped away from me, why? because i was on an uncommon street? because people get drunk and lost in iv? because i went out of my way to pick a friend up and offer a ride home? "nice guys finnish last" or maybe never at all. i feel like ive been battered and broken, physically & mentally. my friends were never really my friends. my lovers not my lovers.
and what now im supposto hold on for more? why? so that the few people that still enjoy my company can be comfortable knowing im around. not for me. for them so i dont hurt my family that turned their back on me in the first place. if you were really my friend you would want the best for me, no matter what the was .
im a lost soul. ive been through hell and back. ive lived more chapters than a life time and im 20. and i still try and put other peoples "feelings" before my general well being. so let me know how people that are so outspoken, people that sit on highhorses talking about how they are better, have better hearts, better intensions? how someone can say they have love for you watch you fall so hard without one action not even a wink? its because they dont have courage they dont love enough they dont have passion.
i am a person with courage, courage to win even myself, courage and passion to stand up for the people around me, to take a low blow so they dont have to feel the heat. i am so loving. and when i need a break need a second for YOU to love me, its really just to much to ask. and now im a bad person because im not their to answer your phone calls, seriously?
what if i just cant do it anymore ? what if this hearts loved all it can? what if my body just cant get out of bed anymore? what if i just cant?
we all make mistakes, we all embares ourselvs and fuck up. but theirs a line because if you cant even admit to yourself that you did something wrong...
so yeah im heartbroken, i feel as though i cant express myself. i feel abondoned, i feel broken.
so thanks to the people that see this and really really give a shit .
but thing is idk if i can do this again. idk if i can come back better or stronger. idk if i want to jump of a clif or swolow some pills or sit in a room at my parrents house untill i turn to dust. or if i want to come back and ignore the stupid people and their insults ignore the people that broke my heart. broke my confidence. broke me.
i cant get out of bed. my thoughts are irrational. i cant eat. ive lost weight. im losing hair. im losing faith. the people i need arnt here. the people i need are the people that hurt me. and the people here are the people i didnt know i had.
and thats it .
Who would'a thought that somebody could be as beat up, worn and faded as the guy and gal who started this blog?
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Sometimes...
...when i get home from work at 2:50 in the morning, or later, (or is it earlier?) i wish for nothing more than four (4) fried eggs, some corned beef hash, two (2) pieces of wheat bread toast with grape jelly and a tall glass of cold orange juice.
more often than not, my hopes and dreams for a wonderful early breakfast are thrown into the recycling bin like the empty cans of Mountain Dew that reside there.
excuse me...the empty cans of Mountain Dew WHICH reside there. i've been instructed, much to my dismay, one shouldn't use the word "that" in any sentence. there are more powerful, more meaningful words than the word "that" which can be used.
anyway, those great breakfast hopes are deleted from my day for one reason, and one reason only...i'm tired as fuck when i get home and want to do one fo two things when i get here: (1) sleep and (2) shower and sleep.
tonight is a shower and sleep night. talk to ya later.
more often than not, my hopes and dreams for a wonderful early breakfast are thrown into the recycling bin like the empty cans of Mountain Dew that reside there.
excuse me...the empty cans of Mountain Dew WHICH reside there. i've been instructed, much to my dismay, one shouldn't use the word "that" in any sentence. there are more powerful, more meaningful words than the word "that" which can be used.
anyway, those great breakfast hopes are deleted from my day for one reason, and one reason only...i'm tired as fuck when i get home and want to do one fo two things when i get here: (1) sleep and (2) shower and sleep.
tonight is a shower and sleep night. talk to ya later.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
In the Wrong
For 32-years, I've felt it unacceptable to laugh at the emotions of others. For 32-years, I've stood up and protected the people whose emotions were being laughed at by the douche bags who were laughing. For 32-years, I felt this to be a strong quality of myself.
Last night, those 32-years all slipped away.
I had no reason for the smiles on my face or the jokes spilled from my mouth. But they presented themselves for all to see and hear, if those people knew what my smiles and jokes were about or not.
After I said my jokes and grinned my smiles, I thought about what I was doing. And when I realized what it was, it all stopped.
I've been in the same place as the person who I was making jokes about and smiling over. I've had to accept the fact of loss each time something/someone I cared for, loved or craved was going to be removed, or was removing themselves, from my life. I've told myself each time it was going to be easier than I knew it was actually going to be and each time I've found myself to be a liar.
That's what I was laughing, smiling and joking about...the pain inside somebody else.
Bastard.
Last night, those 32-years all slipped away.
I had no reason for the smiles on my face or the jokes spilled from my mouth. But they presented themselves for all to see and hear, if those people knew what my smiles and jokes were about or not.
After I said my jokes and grinned my smiles, I thought about what I was doing. And when I realized what it was, it all stopped.
I've been in the same place as the person who I was making jokes about and smiling over. I've had to accept the fact of loss each time something/someone I cared for, loved or craved was going to be removed, or was removing themselves, from my life. I've told myself each time it was going to be easier than I knew it was actually going to be and each time I've found myself to be a liar.
That's what I was laughing, smiling and joking about...the pain inside somebody else.
Bastard.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Lesson Learned?
As she walked away from him, the door to the apartment slammed shut against the frame to let her know she was out of his life for good. She stood uneasy in the elevator as it slowly made its drop from the floor she had lived on, to the floor below where her parents were waiting to load her things for the trek back home.
The elevator bell dinged, the door slowly crept open and excitement overwhelmed her. He wasn't standing on the other side of the door. A second showing that she was on her own from then on. No more she and he. No more they and them. Only her.
The truck, borrowed from a family friend, began to fill with her things. Each time she set a box, a case, a trunk in the truck bed, she slowly turned back toward the back door of the building to see if he was there, begging her to come back up...to give him one more shot. And each time, her heart sank a little more into her stomach because he wasn't.
As she and her family pulled from the building, she looked back through the window, hoping he would be chasing behind her, waving his arms, begging her to stay. He was not.
When they stopped for fuel at the Indiana-Michigan state line, she looked for him to be sitting at the coffee shop, sipping a drink, waiting to hold her again. He was not.
As the journey came to an end, she buried her face in the pillow she had been resting her head on to hide her cries from her mothers ears. Her mother didn't like that she was in love with the guy she just left. Her mother didn't like the idea that he had made her daughter see that she could be anything that she wanted to be.
When they pulled into the drive at her mothers house, she expected him to be standing in front of the truck, hands raised, crying and professing his love. He was not.
After she moved her things back into the house she grew up in, a 300 miles away from the guy who loved her, she lie in bed and looked at her phone, questioning why he hadn't called the whole time.
Though he did want to race down the stairs to meet her on the first floor, and to stop her from loading her things into the borrowed truck, and to chase after her to stop her from leaving...to hold her again like he did all the times before and to stand in front of her house and profess his love for her as he cried, he didn't for one reason, and one reason only.
I gave you what you asked for, kid.
Hope you're well.
The elevator bell dinged, the door slowly crept open and excitement overwhelmed her. He wasn't standing on the other side of the door. A second showing that she was on her own from then on. No more she and he. No more they and them. Only her.
The truck, borrowed from a family friend, began to fill with her things. Each time she set a box, a case, a trunk in the truck bed, she slowly turned back toward the back door of the building to see if he was there, begging her to come back up...to give him one more shot. And each time, her heart sank a little more into her stomach because he wasn't.
As she and her family pulled from the building, she looked back through the window, hoping he would be chasing behind her, waving his arms, begging her to stay. He was not.
When they stopped for fuel at the Indiana-Michigan state line, she looked for him to be sitting at the coffee shop, sipping a drink, waiting to hold her again. He was not.
As the journey came to an end, she buried her face in the pillow she had been resting her head on to hide her cries from her mothers ears. Her mother didn't like that she was in love with the guy she just left. Her mother didn't like the idea that he had made her daughter see that she could be anything that she wanted to be.
When they pulled into the drive at her mothers house, she expected him to be standing in front of the truck, hands raised, crying and professing his love. He was not.
After she moved her things back into the house she grew up in, a 300 miles away from the guy who loved her, she lie in bed and looked at her phone, questioning why he hadn't called the whole time.
Though he did want to race down the stairs to meet her on the first floor, and to stop her from loading her things into the borrowed truck, and to chase after her to stop her from leaving...to hold her again like he did all the times before and to stand in front of her house and profess his love for her as he cried, he didn't for one reason, and one reason only.
I gave you what you asked for, kid.
Hope you're well.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
How Big a Boy Are Ya?
When it's time to muster up the courage and fight for what you believe in, will you have the balls to play?
Or will the pride you pretend to hold run down the inside of your left leg?
Will the devotion you hold for the thing you love more than anything in the world carry you through until morning, or will you lie scared, under your covers, like the pussy you pretend not to be?
Can your eyes fill with tears and fall down your face? Or are you not enough man to let others see that?
If the woman you love was taken from you, would you do all the things that you needed to do to get her back? Without hesitation? Without worry? Without fear that the cost may be your life?
If you faced the devil herself, and she held the winning hand, would you try to bluff the bitch or fold?
Without a doubt, toe to toe I'd stand and see my loves safe return.
If she liked it or not.
Or will the pride you pretend to hold run down the inside of your left leg?
Will the devotion you hold for the thing you love more than anything in the world carry you through until morning, or will you lie scared, under your covers, like the pussy you pretend not to be?
Can your eyes fill with tears and fall down your face? Or are you not enough man to let others see that?
If the woman you love was taken from you, would you do all the things that you needed to do to get her back? Without hesitation? Without worry? Without fear that the cost may be your life?
If you faced the devil herself, and she held the winning hand, would you try to bluff the bitch or fold?
Without a doubt, toe to toe I'd stand and see my loves safe return.
If she liked it or not.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
How I'm Feeling.
I have a summer cold. Sure, summer just started but I'm fucked for the next 4 months because a summer cold doesn't go away.
The American's are losing to Ghana 1-0 at the start of the second half. Kinda mad about that, but then again, I really have no idea about anything dealing with soccer. All I know is that 95% of the players playing in the 2010 World Cup should win Emmy Awards for their excellent acting skills; you got hit with a patch of grass, quit trying to sell the ref that you got kicked in the nuts, bitch.
Women, ladies, girls, chicks, bitches, ho's, honeys (though I've never used the term) and any other word that is meant to mean a member of the female gender. You got some who make fun of themselves because they are insecure, some that are witty with jokes but have no common sense, others who think they are the best thing in the world but have no ability to maintain a relationship (sexual or otherwise) and there are the sarcastic types who are so damn dry people have no idea if they are joking around or just flat out bitches. From now on, I'm going with the latter.
WHY DO THE AMERICAN PLAYERS TRY TO SCORE GOALS WITH KICKS THAT ARE DELIVERED 4-INCHES OFF THE GROUND STRAIGHT AT THE GOALIE? THAT'S NOT A HARD SHOT TO BLOCK, NUMB NUTS. KICK THE FUCKING THING TO THE CORNER OF THE NET, ABOVE THE GOALIE, NOT AT HIS FEET.
She gone.
I broke up with the Chicago Cubs yesterday. An end to an ugly, one sided 32-year relationship. They took what they wanted from me and never gave a thing back. Fucker.
AND FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY, TAKE THOSE FUCKING HORNS AWAY FROM EVERYBODY AT THE FUCKING GAMES, PLEASE, TALK ABOUT ANNOYING!
The American's are losing to Ghana 1-0 at the start of the second half. Kinda mad about that, but then again, I really have no idea about anything dealing with soccer. All I know is that 95% of the players playing in the 2010 World Cup should win Emmy Awards for their excellent acting skills; you got hit with a patch of grass, quit trying to sell the ref that you got kicked in the nuts, bitch.
Women, ladies, girls, chicks, bitches, ho's, honeys (though I've never used the term) and any other word that is meant to mean a member of the female gender. You got some who make fun of themselves because they are insecure, some that are witty with jokes but have no common sense, others who think they are the best thing in the world but have no ability to maintain a relationship (sexual or otherwise) and there are the sarcastic types who are so damn dry people have no idea if they are joking around or just flat out bitches. From now on, I'm going with the latter.
WHY DO THE AMERICAN PLAYERS TRY TO SCORE GOALS WITH KICKS THAT ARE DELIVERED 4-INCHES OFF THE GROUND STRAIGHT AT THE GOALIE? THAT'S NOT A HARD SHOT TO BLOCK, NUMB NUTS. KICK THE FUCKING THING TO THE CORNER OF THE NET, ABOVE THE GOALIE, NOT AT HIS FEET.
She gone.
I broke up with the Chicago Cubs yesterday. An end to an ugly, one sided 32-year relationship. They took what they wanted from me and never gave a thing back. Fucker.
AND FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY, TAKE THOSE FUCKING HORNS AWAY FROM EVERYBODY AT THE FUCKING GAMES, PLEASE, TALK ABOUT ANNOYING!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The Love Letter Never Written
Hey babe, it's been just about a year since you destroyed my world by leaving, taking your love and everything that I thought we were to become, away from me. I hated you for that.
How easy, or how hard, that day may have been for you I will never know because you have not the ability to speak with your one time lover...your one time friend. It must have been easy for you to forget me though. I can never forget a person I've loved. I guess that's one of the differences between you and I; I loved you with everything I had and meant it, you loved me with everything you thought you had, but only said it. I feel this to be truth because forgetting a person you love or have loved somewhere along the way is the same as trying to remember a person you've never met...both impossible feats to do.
I've hoped, prayed, wished and crossed my fingers for your return, but I know you wont be back. Maybe you will, but as a person I will not know. A person so strangely different than the body, mind and soul of the woman I loved. A person who will never know how bad I've missed her.
To take back all the things I said to you, or you to me, would take years, though we weren't together for years. One year, one month and 22 days. Or something like that. The fighting and yelling and screaming are all shadowed by the kissing and cuddling and loving. The tears wiped away with smiles and the broken hearts, both you and I, mended by a love that seemed to be not allowed.
I have forgiven you. I have let you alone. I have love for you, of course, but not like the love I once held.
Damn that woman for making you see things the way she wanted you to. Damn you for not having the courage to tell her to fuck off. And damn me for still feeling it wasn't all my fault. I know it was. Every fight we had I know was ignited by something I did, said, assumed or worried about. I pushed you away. I made you stop loving me. I scared you with my love. And with everything else that was me. Notice...WAS...me.
I'm not the guy you left anymore. I'm different now. Because of you. Thank you.
I've written these words four thousand and twenty-three times over the last 11 months, but what's one more time?
How easy, or how hard, that day may have been for you I will never know because you have not the ability to speak with your one time lover...your one time friend. It must have been easy for you to forget me though. I can never forget a person I've loved. I guess that's one of the differences between you and I; I loved you with everything I had and meant it, you loved me with everything you thought you had, but only said it. I feel this to be truth because forgetting a person you love or have loved somewhere along the way is the same as trying to remember a person you've never met...both impossible feats to do.
I've hoped, prayed, wished and crossed my fingers for your return, but I know you wont be back. Maybe you will, but as a person I will not know. A person so strangely different than the body, mind and soul of the woman I loved. A person who will never know how bad I've missed her.
To take back all the things I said to you, or you to me, would take years, though we weren't together for years. One year, one month and 22 days. Or something like that. The fighting and yelling and screaming are all shadowed by the kissing and cuddling and loving. The tears wiped away with smiles and the broken hearts, both you and I, mended by a love that seemed to be not allowed.
I have forgiven you. I have let you alone. I have love for you, of course, but not like the love I once held.
Damn that woman for making you see things the way she wanted you to. Damn you for not having the courage to tell her to fuck off. And damn me for still feeling it wasn't all my fault. I know it was. Every fight we had I know was ignited by something I did, said, assumed or worried about. I pushed you away. I made you stop loving me. I scared you with my love. And with everything else that was me. Notice...WAS...me.
I'm not the guy you left anymore. I'm different now. Because of you. Thank you.
I've written these words four thousand and twenty-three times over the last 11 months, but what's one more time?
Monday, June 14, 2010
Who am I? How kind of you to ask.
I'm a guy who writes like Kerouac, Ginsberg and Burroughs; twisted, fucked up and stoned.
I like thinking the things I write will make sense to somebody beside myself. If it's today, tomorrow or after I'm dead in the ground, I really couldn't give a shit.
I feel love is an amazingly beautiful thing, but the pain from love can be just as beautiful.
I find myself, from time to time, wandering aimlessly around the garden of Chicago known as Grant Park, pondering the idea of who Grant actually was.
I think if everybody in these United States grew a pot of marijuana on the front stoops of their homes, dealers who push the shit to the youth of the country would go out of business, the coppers would give up trying to arrest/ticket everybody for having the illegal substance and the money-sucking-cancer-causing-fuckers known as CEO's of the tobacco industry would quit lying to citizens, raping us of our cash and treating us like the dumb fucks they know us as.
Grow pot to make it legal!
I'm a loving, caring, nurturing guy who will fight to my death for the woman I love; if she realizes it or not.
I'm also a doctor-proclaimed manic depressive. But they don't call me that. They call me a person affected by bi-polar disorder. Guess they made the name a little less depressing so I didn't off myself? Though, at the moment, I am not depressed about a thing, but if I were, I'd have a good fuckin' reason for it.
I have a great family with parents who still love each other, a brother and sister who have given me great little people to call my niece (maybe nieces?) and nephews, cooler than shit aunts and uncles, pretty swell cousins (most of which are married to pretty swell people, wait, I think all of my cousins are married...I might be the only first generation cousin who isn't married...will I be depressed about that doc? Fuck no.) and a whole-helluva-lot more second cousins that I can in no way, correctly name.
I've had many critters as pets. I like calling them my friends who never have, and never will, back stab or fuck me over. Lets see if I can name all of them; Sheila the sheep dog, Bo the shi-tzu (he was about 13 when he died of old age and about the size of three, maybe four shi-tzu's put together...may have been the water in the country which made him so big), Buttons the shi-tzu and Bo's girl friend, Skunk the shi-tzu and offspring of Bo and Buttons' first batch of pups, a crazy ass Aussie Blue Healer named Bandit who chewed down the cherry tree in mom and dad's backyard, Kodi (short for Kodiac Bear) the beagle (he too was old, 14, when he died of old age and was a helluva lot bigger than what was expected of him. I wonder why that country water makes my dogs grow so damn big, but didn't have the same effect on me growing up? I should be like, 6'8...269 lbs...and playing for the Bears) and Neuman, the giant gato who lives with me in Chicago.
I've had my heart broken, crushed, cursed at, defibulated, danced on, stung, cracked, spit on, laughed at, blackened, burnt, shocked and torn from my chest all as results from love. Do I want to give up on love? Not a chance.
I feel that trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you've never met.
My birth certificate says I was born February 4, 1978, but I was born the day I met her...was alive and well when she loved me back...and died a little bit the day she left.
I'm a nice fella who always forgives his enemies, but I never forget their names. The enemies of my enemies are my friends.
I am crazy. I hear it all the time from the people I call friends and those I don't even know, but I'm just fine with it. Being crazy is what keeps me sane.
I'm a guy who can tell much about a person by the words they use, by looking into a persons eye and by the people they call friends. Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you what kind of person you are.
I'm a guy who feels that America will never be outdone by our enemies and America will never be destroyed by those full of hate for us. We can only lose our freedoms and powers to ourselves.
I'm a guy who may or may not like what's going on in Arizona with the illegal immigrant stuff. Way too many illegals have come from Mexico and other places to do the jobs that Americans refuse to do because they feel they are too good to do the work. But as Robert Orden once said; "Illegal aliens have always been a problem in the United States. Ask any Indian."
I like thinking the things I write will make sense to somebody beside myself. If it's today, tomorrow or after I'm dead in the ground, I really couldn't give a shit.
I feel love is an amazingly beautiful thing, but the pain from love can be just as beautiful.
I find myself, from time to time, wandering aimlessly around the garden of Chicago known as Grant Park, pondering the idea of who Grant actually was.
I think if everybody in these United States grew a pot of marijuana on the front stoops of their homes, dealers who push the shit to the youth of the country would go out of business, the coppers would give up trying to arrest/ticket everybody for having the illegal substance and the money-sucking-cancer-causing-fuckers known as CEO's of the tobacco industry would quit lying to citizens, raping us of our cash and treating us like the dumb fucks they know us as.
Grow pot to make it legal!
I'm a loving, caring, nurturing guy who will fight to my death for the woman I love; if she realizes it or not.
I'm also a doctor-proclaimed manic depressive. But they don't call me that. They call me a person affected by bi-polar disorder. Guess they made the name a little less depressing so I didn't off myself? Though, at the moment, I am not depressed about a thing, but if I were, I'd have a good fuckin' reason for it.
I have a great family with parents who still love each other, a brother and sister who have given me great little people to call my niece (maybe nieces?) and nephews, cooler than shit aunts and uncles, pretty swell cousins (most of which are married to pretty swell people, wait, I think all of my cousins are married...I might be the only first generation cousin who isn't married...will I be depressed about that doc? Fuck no.) and a whole-helluva-lot more second cousins that I can in no way, correctly name.
I've had many critters as pets. I like calling them my friends who never have, and never will, back stab or fuck me over. Lets see if I can name all of them; Sheila the sheep dog, Bo the shi-tzu (he was about 13 when he died of old age and about the size of three, maybe four shi-tzu's put together...may have been the water in the country which made him so big), Buttons the shi-tzu and Bo's girl friend, Skunk the shi-tzu and offspring of Bo and Buttons' first batch of pups, a crazy ass Aussie Blue Healer named Bandit who chewed down the cherry tree in mom and dad's backyard, Kodi (short for Kodiac Bear) the beagle (he too was old, 14, when he died of old age and was a helluva lot bigger than what was expected of him. I wonder why that country water makes my dogs grow so damn big, but didn't have the same effect on me growing up? I should be like, 6'8...269 lbs...and playing for the Bears) and Neuman, the giant gato who lives with me in Chicago.
I've had my heart broken, crushed, cursed at, defibulated, danced on, stung, cracked, spit on, laughed at, blackened, burnt, shocked and torn from my chest all as results from love. Do I want to give up on love? Not a chance.
I feel that trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you've never met.
My birth certificate says I was born February 4, 1978, but I was born the day I met her...was alive and well when she loved me back...and died a little bit the day she left.
I'm a nice fella who always forgives his enemies, but I never forget their names. The enemies of my enemies are my friends.
I am crazy. I hear it all the time from the people I call friends and those I don't even know, but I'm just fine with it. Being crazy is what keeps me sane.
I'm a guy who can tell much about a person by the words they use, by looking into a persons eye and by the people they call friends. Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you what kind of person you are.
I'm a guy who feels that America will never be outdone by our enemies and America will never be destroyed by those full of hate for us. We can only lose our freedoms and powers to ourselves.
I'm a guy who may or may not like what's going on in Arizona with the illegal immigrant stuff. Way too many illegals have come from Mexico and other places to do the jobs that Americans refuse to do because they feel they are too good to do the work. But as Robert Orden once said; "Illegal aliens have always been a problem in the United States. Ask any Indian."
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
A Somewhat Chronological Timeline of Me
I got my first job at 14 or 15, at a quick stop grill along I-55, forty-five miles south of Chicago. I worked there for a total of two hours and 17 minutes because I couldn't figure out how to make the fucking Gyros right, so I was asked to leave.
I got my second job at 16, aerating yards. You know, pushing that machine to punch holes in grass to allow air to get down to the roots and make the shit grow better. I did that for a summer before realizing I was working my ass off pushing this fucking machine around yards that seemed like the rice fields of 'Nam as I tried to dodge land mines such as kids, dogs and swimming pools.
I got my first real girlfriend when I was 17-years old. We dated for a remarkably long time, almost five years. I really had no business with her. She was a helluva lot smarter than me and knew what she wanted outta life at an early age. Why she wasted her time on this guy for so long eludes me. But I feel she got all she wanted eventually; a degree, a good job, a husband and two kids. I'm proud of you kid.
I went away for school the first time when I was 18 in August of '96. Needless to say, that was an utter failure. Drank far too much and didn't go to my classes. Thought I knew it all. In reality, I knew jack shit.
I got my third job working at a grain elevator in my hometown, where I worked at the quick stop grill I previously mentioned, when I was 19. I drove 1,000 gallon trucks of water to fields in the spring and summer to allow for the spraying of fertilizers on the crops that we eat. In the late fall, I dumped bushels of corn and soy beans into hoppers to be set in silos and sold at later dates when the price was right. I hated that fucking job. Not because of the work, but because I worked 100 hours a week in the fall and the spring. Talk about killing a guy.
I got my fourth real job working construction when I was 20. I loved it. Made great money, worked hard and played even harder. Around this time was when the first real girlfriend decided I wasn't good enough. Can't blame her. I worked a ton of hours and instead of coming home to spend time with her, I sat at the bar and drank like a fish. That was when I met my first real cougar.
I met my first cougar, I should also state that she was my only cougar, when I was 21. She was the bartender at the bar me and the fellas went to after work each day. She was 31, and taught me all kinds of things about life. That's no lie. She taught me what love actually was. She taught me that when you find it, to never let it go, no matter what the circumstances, because you never know when the one you love is gonna check out of here and go to the great big gig in the sky. She taught me how to never give up on love. Beside the ideas about love that she taught me, well, use your imagination, I'm sure she covered most of it.
I was 22 the first time I died in February of 2000. That will happen when your truck gets hit by a drunk fucker going 100 mph without his headlights on. This happened 10 miles south of the quick stop grill I worked at for two hours and 17 minutes years before. (see paragraph one.) This was also the first time I broke a bone (my right pelvis), collapsed a lung (the right) and had strange metallic parts placed into my body to keep me around (Green Field Vena Cava Filter-to stop blood clots from clogging the blood trying to get to my heart.) The reason I say I died is because the man I was up until that day, for the most part, died in the ditch I ended up lying in. Completely different I am today, and I don't mean because of the limp I have or the horrible memory from my head being bashed by the steering wheel/roof of the truck/front window or road (whatever the fuck it was that bashed into my head fucked it up pretty good) or the 72 scars I have around my body. I mean, I'm about 94.7% different than I was on that morning in February than I am today.
I was 24 the second time I went away for school in August of '02. Low and behold, I graduated in May of '06. Employed by the Sun-Times, I was for two years, writing, editing and making picture galleries of high school sporting events from all over the great state of Illinois. I lost that job because somebody didn't know how to read and accused me of claiming the same day of work twice on my time sheet. Couldn't have been because the douche's that ran the place wanted to fire me because I was always fucking there and making pretty good money. Couldn't have been because they knew they could hire some younger, still-in-college ass bags to try and do the job I did for less pay. But, the time to let bygones be bygones has passed and I'm over that shit.
I got my second real girlfriend when I was 30. She, oddly enough, turned out to be my first real love. She was a whole helluva lot younger than me and ripped the heart from my chest in August of last year. We were together for a little more than a year, legally lived together for 2 months and I swore I was gonna marry that girl. But she, or somebody else in her family, had other ideas for me and my baby. She broke our lease, moved backed to Michigan and left me in the dust to drown in my tears.
The last time I really cried I was 31. It just so happens that it was the same day I watched my first real love walk down the hallway to the elevator pulling the last piece of her life outta mine.
The first time I realized that I've been wasting my life doing things the way that I wanted to do them, instead of the ways others have instructed me to, I was 32-years and some odd months. There's no real explanation for why today has been the way it has, nor will I look for one. I just know that things gotta change.
The first time I did what a woman told me to do was two months ago. I don't mean telling me to help her in any way, or what to do in the bedroom or anything like that. She told me that I should run to get back into shape. That by doing this, I would be a happier person. I questioned why she thought I was unhappy. She told me it was in my eyes. She had no idea what I was unhappy about, but she could see the pain in my eyes. The next day I started running. She was right. I run everyday now. In the sun. The heat. The thunderstorms. The wind. The foggy nights. The early morning rains. All because it is making me feel better about myself.
The next job I have, I will love because I will be doing what I'm in grad school for (teaching high school English). The next love of my life will be the woman I marry, because I will remember what the bartender taught me about not giving up on love. The next time I die, I hope I'm old and gray with a wonderful family that I have assisted in the making of, with a beautiful wife and beautiful children. The next time my world comes crashing down on me as the ones that I care about start to disappear into the wilderness or the ones that mean the most to me have feelings not the same or whatever starts to bring me down, I will throw the plugs in my ears, lace up the shoes and hit that open road because that is what being happy is all about. Doing the thing you love.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Lost will never be lost.
6-years ago, on September 22, Oceanic Flight 815 went down somewhere in the South Pacific between Sydney, Australia and Los Angeles, California. I'm sure you know the rest of the story.
Today, somewhere around 10 million (just a guess, no evidence to back that claim up) bloggers/journalists/heavily opinionated religious folk and a few PETA supporters (just a hunch) have all given their 2-cents about what it was all about.
They keep saying that their questions went unanswered. And pondering what the purpose of this, that and the other thing were. and as they type their complaints, maybe they are missing the real truth behind the show?
These people are entitled to their opinions, as am I. I can't ignore what they write, nor should you. That was, after all, maybe a point that creators and writers were trying to help us see anyway, no?
In my honest opinion, I feel deeply that this show wasn't about any single religion, or power struggles or mythology like some have suggested. To put it simply, the show was about finding who it is that is inside of you. And what it is you actually love.
Perhaps this island that Oceanic Flight 815 (my hometown area code by the way) wasn't really an island? Maybe the lives that all of the "survivors" lived after the crash on that island, weren't really lives? Maybe they were all dead before they even boarded that plane?
What if the lives they lived before that day; as a doctor (Jack), a musician (Charlie), a con man (Sawyer), an on-the-run murderer (Kate), a one time Monk (Desmond), a torturer for the Iraqi Republican Guard (Sayid), an enforcer for the Korean Mob (Jin), a daughter of a rich father (Sun), a teacher who suffers from paralysis (Locke), a multi-million lottery winner (Hurley) and a pooch who loved each of them (Vincent)...weren't really their lives?
I am a Catholic who was raised to believe that when you die, you spend time in Purgatory to await on the judgement of where you will spend the rest of eternity. What if those lives I just mentioned, were each of the characters Purgatory? What if we never got to see them actually alive? That the island was the final waiting room while they awaited their final destination?
Each character, much like each of us, was completely different from all others. But they knew they had to work hard to find whatever it was they were looking for. And they did it together. By putting trust in another human to help get whatever job needed to be done, done. Differences in each of them had vanished and they saw each others true worth. Because they were needed, they found themselves. Because they were asked to push a little harder than they thought they could, they found themselves. Because they believed in something, they knew they would find a way home.
Which brings me to my next idea. When the characters flashed back, sideways or up-and-down and had memories of other characters; Sawyer and Juliet in the hospital, Hurley's big smile before that hug in the Church, Charlie remembering Claire after she gave birth, Sayid saving Shannon from the guy in the alley...they obviously understood they knew each other, somehow. But how?
I know what I believe. And I know what I feel about this show. I also know that, journalism degree or not, I have no idea of how I can relay my thoughts to anybody reading this. When they each had their flashback to a memory of the one they loved, they all realized what it meant; they were dead...and it was now time to go home.
Maybe they were stuck on that island. Maybe they did all escape back to the real world. Maybe the memories, both good and bad, of the time spent on that rock were erased from all. Maybe when they did remember their time their, it signified that their life was over and time to go meet with the others that they loved.
I know that this show was about finding our own inner peace within ourselves to fight the demons hidden inside. About having faith, not any particular faith, but just faith, that mankind can help, care and love. About making changes in ourselves to be better people. Having a belief that we can do what is needed to be done. To not see the physical differences in people and pass judgement. That the people you chose to love, and those you chose to let love you, need to have each others backs when needed. And to always travel with your dog.
Before yesterday, the last time I cried was, I think, sometime in 1999. But seeing Kate and Jack with that kiss and the proclamation of love that followed, Sawyer asking Juliet out for coffee after the vending machine incident and Vincent coming to the side of Jack before he closed his eyes to die...I knew that decade-plus drought was coming to an end and I couldn't stop myself.
Thank you so very, very, very much for the most brilliant television series ever created. It was enjoyable. It was confusing. It made me angry. It made me sad. It made me laugh, scream and cry. But more importantly, it has made me want to believe in myself more than I do, to remember those who have helped and loved me in so many ways and to trust people who are not exactly the same as I. To sum it up, this has made me want to be a better man.
For that, I will never stop thanking you.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
This and that about that thing called love
Throughout my years, I've heard people say how protective they were of themselves so not to fall in love. That love, no matter how strong and how true it could be, would only end up hurting them in the end.
Love is beautiful and it does hurt, but the pain from love is just as beautiful.
Loneliness hurts and is not beautiful.
Rejection hurts and is not beautiful.
Losing someone hurts and is not beautiful.
Envy hurts and is not beautiful.
The hardest thing to do is watch the one you love, love someone else.
As human beings, we're given two hands to hold, two legs to walk, two eyes to see and two ears to hear. But we're given just one heart. Ever wonder why? Because the other was given to someone else for us to find.
If you love something, let it go. If it returns, it'll be yours forever. If it doesn't, it was never truly love.
The best thing about me...is you.
If you love someone, you're willing to give up everything for them. If they love you back, they will never ask you to do that.
The pleasures of love last mere moments. Heartbreak lasts a lifetime.
I destroy every relationship that I'm in so I don't get hurt. By doing this, I feel guarded and safe, but I'm really hurting myself more in the long run.
I laugh. I love. I hope. I try. I hurt. I need. I fear. I cry. And I know you do the same things. So we're really not that different, you and I.
I get the best feeling in the world when you say 'hi" or even smile at me because I know, even if it were just for a second, I was on your mind.
LOVE: We think about it, sing about it, dream about it and loose sleep worrying about it. When we don't have it, we search for it. When we discover it, we don't know what to do with it. When we have it, we fear loosing it. It is a constant source of pleasure and pain. But we don't know which it will be from one moment to the next. It is a short word, easy to spell, difficult to define and impossible to live without.
If hate is such a strong word...why do we toss 'love' around like it isn't?
I'm nothing special, of this I am sure. I'm just a common man with common thoughts. There will be no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten after I've passed. But I've loved with all my heart and soul, and to me, that has always been enough.
"If you judge people, you have no time to love them."---Mother Theresa
Love is beautiful and it does hurt, but the pain from love is just as beautiful.
Loneliness hurts and is not beautiful.
Rejection hurts and is not beautiful.
Losing someone hurts and is not beautiful.
Envy hurts and is not beautiful.
The hardest thing to do is watch the one you love, love someone else.
As human beings, we're given two hands to hold, two legs to walk, two eyes to see and two ears to hear. But we're given just one heart. Ever wonder why? Because the other was given to someone else for us to find.
If you love something, let it go. If it returns, it'll be yours forever. If it doesn't, it was never truly love.
The best thing about me...is you.
If you love someone, you're willing to give up everything for them. If they love you back, they will never ask you to do that.
The pleasures of love last mere moments. Heartbreak lasts a lifetime.
I destroy every relationship that I'm in so I don't get hurt. By doing this, I feel guarded and safe, but I'm really hurting myself more in the long run.
I laugh. I love. I hope. I try. I hurt. I need. I fear. I cry. And I know you do the same things. So we're really not that different, you and I.
I get the best feeling in the world when you say 'hi" or even smile at me because I know, even if it were just for a second, I was on your mind.
LOVE: We think about it, sing about it, dream about it and loose sleep worrying about it. When we don't have it, we search for it. When we discover it, we don't know what to do with it. When we have it, we fear loosing it. It is a constant source of pleasure and pain. But we don't know which it will be from one moment to the next. It is a short word, easy to spell, difficult to define and impossible to live without.
If hate is such a strong word...why do we toss 'love' around like it isn't?
I'm nothing special, of this I am sure. I'm just a common man with common thoughts. There will be no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten after I've passed. But I've loved with all my heart and soul, and to me, that has always been enough.
"If you judge people, you have no time to love them."---Mother Theresa
Monday, May 17, 2010
Quote of the Day
"Truth is, everybody is going to hurt you; you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for."
-Bob Marley
-Bob Marley
Over and Over and Fucking Over
So...I met this girl who is absolutely fucking amazing. She's drop dead gorgeous. She drinks whiskey. She has tattoo's. She is phenomenally jaw dropping in the job she holds. She knows what loss feels like. She has overcame the devastating feelings of a very close loved one who has passed. She knows how to do this, that and the other thing (and I'm not talking about sex). And she makes me want to be a better man.
I told her I was crazy about her. Which I should be. And she told me, ahem, "you don't really know too much about me to be 'crazy' about me."
I told her she was right, but I wanted to know as much as I could about her. I told her I did indeed love everything I already knew about her. She, maybe, brushed it off like the salt from the bar top after a shot of Tequila.
I fear I may have came too strong. Maybe she didn't want to know I thought she was amazing. Excuse me, how I think she is amazing? Maybe she doesn't like the kind of guy I am?
And I know you should never twist work with a relationship, but if she wanted to have a go at one with me, I'd leave the job quicker than the Cubs would lose to the Yankees in the World Series.
This has been the predominate thing in my life for the last decade and a half. Get interested in a girl, take the things she says, or the things she does to me (again, not talking about sex) the wrong way. Maybe I shouldn't have kissed her goodnight the night she gave me a ride home after work. Maybe I shouldn't have kissed her back after she grabbed me while I was trying to get out of the cab we shared a different night after we got off work. And maybe I should just see I can never be good enough for somebody like her.
FUCK!!!
Part 2...We will just be friends. And I'm ok with it. She is much too good of a person for me to not have in my life in some way. I can deal with her just being a friend.
I told her I was crazy about her. Which I should be. And she told me, ahem, "you don't really know too much about me to be 'crazy' about me."
I told her she was right, but I wanted to know as much as I could about her. I told her I did indeed love everything I already knew about her. She, maybe, brushed it off like the salt from the bar top after a shot of Tequila.
I fear I may have came too strong. Maybe she didn't want to know I thought she was amazing. Excuse me, how I think she is amazing? Maybe she doesn't like the kind of guy I am?
And I know you should never twist work with a relationship, but if she wanted to have a go at one with me, I'd leave the job quicker than the Cubs would lose to the Yankees in the World Series.
This has been the predominate thing in my life for the last decade and a half. Get interested in a girl, take the things she says, or the things she does to me (again, not talking about sex) the wrong way. Maybe I shouldn't have kissed her goodnight the night she gave me a ride home after work. Maybe I shouldn't have kissed her back after she grabbed me while I was trying to get out of the cab we shared a different night after we got off work. And maybe I should just see I can never be good enough for somebody like her.
FUCK!!!
Part 2...We will just be friends. And I'm ok with it. She is much too good of a person for me to not have in my life in some way. I can deal with her just being a friend.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Snots from my nose to my toes
so for easter, i journeyed back home to the stix to see the fam, which i have already addressed. it was good to see all of them and blah, blah, blah.
when i went to bed friday night, the temperature was 64 degrees and thought i was in for a comfortable nights rest. when i woke saturday morning, i couldn't breathe due to an obstruction in my nasal cavity.
after finding the correct materials to vanquish said obstruction from the nasal cavity, i set forth in the expenditure.
30 seconds in, i knew it was gonna be tough. a minute and a half in i began to worry. somewhere around the 5th minute i lost consciousness and hit the floor. 2 minutes after falling, i regained consciousness and went at it again. this time, i was certain that the goal would be attained.
after roughly 10 minutes of the painful process, i felt the obstruction give. it was ready to be evicted from the nasal cavity.
what came next, i was in no way prepared for. the longest snot known to mankind began to creep out of my left nostril. it was thick. it was really thick. with a kinda yellowish-green tint to it.
i coughed a little bit, caught my breath and decided to give a large attempt to clear it from my septum. and it was out. the longest snot known to mankind perhaps. just felt like sharing.
when i went to bed friday night, the temperature was 64 degrees and thought i was in for a comfortable nights rest. when i woke saturday morning, i couldn't breathe due to an obstruction in my nasal cavity.
after finding the correct materials to vanquish said obstruction from the nasal cavity, i set forth in the expenditure.
30 seconds in, i knew it was gonna be tough. a minute and a half in i began to worry. somewhere around the 5th minute i lost consciousness and hit the floor. 2 minutes after falling, i regained consciousness and went at it again. this time, i was certain that the goal would be attained.
after roughly 10 minutes of the painful process, i felt the obstruction give. it was ready to be evicted from the nasal cavity.
what came next, i was in no way prepared for. the longest snot known to mankind began to creep out of my left nostril. it was thick. it was really thick. with a kinda yellowish-green tint to it.
i coughed a little bit, caught my breath and decided to give a large attempt to clear it from my septum. and it was out. the longest snot known to mankind perhaps. just felt like sharing.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Twelve-Midnight.
Twelve-Midnight. Friday night, well, Saturday morning to stand corrected. Home in the stix to see the fam for Easter. Gonna shoot the damn bunny this year. Watched The Blind Side tonight. It was pretty gosh darn good. Though I must admit, ever since seeing the trailer I assumed Sandra Bullock was a football coach. This was not the case. But she did make Big Mike see how he needed to protect his boys.
Speaking of boys, I wonder if any of my 'boys' would protect me the way Michael protected his 'family'...both on the field and off? My guess...the actual number would be much lower than the actual number of my 'boys' who have said in the years past they would. Cowards. Only as good as your word. And if your word ain't no good, you aren't either, pal.
Reason #139 that I'm losing my mind: Got into a heated argument with the gato this morning. I got out of bed, told him I was getting in the shower and he should have all of his things ready to go see the fam by the time I finished. As I walked back into my sleeping quarters, the fuzzy lil fuck was still lying in the same spot he was when I told him to get his things together. I told him dad was going to be there in 10 minutes, to get his ass in gear and get it done. He rolled over into the sun peering through the window. I lit a smoke, collected my things for the trip home and grabbed his cage to load him up. As soon as he witnessed me carrying it, he darted off the bed and hid under it. And wouldn't ya know it, he parked his lil ass dead center in the middle. Couldn't reach him from any angle. So I filled up an extra large bowl of water, filled his dish to the top with grub and told him to watch the house, I'd see him Sunday.
Yup, Reason #139.
I wanna send a shout out to my 2010 Chicago Cubs. OK. The bums that have owned you forever are gone. The moron who tried to play in the outfield for ya last season is gone. You have some quality rookies this year who are ready to battle with ya to get into the Big Dance. Get the job done. I repeat. GET THE JOB DONE. That is all.
Another goes to my new bosses, all 30+ of em. Five years is a kinda long time to wait for a call back after the first interview, but I stuck it out and wont let ya down...again.
(This next part is gonna read like the old cat who hung himself at the hotel after being released from prison in The Shawshank Redemption.)
It's been nice here. Warm. Low to mid 80's. There's a nice breeze off the lake. I'm working now. Staffed at a bar in Wrigleyville, just a few steps from the ball park the Cubs call home. I miss some of the guys from time to time but think about Chloe more than I do them. I hope she's doing good living up North. She's with someone who loves her now, something that I never realized I did until she was gone. A lot of ladies who have been bundled up these past several months have decided to break out their summer wear. Cute tops and summer dresses. Chicago is such a beautiful place in the spring and summer time. But this summer will be the first since the last. And it might be kind of hard. Not too sure how to handle it yet. But I know eventually that I'll grow tired of it and just wanna go back home.
I guess we'll see how the next several months play out.
Went shopping yesterday. New jeans and a few new shirts. Though my mother has told me that I need to stop wearing t-shirts because of my age (32), I still bought some new ones. One of them is the entire gang from Scooby-Doo in front of their van. The other, it's a red number that says, "I've been drinking for 8 hours...and you're still ugly...do the math." Should go over real well while trying to pick up the ladies.
Need to go and buy The Outsiders tomorrow afternoon and write an essay about the social conflicts involved with the movie for the Human Development class I'm taking. Doesn't have to be about The Outsiders, I just chose the film because it's a pretty damn good movie.
Blah. Blah. And Blah.
laters
Speaking of boys, I wonder if any of my 'boys' would protect me the way Michael protected his 'family'...both on the field and off? My guess...the actual number would be much lower than the actual number of my 'boys' who have said in the years past they would. Cowards. Only as good as your word. And if your word ain't no good, you aren't either, pal.
Tonight's rant & rave is brought to you by our sponsor Mountain Dew...Everyone is Going Green, Grab Yourself a Green Drink.
Reason #139 that I'm losing my mind: Got into a heated argument with the gato this morning. I got out of bed, told him I was getting in the shower and he should have all of his things ready to go see the fam by the time I finished. As I walked back into my sleeping quarters, the fuzzy lil fuck was still lying in the same spot he was when I told him to get his things together. I told him dad was going to be there in 10 minutes, to get his ass in gear and get it done. He rolled over into the sun peering through the window. I lit a smoke, collected my things for the trip home and grabbed his cage to load him up. As soon as he witnessed me carrying it, he darted off the bed and hid under it. And wouldn't ya know it, he parked his lil ass dead center in the middle. Couldn't reach him from any angle. So I filled up an extra large bowl of water, filled his dish to the top with grub and told him to watch the house, I'd see him Sunday.
Yup, Reason #139.
I wanna send a shout out to my 2010 Chicago Cubs. OK. The bums that have owned you forever are gone. The moron who tried to play in the outfield for ya last season is gone. You have some quality rookies this year who are ready to battle with ya to get into the Big Dance. Get the job done. I repeat. GET THE JOB DONE. That is all.
Another goes to my new bosses, all 30+ of em. Five years is a kinda long time to wait for a call back after the first interview, but I stuck it out and wont let ya down...again.
(This next part is gonna read like the old cat who hung himself at the hotel after being released from prison in The Shawshank Redemption.)
It's been nice here. Warm. Low to mid 80's. There's a nice breeze off the lake. I'm working now. Staffed at a bar in Wrigleyville, just a few steps from the ball park the Cubs call home. I miss some of the guys from time to time but think about Chloe more than I do them. I hope she's doing good living up North. She's with someone who loves her now, something that I never realized I did until she was gone. A lot of ladies who have been bundled up these past several months have decided to break out their summer wear. Cute tops and summer dresses. Chicago is such a beautiful place in the spring and summer time. But this summer will be the first since the last. And it might be kind of hard. Not too sure how to handle it yet. But I know eventually that I'll grow tired of it and just wanna go back home.
I guess we'll see how the next several months play out.
Went shopping yesterday. New jeans and a few new shirts. Though my mother has told me that I need to stop wearing t-shirts because of my age (32), I still bought some new ones. One of them is the entire gang from Scooby-Doo in front of their van. The other, it's a red number that says, "I've been drinking for 8 hours...and you're still ugly...do the math." Should go over real well while trying to pick up the ladies.
Need to go and buy The Outsiders tomorrow afternoon and write an essay about the social conflicts involved with the movie for the Human Development class I'm taking. Doesn't have to be about The Outsiders, I just chose the film because it's a pretty damn good movie.
Blah. Blah. And Blah.
laters
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Who Are You?
Friday, March 28...8:41 p.m....40 degrees in The Chi...and everybody thinks that I, in some way or another, am unstable and having some sort of break down.
To those people, thanks for caring, but get the fuck outta my business and please, I beg of you, put the ideas that you can play shrink to rest. If you wanna really use that thinker of yours, try using some of Foucault's theories to decide what the shit I write may or may not be about.
Thanx for stopping by.
To those people, thanks for caring, but get the fuck outta my business and please, I beg of you, put the ideas that you can play shrink to rest. If you wanna really use that thinker of yours, try using some of Foucault's theories to decide what the shit I write may or may not be about.
Thanx for stopping by.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
So What Do You Want?
An old "friend" (we used to hook up until I got too interested the first time and not interested enough the second time, understand what I did there?) told me this afternoon after reading this here blog how she felt I was having some problems in life.
My bad. I never claimed all the things that I, or BostonGirl, write about are going to all be Strawberries and Lollipops. (FYI: Strawberries and Lollipops is the title of...wait a minute, you don't need to know that yet.)
The old friend told me I needed to stop thinking about my ex. I told her I hadn't in a long time. The day I wrote the post in question, was the first time since the last time I had thought about her. It's the first time in 6 months I even had a text message conversation with her. I asked her to re-read it and notice the end, where I clearly said I, Freddy in the Chi, was ready to move on with my life. Though the ex was extremely hard to get over, I did it and I am finally ready to go.
She told me that I drink to much and asked why I was taking sleeping pills. I told her the truth. I have a hard time sleeping sometimes and if there is anything I can do to help me achieve a peaceful nights slumber, it will be done. She told me she was worried about me again, and she feels like I am living an unhealthy lifestyle. I told her she didn't have to worry about me. Though the thoughts were appreciated.
So anyway, if this blog can't be my spot to get the things which drive me mad, out, where do I need to go? Am I to worry what people think of me because of the stories I write? Do I need to enroll them all in the Freddy in the Chi Writing Course to Say What He's Got to Say just so they can understand not everything written is non-fiction? This ain't the fucking Chicago Tribune or the New York Times. I don't need to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth here. I can write what I want, when I want and in any fucking way I want.
If you read this old "friend", its not directed toward you. Everybody I know who reads this blog tells me how I should handle this, that and the other thing. Guess what? I really don't care how they think I should handle my life.
If I wanna lie on my kitchen floor naked on a Sunday afternoon and throw darts at the ceiling, I'm gonna do it. If I wanna hop a train to the East Coast to go and try to meet this gorgeous little blond that I kinda, but not really, know...I'm gonna hop the fucking train and take it Eastern bound. If I wanna sleep on the side of the bed I used to sleep on while the ex was still part of my life, I'm gonna sleep there. Not because it's more comfortable than the other side, but because I don't feel like sleeping on the other side.
You did not go to school to tell me what is wrong with me. And the cocksuckers who did go to school to tell me that is wrong with me have never guessed right. They've told me it's this, that and the other thing...prescribed these meds, those meds and them meds...all of which haven't done a fucking thing.
There's just one thing I love more than anything. Well, anything beside my family. It's writing. I'll write about what I want. I'm not doing any of it to please a single person but me. Some of the stuff I write is the honest to God truth. Some of it a complete and utter bullshit. And there is even some that combines the two. If you don't like to read what I write, move to the next story.
My bad. I never claimed all the things that I, or BostonGirl, write about are going to all be Strawberries and Lollipops. (FYI: Strawberries and Lollipops is the title of...wait a minute, you don't need to know that yet.)
The old friend told me I needed to stop thinking about my ex. I told her I hadn't in a long time. The day I wrote the post in question, was the first time since the last time I had thought about her. It's the first time in 6 months I even had a text message conversation with her. I asked her to re-read it and notice the end, where I clearly said I, Freddy in the Chi, was ready to move on with my life. Though the ex was extremely hard to get over, I did it and I am finally ready to go.
She told me that I drink to much and asked why I was taking sleeping pills. I told her the truth. I have a hard time sleeping sometimes and if there is anything I can do to help me achieve a peaceful nights slumber, it will be done. She told me she was worried about me again, and she feels like I am living an unhealthy lifestyle. I told her she didn't have to worry about me. Though the thoughts were appreciated.
So anyway, if this blog can't be my spot to get the things which drive me mad, out, where do I need to go? Am I to worry what people think of me because of the stories I write? Do I need to enroll them all in the Freddy in the Chi Writing Course to Say What He's Got to Say just so they can understand not everything written is non-fiction? This ain't the fucking Chicago Tribune or the New York Times. I don't need to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth here. I can write what I want, when I want and in any fucking way I want.
If you read this old "friend", its not directed toward you. Everybody I know who reads this blog tells me how I should handle this, that and the other thing. Guess what? I really don't care how they think I should handle my life.
If I wanna lie on my kitchen floor naked on a Sunday afternoon and throw darts at the ceiling, I'm gonna do it. If I wanna hop a train to the East Coast to go and try to meet this gorgeous little blond that I kinda, but not really, know...I'm gonna hop the fucking train and take it Eastern bound. If I wanna sleep on the side of the bed I used to sleep on while the ex was still part of my life, I'm gonna sleep there. Not because it's more comfortable than the other side, but because I don't feel like sleeping on the other side.
You did not go to school to tell me what is wrong with me. And the cocksuckers who did go to school to tell me that is wrong with me have never guessed right. They've told me it's this, that and the other thing...prescribed these meds, those meds and them meds...all of which haven't done a fucking thing.
There's just one thing I love more than anything. Well, anything beside my family. It's writing. I'll write about what I want. I'm not doing any of it to please a single person but me. Some of the stuff I write is the honest to God truth. Some of it a complete and utter bullshit. And there is even some that combines the two. If you don't like to read what I write, move to the next story.
Reconnecting the Disconnect
Freddy… need your advice on this one.
So, we talked about our situation a bit more this morning. We talked about a lot of things – good things, bad things, the way we wish it would be, and reasons why we love the way it is now. The main point that came out of the discussion, the one thing that could single-handedly end this relationship, is an issue I’m not sure how to fix. Maybe it can’t be fixed. But I need to at least try.
He doesn’t feel a physical connection between us. This is something I don’t think I’ve ever dealt with. Was I surprised to hear him say it? Not at all. I’ve felt it the past couple months, and have brought it up to him a few times. We haven’t had sex in a week and a half. I’ve felt like he doesn’t even want to touch me.
“How often do we just spontaneously make out? How often do we have sex?” He asked me this morning. “I just don’t feel it.”
I am still very physically attracted to him. But he has been shutting me down. I really don't want to lose him...
So now, we are still moving forward with this relationship and trying to work through the problems. But this is one problem I just don’t know how to solve. How do I get the “spice” back in this relationship? How do I make him want me again? Or maybe he was right when he said “some people just don’t have a connection.”
So, we talked about our situation a bit more this morning. We talked about a lot of things – good things, bad things, the way we wish it would be, and reasons why we love the way it is now. The main point that came out of the discussion, the one thing that could single-handedly end this relationship, is an issue I’m not sure how to fix. Maybe it can’t be fixed. But I need to at least try.
He doesn’t feel a physical connection between us. This is something I don’t think I’ve ever dealt with. Was I surprised to hear him say it? Not at all. I’ve felt it the past couple months, and have brought it up to him a few times. We haven’t had sex in a week and a half. I’ve felt like he doesn’t even want to touch me.
“How often do we just spontaneously make out? How often do we have sex?” He asked me this morning. “I just don’t feel it.”
I am still very physically attracted to him. But he has been shutting me down. I really don't want to lose him...
So now, we are still moving forward with this relationship and trying to work through the problems. But this is one problem I just don’t know how to solve. How do I get the “spice” back in this relationship? How do I make him want me again? Or maybe he was right when he said “some people just don’t have a connection.”
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Now What?
So I went out with my ex the other night. I worked until 6:30 or so and then met him at a dive bar down the street. He was already there when I arrived, Guinness in hand. He was just in jeans and a t-shirt, but he looked good. Things felt a little awkward at first, so I ordered a vodka-tonic to take the edge off. We had some casual conversation and started to catch up. The awkwardness was fading, but was still present. It’s strange to “catch up” with someone who was once your entire world.
It didn’t take long for him to ask why I wanted to meet up so badly. I told him the new guy and I were having some issues, but that I didn’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to have a fun night. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him what I should do with my new boyfriend, especially since they know each other. He questioned me about my new relationship throughout the night, but I kept changing the subject.
He had just come from his first physical in ten years. He told me he‘d been nervous about the appointment, since he’s just been pretty much beating his body up more and more over the years. The doctor asked him how much he drank and he responded with “You don’t want to know.” He lit up a cigarette and headed to the bar immediately after the doctor told him he needed to try to quit drinking for two weeks and quit smoking.
He told me how he had just gotten back from a week in Aruba and a week in Vegas, where he lost somewhere around $10,000. This is a bartender who typically works three nights a week.
As the night went on, I was reminded more and more of his bad qualities. His irresponsibility, his immaturity, his lack of drive or motivation to become anything more than a bartender. His drinking problems. His smoking. His complete lack of faith in God. How he drags me down in the same aspects of life where the new guy encourages, helps, and supports me. And perhaps most importantly for me… how he’ll probably never be able to pull it together enough to have a relationship with me.
We had a great night. And there are obviously still a lot of things I love about him. We shared some laughs, stories, life updates… and I am glad we got to spend that time together.
But did I get the glaring obvious answers and sense of direction I was looking for? Not at all. The only thing I may have gotten out of it is that he and I won’t work. At least not right now. But I suppose that’s something.
It didn’t take long for him to ask why I wanted to meet up so badly. I told him the new guy and I were having some issues, but that I didn’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to have a fun night. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him what I should do with my new boyfriend, especially since they know each other. He questioned me about my new relationship throughout the night, but I kept changing the subject.
He had just come from his first physical in ten years. He told me he‘d been nervous about the appointment, since he’s just been pretty much beating his body up more and more over the years. The doctor asked him how much he drank and he responded with “You don’t want to know.” He lit up a cigarette and headed to the bar immediately after the doctor told him he needed to try to quit drinking for two weeks and quit smoking.
He told me how he had just gotten back from a week in Aruba and a week in Vegas, where he lost somewhere around $10,000. This is a bartender who typically works three nights a week.
As the night went on, I was reminded more and more of his bad qualities. His irresponsibility, his immaturity, his lack of drive or motivation to become anything more than a bartender. His drinking problems. His smoking. His complete lack of faith in God. How he drags me down in the same aspects of life where the new guy encourages, helps, and supports me. And perhaps most importantly for me… how he’ll probably never be able to pull it together enough to have a relationship with me.
We had a great night. And there are obviously still a lot of things I love about him. We shared some laughs, stories, life updates… and I am glad we got to spend that time together.
But did I get the glaring obvious answers and sense of direction I was looking for? Not at all. The only thing I may have gotten out of it is that he and I won’t work. At least not right now. But I suppose that’s something.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Oh...What a Night.
*to note, i am writing this after being told stories about the events of last evening. some of this can be remembered, others, not so much. if what my friends have told me is true, which may or may not be, friends, i had one helluva night.
As I finished class yesterday afternoon, I had a feeling that something in my life was missing, but no idea what it actually was. At first I felt that it was the ex girlfriend, but convinced myself that it wasn't. Then I thought it was a regular diet that was missing from my sleep deprived life, but grabbed some taco's and changed my mind again. Was it the whiskey that I had sworn off months ago? Was it the meaningless casual sex from years past that I missed so much? Maybe it was the drugs, that I have or have not done? Quicker than a Cubs loss in a playoff game, I decided it was a combination of everything.
When I got back to the house, I opened a fresh bottle of Mountain Dew and sat looking out the window onto the city of Chicago. I grew bored and opted to take a nap, so I swallowed 2 Melatonin capsules (to help me sleep) and one Ambien (to REALLY help me sleep). Now, since I had been drinking The Dew, and we all know that the green drink is loaded with sugar and caffeine, I figured that I should take these three capsules of sleeping assistance with a half glass of Jack Daniels. May have been a bad idea.
Now, instead of falling into a deep, peaceful slumber, I decided to take a shower. And because my body temperature felt like I was in a pot at a Louisiana Crayfish Boil, the showers temperature was set to Colder than a Witches Tit and pretty much knocked all of the sleepiness of the drugs outta me.
After drying myself, and putting on some blue jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt, I started making calls to my friends to see what their plans were for the night. This guy was going to that bar. That guy was going to this bar. She was going here. She was going there. So I elected to meet one of the girls at her spot of drunkenness. When I got there, I don't remember. But she told me this morning when she called to check on me that I was more bombed last night than she has ever seen me. And that is pretty scary.
She told me that as I sat at the bar next to her, that I was throwing coasters like ninja stars at the bartender because "there are nun-chucking monkeys behind you." And when the bartender cut me off after two beers that I laughed so hard at her. So hard that I was crying and couldn't breathe. She told me that she took me outside for some fresh air and to calm me down, but I continued to laugh and I told her that I was laughing because "Ozzy Osbourne was dancing on the bar singing Crazy Train."
If she was a good friend, this might have been the point in the night that she took me back to her place, put my ass on her couch and made me fall to sleep. But she didn't. So she will not be getting a Christmas card this season.
We left that bar and walked down the street to a different bar. Upon entering, while she was showing her ID to the door guy, I bolted to the bar to try and talk with a gal that caught my attention. My friend moved as fast as she could to stop me from saying/doing anything that was going to cause problems or start trouble, but it was too late.
"Hey there, can I buy you a drink" my friend said I asked the girl at the bar. "No, you can't, I have a boyfriend" the girl responded. "Well, I have a goldfish at home" responded I, says my friend. "Excuse me? Why do I care about what you have at home" the girl asked. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were talking about shit that didn't really matter." And we were off to a new place.
My friend decided that I needed some food to help and sober me up so we went to McDonalds. She says that I stood leaning, with my forehead against, the drive-thru menu sign for 10 minutes trying to read what was offered. After making a selection I stood at the voice box screaming my order at the poor lady inside. "I want two orders of oyster-crab cakes with a side of mashed sweet potatoes and creamed corn," she said I ordered before walking to the pick-up window. As we stood there waiting for our food, Theo, a mutual friend of ours who has been in love with the girl I was with since we were getting our Undergrads, walked by on the sidewalk. "Hey THEO!!! LOOK WHO I'M WITH!!!BET YOU WISH YOU WERE ME!!!I'M GONNA FUCK HER LATER!!!" my friend said I screamed. And Theo called me a motherfucker for calling him out. I told Theo that "I'M NOT A MOTHERFUCKER, I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU'RE MOM IN YEARS!!!"
About then, says my friend, the food lady was handing us our bags of grub. After opening mine to sink my teethe into the oyster-crab cakes, the mashed sweet potatoes and creamed corn, I realized that all I had was a bag of fries and a burger so I knocked on her window and simply said "HEY, MCDONALDS LADY!!!YOU MCFUCKED UP!!!"
Now, I was smashed, sure, and all kinds of messed in the head, but I still think I had my wits. My friend and I sat at a table on the outside of McDonalds to eat our burgers and try to relax. And always, I questioned how her life was going. She told me that it was a little slow in the guy department and that she hadn't had sex since Bush was president. She told me that my question to her statement might have been the funniest thing she ever did hear me say. "Well, you want me to go home with ya and welcome in the Obama Administration?"
Should make for an interesting night tonight.
As I finished class yesterday afternoon, I had a feeling that something in my life was missing, but no idea what it actually was. At first I felt that it was the ex girlfriend, but convinced myself that it wasn't. Then I thought it was a regular diet that was missing from my sleep deprived life, but grabbed some taco's and changed my mind again. Was it the whiskey that I had sworn off months ago? Was it the meaningless casual sex from years past that I missed so much? Maybe it was the drugs, that I have or have not done? Quicker than a Cubs loss in a playoff game, I decided it was a combination of everything.
When I got back to the house, I opened a fresh bottle of Mountain Dew and sat looking out the window onto the city of Chicago. I grew bored and opted to take a nap, so I swallowed 2 Melatonin capsules (to help me sleep) and one Ambien (to REALLY help me sleep). Now, since I had been drinking The Dew, and we all know that the green drink is loaded with sugar and caffeine, I figured that I should take these three capsules of sleeping assistance with a half glass of Jack Daniels. May have been a bad idea.
Now, instead of falling into a deep, peaceful slumber, I decided to take a shower. And because my body temperature felt like I was in a pot at a Louisiana Crayfish Boil, the showers temperature was set to Colder than a Witches Tit and pretty much knocked all of the sleepiness of the drugs outta me.
After drying myself, and putting on some blue jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt, I started making calls to my friends to see what their plans were for the night. This guy was going to that bar. That guy was going to this bar. She was going here. She was going there. So I elected to meet one of the girls at her spot of drunkenness. When I got there, I don't remember. But she told me this morning when she called to check on me that I was more bombed last night than she has ever seen me. And that is pretty scary.
She told me that as I sat at the bar next to her, that I was throwing coasters like ninja stars at the bartender because "there are nun-chucking monkeys behind you." And when the bartender cut me off after two beers that I laughed so hard at her. So hard that I was crying and couldn't breathe. She told me that she took me outside for some fresh air and to calm me down, but I continued to laugh and I told her that I was laughing because "Ozzy Osbourne was dancing on the bar singing Crazy Train."
If she was a good friend, this might have been the point in the night that she took me back to her place, put my ass on her couch and made me fall to sleep. But she didn't. So she will not be getting a Christmas card this season.
We left that bar and walked down the street to a different bar. Upon entering, while she was showing her ID to the door guy, I bolted to the bar to try and talk with a gal that caught my attention. My friend moved as fast as she could to stop me from saying/doing anything that was going to cause problems or start trouble, but it was too late.
"Hey there, can I buy you a drink" my friend said I asked the girl at the bar. "No, you can't, I have a boyfriend" the girl responded. "Well, I have a goldfish at home" responded I, says my friend. "Excuse me? Why do I care about what you have at home" the girl asked. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were talking about shit that didn't really matter." And we were off to a new place.
My friend decided that I needed some food to help and sober me up so we went to McDonalds. She says that I stood leaning, with my forehead against, the drive-thru menu sign for 10 minutes trying to read what was offered. After making a selection I stood at the voice box screaming my order at the poor lady inside. "I want two orders of oyster-crab cakes with a side of mashed sweet potatoes and creamed corn," she said I ordered before walking to the pick-up window. As we stood there waiting for our food, Theo, a mutual friend of ours who has been in love with the girl I was with since we were getting our Undergrads, walked by on the sidewalk. "Hey THEO!!! LOOK WHO I'M WITH!!!BET YOU WISH YOU WERE ME!!!I'M GONNA FUCK HER LATER!!!" my friend said I screamed. And Theo called me a motherfucker for calling him out. I told Theo that "I'M NOT A MOTHERFUCKER, I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU'RE MOM IN YEARS!!!"
About then, says my friend, the food lady was handing us our bags of grub. After opening mine to sink my teethe into the oyster-crab cakes, the mashed sweet potatoes and creamed corn, I realized that all I had was a bag of fries and a burger so I knocked on her window and simply said "HEY, MCDONALDS LADY!!!YOU MCFUCKED UP!!!"
Now, I was smashed, sure, and all kinds of messed in the head, but I still think I had my wits. My friend and I sat at a table on the outside of McDonalds to eat our burgers and try to relax. And always, I questioned how her life was going. She told me that it was a little slow in the guy department and that she hadn't had sex since Bush was president. She told me that my question to her statement might have been the funniest thing she ever did hear me say. "Well, you want me to go home with ya and welcome in the Obama Administration?"
Should make for an interesting night tonight.
Monday, March 22, 2010
it's finally hit me.
i don't know why i keep doing this to myself. i thought about her today, the first time since the last time. and because i was thinking about her, i couldn't stop myself from trying to get in touch with her. and even though i knew i shouldn't have done it, the entire time i was doing it, i continued to write the text message to her.
almost seven months to the day, all the shit i've been lying to myself about has pretty much caught up to me and i don't know why.
she said she was good. which i was happy about. but i remembered all the times she wasn't. and all of those times were times when i called her mine.
most of it had to do with us; stupid fights, major fights, moronic ideas that i, or she, held about the other. but the times that had nothing to do with us as a couple really, were remembered too. like the time i sat in the waiting room to hear the results of her surgery. the time i took her to the hospital and sat with her for hours hoping to find the reason for the pain she was having. then i started to remember the really bad times, and sad to say, those seemed to outweigh the good.
but no matter how many bad memories there are, there are good ones too. and they're fucking amazing. those memories are so amazing because when we made them, we were amazing. and most of the amazing memories of the amazing times all came from the first couple months of our barley over a year relationship.
that makes me wonder this though; was the majority of our relationship complete and utter bullshit? did i, did she, did we...continue to lie to ourselves and to each other about the love that may or may not have been there? could we have been fixed? were we worth fixing? i know i loved her long after she left, but don't know when she stopped loving me or even if she has. i assume that she has, but because we haven't spoke i don't know. i'm sure she has, but what if she hasn't? what if the only reason she hasn't tried to get in touch with me is because she still loves me and is scared of a repeat of the last round? or because she is scared that talking with me again would bring back the same memories i had today, both the good and the bad?
i can't lie and say i didn't see the end coming like i have in previous posts anymore. i saw it coming. i just wanted to pretend i didn't, so i ignored it, hoping it would go away. praying it would all be fixed when i woke the next day.
but nothing worth fixing should get treatment like that. i should have dealt with it when i first saw it. maybe she wouldn't have been driven away? maybe she still would have been? but i can't change the past, and there's no point of staying in it. so i gotta move forward with a whole heart. without the love that i held for her and without the love we shared, no matter how long it actually was, hoping to find it again someday.
maybe it's because of something new in my life. maybe it's from something else. but whatever the reason, i'm ready to go.
almost seven months to the day, all the shit i've been lying to myself about has pretty much caught up to me and i don't know why.
she said she was good. which i was happy about. but i remembered all the times she wasn't. and all of those times were times when i called her mine.
most of it had to do with us; stupid fights, major fights, moronic ideas that i, or she, held about the other. but the times that had nothing to do with us as a couple really, were remembered too. like the time i sat in the waiting room to hear the results of her surgery. the time i took her to the hospital and sat with her for hours hoping to find the reason for the pain she was having. then i started to remember the really bad times, and sad to say, those seemed to outweigh the good.
but no matter how many bad memories there are, there are good ones too. and they're fucking amazing. those memories are so amazing because when we made them, we were amazing. and most of the amazing memories of the amazing times all came from the first couple months of our barley over a year relationship.
that makes me wonder this though; was the majority of our relationship complete and utter bullshit? did i, did she, did we...continue to lie to ourselves and to each other about the love that may or may not have been there? could we have been fixed? were we worth fixing? i know i loved her long after she left, but don't know when she stopped loving me or even if she has. i assume that she has, but because we haven't spoke i don't know. i'm sure she has, but what if she hasn't? what if the only reason she hasn't tried to get in touch with me is because she still loves me and is scared of a repeat of the last round? or because she is scared that talking with me again would bring back the same memories i had today, both the good and the bad?
i can't lie and say i didn't see the end coming like i have in previous posts anymore. i saw it coming. i just wanted to pretend i didn't, so i ignored it, hoping it would go away. praying it would all be fixed when i woke the next day.
but nothing worth fixing should get treatment like that. i should have dealt with it when i first saw it. maybe she wouldn't have been driven away? maybe she still would have been? but i can't change the past, and there's no point of staying in it. so i gotta move forward with a whole heart. without the love that i held for her and without the love we shared, no matter how long it actually was, hoping to find it again someday.
maybe it's because of something new in my life. maybe it's from something else. but whatever the reason, i'm ready to go.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Done thinking.
When thoughts of getting back together with my ex consumed my mind immediately after talk of a potential breakup with the new guy, I interpreted it as evidence that I should try to rekindle the flame with my old boyfriend. I thought the reason I was thinking about my ex rather than worrying about losing the man I’ve been dating for the past ten months must’ve been because I’m still in love with him and deep down, want to be with him instead.
I didn’t consider the possibility that maybe running back to my ex was just a defense mechanism. I didn’t want to have to experience another breakup, more rejection. Telling myself that I wanted this breakup too protected me from getting hurt. “It’s okay. He doesn’t want to be with me? That’s fine. I don’t want to be with him either; I’m still in love with Matt. This is actually a good thing because now I have the freedom to get him back”
The reality is, yes, I definitely still love my ex and I probably always will. And yes, I hold our relationship on a pedestal that I’m not sure any future relationship will be able to touch. And yes, our love was a very passionate love. But that doesn’t mean that we would work. And it doesn’t mean that I can’t be happy with someone else. And maybe there is something irrational, impulsive, immature about such passionate love.
And the reality is I do feel very strongly about this new guy. Until two weeks ago, I was smiling all the time because of him. I told a friend I could see myself marrying him. He is older, much more career-minded and focused than my ex, and would be a great father and husband. I shouldn’t just try to convince myself I don’t have these feelings for him just because I’m scared he’ll dump me. I must be honest with myself.
I still haven’t completely sorted out exactly how I feel or what I want, so this is my plan: I will proceed with caution in my current relationship, knowing that there’s a good chance it won’t last forever. I will just enjoy the time we have together, but try to emotionally withdraw a bit. I will casually meet with my ex to see if he provides any clarity or direction. And I will try to just let go and let things happen for themselves. Whatever is supposed to happen will happen. I’m not pushing either way.
I didn’t consider the possibility that maybe running back to my ex was just a defense mechanism. I didn’t want to have to experience another breakup, more rejection. Telling myself that I wanted this breakup too protected me from getting hurt. “It’s okay. He doesn’t want to be with me? That’s fine. I don’t want to be with him either; I’m still in love with Matt. This is actually a good thing because now I have the freedom to get him back”
The reality is, yes, I definitely still love my ex and I probably always will. And yes, I hold our relationship on a pedestal that I’m not sure any future relationship will be able to touch. And yes, our love was a very passionate love. But that doesn’t mean that we would work. And it doesn’t mean that I can’t be happy with someone else. And maybe there is something irrational, impulsive, immature about such passionate love.
And the reality is I do feel very strongly about this new guy. Until two weeks ago, I was smiling all the time because of him. I told a friend I could see myself marrying him. He is older, much more career-minded and focused than my ex, and would be a great father and husband. I shouldn’t just try to convince myself I don’t have these feelings for him just because I’m scared he’ll dump me. I must be honest with myself.
I still haven’t completely sorted out exactly how I feel or what I want, so this is my plan: I will proceed with caution in my current relationship, knowing that there’s a good chance it won’t last forever. I will just enjoy the time we have together, but try to emotionally withdraw a bit. I will casually meet with my ex to see if he provides any clarity or direction. And I will try to just let go and let things happen for themselves. Whatever is supposed to happen will happen. I’m not pushing either way.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
I Forgot to Forget
I told her as she walked down the hall and out of my life how I'd love her always and forever. how she'd never escape my heart and the door to our home would remained unlocked, waiting for her to come back through, no matter when the day was.
Her last suitcase lugged behind her as she told me to get over her and move on. The last words shared in person.
For a lengthy time I didn't want to move on without her, so I didn't. I thought there might have been a chance of her changing her mind, or her heart, and she'd come back home to me. Maybe somewhere still inside her, she'd find the courage to tell her mother, for the first time, she wasn't going to do what she wanted.
But she hasn't changed her mind and she hasn't told her mom to fuck off and, more likely than not, she'll keep thinking and living the way her mom tells her to.
A few months after she left, I felt I was over her so I took a look around. As I assumed, I witnessed nothing to catch my eye. Sure, there were a few girls who grabbed my attention for a few minutes and blah, blah, blah but after talking with them for a bit, I realized they were all talking about shit that meant absolutely nothing to anybody beside themselves.
So now I sit, a little over a year since she left, still thinking about her everything because I have forgotten how to forget. How to forget her most importantly.
The way those dark eyes looked when we kissed with our eyes open, the tone of her voice when she whispered i love you's into my ear in bed, the way she'd bite her bottom lip when surprised, the things we did together at her house, at my house and at OUR house, each and every time we would forgive each other after a fight.
Except the last one. We didn't forgive each other after the last one.
Her last suitcase lugged behind her as she told me to get over her and move on. The last words shared in person.
For a lengthy time I didn't want to move on without her, so I didn't. I thought there might have been a chance of her changing her mind, or her heart, and she'd come back home to me. Maybe somewhere still inside her, she'd find the courage to tell her mother, for the first time, she wasn't going to do what she wanted.
But she hasn't changed her mind and she hasn't told her mom to fuck off and, more likely than not, she'll keep thinking and living the way her mom tells her to.
A few months after she left, I felt I was over her so I took a look around. As I assumed, I witnessed nothing to catch my eye. Sure, there were a few girls who grabbed my attention for a few minutes and blah, blah, blah but after talking with them for a bit, I realized they were all talking about shit that meant absolutely nothing to anybody beside themselves.
So now I sit, a little over a year since she left, still thinking about her everything because I have forgotten how to forget. How to forget her most importantly.
The way those dark eyes looked when we kissed with our eyes open, the tone of her voice when she whispered i love you's into my ear in bed, the way she'd bite her bottom lip when surprised, the things we did together at her house, at my house and at OUR house, each and every time we would forgive each other after a fight.
Except the last one. We didn't forgive each other after the last one.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
I Won't Forget
We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget.
We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were.
I remember the impact these words had on me when I first read them in Slouching Towards Bethlehem, a collection of essays by Joan Didion. In the essay "On Keeping a Notebook," Didion warns her readers against losing touch with our former selves. If they are forgotten, they will come back to haunt us:
...they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.
Keeping a notebook, she says, helps us keep in touch with the people we once were.
I believe that when we find ourselves at a crossroads, trying to figure out which path to take, it is more important than ever to keep in touch with our pasts. So as I try to choose between my current relationship with a man who is unsure if he wants to be with me, my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart when I thought we'd be together forever, or being miserable and alone again... I thought I should revisit who I was when I was in love with my ex, and who I was when I was heartbroken by him.
Brand New Love
The first few months of a Brand New Love... Is there anything better???
Written Friday, February 22, 2008.
There are few things in life as exciting as a brand new love. The thrill of finding someone who is seemingly perfect for you, the whirlwind of joy & happiness that hits you like a tornado, is pretty much unbeatable. Who knows what will happen? Could this be The One? Who cares? I'm having so much fun that I'm just going to enjoy the present without worrying about the future.
Every second apart feels like an eternity. All priorities drop a few levels. The biggest stressors in life are suddenly no big deal. Nothing is as important as seizing this opportunity to be truly happy. You know the feeling will fade eventually, even if you end up together for the rest of your lives. Nothing will ever feel as good as this does... right now. He is all I think about. Every second of every day he is on my mind. Instead of doing work at 2:00 on a Friday afternoon, I scribble in my notebook about him. I fantasize about quitting my job and running away with him to a tropical island.
I will hold onto this feeling as long as possible.
Okay... note to self: I did not feel this way at the beginning of my relationship with the new guy.
Talking About Feelings
Many of us have been conditioned our whole lives not to do this. What happens when you're used to keeping everything inside & then you find yourself in a healthy, honest, open relationship?
Apr. 06, 2008 at 10:26am
"I think we should have serious talks like this more often," he said to me. It was about 1:30 in the morning on a Thursday night, and we were sitting at the bar in his house smoking cigarettes and talking about how happy we are with each other. We had retreated downstairs from his bedroom after a lengthy, passionate sex session.
"I mean, I know we talk about us... but I'd just like to do it more. I know we don't need the reassurance - I think we both know how the other one feels - but it's still just nice to hear."
This guy just continues to amaze me. In almost every relationship I've ever had, I've been conditioned to keep my feelings locked inside. I somehow came to believe that my feelings should be hidden, ignored, controlled. Most of the guys I'd spent years desperately trying to form meaningful relationships with just didn't want to hear it. The way I felt simply didn't matter. They wanted things a certain way and didn't want to discuss any alternatives.
And so I learned to keep everything inside. It eventually became natural to me to just remain silent. Now it has become difficult for me to talk about how I feel. I somehow subconsciously believe it to be wrong.
I think it's fantastic. There's no wondering how he feels, what's going to happen, where this is headed, what he's thinking. And I'm excited to work on reversing the block that has developed within me from the Zachs in my life.
I know he can't be completely perfect... but I still can't find anything wrong...
I remember those nights... we would stay up until 4 or 5 in the morning talking... It didn't matter that I had to get up for work soon... we literally could not tear ourselves away from the conversation. There weren't enough hours in the day for us. We didn't want to miss a moment. I remember he would go on for hours about how strongly he felt about me... about how much I had changed him, even after just a couple of weeks. We had true passion for each other. Passion I've never felt with anyone else.
As my teardrops create ripples in some cheap red wine...
...I'm wondering how the current got strong enough to sink this ship.
Oct. 16, 2008 at 06:27pm
I never thought I'd be here again. I honestly didn't. I thought I'd reached the end of bad dates, miscommunications, heartbreaks. I'd found myself a relationship that was too strong to ever be broken.
We were perfect, if there is such a thing.
Yet here I sit, with a half empty bottle of wine, waiting for the phone call with his decision on the future of our relationship.
While he thinks about whether he's willing to shatter my heart, I'm trying to figure out exactly how we got here. Because the reason he's about to end this relationship has very little to do with our relationship itself.
It just fits perfectly that the next chapter in my dating history is centered around finally finding "The One" until tragedy strikes his family and he is swept up in a tornado of hospitals, wheelchairs, feeding tubes, catheters, and depression. And after 7 months of trying to hold on tight as he gets thrown around in the cyclone, he's decided that it's too difficult to maintain grip amidst such a terrible storm.
It certainly makes for a good read, anyways.
If this phone call has the outcome that I know it's going to, I think I finally have to give up. Because this was supposed to be the relationship that saved me just as I was about to throw in the towel... the relationship that showed me that love is real and there is such a thing as a good, true, strong connection. But fuck it all because if this can't last, then nothing will for me. I have given everything I have. And I can't endure this again.
I can still feel what I was feeling then. I was so sure that we were meant to be together and I just couldn't accept an alternative future. See, shortly after I wrote the previous post in April, his father was involved in a tragic accident that left him paralyzed for the rest of his life. For about a month, we didn't know if he would live. The doctors said it was a miracle that he did. This is a case they'll teach in med school, they said. A little over a month after the accident, they were able to transfer him to the ICU in an out-of-state hospital that specialized in brain and spinal cord injuries, where he stayed for months. My ex would fly down every week. The impact this accident had on his family would be unimaginable if I hadn't seen it myself. The entire community came together and donated money and resources to help them completely renovate their house to be wheelchair-accessible. All doorways needed to be widened. All stairs needed to be converted into ramps or lifts. A brand new customized bathroom was necessary. The parents' bedroom would need to move downstairs. The bed needed to be replaced with a hospital bed, where he would sleep away from his wife for the rest of his life. Their car would need to be replaced with a van with a wheelchair lift. Friends and family raised money to help pay for the massive medical bills and the flights for the kids to go visit their parents at the hospital.
The family fell apart. Depression, therapy, pills, alcoholism, emotional breakdowns, complete loss of faith... this became their daily life. His mother would cry on my shoulder, saying "I'm so sorry that you have to deal with all of this" through the tears. "Please take care of him, please..." she'd ask me as she hugged me tight. Six months prior, this was the picture perfect family. It was so sad.
His father needed constant medical care, and so he had to move back home to his parents' house. He'd need to be there each weeknight to rotate his father in the middle of the night. His brothers took over for the weekends. I stayed there with him two or three nights a week. It was an hour and a half away from work, so it wasn't an easy commute. I remember I'd wake up at 5:00 in the morning and he still hadn't come to bed... I'd walk downstairs and find him drinking by himself, just trying to numb himself from what his life had become. One time in particular, I remember coming downstairs early in the morning looking for him... I found him sitting on the deck with an empty bottle of scotch smoking a cigarette, tears streaming down his face, with a puddle of vomit on the deck beneath him. Absolute rock bottom. He had completely given up on his entire life. All I wanted was to help him, but there was nothing I could do.
So when he gave up on me that day in October, it was just the last piece of his life, his happiness, that he had been holding onto. I wanted so desperately to save him. I knew we weren't breaking up because of something wrong with us. I told him I wasn't giving up on him... he could push me away as much as he wanted, but I wasn't giving up. Our relationship had endured more in under a year than most couples, the lucky ones, experience in their entire lives. But he kept pushing me away more and more, and eventually I decided I needed to do what was right for me. I tried to move on. I found a guy that made me happy.
But maybe just being happy isn't enough.
I want to be passionately in love.
I think I need to get him back.
We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were.
I remember the impact these words had on me when I first read them in Slouching Towards Bethlehem, a collection of essays by Joan Didion. In the essay "On Keeping a Notebook," Didion warns her readers against losing touch with our former selves. If they are forgotten, they will come back to haunt us:
...they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.
Keeping a notebook, she says, helps us keep in touch with the people we once were.
I believe that when we find ourselves at a crossroads, trying to figure out which path to take, it is more important than ever to keep in touch with our pasts. So as I try to choose between my current relationship with a man who is unsure if he wants to be with me, my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart when I thought we'd be together forever, or being miserable and alone again... I thought I should revisit who I was when I was in love with my ex, and who I was when I was heartbroken by him.
Brand New Love
The first few months of a Brand New Love... Is there anything better???
Written Friday, February 22, 2008.
There are few things in life as exciting as a brand new love. The thrill of finding someone who is seemingly perfect for you, the whirlwind of joy & happiness that hits you like a tornado, is pretty much unbeatable. Who knows what will happen? Could this be The One? Who cares? I'm having so much fun that I'm just going to enjoy the present without worrying about the future.
Every second apart feels like an eternity. All priorities drop a few levels. The biggest stressors in life are suddenly no big deal. Nothing is as important as seizing this opportunity to be truly happy. You know the feeling will fade eventually, even if you end up together for the rest of your lives. Nothing will ever feel as good as this does... right now. He is all I think about. Every second of every day he is on my mind. Instead of doing work at 2:00 on a Friday afternoon, I scribble in my notebook about him. I fantasize about quitting my job and running away with him to a tropical island.
I will hold onto this feeling as long as possible.
Okay... note to self: I did not feel this way at the beginning of my relationship with the new guy.
Talking About Feelings
Many of us have been conditioned our whole lives not to do this. What happens when you're used to keeping everything inside & then you find yourself in a healthy, honest, open relationship?
Apr. 06, 2008 at 10:26am
"I think we should have serious talks like this more often," he said to me. It was about 1:30 in the morning on a Thursday night, and we were sitting at the bar in his house smoking cigarettes and talking about how happy we are with each other. We had retreated downstairs from his bedroom after a lengthy, passionate sex session.
"I mean, I know we talk about us... but I'd just like to do it more. I know we don't need the reassurance - I think we both know how the other one feels - but it's still just nice to hear."
This guy just continues to amaze me. In almost every relationship I've ever had, I've been conditioned to keep my feelings locked inside. I somehow came to believe that my feelings should be hidden, ignored, controlled. Most of the guys I'd spent years desperately trying to form meaningful relationships with just didn't want to hear it. The way I felt simply didn't matter. They wanted things a certain way and didn't want to discuss any alternatives.
And so I learned to keep everything inside. It eventually became natural to me to just remain silent. Now it has become difficult for me to talk about how I feel. I somehow subconsciously believe it to be wrong.
I think it's fantastic. There's no wondering how he feels, what's going to happen, where this is headed, what he's thinking. And I'm excited to work on reversing the block that has developed within me from the Zachs in my life.
I know he can't be completely perfect... but I still can't find anything wrong...
I remember those nights... we would stay up until 4 or 5 in the morning talking... It didn't matter that I had to get up for work soon... we literally could not tear ourselves away from the conversation. There weren't enough hours in the day for us. We didn't want to miss a moment. I remember he would go on for hours about how strongly he felt about me... about how much I had changed him, even after just a couple of weeks. We had true passion for each other. Passion I've never felt with anyone else.
As my teardrops create ripples in some cheap red wine...
...I'm wondering how the current got strong enough to sink this ship.
Oct. 16, 2008 at 06:27pm
I never thought I'd be here again. I honestly didn't. I thought I'd reached the end of bad dates, miscommunications, heartbreaks. I'd found myself a relationship that was too strong to ever be broken.
We were perfect, if there is such a thing.
Yet here I sit, with a half empty bottle of wine, waiting for the phone call with his decision on the future of our relationship.
While he thinks about whether he's willing to shatter my heart, I'm trying to figure out exactly how we got here. Because the reason he's about to end this relationship has very little to do with our relationship itself.
It just fits perfectly that the next chapter in my dating history is centered around finally finding "The One" until tragedy strikes his family and he is swept up in a tornado of hospitals, wheelchairs, feeding tubes, catheters, and depression. And after 7 months of trying to hold on tight as he gets thrown around in the cyclone, he's decided that it's too difficult to maintain grip amidst such a terrible storm.
It certainly makes for a good read, anyways.
If this phone call has the outcome that I know it's going to, I think I finally have to give up. Because this was supposed to be the relationship that saved me just as I was about to throw in the towel... the relationship that showed me that love is real and there is such a thing as a good, true, strong connection. But fuck it all because if this can't last, then nothing will for me. I have given everything I have. And I can't endure this again.
I can still feel what I was feeling then. I was so sure that we were meant to be together and I just couldn't accept an alternative future. See, shortly after I wrote the previous post in April, his father was involved in a tragic accident that left him paralyzed for the rest of his life. For about a month, we didn't know if he would live. The doctors said it was a miracle that he did. This is a case they'll teach in med school, they said. A little over a month after the accident, they were able to transfer him to the ICU in an out-of-state hospital that specialized in brain and spinal cord injuries, where he stayed for months. My ex would fly down every week. The impact this accident had on his family would be unimaginable if I hadn't seen it myself. The entire community came together and donated money and resources to help them completely renovate their house to be wheelchair-accessible. All doorways needed to be widened. All stairs needed to be converted into ramps or lifts. A brand new customized bathroom was necessary. The parents' bedroom would need to move downstairs. The bed needed to be replaced with a hospital bed, where he would sleep away from his wife for the rest of his life. Their car would need to be replaced with a van with a wheelchair lift. Friends and family raised money to help pay for the massive medical bills and the flights for the kids to go visit their parents at the hospital.
The family fell apart. Depression, therapy, pills, alcoholism, emotional breakdowns, complete loss of faith... this became their daily life. His mother would cry on my shoulder, saying "I'm so sorry that you have to deal with all of this" through the tears. "Please take care of him, please..." she'd ask me as she hugged me tight. Six months prior, this was the picture perfect family. It was so sad.
His father needed constant medical care, and so he had to move back home to his parents' house. He'd need to be there each weeknight to rotate his father in the middle of the night. His brothers took over for the weekends. I stayed there with him two or three nights a week. It was an hour and a half away from work, so it wasn't an easy commute. I remember I'd wake up at 5:00 in the morning and he still hadn't come to bed... I'd walk downstairs and find him drinking by himself, just trying to numb himself from what his life had become. One time in particular, I remember coming downstairs early in the morning looking for him... I found him sitting on the deck with an empty bottle of scotch smoking a cigarette, tears streaming down his face, with a puddle of vomit on the deck beneath him. Absolute rock bottom. He had completely given up on his entire life. All I wanted was to help him, but there was nothing I could do.
So when he gave up on me that day in October, it was just the last piece of his life, his happiness, that he had been holding onto. I wanted so desperately to save him. I knew we weren't breaking up because of something wrong with us. I told him I wasn't giving up on him... he could push me away as much as he wanted, but I wasn't giving up. Our relationship had endured more in under a year than most couples, the lucky ones, experience in their entire lives. But he kept pushing me away more and more, and eventually I decided I needed to do what was right for me. I tried to move on. I found a guy that made me happy.
But maybe just being happy isn't enough.
I want to be passionately in love.
I think I need to get him back.
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