I’ve been trying to be more pro-active in all areas of my life.
The other night I decided I was going to drum up some liquid courage, and go back to the bar and try and talk to the Bartender. Two of my friends who are very aware of my ineptness came along, and we discovered the place was boring, and the Bartender wasn’t there. So we left and went to another bar. It was also dead, but I decided I would just have a beer then go home. My friend’s agreed.
Then “8-years-older than me guy” showed up. We hadn’t seen each other since a mutual friend’s fundraising event, and we hadn’t really been able to talk then. Oh, and talk we did.
I don’t know what it is with this guy and me, but we can’t seem to do simple conversations. The first time I met him I think we talked about our life goals, and he talked me into considering law school. Which I did. The last time we had talked, we discussed my parental issues, and he on his lack of ability with long term relationships. Seriously, we talk. This time, even with my new awesomer job, he chastised me for putting off law school, and we discussed his regret over losing the love of his life. Not exactly light fare for just running into each other and havin’ a beer stuff.
I guess as we talked intently my other friend’s took off, and his just went about doing whatever around us. At one point we moved tables, and the bar closed, but I don’t remember that. The next thing I knew was it was almost three in the morning, and I decided I had to walk home.
I remember he went to do something, and I used the time to sneak out otherwise I think we would have talked even longer. I used the 45 minute walk home to think about it.
He’s practically my perfect guy, except for the fact that he only sees me as one of the guys. We don’t see each other that often, (and something I am told often by other guys is that if a guy wants to see you, he’ll make time to see you), and with this dude, we more so just randomly run into each other. Another thing is, he always makes a comment on me being 8 years younger than him, which I wonder if that means he regrets I’m too young for him to date? But he’s currently dating someone, and she is (from my guess) a couple of years younger than me. So I don’t know what to think about him.
To be honest, I probably shouldn’t think about him at all. Too random. Too intense. Too… frustrating. He’s practically a summary of all my interactions with men. He’s good looking, smart, funny, interesting and outgoing. He thinks of me as one of the guys. When did this become a bad thing?
Woo.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Just One of the Guys (Part 1)
Ever since I was a kid I’ve been a tomboy. I did sports, cut my hair short, and preferred talking to guys over girls. Girls seemed catty and weird to me, and for a long time I was convinced I should have been born the opposite sex.
Puberty was a rough time for me. I developed everywhere I didn’t want to, and lost my guy friends because now I was obviously a girl. And it’s awkward playing touch football when you’re afraid of hurting the girl, or touching her girl parts. At least, that’s what it seemed like. Most of the guy’s had seen me as an equal for so long, it was weird when I was no longer just ‘one of the guys’.
So I lost the vast majority of my friends. What I had left was the few girls I spent time with. They also proceeded to get weirder as we aged. All of a sudden it was all about boys, dating, and makeup. Making hot guys like you was all that seemed to float around in their vapid heads, and as a result, I didn’t like spending time with them. But as any outcast can tell you, that gets lonely and awkward.
Fast forward many years. In my 20s, I noticed that things slowly began to balance out, and guys were willing to be my friends again with out all of the sexual weirdness. Or maybe it was still there, I just didn’t see it. At any rate, I had also made some decent female friends, provided we had some things in common. Things were looking up. Well, sort of.
You know that whole “teenage period of figuring out how to talk to the opposite sex, show you’re interested, date and have functioning relationships” thing? Well I never really learned that. I am still quite out of the loop. When everyone else was getting hot and heavy I was, for the most part, asexual. I didn’t care about dating, I just was pissed off my buddies were chasing tail instead of sports. And the girls were learning their way through all those mind game things that to this day I have no understanding of. Part of me hates that those seem to be tools in everyone else’s dating arsenal, but then another part of me regrets never having learned it.
Last weekend I went to a theme party a friend threw in a local pub. We had a private room with our own bartender. Pretty snazzy, yes. I was dressed quite nicely, with makeup and hair done. And apparently the bartender was hitting on me.
Apparently the bartender was hitting on me to the extent that every one of my friend’s at the party was trying to inform me of such. One did the cartoonish “gesturing towards him with her eyes” that I blatantly remarked, “What’s up with your eyes?” Not obvious enough? Another friend of mine tried walking me over to the bartender while saying loudly, “He. Likes. You.”
I waved it off somehow babbling about how that was not the case, he was just a good bartender. I think I said something else about how he must have sensed I was once a bartender, and there was a “Bartender’s Code”. I can’t quite remember what I said because I was rather drunk of the free wine the bartender was giving me all night. Yep.
*sigh*
So now I am reflecting, because I wonder a lot about how come no one wants to date me, and then things like that happen. I excel at realizing much later that something could have happened, but from the safety of my apartment, much later. That night, I waved away the general consensus of my friend’s because, quite honestly, I was afraid. See, I don’t know what to do when a guy shows interest in me. I don’t have the experience to draw on. I’ve never been asked out, and that was part of what I was thinking when talking to the bartender. Sure, he may seem interested, but unless he pulls me aside, and asks me out, I disagree that he was interested.
Does that sound like too much to ask for? My friend’s argue that his flirting was a way to see how interested *I* was, and since I didn’t flirt back he figured I was not interested. Then I get frustrated because I really have no clue how to flirt. I panic. I don’t look guys in the eye when I like them. I hide. I wind up not going back to that bar in case I run into that guy again. I wish I knew why I was so paralyzed by it, but I am.
Puberty was a rough time for me. I developed everywhere I didn’t want to, and lost my guy friends because now I was obviously a girl. And it’s awkward playing touch football when you’re afraid of hurting the girl, or touching her girl parts. At least, that’s what it seemed like. Most of the guy’s had seen me as an equal for so long, it was weird when I was no longer just ‘one of the guys’.
So I lost the vast majority of my friends. What I had left was the few girls I spent time with. They also proceeded to get weirder as we aged. All of a sudden it was all about boys, dating, and makeup. Making hot guys like you was all that seemed to float around in their vapid heads, and as a result, I didn’t like spending time with them. But as any outcast can tell you, that gets lonely and awkward.
Fast forward many years. In my 20s, I noticed that things slowly began to balance out, and guys were willing to be my friends again with out all of the sexual weirdness. Or maybe it was still there, I just didn’t see it. At any rate, I had also made some decent female friends, provided we had some things in common. Things were looking up. Well, sort of.
You know that whole “teenage period of figuring out how to talk to the opposite sex, show you’re interested, date and have functioning relationships” thing? Well I never really learned that. I am still quite out of the loop. When everyone else was getting hot and heavy I was, for the most part, asexual. I didn’t care about dating, I just was pissed off my buddies were chasing tail instead of sports. And the girls were learning their way through all those mind game things that to this day I have no understanding of. Part of me hates that those seem to be tools in everyone else’s dating arsenal, but then another part of me regrets never having learned it.
Last weekend I went to a theme party a friend threw in a local pub. We had a private room with our own bartender. Pretty snazzy, yes. I was dressed quite nicely, with makeup and hair done. And apparently the bartender was hitting on me.
Apparently the bartender was hitting on me to the extent that every one of my friend’s at the party was trying to inform me of such. One did the cartoonish “gesturing towards him with her eyes” that I blatantly remarked, “What’s up with your eyes?” Not obvious enough? Another friend of mine tried walking me over to the bartender while saying loudly, “He. Likes. You.”
I waved it off somehow babbling about how that was not the case, he was just a good bartender. I think I said something else about how he must have sensed I was once a bartender, and there was a “Bartender’s Code”. I can’t quite remember what I said because I was rather drunk of the free wine the bartender was giving me all night. Yep.
*sigh*
So now I am reflecting, because I wonder a lot about how come no one wants to date me, and then things like that happen. I excel at realizing much later that something could have happened, but from the safety of my apartment, much later. That night, I waved away the general consensus of my friend’s because, quite honestly, I was afraid. See, I don’t know what to do when a guy shows interest in me. I don’t have the experience to draw on. I’ve never been asked out, and that was part of what I was thinking when talking to the bartender. Sure, he may seem interested, but unless he pulls me aside, and asks me out, I disagree that he was interested.
Does that sound like too much to ask for? My friend’s argue that his flirting was a way to see how interested *I* was, and since I didn’t flirt back he figured I was not interested. Then I get frustrated because I really have no clue how to flirt. I panic. I don’t look guys in the eye when I like them. I hide. I wind up not going back to that bar in case I run into that guy again. I wish I knew why I was so paralyzed by it, but I am.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Moving On, Moving Up
So... lately my life has been a HUGE explosion of crazy. In summary, I have decided to get over the last guy I was absolutely blind over. I sent him a text late one night seeing if he wanted to get an impromptu drink. It had been a while since I texted him, figuring he could use some time or whatever. He asked who was texting.
So after feeling like an idiot, I told him it was me, said “Forget about it.”, and deleted him from my phone, facebook, and email. Enough is enough. Bah.
Then, of course, is the self-pity parade I usually throw myself. But not this time. Instead I went, “Wait. Why?” Deep down, I knew he wasn’t right for me. I was mostly mad at the fact that I felt I had no romantic options whatsoever, so I projected hard onto this guy, who didn’t want me. Or if he did, he didn’t want me enough.
Some mutual friends (including his best friend) had told me "he’s shy, doesn’t know how to date, and he’s really into me" had me going for a while, but now that I am learning how to move forward, I expect that much from a guy in my life. No effort? Well, then I am now working at moving on. Oh, and then there are the oh-so-helpful friends who bluntly state it was “dead to begin with”, but even then I have to look at that optimistically. In the past, I would never have allowed anyone to know who I liked, never mind ask what they thought. And hearing their (albeit negative) opinion let’s me know I was on the wrong path. When I do date someone, it will because we feel right together, and we’ll know it.
After sitting down and thinking about it a while longer, I came to some solid footing. Even in my smitten haze, I knew there were things about him I had problems with. Things I made myself overlook, but now glared at me like reminders of just how much I will ignore to feel a connection with someone. For instance, he wasn’t that smart. Now usually that’s a HUGE turnoff for me. I had allowed getting to know him over time blind me to the fact that on average, he didn’t get the majority of my jokes or references. Ouch. Also, he talked rather slow. I think this links straight to not being so quick on the uptake. Perhaps now I am being too harsh? Well, friends had told me they didn’t feel he was the sharpest knife in the drawer, and I must admit, that pissed me off at the time so I had over-compensated it with “He’s shy”.
That’s another thing, though. He wasn’t outgoing at all. He was quite happy to sit home or at a friend’s playing video games day in and day out. I don’t mind that from time to time (in fact I find it romantic spending a night in), but he had no real social persona, nor inclination towards one that I ever saw. This was another blow since I am rather outgoing and am constantly busy. Add this to a complete lack of ambition, and I wonder how I managed to overlook something I find to be super important. Lately in my life I have begun to reaffirm my life goals, and take action. I went for the bigger and better job, and am making plans for my future. He once told me if he lost his job, he would “go on EI and wait for them to hire him back”. Solid plan there, mate. Add this to the new, ambitious and educated people I have been meeting lately now that I am back in the city, and Dreamboat’s ship begins to sink.
So I find myself in the familiar position of “Being Alone”, but now I am here without even the fantasy of a crush to look forward to. And in the light of setting goals, I think that should be on my list. Finding a Crush-Worthy Crush. It’s a start. :)
So after feeling like an idiot, I told him it was me, said “Forget about it.”, and deleted him from my phone, facebook, and email. Enough is enough. Bah.
Then, of course, is the self-pity parade I usually throw myself. But not this time. Instead I went, “Wait. Why?” Deep down, I knew he wasn’t right for me. I was mostly mad at the fact that I felt I had no romantic options whatsoever, so I projected hard onto this guy, who didn’t want me. Or if he did, he didn’t want me enough.
Some mutual friends (including his best friend) had told me "he’s shy, doesn’t know how to date, and he’s really into me" had me going for a while, but now that I am learning how to move forward, I expect that much from a guy in my life. No effort? Well, then I am now working at moving on. Oh, and then there are the oh-so-helpful friends who bluntly state it was “dead to begin with”, but even then I have to look at that optimistically. In the past, I would never have allowed anyone to know who I liked, never mind ask what they thought. And hearing their (albeit negative) opinion let’s me know I was on the wrong path. When I do date someone, it will because we feel right together, and we’ll know it.
After sitting down and thinking about it a while longer, I came to some solid footing. Even in my smitten haze, I knew there were things about him I had problems with. Things I made myself overlook, but now glared at me like reminders of just how much I will ignore to feel a connection with someone. For instance, he wasn’t that smart. Now usually that’s a HUGE turnoff for me. I had allowed getting to know him over time blind me to the fact that on average, he didn’t get the majority of my jokes or references. Ouch. Also, he talked rather slow. I think this links straight to not being so quick on the uptake. Perhaps now I am being too harsh? Well, friends had told me they didn’t feel he was the sharpest knife in the drawer, and I must admit, that pissed me off at the time so I had over-compensated it with “He’s shy”.
That’s another thing, though. He wasn’t outgoing at all. He was quite happy to sit home or at a friend’s playing video games day in and day out. I don’t mind that from time to time (in fact I find it romantic spending a night in), but he had no real social persona, nor inclination towards one that I ever saw. This was another blow since I am rather outgoing and am constantly busy. Add this to a complete lack of ambition, and I wonder how I managed to overlook something I find to be super important. Lately in my life I have begun to reaffirm my life goals, and take action. I went for the bigger and better job, and am making plans for my future. He once told me if he lost his job, he would “go on EI and wait for them to hire him back”. Solid plan there, mate. Add this to the new, ambitious and educated people I have been meeting lately now that I am back in the city, and Dreamboat’s ship begins to sink.
So I find myself in the familiar position of “Being Alone”, but now I am here without even the fantasy of a crush to look forward to. And in the light of setting goals, I think that should be on my list. Finding a Crush-Worthy Crush. It’s a start. :)
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
unrequited
I hugged him twice. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted so much to feel him hug me harder the second time. For him to maybe not let go this time, but once again it was all too brief and he left.
It had taken a lot for me to get the nerve to hug him. I never realized before how much wanting to be near and to touch another person could hurt so badly.
I felt dimmer after he left, not unlike having basked in some subtle light, and then being left in darkness. I stood in my entrance with a very definite feeling of how alone I am. I wondered if he ever felt the same.
We had been on the couch. The short couch since I don’t have another one anymore. The only other seat was a folding chair, so he sat on the couch. I have never been so aware how I sat next to someone before. Every time he moved, or when I went to get something I was hyper-aware of just how far I sat from him, or how much he or I shifted.
We had seen movies together before… watched TV, played video games, hung out, but never at my place. There was a moment when I felt a Herculean effort, and I lay down on the couch stretching my legs across him. I worried he would either get up and leave, or out right tell me not to do that, which would embarrass me. I could feel the apprehension building within me, and instead I grabbed the blanket and told him he was going to be my ottoman. He barely responded, and the couch was so short my feet mostly rested on the armrest, but I could feel the warmth of his legs beneath mine.
‘God, you’re an idiot,’ I thought to myself. ‘This isn’t how other girls do it.’ I had been fantasizing and planning to get him over to my place to watch a movie for ages -almost as long as I had known him, but it had never happened before.
Stupid things had gotten in the way; our mutual friends, the fact we rarely see each other which reduces the casual “wanna come over” that would have been a perfect segue, to my paralysing nervousness around him -not to mention my terminal fear of relationships. I had worked so hard just to be his friend without scaring him off –without scaring *myself* off, and after so long we were just ‘hanging out’. As pathetic as it sounded, it felt like a victory. We were alone. Just the two of us.
A notoriously shy guy he rarely opened up when around people. Usually he would quietly sit by himself while his best friend loudly commanded the room, joshing with people until deciding it was time to go. I remember the first time we really talked I found out more than I thought I would about this introverted guy, who was far smarter, and more talented than I would have given him credit for.
I think that’s what hooked me. He was so unassuming. After a while I even began to understand his strange relationship with his best friend. How could two so totally different guys be best friends?
Not everyone is an alpha dog. I had figured this out a long time ago, but never understood how some people could be happy not running things. The guy next to me on the couch, watching the movie while I had my legs across his lap somehow personified this for me. He just didn’t care to be the focus of attention. And then he became mine.
My focus, that is. I could be running an errand and see a movie and then *bam* I would be wondering if it’s something he would like to see. Or the weekend would roll around, and I would debate hard on sending a text message enquiring, “Hey. What are you up to this weekend?”
I wonder if he knew I was his. It had taken me a while to figure out. It wasn’t a falling in love, but more of a gradual wading into it. Little things he would do or say would catch my attention, and over time they built up until I noticed a very solid foundation of reasons why I liked him.
One of the first things that got me was I almost fell over when I found out he played the bagpipes. I didn’t know anyone else who did, and I had studied the chanter in my youth. You either love them or hate them, and more often than not people hated them, never mind wanted to know how to *play* them. This led to long talks about music, Scotland, our family histories, and our mutual desire to go to the highlands.
I made it my mission to see and hear him play. The idea of him in a kilt made me nervous and excited. Finding out this new link was something completely random and I clung to it. We had more in common than I had known, and no one else had this. There was something insanely special to me about having this connection with him that none of our mutual friends had. Like I was allowed to see a part of him no one else could.
The night he confidently divulged that he in fact played better than another recently celebrated player in his band I saw a side of him I had not seen before. He had been confident, and a little arrogant. I remembered thrilling at this because I had never seen him be proud of something he had done before. He was good, and he knew it. He wasn’t an ass or a braggart about it either. He just stated rather baldly “I’m better than him,” with a smile, and I felt a feeling of pride for him I had not felt for anyone before.
I remained curled up on the couch hoping for… something. A move, by him, or by me, I couldn’t tell. Suddenly I had the intense desire for him to just shift me over a bit and lie down beside me. I could almost feel his arm automatically curving around me to hold me as we lay on the couch. Maybe he would take my hand, or I would take his in mine. I had held his hand once before, but had screwed it up as I usually did. I thought about it and decided I would take his if he made to lie next to me. But he didn’t. The absence of him next to me was tangible. The space between me and the back of the couch felt hollow. But I refused to move.
He had picked me up from a bar that night. I had decided what the hell and had texted him to see if on a long shot maybe he’d want to come out. After some back and forth I had received a text stating he was pretty tired. It was, after all, pretty late I mentally agreed. I cursed myself for not trying earlier, and simultaneously for trying at all. Closing myself off the familiar feeling of disappointment and rejection I shut my cell phone and looked around the bar.
I had no inclination to stick around and fake happy anymore that night. I was tired. Tired of the bar, tired of trying to be happy, tired of trying to make things work and thinking if maybe I go through the motions eventually it will click and I would *be* happy. Tired of wanting just to be with a guy who I had no real clue if he even liked me as a steady friend, never mind potential girlfriend. I finished my beer and was debating on which cab company to call when he had sent me a new message.
I was a bit shocked, but gave him directions nonetheless and we wound up getting some burgers. He even got a case of my favourite beer for us. The whole time I was telling myself over and over not to get my hopes up, but I still couldn’t believe it when he picked me up and agreed to a movie. Maybe when you get nothing for so long the crumbs you get tossed seem huge.
I could still feel the pang of empty, and knew that as much as I wanted him, experience told me again and again I couldn’t have what I wanted. But for the moment I enjoyed how he insisted on paying for the food and beer. How he bantered easily with me about the things in his life. Things I wished I was a part of.
Another time, long ago we had been sitting on a couch together at a friend’s house watching cartoons for hours on end. I had passed a few beers around when it occurred to me I had forgotten to pick up cigarettes. Instead, I picked up one from his pack and looked for a lighter. There wasn’t one. So instead, and tapped him on the shoulder lightly and held out my hand. He glanced from my hand, to me, and then took my hand in his and rested it on his leg. I was dumbfounded. Shocked. But not shocked into silence, because I found myself talking.
“I wanted your lighter.”
I was mentally cursing and screaming at myself before the words were out all the way but the damage was done. He quickly let go of my hand, retrieved his lighter from his pocket, and then turned back towards the projected TV screen. I was devastated. I sat, frozen with his lighter in my hand. The thought that I am my own worst enemy hung heavy in my mind.
His father passed away a while back, and I remember how easily everyone else hugged him, or told him how sorry they felt for him. Condolences rolled off their tongues, and I remember standing frigid in the lightly falling snow and watched how one of the thinner, hotter, friendly girls at the theatre hugged him when she heard the news. She was my friend, but I wanted to hit her. I wanted to scream. I wanted to let him know how much I was hurting for him. Instead I stood. I don’t think I ever told him I felt anything about his loss. I had no words.
I felt so selfish for only thinking of myself and how much I wanted to be with him through his trying time, but only for how it would make me feel. I felt shallow and terrible. The only thing that made me feel better was oddly enough what had happened when I first found out about his dad’s death.
We had been standing by the television watching a hockey game in the lounge when it came up. I had asked him how his dad was when his friend cut me off to tell the tale. I remember half listening, while watching him watch the screen. I don’t think he was watching the game anymore, but was closing down inside as the story of how his dad passed was reiterated for another person. I felt close to him, but in a strange way. ‘He closes down like me,’ was all I could think.
He sat next to me for the rest of the movie, only moving when we disagreed about who was what actor from which movie. A quick internet search proved he was right and I wrong, but I continued my bravado with arguments of “But he looks so different with that hair!” and so on. We were quite at ease at this point, joking over top the movie, and resumed our legs on lap position so naturally I was surprised I didn’t have a mini-mental freak-out about it.
It was quite late at this point as the movie ended and the regular TV programming came on. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I refused to move. Moments like these with him came so few and far between, if at all, and I was determined to make it last as long as I could. ‘Gremlins’ were on, and the next thing I knew I was out.
We awoke an hour or so later. The next movie on the station had already begun, and according to him it was ‘Gremlins 2’. Having lost the previous movie dispute, I instead yawned and marvelled at how he manages to fall asleep sitting up. I had seen it before at other people’s houses. One of my favourite memories of him was how his head would dip further and further until it would drop, and then when his chin hit his chest, he would pop back up. It’s funnier when he has a beer because he then notices his beer, takes a sip, and repeats the process.
It was five in the morning now. The panicky, nervous feeling in my chest started again, and I slowly removed my legs from across his lap. Does he want to stay? Could I get him to stay? I wished that somehow in our sleep we had wound up next to each other lying down, arms around each other, and decided we liked it that way. Or that he felt comfortable enough to sleep next to me in my bed, and not just in a strange position on my couch.
Instead he said he had to go, and we got up and I walked him to the door. I hugged him twice. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted so much to feel him hug me harder the second time. For him to maybe not let go this time, but once again it was all too brief and he left.
It had taken a lot for me to get the nerve to hug him. I never realized before how much wanting to be near and to touch another person could hurt so badly.
I felt dimmer after he left, not unlike having basked in some subtle light, and then being left in darkness. I stood in my entrance with a very definite feeling of how alone I am. I wondered if he ever felt the same.
We had been on the couch. The short couch since I don’t have another one anymore. The only other seat was a folding chair, so he sat on the couch. I have never been so aware how I sat next to someone before. Every time he moved, or when I went to get something I was hyper-aware of just how far I sat from him, or how much he or I shifted.
We had seen movies together before… watched TV, played video games, hung out, but never at my place. There was a moment when I felt a Herculean effort, and I lay down on the couch stretching my legs across him. I worried he would either get up and leave, or out right tell me not to do that, which would embarrass me. I could feel the apprehension building within me, and instead I grabbed the blanket and told him he was going to be my ottoman. He barely responded, and the couch was so short my feet mostly rested on the armrest, but I could feel the warmth of his legs beneath mine.
‘God, you’re an idiot,’ I thought to myself. ‘This isn’t how other girls do it.’ I had been fantasizing and planning to get him over to my place to watch a movie for ages -almost as long as I had known him, but it had never happened before.
Stupid things had gotten in the way; our mutual friends, the fact we rarely see each other which reduces the casual “wanna come over” that would have been a perfect segue, to my paralysing nervousness around him -not to mention my terminal fear of relationships. I had worked so hard just to be his friend without scaring him off –without scaring *myself* off, and after so long we were just ‘hanging out’. As pathetic as it sounded, it felt like a victory. We were alone. Just the two of us.
A notoriously shy guy he rarely opened up when around people. Usually he would quietly sit by himself while his best friend loudly commanded the room, joshing with people until deciding it was time to go. I remember the first time we really talked I found out more than I thought I would about this introverted guy, who was far smarter, and more talented than I would have given him credit for.
I think that’s what hooked me. He was so unassuming. After a while I even began to understand his strange relationship with his best friend. How could two so totally different guys be best friends?
Not everyone is an alpha dog. I had figured this out a long time ago, but never understood how some people could be happy not running things. The guy next to me on the couch, watching the movie while I had my legs across his lap somehow personified this for me. He just didn’t care to be the focus of attention. And then he became mine.
My focus, that is. I could be running an errand and see a movie and then *bam* I would be wondering if it’s something he would like to see. Or the weekend would roll around, and I would debate hard on sending a text message enquiring, “Hey. What are you up to this weekend?”
I wonder if he knew I was his. It had taken me a while to figure out. It wasn’t a falling in love, but more of a gradual wading into it. Little things he would do or say would catch my attention, and over time they built up until I noticed a very solid foundation of reasons why I liked him.
One of the first things that got me was I almost fell over when I found out he played the bagpipes. I didn’t know anyone else who did, and I had studied the chanter in my youth. You either love them or hate them, and more often than not people hated them, never mind wanted to know how to *play* them. This led to long talks about music, Scotland, our family histories, and our mutual desire to go to the highlands.
I made it my mission to see and hear him play. The idea of him in a kilt made me nervous and excited. Finding out this new link was something completely random and I clung to it. We had more in common than I had known, and no one else had this. There was something insanely special to me about having this connection with him that none of our mutual friends had. Like I was allowed to see a part of him no one else could.
The night he confidently divulged that he in fact played better than another recently celebrated player in his band I saw a side of him I had not seen before. He had been confident, and a little arrogant. I remembered thrilling at this because I had never seen him be proud of something he had done before. He was good, and he knew it. He wasn’t an ass or a braggart about it either. He just stated rather baldly “I’m better than him,” with a smile, and I felt a feeling of pride for him I had not felt for anyone before.
I remained curled up on the couch hoping for… something. A move, by him, or by me, I couldn’t tell. Suddenly I had the intense desire for him to just shift me over a bit and lie down beside me. I could almost feel his arm automatically curving around me to hold me as we lay on the couch. Maybe he would take my hand, or I would take his in mine. I had held his hand once before, but had screwed it up as I usually did. I thought about it and decided I would take his if he made to lie next to me. But he didn’t. The absence of him next to me was tangible. The space between me and the back of the couch felt hollow. But I refused to move.
He had picked me up from a bar that night. I had decided what the hell and had texted him to see if on a long shot maybe he’d want to come out. After some back and forth I had received a text stating he was pretty tired. It was, after all, pretty late I mentally agreed. I cursed myself for not trying earlier, and simultaneously for trying at all. Closing myself off the familiar feeling of disappointment and rejection I shut my cell phone and looked around the bar.
I had no inclination to stick around and fake happy anymore that night. I was tired. Tired of the bar, tired of trying to be happy, tired of trying to make things work and thinking if maybe I go through the motions eventually it will click and I would *be* happy. Tired of wanting just to be with a guy who I had no real clue if he even liked me as a steady friend, never mind potential girlfriend. I finished my beer and was debating on which cab company to call when he had sent me a new message.
I was a bit shocked, but gave him directions nonetheless and we wound up getting some burgers. He even got a case of my favourite beer for us. The whole time I was telling myself over and over not to get my hopes up, but I still couldn’t believe it when he picked me up and agreed to a movie. Maybe when you get nothing for so long the crumbs you get tossed seem huge.
I could still feel the pang of empty, and knew that as much as I wanted him, experience told me again and again I couldn’t have what I wanted. But for the moment I enjoyed how he insisted on paying for the food and beer. How he bantered easily with me about the things in his life. Things I wished I was a part of.
Another time, long ago we had been sitting on a couch together at a friend’s house watching cartoons for hours on end. I had passed a few beers around when it occurred to me I had forgotten to pick up cigarettes. Instead, I picked up one from his pack and looked for a lighter. There wasn’t one. So instead, and tapped him on the shoulder lightly and held out my hand. He glanced from my hand, to me, and then took my hand in his and rested it on his leg. I was dumbfounded. Shocked. But not shocked into silence, because I found myself talking.
“I wanted your lighter.”
I was mentally cursing and screaming at myself before the words were out all the way but the damage was done. He quickly let go of my hand, retrieved his lighter from his pocket, and then turned back towards the projected TV screen. I was devastated. I sat, frozen with his lighter in my hand. The thought that I am my own worst enemy hung heavy in my mind.
His father passed away a while back, and I remember how easily everyone else hugged him, or told him how sorry they felt for him. Condolences rolled off their tongues, and I remember standing frigid in the lightly falling snow and watched how one of the thinner, hotter, friendly girls at the theatre hugged him when she heard the news. She was my friend, but I wanted to hit her. I wanted to scream. I wanted to let him know how much I was hurting for him. Instead I stood. I don’t think I ever told him I felt anything about his loss. I had no words.
I felt so selfish for only thinking of myself and how much I wanted to be with him through his trying time, but only for how it would make me feel. I felt shallow and terrible. The only thing that made me feel better was oddly enough what had happened when I first found out about his dad’s death.
We had been standing by the television watching a hockey game in the lounge when it came up. I had asked him how his dad was when his friend cut me off to tell the tale. I remember half listening, while watching him watch the screen. I don’t think he was watching the game anymore, but was closing down inside as the story of how his dad passed was reiterated for another person. I felt close to him, but in a strange way. ‘He closes down like me,’ was all I could think.
He sat next to me for the rest of the movie, only moving when we disagreed about who was what actor from which movie. A quick internet search proved he was right and I wrong, but I continued my bravado with arguments of “But he looks so different with that hair!” and so on. We were quite at ease at this point, joking over top the movie, and resumed our legs on lap position so naturally I was surprised I didn’t have a mini-mental freak-out about it.
It was quite late at this point as the movie ended and the regular TV programming came on. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I refused to move. Moments like these with him came so few and far between, if at all, and I was determined to make it last as long as I could. ‘Gremlins’ were on, and the next thing I knew I was out.
We awoke an hour or so later. The next movie on the station had already begun, and according to him it was ‘Gremlins 2’. Having lost the previous movie dispute, I instead yawned and marvelled at how he manages to fall asleep sitting up. I had seen it before at other people’s houses. One of my favourite memories of him was how his head would dip further and further until it would drop, and then when his chin hit his chest, he would pop back up. It’s funnier when he has a beer because he then notices his beer, takes a sip, and repeats the process.
It was five in the morning now. The panicky, nervous feeling in my chest started again, and I slowly removed my legs from across his lap. Does he want to stay? Could I get him to stay? I wished that somehow in our sleep we had wound up next to each other lying down, arms around each other, and decided we liked it that way. Or that he felt comfortable enough to sleep next to me in my bed, and not just in a strange position on my couch.
Instead he said he had to go, and we got up and I walked him to the door. I hugged him twice. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted so much to feel him hug me harder the second time. For him to maybe not let go this time, but once again it was all too brief and he left.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Boxes
This weekend a friend came over to pick up some boxes. She’s the one in my dance troupe who is getting a divorce, and their house just sold so she has to be out quickly. We wound up chatting for a bit since we really haven’t spent time together since the Vancouver trip.
Her: (excited) It’s getting better because once we’re out of the house, Vancouver guy is coming to visit me!
Yep. Weeks into her separation she hooked up with a guy on our trip. He wasn’t the only one hitting on her, but he was the nicest, funniest, etc. And now he is going to be making a trip across the country to see her for a weekend. I can’t help but feel a little envious. I push it down. I join her in her enthusiasm. She deserves some fun after everything her ex had been putting her through. He had accused her of cheating in the past, but she didn’t even kiss anyone else until the separation was official. I sat there thinking. Of course, I don’t get any kind of action, single as I am. Why is that? I refocus on what she’s saying.
Her: (excited) That’s not the only thing I have to look forward to. This other guy, an ex boyfriend, found out I’m getting divorced so he’s been calling me lately. We’re going to meet up next time he comes through town!
Me: (thinking) Oh, so two hook ups. That’s cool. Making up for lost time I suppose? What about *my* time? Who makes up for that?
Me: (out loud) What about that guy who lives in town?
Her: He’s a bit too young, but I see him every now and then.
Oh, three guys. Right. That have come forward. So far.
I sigh. Must be nice to be so desirable.
I had a dream the other night. In it this guy I have liked for years is my boyfriend. We’re lying in bed, arms around each other, not wanting to get up in the morning. My alarm goes off. I’m alone when I roll over, and I realize that’s why I didn’t want to get up. I remember one late night at my place when he told me how alone he was, how undesirable he was, and how he felt he would never get a girlfriend again because girls keep dumping him.
I did what I could to reassure him. At one point, somehow it came up how I was 8 years younger than him and I remember the look on his face, and how he acted made me feel he thought I was too young for him. I remember finding some consolation in that.
I saw him at a fundraiser the other week. He does this standing aside thing where he still sort of looks over at me. He used to do it when we saw each other in bars, as though afraid to be the first one to say hi. But he would always know where I was in the bar. Do I just intimidate people too much?
We stood in line by each other, and did the “Hey, howyadoin’?” thing you do when you can’t really talk to one another. Next to him was his girlfriend. She’s a couple of years younger than me.
The Divorcee and I flattened some boxes so she could fit them into her car easier. After a while we sat down and she brought out her cell phone.
Her: Look at what he sent me!
I take the phone and look at the text. It’s from Vancouver guy. She used to have a nickname for him in the phone in case her soon-to-be-ex checked out her phone, but the nickname is gone and his real name replaced it.
Me: (surprised) No more fake names?
Her: Nope. I’m not playing those games anymore. We’re getting divorced. He has no say in who I see.
I look back to the message and my throat tightens a little bit.
I miss you so much and can’t wait to see you.
I smile. There’s nothing else I can do. So I smile and hand back the phone,
Me: You’re very lucky.
Inside I am strained. Never in my life has a guy ever said that to me, text or otherwise. Some days I think it never will.
After a cigarette we haul the boxes to her car, and she drives away. I return to my apartment and sit for a while as the sun beams outside for the first time all week and I can hear families playing in the park across the street. It’s funny how you can feel so many emotions at once and still feel dead inside.
Her: (excited) It’s getting better because once we’re out of the house, Vancouver guy is coming to visit me!
Yep. Weeks into her separation she hooked up with a guy on our trip. He wasn’t the only one hitting on her, but he was the nicest, funniest, etc. And now he is going to be making a trip across the country to see her for a weekend. I can’t help but feel a little envious. I push it down. I join her in her enthusiasm. She deserves some fun after everything her ex had been putting her through. He had accused her of cheating in the past, but she didn’t even kiss anyone else until the separation was official. I sat there thinking. Of course, I don’t get any kind of action, single as I am. Why is that? I refocus on what she’s saying.
Her: (excited) That’s not the only thing I have to look forward to. This other guy, an ex boyfriend, found out I’m getting divorced so he’s been calling me lately. We’re going to meet up next time he comes through town!
Me: (thinking) Oh, so two hook ups. That’s cool. Making up for lost time I suppose? What about *my* time? Who makes up for that?
Me: (out loud) What about that guy who lives in town?
Her: He’s a bit too young, but I see him every now and then.
Oh, three guys. Right. That have come forward. So far.
I sigh. Must be nice to be so desirable.
I had a dream the other night. In it this guy I have liked for years is my boyfriend. We’re lying in bed, arms around each other, not wanting to get up in the morning. My alarm goes off. I’m alone when I roll over, and I realize that’s why I didn’t want to get up. I remember one late night at my place when he told me how alone he was, how undesirable he was, and how he felt he would never get a girlfriend again because girls keep dumping him.
I did what I could to reassure him. At one point, somehow it came up how I was 8 years younger than him and I remember the look on his face, and how he acted made me feel he thought I was too young for him. I remember finding some consolation in that.
I saw him at a fundraiser the other week. He does this standing aside thing where he still sort of looks over at me. He used to do it when we saw each other in bars, as though afraid to be the first one to say hi. But he would always know where I was in the bar. Do I just intimidate people too much?
We stood in line by each other, and did the “Hey, howyadoin’?” thing you do when you can’t really talk to one another. Next to him was his girlfriend. She’s a couple of years younger than me.
The Divorcee and I flattened some boxes so she could fit them into her car easier. After a while we sat down and she brought out her cell phone.
Her: Look at what he sent me!
I take the phone and look at the text. It’s from Vancouver guy. She used to have a nickname for him in the phone in case her soon-to-be-ex checked out her phone, but the nickname is gone and his real name replaced it.
Me: (surprised) No more fake names?
Her: Nope. I’m not playing those games anymore. We’re getting divorced. He has no say in who I see.
I look back to the message and my throat tightens a little bit.
I miss you so much and can’t wait to see you.
I smile. There’s nothing else I can do. So I smile and hand back the phone,
Me: You’re very lucky.
Inside I am strained. Never in my life has a guy ever said that to me, text or otherwise. Some days I think it never will.
After a cigarette we haul the boxes to her car, and she drives away. I return to my apartment and sit for a while as the sun beams outside for the first time all week and I can hear families playing in the park across the street. It’s funny how you can feel so many emotions at once and still feel dead inside.
Friday, June 4, 2010
tired
I am so tired of being alone.
I am tired from thinking "one day", and it never coming,
of slowly and painfully building up the courage and to be slapped down, or in some cases, not even acknowledged.
I am tired of finding that one guy...
of the long process it takes for me to like him, and longer to get up the nerve...
I have breached my own safety zone countless times to put the ball in his court,
and I am made embarrassingly aware that this has spilled over into other parts of my life.
I am very visibly alone.
And some days it is too much.
And then I get some energy. I get some hope. And I go, "Self. Self it's time to make an effort!"
And I do. And then I am hurt, and I retreat, and this scar lies on top of all the others.
And I cry, get drained, and then all that is left is this heavy weight that settles on me, and I am tired.
I am tired from thinking "one day", and it never coming,
of slowly and painfully building up the courage and to be slapped down, or in some cases, not even acknowledged.
I am tired of finding that one guy...
of the long process it takes for me to like him, and longer to get up the nerve...
I have breached my own safety zone countless times to put the ball in his court,
and I am made embarrassingly aware that this has spilled over into other parts of my life.
I am very visibly alone.
And some days it is too much.
And then I get some energy. I get some hope. And I go, "Self. Self it's time to make an effort!"
And I do. And then I am hurt, and I retreat, and this scar lies on top of all the others.
And I cry, get drained, and then all that is left is this heavy weight that settles on me, and I am tired.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
...
The worst thing in the world is to be so close to someone… to actually be holding them in your arms, and yet to be so far from them. To wish that they would just touch you back, hold you tight, and kiss you. To be screaming in your head “kiss me kiss me just kiss me”... and for nothing to happen is one of the most soul crushing things that could ever happen, and it happened to me.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Evaluations
So lately I’ve been reading a few self-help books, and decided it was time to start focusing on improving some areas in my life. I want a stable job since my current one is term, and have begun redoing my resume and sending out applications. Woo me! :) I’ve also begun looking into gyms because I am not feeling at fit as I want to be, and am tired of complaining about it. Double woo! Since moving back to the city I have been going out every weekend, getting back into touch with old friends, and saying yes to pretty much every event I’ve been invited too. Triple word score!
I have still not been asked out.
*sigh* This really shouldn’t get to me, but it does. These last three months I have gotten dolled up and gone out, and met new people, and sparkled at social events, and met a bevy of interesting (and even single!) men… and nothing.
Let’s put it this way, I have a bunch of new facebook friends, but they are all women.
I just want to give up some days, you know? But all the books I am reading tell me that focusing on the negative only makes you go in that direction. Like begets like, and so on. I must admit, when I was in super self pity mode last year, stuck in a small town with my family I was pretty angry and enjoying my pity party so much I heavily disagreed with such practical advice. More than one book sailed across my room to my refrains of “Stupid book! What do you know?!?!” and the ever eloquent “Pft!”
After re-evaluating some things in my life I am in the “try everything” stage. If I am asked to do something, I say yes (unless I have another commitment). Lately, I’ve been to more birthday parties, book launches, wine and cheeses, rock bars, dance bars, piano bars and late night movie screenings than you can shake a day planner at. Until last night.
A group of girls from my dance group were going out to a hip bar where it was a 50s and 60s theme night, and after much debating and lethargy, I instead settled in with a bottle of wine and a couple of my favourite episodes of Sex and the City. Today I saw the pics they posted, and how much fun they had, but an odd feeling was hanging with me. The feeling of how I usually feel after partying. I get all dressed up, with such hope, wear some cute shoes and a new dress I made myself buy, do my hair and makeup, hit the town and… watch my friends get hit on.
So this morning, looking at the photos I still had that echo of “must be nice” breezing through me. I know, I know, I could have gone out with them, put it all behind me, or push it down and just enjoy myself, but it always surfaces. That feeling of being singled out, or alone even in a crowd. I’ve worked very hard lately not to throw pity parties, but I think I just felt so tired. Tired of doing it so often, and for what? I have great times with my friends, but I go home alone. Even if I opt for a night in, I am very alone. I have nobody, no man in my life to just “stay in” with. And as much as I’d like to think it doesn’t bug me, and as much as I want these books, and this effort not to be wasted, I find myself saddened by the half whispered thought.
So I sit.
And I sip.
And I cry.
I have still not been asked out.
*sigh* This really shouldn’t get to me, but it does. These last three months I have gotten dolled up and gone out, and met new people, and sparkled at social events, and met a bevy of interesting (and even single!) men… and nothing.
Let’s put it this way, I have a bunch of new facebook friends, but they are all women.
I just want to give up some days, you know? But all the books I am reading tell me that focusing on the negative only makes you go in that direction. Like begets like, and so on. I must admit, when I was in super self pity mode last year, stuck in a small town with my family I was pretty angry and enjoying my pity party so much I heavily disagreed with such practical advice. More than one book sailed across my room to my refrains of “Stupid book! What do you know?!?!” and the ever eloquent “Pft!”
After re-evaluating some things in my life I am in the “try everything” stage. If I am asked to do something, I say yes (unless I have another commitment). Lately, I’ve been to more birthday parties, book launches, wine and cheeses, rock bars, dance bars, piano bars and late night movie screenings than you can shake a day planner at. Until last night.
A group of girls from my dance group were going out to a hip bar where it was a 50s and 60s theme night, and after much debating and lethargy, I instead settled in with a bottle of wine and a couple of my favourite episodes of Sex and the City. Today I saw the pics they posted, and how much fun they had, but an odd feeling was hanging with me. The feeling of how I usually feel after partying. I get all dressed up, with such hope, wear some cute shoes and a new dress I made myself buy, do my hair and makeup, hit the town and… watch my friends get hit on.
So this morning, looking at the photos I still had that echo of “must be nice” breezing through me. I know, I know, I could have gone out with them, put it all behind me, or push it down and just enjoy myself, but it always surfaces. That feeling of being singled out, or alone even in a crowd. I’ve worked very hard lately not to throw pity parties, but I think I just felt so tired. Tired of doing it so often, and for what? I have great times with my friends, but I go home alone. Even if I opt for a night in, I am very alone. I have nobody, no man in my life to just “stay in” with. And as much as I’d like to think it doesn’t bug me, and as much as I want these books, and this effort not to be wasted, I find myself saddened by the half whispered thought.
So I sit.
And I sip.
And I cry.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
back to our regularly scheduled programming...
I was reading a blog written by a woman who gets unrequited crushes all the time, and she wrote , “Jim was the last guy — and it took awhile, but I conditioned myself to stop thinking about him, even after he called me up again, out-of-the-blue, casually mentioning that “maybe” we’d see each other one day soon.
Oh, how delightfully vague!”
I nodded, and then it hit me – I do the exact same thing. I try not to build things up in my head, but I do. I have this former co-worker who I still text back and forth with, but it wasn’t until after I read that paragraph that it occurred to me that I look a little too forward to his random texts.
Seriously, months could pass. I decided I was not longer going to start these texts (or emails, etc. with other guys I get crushes on), so when he texted it made me so happy! I thought long and hard what to say, and how to say it casually (dear god, yes, effort goes into these), and a thought hit me. I know he never asks me out or anything (we live in separate cities), but maybe texting me is just some sort of ego boost for him. Like, maybe he was rejected by someone he really likes, so he texts me who is always excited to hear from him, and sends back clever, flirty little updates. I realize that part of why I like texting him is because it’s safe and from a distance, but thinking that he may just think of me as that desperate chick who pumps him up leaves a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. Mostly because, looking back, this is how most of my relationships with men has been for quite some time now.
I have a good section of friends and acquaintances. If I go out, I often run into many people (i.e. guys) I know, who say “Hey!”, do the catch up/ joke with thing, etc. But even when the guys are single, they never ask me out. They do talk about how being single sucks, how another friend got married, how they would like to meet the right girl or whatever. What’s weird is sometimes I even think they’re kind of flirting with me, but I’m never asked out, and before I know it, they’re dating someone new, beautiful and “awesome!” I know this, because the next time they see me, they are only too happy to tell me so. This hurts especially hard when I have been interested in the guy. And, yes, it happens. Of course, they’re pumped because they found someone, and want to share it, but maybe I am tired of hearing it? It happens to me a lot.
Maybe because when they’re single, they feel they have someone to commiserate with, and when they’re finally in a couple, they want to show it off. I hear from both men and women the problems with dating, their last gf/bf, how they’ll never find anyone again, and then inevitably how the new person in their life is just so perfect. So I get to be this sounding board, because I can’t really relate back to the whole dating thing, since I am apparently so undateable.
And of course, I get severe crushes on some of these people. Of the three last guys, I have finally gotten over one because he was *so* obviously into my friend, and not me. This happens all the time. But this time it sort of hit me, and I "got over it". It was as though the "like" switch was turned off. I wish it was always so simple.
Usually I feel rather bitter, and dwell. Like on the Theatre Manager Guy. He pretty much has a girlfriend (I say "pretty much" since he's never said it to me, but you know when their page is spammed with little hearts and kisses and they don't remove them), and I don't want to be some sort of relationship interfering tart. Not that there was really a chance, but in my head I decided no, I'm just not like that.
Lastly, there is this guy who I have been quite in love with all unrequited like for the past few years. Yep. Years. And there was a time when I thought that maybe... maybe something could happen...
I'm still very single. *sigh*
Oh, how delightfully vague!”
I nodded, and then it hit me – I do the exact same thing. I try not to build things up in my head, but I do. I have this former co-worker who I still text back and forth with, but it wasn’t until after I read that paragraph that it occurred to me that I look a little too forward to his random texts.
Seriously, months could pass. I decided I was not longer going to start these texts (or emails, etc. with other guys I get crushes on), so when he texted it made me so happy! I thought long and hard what to say, and how to say it casually (dear god, yes, effort goes into these), and a thought hit me. I know he never asks me out or anything (we live in separate cities), but maybe texting me is just some sort of ego boost for him. Like, maybe he was rejected by someone he really likes, so he texts me who is always excited to hear from him, and sends back clever, flirty little updates. I realize that part of why I like texting him is because it’s safe and from a distance, but thinking that he may just think of me as that desperate chick who pumps him up leaves a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. Mostly because, looking back, this is how most of my relationships with men has been for quite some time now.
I have a good section of friends and acquaintances. If I go out, I often run into many people (i.e. guys) I know, who say “Hey!”, do the catch up/ joke with thing, etc. But even when the guys are single, they never ask me out. They do talk about how being single sucks, how another friend got married, how they would like to meet the right girl or whatever. What’s weird is sometimes I even think they’re kind of flirting with me, but I’m never asked out, and before I know it, they’re dating someone new, beautiful and “awesome!” I know this, because the next time they see me, they are only too happy to tell me so. This hurts especially hard when I have been interested in the guy. And, yes, it happens. Of course, they’re pumped because they found someone, and want to share it, but maybe I am tired of hearing it? It happens to me a lot.
Maybe because when they’re single, they feel they have someone to commiserate with, and when they’re finally in a couple, they want to show it off. I hear from both men and women the problems with dating, their last gf/bf, how they’ll never find anyone again, and then inevitably how the new person in their life is just so perfect. So I get to be this sounding board, because I can’t really relate back to the whole dating thing, since I am apparently so undateable.
And of course, I get severe crushes on some of these people. Of the three last guys, I have finally gotten over one because he was *so* obviously into my friend, and not me. This happens all the time. But this time it sort of hit me, and I "got over it". It was as though the "like" switch was turned off. I wish it was always so simple.
Usually I feel rather bitter, and dwell. Like on the Theatre Manager Guy. He pretty much has a girlfriend (I say "pretty much" since he's never said it to me, but you know when their page is spammed with little hearts and kisses and they don't remove them), and I don't want to be some sort of relationship interfering tart. Not that there was really a chance, but in my head I decided no, I'm just not like that.
Lastly, there is this guy who I have been quite in love with all unrequited like for the past few years. Yep. Years. And there was a time when I thought that maybe... maybe something could happen...
I'm still very single. *sigh*
Monday, May 17, 2010
One week.
A week has passed since my friend died, and I’ve awkwardly stumbled my way through the emotions. I’ve discovered that when serious situations strike, I need to be kept busy. Maybe so it doesn’t make me think as much.
I met Young Engineer through my friend, the Overanalyzer about 5 years ago. Hard to believe it was so long ago. He was still a teenager, and I in my mid-20’s at that point, but we got along swimmingly. He was incredibly intelligent, cute and quirky. He and my friend dated for over 3 years. When they broke up it practically broke O. I cannot imagine what his death did. I didn’t know what to do but apparently decided that food was the answer. I guess now when death occurs I turn into an Italian grandmother or something. I insist on cooking and feeding people.
I bought a severe amount of groceries and went over to O’s after I returned from Vancouver. I wanted to spend time with him, but needed a project. I hate sitting around when someone is sad. So we made pizza from scratch, and stuffed some peppers, and tested out a pasta salad. Considering I am just learning how to cook, it all came out fantastic, but the best part was O’s mum saying how happy she was O was eating something. I guess seeing food made over a few hours builds an appetite.
We talked about Young sporadically while making the dough and stuffing the peppers. Young and I had talked about depression a few times in the past. I struggle with it, and had a bad bout when I was 15. I told him what it took for me to get a hold of myself and move on, and he told me how he felt. We both criticized the methods of current drug prescribing practices, and what it took us to keep going. I mentioned that a big turning point for me was the old saying, “I would die for you.” I used to use that a lot at my worst. But then, I would die for just about any reason back then. It wasn’t until I thought of my mum (after I had been institutionalized) that it occurred to me that it meant more to live for someone. I felt I could die for anyone? Big deal. Living for someone was a hell of a lot harder, and I set that as my new goal. If for a while I could at least live for my mum, then maybe one day I could live for myself. I am mostly there now.
It hurts me that Young couldn’t do that for himself. It hurts me that there was more we could have talked about. It hurts me that we lost touch this past year and that he made the choice he made. But he doesn’t have to live with it, we do. O does. His friends and family do. I can’t blame him though, he’s already blamed himself enough. But, I miss all the things we talked about. It’s funny how death stains life so much. We used to sit at my place, with our friend Butler making us waffles while we watched cartoons. When I saw waffles the other day I started crying. Stupid, really. But I did. I am again.
So I made pizza because I didn’t know what to do. We ate, and later on I went home. And I thought about who and what I would live for. Does an event like this make you cherish life more? Or do we instead focus so much on the hollow, gaping holes in life that we lose ourselves? I’ve felt without purpose for a while now, but have been making a life for myself, slowly. Yet this makes me feel more awash at sea. No land in sight. And it’s night. But there is something peaceful about that to me. On a boat. The moon shining down. And I am alone. Then there is peace. I have chosen the boat instead of the sea. And for now, that is enough.
Rest.
I met Young Engineer through my friend, the Overanalyzer about 5 years ago. Hard to believe it was so long ago. He was still a teenager, and I in my mid-20’s at that point, but we got along swimmingly. He was incredibly intelligent, cute and quirky. He and my friend dated for over 3 years. When they broke up it practically broke O. I cannot imagine what his death did. I didn’t know what to do but apparently decided that food was the answer. I guess now when death occurs I turn into an Italian grandmother or something. I insist on cooking and feeding people.
I bought a severe amount of groceries and went over to O’s after I returned from Vancouver. I wanted to spend time with him, but needed a project. I hate sitting around when someone is sad. So we made pizza from scratch, and stuffed some peppers, and tested out a pasta salad. Considering I am just learning how to cook, it all came out fantastic, but the best part was O’s mum saying how happy she was O was eating something. I guess seeing food made over a few hours builds an appetite.
We talked about Young sporadically while making the dough and stuffing the peppers. Young and I had talked about depression a few times in the past. I struggle with it, and had a bad bout when I was 15. I told him what it took for me to get a hold of myself and move on, and he told me how he felt. We both criticized the methods of current drug prescribing practices, and what it took us to keep going. I mentioned that a big turning point for me was the old saying, “I would die for you.” I used to use that a lot at my worst. But then, I would die for just about any reason back then. It wasn’t until I thought of my mum (after I had been institutionalized) that it occurred to me that it meant more to live for someone. I felt I could die for anyone? Big deal. Living for someone was a hell of a lot harder, and I set that as my new goal. If for a while I could at least live for my mum, then maybe one day I could live for myself. I am mostly there now.
It hurts me that Young couldn’t do that for himself. It hurts me that there was more we could have talked about. It hurts me that we lost touch this past year and that he made the choice he made. But he doesn’t have to live with it, we do. O does. His friends and family do. I can’t blame him though, he’s already blamed himself enough. But, I miss all the things we talked about. It’s funny how death stains life so much. We used to sit at my place, with our friend Butler making us waffles while we watched cartoons. When I saw waffles the other day I started crying. Stupid, really. But I did. I am again.
So I made pizza because I didn’t know what to do. We ate, and later on I went home. And I thought about who and what I would live for. Does an event like this make you cherish life more? Or do we instead focus so much on the hollow, gaping holes in life that we lose ourselves? I’ve felt without purpose for a while now, but have been making a life for myself, slowly. Yet this makes me feel more awash at sea. No land in sight. And it’s night. But there is something peaceful about that to me. On a boat. The moon shining down. And I am alone. Then there is peace. I have chosen the boat instead of the sea. And for now, that is enough.
Rest.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
highs and lows...
This past weekend was... messed up. Seriously surreal. To be honest, I am still a bit in shock over the series of events.
First off, I was experiencing a bit of a low. I am part of a dance troupe and we were going to Vancouver to perform at a festival. Should be a highlight (we were looking forward to it all year), and while indeed it was a coup, I was also kind of frustrated that because we had overbooked the show and then found out we had far less time than originally thought, my part got severely cut. The troupe leader asked me how I felt about it before we left, and I had to admit that considering how we had booked everyone else my part was the logical part to cut. But yes, it still bugged me. I wanted to go and wow those people, and instead I was reduced to sound clips. But again, it was my call, too. We could have cut our guest dancer, but she helped organize the festival, and I didn't want to be "that chick".
So we went, and we had an awesome motel! High! And I really get along with my dance troupe, so that was fun! And the area was filled with interesting restaurants! Chic shops! The festival itself was a blast! So many great shows and fantastic performers! Super high! I was really enjoying myself and looking forward to meeting everyone, and thought, 'Hey! Maybe I'll meet a guy!'
A few other girls in the troupe were single like me a while back, but have since met great men they are now dating. I was happy that they found someone, but a little frustrated that I don't seem to have that ease at meeting men. So was it selfish that I was kind of glad that one of my friend's who is now going through a divorce would be single in Vancouver with me? She even told me how much she was looking forward to having Girl's Nights Out. I was stoked.
Then she met a guy. Yep. The first night out. He wound up hanging out with us every night we were there. He was one of the lighting techs, so had access to all the same parties we did, which really helped with his hooking up with my friend. Good for them. Bitter for me. I know I should be glad she was able to have a fling of sorts, and get 'back into that game', but I can't help but feel I was once again the third wheel.
I tried to put it out of my mind and focus on having a good time. I decided I would try and flirt with someone. Another troupe had a really funny emcee, and in my mind funny = sexy, so I got up the nerve (translation = had a few drinks to get the nerve) to talk to him . Proud of me? Don't be. He barely even looked at me. My friend's kind of laughed it off for me, saying, "Wow, Friday. You tried talking to a guy who is even shyer than you around the opposite sex!" Shy? Or just not at all interested? Well, crap. Can I pick 'em or what?
So finally I decided that was it. Just enjoy the festival for what it was, and take in all the dance, all the glitter, and all the energy. Suddenly my phone went off. It was a friend back home asking if she could call me. Was it a good time? I found a quiet area and took the call. A very good friend of ours had just committed suicide.
I was in shock. I don't remember much else. I was pretty robotic the rest of the night, and for the rest of the trip. The memorial was yesterday, and I didn't go. I couldn’t go. I didn’t know how to feel, how to act…. it's still not real to me. I'm rather on autopilot, except now I keep looking back at my weekend before the phone call, and think how stupid I was being. But then my friend pops back into my mind, and I know he had a lot of the same problems as I did. Problems expressing myself, problems with relationships. And then I feel a tiny crack in my heart. I feel something try and leak out, and it's like it stains outwards, across my chest. And then I freeze again. And I feel stupid that I think my problems are so trivial. And again I remember how much we had in common, and it starts all over again, the crack getting bigger, the stain spreading.
I'm glad my friend met someone. We all need to have someone in our lives. Even if it's just for a while.
First off, I was experiencing a bit of a low. I am part of a dance troupe and we were going to Vancouver to perform at a festival. Should be a highlight (we were looking forward to it all year), and while indeed it was a coup, I was also kind of frustrated that because we had overbooked the show and then found out we had far less time than originally thought, my part got severely cut. The troupe leader asked me how I felt about it before we left, and I had to admit that considering how we had booked everyone else my part was the logical part to cut. But yes, it still bugged me. I wanted to go and wow those people, and instead I was reduced to sound clips. But again, it was my call, too. We could have cut our guest dancer, but she helped organize the festival, and I didn't want to be "that chick".
So we went, and we had an awesome motel! High! And I really get along with my dance troupe, so that was fun! And the area was filled with interesting restaurants! Chic shops! The festival itself was a blast! So many great shows and fantastic performers! Super high! I was really enjoying myself and looking forward to meeting everyone, and thought, 'Hey! Maybe I'll meet a guy!'
A few other girls in the troupe were single like me a while back, but have since met great men they are now dating. I was happy that they found someone, but a little frustrated that I don't seem to have that ease at meeting men. So was it selfish that I was kind of glad that one of my friend's who is now going through a divorce would be single in Vancouver with me? She even told me how much she was looking forward to having Girl's Nights Out. I was stoked.
Then she met a guy. Yep. The first night out. He wound up hanging out with us every night we were there. He was one of the lighting techs, so had access to all the same parties we did, which really helped with his hooking up with my friend. Good for them. Bitter for me. I know I should be glad she was able to have a fling of sorts, and get 'back into that game', but I can't help but feel I was once again the third wheel.
I tried to put it out of my mind and focus on having a good time. I decided I would try and flirt with someone. Another troupe had a really funny emcee, and in my mind funny = sexy, so I got up the nerve (translation = had a few drinks to get the nerve) to talk to him . Proud of me? Don't be. He barely even looked at me. My friend's kind of laughed it off for me, saying, "Wow, Friday. You tried talking to a guy who is even shyer than you around the opposite sex!" Shy? Or just not at all interested? Well, crap. Can I pick 'em or what?
So finally I decided that was it. Just enjoy the festival for what it was, and take in all the dance, all the glitter, and all the energy. Suddenly my phone went off. It was a friend back home asking if she could call me. Was it a good time? I found a quiet area and took the call. A very good friend of ours had just committed suicide.
I was in shock. I don't remember much else. I was pretty robotic the rest of the night, and for the rest of the trip. The memorial was yesterday, and I didn't go. I couldn’t go. I didn’t know how to feel, how to act…. it's still not real to me. I'm rather on autopilot, except now I keep looking back at my weekend before the phone call, and think how stupid I was being. But then my friend pops back into my mind, and I know he had a lot of the same problems as I did. Problems expressing myself, problems with relationships. And then I feel a tiny crack in my heart. I feel something try and leak out, and it's like it stains outwards, across my chest. And then I freeze again. And I feel stupid that I think my problems are so trivial. And again I remember how much we had in common, and it starts all over again, the crack getting bigger, the stain spreading.
I'm glad my friend met someone. We all need to have someone in our lives. Even if it's just for a while.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
always something...
It’s always something, isn’t it? And usually, it’s me. After some intensive introspection I have uncovered a gem of self discovery. I am a dumbass. I mean, I’ve always had suspicions, but after taking a quantitative approach to my previous attempts at relationships I think I have hit the nail on the head.
Sticking with the scientific method I have discovered that the largest flaw lies with my inability to express my emotions. Don’t get me wrong. This lack of understanding of human emotional depth has actually helped me in the past, but it a huge hindrance when you are trying to emotionally connect with another human being. Big time.
Succinctly, I act like a jackass. I can’t talk, even though I am naturally verbose. I sweat, feel clammy, and can’t make eye contact, and this is just with the guys I see across the room in a bar. The worst part is my mind grinds to a brutal halt. I can’t think of anything interesting of funny to say if my romantic life depended on it. Which it does. Which is why it lays six feet deep, waiting for the piles of comfortable dirt to tuck it in so nicely.
I can understand if I was socially inept in other ways, but I really am not. At least, I don’t feel I am. But since this blog is about spastic me and the lack of relationship connectivity, maybe I should reign in those horses, hmm?
Perhaps I should go over some things about myself first.
Factoid #1 about me is I spent my life in a perpetual state of moving, and thus developed a disconcerting knack for meeting people and making friends. I say disconcerting since I also developed a knack for forgetting people, and to this day have a terrible memory for faces and names. My reality was I probably wouldn’t ever see you again in six months, so why bother? Harsh? More often than not, very true. My family (made up of my mother, my older sister and I) were basically nomads. I never stayed at a school longer that 2 years, and if I did, we lived in at least three places. When I went to University, the apartment I lived in for five years was literally the longest home I had ever had.
I feel this is where things really began for me. I developed some great skills, and met all kinds of people, but I never learned anything about maintaining those relationships. I didn’t have to. I was six. Or twelve. Or whatever. I did somewhat envy those around me who had friends their whole lives, and lived in the same house since they were born, but those were their lives, not mine. They seemed a bit weird, actually, and I instead went about my own way. Of course, when you’re a kid, you’re life seems perfectly normal. To you. I learned more about this later on.
Factoid #17 about me is I have absolutely no problem flirting with people I don’t care about. Is this effed up? Oh, sweet sausage in a cup, yes. I flirt like the Dickens. Men, women, a good looking chair. It’s all the same. I don’t care if the person is into me, so I go all out. I joke, I make people laugh, I sing, I dance. I have grabbed complete strangers and made them dance with me and do shots out of my ample chest. But the second I like you? You’re lucky to hear me speak.
What. The. Eff.
So once again. The problem - obvious in its simplicity… and yet, isn’t that the toughest thing of all?
Sticking with the scientific method I have discovered that the largest flaw lies with my inability to express my emotions. Don’t get me wrong. This lack of understanding of human emotional depth has actually helped me in the past, but it a huge hindrance when you are trying to emotionally connect with another human being. Big time.
Succinctly, I act like a jackass. I can’t talk, even though I am naturally verbose. I sweat, feel clammy, and can’t make eye contact, and this is just with the guys I see across the room in a bar. The worst part is my mind grinds to a brutal halt. I can’t think of anything interesting of funny to say if my romantic life depended on it. Which it does. Which is why it lays six feet deep, waiting for the piles of comfortable dirt to tuck it in so nicely.
I can understand if I was socially inept in other ways, but I really am not. At least, I don’t feel I am. But since this blog is about spastic me and the lack of relationship connectivity, maybe I should reign in those horses, hmm?
Perhaps I should go over some things about myself first.
Factoid #1 about me is I spent my life in a perpetual state of moving, and thus developed a disconcerting knack for meeting people and making friends. I say disconcerting since I also developed a knack for forgetting people, and to this day have a terrible memory for faces and names. My reality was I probably wouldn’t ever see you again in six months, so why bother? Harsh? More often than not, very true. My family (made up of my mother, my older sister and I) were basically nomads. I never stayed at a school longer that 2 years, and if I did, we lived in at least three places. When I went to University, the apartment I lived in for five years was literally the longest home I had ever had.
I feel this is where things really began for me. I developed some great skills, and met all kinds of people, but I never learned anything about maintaining those relationships. I didn’t have to. I was six. Or twelve. Or whatever. I did somewhat envy those around me who had friends their whole lives, and lived in the same house since they were born, but those were their lives, not mine. They seemed a bit weird, actually, and I instead went about my own way. Of course, when you’re a kid, you’re life seems perfectly normal. To you. I learned more about this later on.
Factoid #17 about me is I have absolutely no problem flirting with people I don’t care about. Is this effed up? Oh, sweet sausage in a cup, yes. I flirt like the Dickens. Men, women, a good looking chair. It’s all the same. I don’t care if the person is into me, so I go all out. I joke, I make people laugh, I sing, I dance. I have grabbed complete strangers and made them dance with me and do shots out of my ample chest. But the second I like you? You’re lucky to hear me speak.
What. The. Eff.
So once again. The problem - obvious in its simplicity… and yet, isn’t that the toughest thing of all?
Sunday, May 2, 2010
once upon a time...
Tonight I went to a book launch. It was for a friend’s partner who has become quite successful, and it took place in a gorgeous, historic theatre in town. I had read other books of his, and find his writing to be fluid and touching. I was looking forward to meeting with a group of friends who were also going, and I wanted to get a signed copy of the novel for my visiting mum who could not attend. At least, that’s what I told myself.
Here, well, here I can admit that I mainly wanted to go so that I could see the guy I am completely crushing on. He manages the theatre, and works most nights so I was sure he’d be there. How sad is that?
I mean, I did want all those things I talked about, but knowing that I might see him, and (godforbid) possibly even talk to him made me giddy and excited in a way that all the other draws just couldn’t.
So I bought the book, got dropped off, and wandered in searching for my friends I was to meet. And by ‘search for my friends’ I expect you to read ‘scope out the joint for any sign of him’.
Standing in the lobby, I ran into a couple of friends who had just had an adorable little puffball of cute, who was cooing and smiling with reckless abandon. These hippie friends of mine produce some damn fine offspring, so I stayed and chatted with them whilst making baby faces, and nodding sagely along with author’s comments before he went on stage. Of course, the whole time I was doing Navy Seal scans of the room for a Him sighting. When did I become this girl? Oh. Right. Always. I am something of a relationship voyeur. I prefer to watch from a distance. The sight of a guy I like can tide me over for days. I like to picture in my head all the things I would say and do, and all the things he would say and do, that would be cute and flirty. You know, and then a white unicorn would show up and offer us a ride into the sunset and so on.
The reality? I saw him. I got the flip flops in my tummy, and he didn’t see me. Fine, I say to myself. I’m here all night. Try again. Wave at least. Wave! Be cute! Smile and wave!
After the reading and Q & A, I took a place in the long line-up to get my copy signed. My group of friends stood to the side to wait for me while they debated if they wanted a Blizzard™ (Canadian ice cream treat) or beer afterwards. Then I saw him. Again. He was obviously working (carrying cables and microphones to and fro), but he was there. Time to whip out the big guns. I waited for him to look up so I could wave.
In total I waved three times. Nary a response. Was it me? Am I not waving enough? Was someone standing in front of me? At one point he walked passed me, and I got a case of nerves because I had finally waved in his direction and he hadn’t seen and had walked elsewhere. I felt like an ass. I felt like a Blizzard™. And considering I’m lactose intolerant, this means I was feeling mildly suicidal. Why do I let things like that get to me? I doubt he did it on purpose. He’s quite a nice guy. We talk on facebook from time to time. I just wanted a reason to interact with him in person, but instead I just looked like a spaz. Not that he saw that.
All in all it makes me wish I didn’t have such expectations. I wish I had been able to go to this event just expecting to hear an amazing writer, to meet up with my friends and enjoy a beer, and to get a book autographed for my mum. But instead I turned it into this epic, “this could be the night he walks straight over to me and declares his deep feelings for me”, and end scene. The curtain dropping, happily ever after. And really, was I expecting that? Kind of. I just know that I am getting tired of building things up so much in my head, and them never living up to my expectations. I really have to stop doing that. After all, it puts a lot of strain on not just me, but on him. Does he realize the expectations I have of him? It would probably freak him out. We’ve never even had one on one phone calls or talks or anything other than facebook chat.
Man, I need to stop doing this to myself.
Here, well, here I can admit that I mainly wanted to go so that I could see the guy I am completely crushing on. He manages the theatre, and works most nights so I was sure he’d be there. How sad is that?
I mean, I did want all those things I talked about, but knowing that I might see him, and (godforbid) possibly even talk to him made me giddy and excited in a way that all the other draws just couldn’t.
So I bought the book, got dropped off, and wandered in searching for my friends I was to meet. And by ‘search for my friends’ I expect you to read ‘scope out the joint for any sign of him’.
Standing in the lobby, I ran into a couple of friends who had just had an adorable little puffball of cute, who was cooing and smiling with reckless abandon. These hippie friends of mine produce some damn fine offspring, so I stayed and chatted with them whilst making baby faces, and nodding sagely along with author’s comments before he went on stage. Of course, the whole time I was doing Navy Seal scans of the room for a Him sighting. When did I become this girl? Oh. Right. Always. I am something of a relationship voyeur. I prefer to watch from a distance. The sight of a guy I like can tide me over for days. I like to picture in my head all the things I would say and do, and all the things he would say and do, that would be cute and flirty. You know, and then a white unicorn would show up and offer us a ride into the sunset and so on.
The reality? I saw him. I got the flip flops in my tummy, and he didn’t see me. Fine, I say to myself. I’m here all night. Try again. Wave at least. Wave! Be cute! Smile and wave!
After the reading and Q & A, I took a place in the long line-up to get my copy signed. My group of friends stood to the side to wait for me while they debated if they wanted a Blizzard™ (Canadian ice cream treat) or beer afterwards. Then I saw him. Again. He was obviously working (carrying cables and microphones to and fro), but he was there. Time to whip out the big guns. I waited for him to look up so I could wave.
In total I waved three times. Nary a response. Was it me? Am I not waving enough? Was someone standing in front of me? At one point he walked passed me, and I got a case of nerves because I had finally waved in his direction and he hadn’t seen and had walked elsewhere. I felt like an ass. I felt like a Blizzard™. And considering I’m lactose intolerant, this means I was feeling mildly suicidal. Why do I let things like that get to me? I doubt he did it on purpose. He’s quite a nice guy. We talk on facebook from time to time. I just wanted a reason to interact with him in person, but instead I just looked like a spaz. Not that he saw that.
All in all it makes me wish I didn’t have such expectations. I wish I had been able to go to this event just expecting to hear an amazing writer, to meet up with my friends and enjoy a beer, and to get a book autographed for my mum. But instead I turned it into this epic, “this could be the night he walks straight over to me and declares his deep feelings for me”, and end scene. The curtain dropping, happily ever after. And really, was I expecting that? Kind of. I just know that I am getting tired of building things up so much in my head, and them never living up to my expectations. I really have to stop doing that. After all, it puts a lot of strain on not just me, but on him. Does he realize the expectations I have of him? It would probably freak him out. We’ve never even had one on one phone calls or talks or anything other than facebook chat.
Man, I need to stop doing this to myself.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
My mum.
So, to know anything about me, you first have to know a bit about my mum.
My mum is amazing. If there was anyone in the world I felt I could talk to about anything, it would be her. She is the most patient, giving, loving person I’ve ever known – and that’s saying something considering what a strange and stubborn kid I was. Boy, did I test some limits.
She was a single mother of two daughters, born two years and two days apart from each other (though it’s a pet peeve of mine that people still confuse us for twins to this day). A few years later she even took in a runaway teen who I have always known to be my oldest sister.
I think the best thing about my mum is that she may offer suggestions, or hint at what she feels I should be doing from time to time, but no matter what, she always accepts what I decide to do, even if that is to do nothing at all. Case point is my complete lack of relationships.
This past year I did the unthinkable. What no grown adult should ever have to do, but some are forced to. I moved back home for a year. It was Hell. At least, it was Hell in that I was stuck in a small town I was sure I had escaped, in order to take a job. Damn you recession! *shakes fist*
The only silver lining was I was able to spend more time with my mum, and got to see her more as a person than in “mother mode”. We spent hours going over a bunch of topics, like when I was a baby, how she felt raising little ones on her own, and even about men and relationships. I then told her some things about me from my new adult perspective, and she gave me great feedback. One was pretty weird.
I told her that ever since I was a little kid, I had pictured myself as an adult, playing with my child in a park. I can picture the day, and what the child (my son) looks like, and it’s something I would think of from time to time. It was years later when I was entering high school that some thing odd about it had finally occurred to me. In all those times I had daydreamed about this far off land, there was never a father. It was just me and my son. When I told her this, she contemplated it, and then told me that it makes perfect sense, considering my dad was never around. It had just never occurred to me growing up that a man would have to be part of the equation. There had never really been one while I was growing up after all.
She said it all rather pragmatically, and it was then that I realized how much of my independence I got from her. Who needs a man? Not her. But she would concede that wanting one is entirely different. In that vein, she got married for the first time 7 years ago. I even gave her away. “Take my mother, please!” :)
And tonight? Tonight she came into town to visit me in my new, big city apartment. The topic of some of the crazy relationships my cousins have gotten themselves into came up.
Me: “Sometimes I’m glad that I am perpetually single.”
Her: “Me too.”
Me: “Mother! You’re married!”
Her (smiling): “Oh right. Sometimes I choose to forget this.”
See why I love her so much? :)
My mum is amazing. If there was anyone in the world I felt I could talk to about anything, it would be her. She is the most patient, giving, loving person I’ve ever known – and that’s saying something considering what a strange and stubborn kid I was. Boy, did I test some limits.
She was a single mother of two daughters, born two years and two days apart from each other (though it’s a pet peeve of mine that people still confuse us for twins to this day). A few years later she even took in a runaway teen who I have always known to be my oldest sister.
I think the best thing about my mum is that she may offer suggestions, or hint at what she feels I should be doing from time to time, but no matter what, she always accepts what I decide to do, even if that is to do nothing at all. Case point is my complete lack of relationships.
This past year I did the unthinkable. What no grown adult should ever have to do, but some are forced to. I moved back home for a year. It was Hell. At least, it was Hell in that I was stuck in a small town I was sure I had escaped, in order to take a job. Damn you recession! *shakes fist*
The only silver lining was I was able to spend more time with my mum, and got to see her more as a person than in “mother mode”. We spent hours going over a bunch of topics, like when I was a baby, how she felt raising little ones on her own, and even about men and relationships. I then told her some things about me from my new adult perspective, and she gave me great feedback. One was pretty weird.
I told her that ever since I was a little kid, I had pictured myself as an adult, playing with my child in a park. I can picture the day, and what the child (my son) looks like, and it’s something I would think of from time to time. It was years later when I was entering high school that some thing odd about it had finally occurred to me. In all those times I had daydreamed about this far off land, there was never a father. It was just me and my son. When I told her this, she contemplated it, and then told me that it makes perfect sense, considering my dad was never around. It had just never occurred to me growing up that a man would have to be part of the equation. There had never really been one while I was growing up after all.
She said it all rather pragmatically, and it was then that I realized how much of my independence I got from her. Who needs a man? Not her. But she would concede that wanting one is entirely different. In that vein, she got married for the first time 7 years ago. I even gave her away. “Take my mother, please!” :)
And tonight? Tonight she came into town to visit me in my new, big city apartment. The topic of some of the crazy relationships my cousins have gotten themselves into came up.
Me: “Sometimes I’m glad that I am perpetually single.”
Her: “Me too.”
Me: “Mother! You’re married!”
Her (smiling): “Oh right. Sometimes I choose to forget this.”
See why I love her so much? :)
Friday, April 30, 2010
in the beginning...
Ah, the maiden post. Almost daunting, if it wasn't for the fact that for years I have debated on starting a blog (considering how I have a perpetual diatribe running through my head). So here I am, after much internal debate, and a plethera of topics I'd like to muse over... and I'm not sure where to start.
I've only recently begun reading blogs. I found one I like about cakes (cakewrecks.blogspot.com/), and after mentioning it to a friend she surprised me with "Well I've had a blog for years". Surprising that she told me, because it's apparently a secret blog. She confided to me that it's a place she is able to discuss things that go on in her life that she cannot talk about anywhere else. Sure, she and I have hash sessions, and are very close, but she said her blog is different. She can say whatever she wants without worrying that it will get back to the people she is talking about without them finding out, and misinterpreting it. She can also speculate to her hearts content, and even gets feedback from people in similar situations. Respecting that, I did not ask for her web address. I think we may all need something like that. A part of us that we keep for ourselves. To an extent. I mean, it is on the internet. :)
Taking that to heart, I began to search for blogs relating to the things going on in my life. Or more specifically, things that are not going on in my life. The biggest ones (the ones I spend most of my time contemplating about), happen to be about relationships. Sure, I have job concerns, education gripes, and family issues (really, who doesn't?) but after some quick introspection, I realized that the thing I concern myself with the most is my complete lack of romantic relationships. Imagine my surprise when a quick search opened up a bevy of information about other people in the same. exact. position. I was gobsmacked. And I'll admit, a little heartened.
Gosh knows how it happened, and I know I'll delve deeply into the topic the more I settle into this html nook, but I can honestly say, here and now, that I have never been on a real proper date, and as a result I have been single my entire life. I am 30 years old, female, and have somehow missed the proverbial boat. (There was a boat?!?!?)
Hours and even days I have spent trying to crack this code. I am not horrifyingly ugly, I think I have a damn good personality, and I am by no means a social leper. I have always had friends who are guys, and am not a wall flower. And yet...
Single. Always a single. So hopefully, here I can muse over the things I have done and not done that have relegated me to this lone position. I have hit highs and lows regarding this, and am now hoping that with some sort of bloggy outlet I can assess what I have done, and what I can do to work on this. Digital therapy, I guess.
So brace yourself if you decide to read this. :)
Cheers.
I've only recently begun reading blogs. I found one I like about cakes (cakewrecks.blogspot.com/), and after mentioning it to a friend she surprised me with "Well I've had a blog for years". Surprising that she told me, because it's apparently a secret blog. She confided to me that it's a place she is able to discuss things that go on in her life that she cannot talk about anywhere else. Sure, she and I have hash sessions, and are very close, but she said her blog is different. She can say whatever she wants without worrying that it will get back to the people she is talking about without them finding out, and misinterpreting it. She can also speculate to her hearts content, and even gets feedback from people in similar situations. Respecting that, I did not ask for her web address. I think we may all need something like that. A part of us that we keep for ourselves. To an extent. I mean, it is on the internet. :)
Taking that to heart, I began to search for blogs relating to the things going on in my life. Or more specifically, things that are not going on in my life. The biggest ones (the ones I spend most of my time contemplating about), happen to be about relationships. Sure, I have job concerns, education gripes, and family issues (really, who doesn't?) but after some quick introspection, I realized that the thing I concern myself with the most is my complete lack of romantic relationships. Imagine my surprise when a quick search opened up a bevy of information about other people in the same. exact. position. I was gobsmacked. And I'll admit, a little heartened.
Gosh knows how it happened, and I know I'll delve deeply into the topic the more I settle into this html nook, but I can honestly say, here and now, that I have never been on a real proper date, and as a result I have been single my entire life. I am 30 years old, female, and have somehow missed the proverbial boat. (There was a boat?!?!?)
Hours and even days I have spent trying to crack this code. I am not horrifyingly ugly, I think I have a damn good personality, and I am by no means a social leper. I have always had friends who are guys, and am not a wall flower. And yet...
Single. Always a single. So hopefully, here I can muse over the things I have done and not done that have relegated me to this lone position. I have hit highs and lows regarding this, and am now hoping that with some sort of bloggy outlet I can assess what I have done, and what I can do to work on this. Digital therapy, I guess.
So brace yourself if you decide to read this. :)
Cheers.
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