Pod World

I have...FINALLY...discovered the wonderful world of Podcasts. I had heard people speak of this world on many occasions, but I had never truly experienced it myself. I recently discovered that NPR.org has an extensive list of fantastic podcasts available to be devoured by my ipod. You can search by title or by subject. I know, I know, I am so behind the times. I get it. Remember, I just finished an entire semester of "Modern English Grammar." I'm way up on the grammar times. Which leads me to one of my most favorite findings this afternoon: A six minute weekly program from Minnesota public radio boasting to discuss all things grammar and the English language. It's called "Grammar Grater," and I think we are going to be really good friends. I am also subscribed to "Crash Course in Islam" because I feel like being able to understand things that I don't quite yet understand.

I'm serious. This might be one of the best things I have ever discovered on my own through many other people mentioning it to me as if I knew exactly what they were talking about. I only recently discovered that I could manually update my ipod. No more lost or triplicated music!

This is a good Christmas gift to myself. Free, too!

I'm not going to tell you exactly why, but sometimes, if you let things go and stop worrying about them (aka...money), they take care of themselves. SOMETIMES.

I think the sun'll come out tomorrow. Seriously.

Two Words with Different Meanings and a Quest for Holiday Pastries...aka...Spirit

Why oh why can't the British think of a different name for their favorite holiday treat: the Mince Pie. I know what many of you are thinking. Mince pies? Beef pies? As a holiday...treat? But no. In this case, "mince" does not refer to ground meat. It refers to this really sweet cinnamon-y, nutmeg-y concoction that goes inside little pie pastries so everyone gets their own personal mince pie. The traditional recipe also calls for "suet" which is animal fat...which is, for all intents and purposes: Crisco. If there's one thing the British totally have a knack for, it's calling food items by horribly unappetizing names.

For example:
Bubble and Squeak: mashed potatoes and cabbage
Beans on Toast: beans on toast...but actually kind of good
Black Pudding: blood...basically
Spotted Dick: this one's a dessert
Clotted Cream
And, possibly the most well thought out name, almost as well thought out as naming your pet goldfish "vagina": The Faggot


Just to name a few.

So. I keep typing "mince pies" into my google recipe search, and I keep getting recipes for beef, lamb, and chicken pies. Sometimes I get a recipe for what I'm looking for, but I can never get a recipe for the actual mince. I'm hoping that Kroger or Schnucks will just happen to have it. I'd kind of like some mince pies...despite the name and the listed ingredient: suet. It honestly sounds like something you might feed a pig.

You know what there is much less of this year as well? Cookies. NO ONE has offered me a free Christmas cookie. I think other people have had them, or been offered them, but it has always been well out of my eye and ear-shot. Do they exist? Where did they go? Am I going to have to make ALL of my own Christmas goodies? (I do believe that my neighbors Amy and Jennifer are preparing cookies for my room mate and me, but I have nothing to tide me over until then).

I cleaned the kitchen yesterday. That's one goal accomplished.

Where are you Christmas? And by that I mean: where is the chocolate and where are the cookies?

The Down Time

I put the lid on my work for last semester (hopefully) at about 5:30 p.m. yesterday. Fantastic. I'm currently sitting at my dining room table feeling the weight of absolutely nothing. The only thing that worries me is my desire to do too much, to set myself up for disappointment. So, I ask, should I make a list of goals to accomplish over the holidays? or should I avoid making any sort of plans and just enjoy the time? Or a mixture of both?

Today I am so excited about coffee that I think I may just sit here drinking it and thinking about how lovely it is. I cooked and listened to Fresh Air last night and learned about the culinary history of milk. It was phenomenal. You know what else is phenomenal? The prediction of a 100% chance of freezing precipitation last night that manifested itself in a few droplets of ice on my car this morning.

For anyone lucky enough to happen upon the back door to my apartment, the pile of rotting food is intentional. It's what some people like to call a compost heap. I am about to put my salad container from Whole Foods on top of it as well. That too will be intentional, as Whole Foods explained that the container will decompose in a compost heap within 90 days. Let's see....Also, Diana, I apologize that this often leads to a bowl full of moldy leftover veggies and tea bags in our kitchen. I'm trying to save the planet.

If you have yet to put a container of chocolate on your desk at work, may I suggest that you do so as soon as possible. I have had a very difficult time finding free, Christmas-y chocolate lying around as of late. I am very disappointed by this fact.

If you think it's too cold, try putting on a hat and a scarf. I find it to be more than bearable with those two essentials. Once you've done that, go for a walk.

And the Rains Came Down and the Floods Came Up

I have been miss-stepping since I woke up this morning. It has been grand. I left my phone in Fargo's car last night, and had to use my actual alarm clock to wake up this morning, only I didn't hear it because I had my earplugs in and I was huddled on the far side of the bed. I woke up thirty minutes later thanks to Diana's alarm going off. It was raining when I woke up. I then promised to bring McDonald's to Fargo for holding onto my phone during her all-nighter in the Smith computer lab. But I missed breakfast. It was raining when I pulled angrily out of the drive through.

I picked up my phone and headed to the book store with the intention of reading the chapter I needed to in the book I've lost before doing the assignment that was due yesterday. However, the bookstore had blocked off the actual books section, and I could not read the book. I walked back to Patterson in the rain (I had an umbrella, but I was still wet when I got to my office).

I then began to look at the work I had cut out for me in this finals week. My students came in occasionally to turn in their final papers. They were all soaked from the rain. I began to feel a little hopeless about my assignments, but that hopelessness began to diminish when I began to slowly and methodically knock out small pieces of the work.

I then walked to my listening and speaking class in the rain. Talking to my international students was refreshing, and I'm very excited about their presentations on Thursday. I should have prepared them more for it, but I'm learning. I've got some fantastic ideas for a really unified curriculum for next session. I might work on it over the break. I'll probably work on it over the break.

It's still raining. I'm cutting deeper into my work, but that doesn't mean I still don't want to do it. I still don't want to do it. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of deadlines, but I guess I should get over that for, you know, life.

I cracked and bought some starbucks today. I now have the shakes. And it's still raining.

If Anyone Out There is Still Listening

It's been a long time. Like a fool, I went and let the semester get the best of me. I buried myself under piles and piles of busy-ness and left no time for my soul, which requires a great deal of self reflection and friend time.

On the one hand, I have found a great outlet for service by focusing a good deal of my energy on trying to help my international students get acquainted with their new temporary "home." It comes from feeling so desperately alone in the middle of gigantic London. Not because Liam was an asshole,he wasn't, but because no one understood the cultural shock/stress I was experiencing. I have found great joy this semester in trying to introduce my students to different social aspects of Memphis. I got tired of hearing so many of them complaining about how boring it is. Yes, Memphis can be terribly boring, but it really just forces you to develop strong ties with friends and to lean on each other for entertainment. And if you don't have a car, it forces you to walk...a lot. Don't worry. I'm going to be hitting some of them up for payment soon...aka: teaching me a new language. I've already convinced a number of them to cook for me. WOO HOO!!

On the other hand, I have lost a great deal of the gravity that I was experiencing throughout the beginning of the semester. There have been moments where I've touched down and moments in which I have been floating aimlessly trying to grab onto what I thought I had figured out...make sense? I think teaching five classes and taking two online courses is a bit of an over-reach. I'm not sure what I was trying to prove at the beginning of the semester. I'm over that now.

Getting caught up in a new relationship has been challenging and enlightening. I find myself hyper aware of all the things I do...all the time...in every relationship to basically self-destruct what's happening. It's kind of fantastic. I get to catch myself early on and begin to explore ways around it. I have recently discovered my own horrific obsession with fatalism. I have this insane propensity to want to be miserable because it often makes more sense than being happy. I like to blame other people for that, but it's pretty much my problem. I gotta work on it. Luckily I'm hanging out with a pretty understanding guy. I feel a bit liberated from my past need to cling. I feel encouraged to let go.

Next semester I am only taking on what I know I can handle, and I am assigning fewer papers for my 1020 classes. I think I'm also going to have them submit the papers online from now on. I like commenting on the computer. It's not fair to make them keep trying to figure out my handwriting. Also, I keep losing my pens.

So. It's almost time for me to not get paid for a while, which means: 1. I will have a lot more time to ramble on and on about my thoughts and feelings on this blog. 2. I will have a lot more time to clean and, hopefully, find my lost text book. 3. I will have a lot less money. 4. Someone may have to buy my drinks when I go out. See you all soon. I'm excited

In Honor of our Newly Elected President

I've been reading through some of Langston Hughes poetry to share with my writing workshop tonight, and I came across this one. It means a lot more now than it did when I read it for my Harlem Renaissance course a couple of years ago. It's also pretty appropriate for the times. I thought I'd share.

Let America Be America Again
by Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

Birth

Today is my birthday, and with it comes the usual strange longing for nostalgia and renewal. I woke up early today. It was pleasant. I had breakfast. I read the New York Times. I walked to Overton Park. I walked for an hour, and when the hour was over, I found that I was not tired. I sat in the grass. I spoke what I'd been thinking for a while. I made a decision. And now, I feel free. Regardless of the outcome of my decision. I feel like I have made it and shared it, and it is no longer up to me. It was a gift that I decided to give to myself. I like not knowing what tomorrow will bring. I am filled with an overwhelming sense of peace.

My mom gave me a zoo membership and book. I have been reading the book at random times (it's hard to find time to read anything I really want to read these days), and the more I read, the more it means so much to me. A simple book. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. She wrote it when she was 27. It's kind of a Walden Pond idea. She won the Pulitzer. The first chapter she begins walking and talking about the things she sees, and it felt like I was walking with her, crouching down to peer deeper into the mysterious, complicated and fantastic world that we live in. Her poetry is magnificent.

I am planning on having dinner with friends this evening. I am planning on relaxing and enjoying myself. I am not thinking about the future or what 29 will bring. I am thinking about right now, and I can do what I want...because it's my birthday.

Where am I?

The first word I said this morning upon walking out the door was, "gross." The mist was coming down like...I don't know...my mom would say pea soup...but I don't know if that translates to me quite the same. It's not like it's raining...it's just...wetting. It's wetting. It's like England. It's just wet...wetness. It's wet so much in England that the world smells kind of mildewed sometimes. This morning reminded me of about 75% of the mornings I spent in London.

I walked from my house to the tube over this hill, and I would try to imagine myself geographically. I was not on a huge continent, but rather a small island. I imagined a cloud covering the entirety of the island...often it was a cloud of smog (but those were good because they trapped in the heat of the city..YES!). It was easier to imagine myself on an island when there were seagulls flying overhead. I pushed my hands into my pockets and tucked my nose under my scarf (eventually you give up on the umbrella and accept the fact that you will be getting wet). On heavy traffic days, I got to race the bus over the hill to the Tube bus stop. I would give everyone crammed into the double-decker bus a sly sideways glance as I used the gift of my legs to overtake them.



By the time I got to April, the street sweepers were out at the same time, desperately trying to dispell the "myth" that Haringey was the "dirtiest burough in England." Then, past the street sweepers and down the steps to the Underground I would go...















So, I say...What is this nonsense? My birthday's coming up. Let's get the sun back in here.

Too Strong

Man. Starbucks is ridiculous. I didn't have time to make my own cup of coffee at home today so I bought a small (tall) cup of the coffee of the day at the starbucks kiosk in Patterson...and I feel like I took a large dose of an illegal drug. I didn't even finish the cup of coffee. I'm sitting in the library reading an incredibly boring chapter in a book I have to respond to, and I can hear my damn heart beating like it's going to shoot out of my chest. Nobody needs that mess. I like the pleasant buzz that I get from my normal cup of coffee. Seriously.

I suppose it doesn't help that it's Monday, and I feel like the sky is going to fall down on top of me. It doesn't matter what I do, I keep getting covered in avalanche upon avalanche of work. I'm to the point where all I want to do is sit still and stare off into space. That's ALL I want to do. I don't need a vacation. I don't need a night out. I need a good 48 hours sitting in an empty room and staring off into the distance...okay...with occasional conversation interspersed between long stretches of thick silence. It's the damn tipping point. If Monday doesn't get better, I'm going crazy (not "going to go" oh no....I've decided...it could be fun).

I told a student today that it doesn't get clearer or easier...it gets fuzzier and much more difficult...you just get used to it. It gets funnier. Although, Starbucks makes it slightly less funny. Get this stuff out of my blood!!!

What I'm Saying is...

SO, I started with my idea...with the re-expression of my inspiration to be honest. Part of that need to be honest requires the need to be happy and the need to be sad without sparking any sort of concern from anyone. We are people pleasers...too often. There are so many instances that I can remember wanting to be honest about my feelings but worrying about how it would make other people feel. I was worried that I would worry someone. The truth is...the honest truth...is that sometimes life isn't pretty, and sometimes people aren't happy, and that doesn't mean we need concern or sympathy. I prefer the empathy approach. It requires common ground, rather than assumption and judgment. Empathy means: the intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another. Rather than looking at my experiences and my expression of my feelings and feeling concern or some need to help me, I have more affinity towards those that are able to identify with me on an intellectual level, those that do not assume that I need help, but rather understand that we are all on a path towards greater self-awareness. My peace comes from lifting myself out of the holes that I happen to tumble down into. My peace also comes from the knowledge that my friends are always there, coaxing me along.

I have known powerful people. I have known beautiful men and women. I aspire to reach the same heights that they do. I do not ask for their sympathy. I ask for their inspiration.

If we are to be honest, we need to be able to do so without looking like a victim. I think there is often a guilty side of me that wishes to look like a victim, that longs for sympathy. However, when I finally rise up, out of the ashes of my defeat...or, rather, my side-step...with clenched fists, I want nothing more than to stand alone. To bask in the satisfaction of my success. There is peace in the knowledge that I have survived the storm. Diana and I spoke on the phone in May a few days after Liam and I broke up. We cried together, and Diana reminded me that the pain was good...that the pain was beautiful. And it is. It really is. We don't have to be victims.

Let's Start This Month!

DUDE! (I have recently reincorporated that term into my vernacular. It is the mark of Americanism) It is October! The best month of the year.

Much has happened in 2008. I spent the first five months of it in another country. I spent the next three months in a bathing suit and/or shorts, skirts, layers upon layers of sunblock, and pigtails (in other words...in the Memphis Heat). I have spent the past couple of months running around (occasionally) like a chicken with my head cut off, but I'm getting my stride back. I can remember coming back from England and being so angry because I had a life before. I had a way of doing things, of being together and getting it done, but being in love and throwing caution to the wind had set me off my path. I have decided it is not such a bad thing, getting thrown off track. How do we live if not off the track?

I have made a few decisions about the future: I am responsible for the decisions that I make. I am also responsible for the feelings that I feel. It is such a weight off my back...to decide to take responsibility for my actions and feelings. I am no longer pointing my finger. I am learning to love myself. I am also learning to forgive. I hope it lasts.

Remember that blog I wrote back in March? About wanting to be really honest and up front about things? I have decided that I need to do something about that. I recently spoke with an old friend at my high school reunion about the struggles that we have had since we graduated, about the differences and similarities in our paths. It reminded me of the article I read in the Guardian that inspired the blog in March. If you are interested in reading it, and you SHOULD be, here is a link: Inspiration, for free!

In any case. My conversation, along with this article got me thinking that it's time to DO something. I mean, I've been pretty honest about my experience, and I've gotten a lot of encouragement on the way to continue to be really honest about my experiences, encouragement from people that felt connected to my pain. Well. I think, it's time for us to start sharing. I don't know how to do this, but I'd like to start some sort of forum for women...and men, and just people...to be honest about their experiences. Like...unabashedly, unashamedly...honest. What more can we offer each other than the truth? A safe place to tell the truth. This is my idea. A place to share...without fear...of any kind of judgment or ridicule. Read the article in the link. Tell me what you think...tell me what your reaction was, and if it was the same as mine...let's talk about starting a club...I'm down.

Passage

Let me begin by apologizing for not blogging in like...a month. I've been really busy. I've inflicted too much work on myself. I'm working through it...one day at a time.

This weekend was a very important weekend for me. Some might say that attending your ten year high school reunion is a milestone. I say it's a right of passage. I spent weeks commenting, "My ten year high school reunion is in three weeks (two, one...day...)." By Friday I was a bit of a mess. I was wired, calling my friends and babbling about how I didn't know what I was going to wear. I got a hair cut. I went to target, was very unsatisfied, went to Old Navy, was even more unsatisfied, back to Target, EVEN MORE unsatisfied...AGAIN.

It's not what I expected. Going back to Harding was less of an anxiety than I had decided it would be. I don't know how to describe it really. I don't know how to make it make sense. I forgot how many people in High School loved me for being exactly the way I am. I think I felt so much in high school that no one understood me, and that's probably true (I still feel like no one understands me), but I had forgotten how many people were truly interested in and fascinated by the things that I did and thought. I had forgotten that, despite the regular nonsense that goes on in the private school bubble, we had all learned about love in the same way. We had all learned how to love each other.

I was amazed at the love that poured out of me this weekend. The love that stretched far beyond the pain and confusion that I have struggled with during my twenties. A love that recognized the same confusion and disillusion. I suppose there's a reason we have a ten year high school reunion rather than a five year reunion. Five years after high school, the realities of being in your twenties have just started to beat you down. Ten years down the line, you're not quite there yet, but you've gotten comfortable with the amount of strength it takes to get up in the morning. And it's finally okay to look back and have a little laugh at how young we were, and how big the world seemed. The distance between everyone you knew then grows over the years, but in the light of where you've all been, and where you're all trying to be, it's necessary to reach out and remember how easy it is to love.

I spent the end of the night at Chris Haley's birthday party. He gave a speech. He had a hard time trying to say it. But I knew...there is so much love. We have so much love to give. Even when we feel like there's nothing left...there's so much.

I'm trying this thing. I'm trying to share the love. I'm trying to decide to be happy. In 2006, I woke up every morning and tried to decide to forgive myself. This year, I will wake up in the morning and try to decide to be happy, and to love. Regardless of who loves me back. There's plenty.

Hi

Yesterday I went for an hour long walk. It was fantastic. I've never enjoyed walking quickly as much as I do now that I've lived in London. One hour of walking=loads of head clearing. Lots of remembering. One day in the summer of 2005, I was in Italy, camping on a family campground in the countryside outside of Florence. I was on my own, save for the Kiwi couple I met at the train station with whom I played cards almost all night the night before. I was sitting alone in my "cabin," and it was terribly quiet except for the occasional German kid yelling at his sibling. I was crying. I cried out loud...to break the silence. I cried for myself, but not for my losses. I cried for the overwhelming sense of being totally and entirely alone in the world. My ideas about love and family had fallen apart after twenty-four years. It's hard to explain. I had no connections, nothing to hold me down, nothing to hold me close. So I cried because I didn't know who I was any more. Because I had forgotten.

Here is what I have remembered.

I am
Nancy Caroline Allen
Daughter of Martha Lois Nevills
and James Anthony Allen
Born in Hickory, North Carolina
Raised in Memphis, Tennessee
Grandchild of Minnie C and Ruth
Student of Music, Theatre, Literature, Language
Teacher of English, Writing
Resident of Abilene, Dallas, Shenandoah National Park, London, Pilsen
Citizen of United States of America
a child of God

I give thanks for those that have taught me how to see the world
how to laugh
for those that have challenged me
for those that have taught me sacrifice
those that have taught me perseverance
for those that have loved me
for those that have stretched my heart harder and further than I ever imagined possible
I am overwhelmed with the love that has been stuffed inside of me, all the way up to the top, pouring over...terrifying...satisfying...infinite.

I am grateful for the fear that life has instilled in me...and also for the fearlessness that living requires.

Yes, I believe we are shaped by our memories. My soul is covered in fingerprints, and as much as I would like to polish some of them away, they remain. The years behind me are imprinted from the inside out...the rings of a tree, immovable. I remember when the scariest thing in my life was trying to figure out how to light the gas heater upstairs at my grandmother's house. I didn't. Instead I found as many blankets as I could, and I buried myself beneath them. I have never been alone. I woke up hours later to the sound of the gas feeding the blue flames. The clocks ticking. Old pictures in old frames smiling down at me. Who does that make me? A piece of the bigger picture of my complex and fascinating family...unconventional...indescribable. And not just blood.

Yes. Pain gets deep down into the cracks and crevices, and sometimes I cry like a baby. Sometimes I sob. I am grateful for the pain.

Finally, I give thanks for words. There are too many and never enough.

The Abyss

Last night I wrote a terribly sad blog, turned off my computer, and tucked myself into bed. Then I sat up, turned my computer on, and deleted said sad blog. I'm serious folks, it was a sad one, and although I'm not getting too many comments lately, I decided that raining on everyone's parade wasn't the best method for eking them out. I will say that the rain is tremendously depressing. I don't know if anyone else feels it. Probably not. I used to like rainy summer days. But it rained ALL DAY yesterday, and I got tired of hiking up my pants legs and trying to defrost my windshield.

Deleting my blog made we wonder for a moment what happens to things that we delete on the internet. Where do they go? Throwing away a piece of paper full of my deepest darkest secrets is not really like throwing it away at all. I mean, it still exists, somewhere. Those feelings, once written, are solid entities, and they live on like, I don't know, the Rosetta Stone (are the comma's excessive in this sentence?). Not to say that my writing is likely to change the face of historical research and translation. I'm not opening any doors to the once hidden past. But my piece of paper that I throw away doesn't disappear. It gets taken to some landfill somewhere, and sits there. How long will it take for the paper to break down? Weeks? Months? Years? This shows you how little I know of science. When I delete something on the internet, it's gone. I cannot retrieve it. There isn't this waiting period for it to disappear from existence.

So I wrote all these sad sad words on my blog, and then I deleted them, and I wished I could delete the feelings too. I'm having a difficult time right now. I'm sad, and I'm trying not to be sad. I'm starting to wonder if this is all there is: Trying to fill voids with love and companionship, trying to achieve my dreams, and being terribly disappointed in myself and feeling totally alone. I'm not who I thought I would be, but I guess no one is. On top of everything, I keep unintentionally adding reasons to be sad to my list of reasons to be sad, and I don't need any more reasons to be sad. I mean...it's supposed to rain the next five days. So, what do I do? I type a little note and send it out into the abyss of the internets. There, it can live for as long as I (or some webmaster) choose for it to live. And then one day, I might push a button, and it will go away. Or, I might not. Maybe I'll keep it around for me. As a reminder. If I ever get to that "other side" I keep thinking is coming.

The Morning After

Diana and I threw the party of the year...in our minds...Saturday night. I had no idea we could fit that many people into our apartment. It's much bigger than I originally thought, which accounts for the large electric bill. Brushing past that many people that you know, meeting their friends, and subsequently adding more "friends" to your "list" is incredibly uplifting. There was remorse the next morning. I wondered if I'd spoken to all the people that I wanted to speak with. I wondered if I'd seemed flippant to anyone because of the the large volume of guests wanting to say hi and wanting to chat. I ran into many people that I'd like to be able to spend more time with, and hosting a party just doesn't allow for that kind of one on one action. I like being a guest because you can kind of pick your group of friends and hang out with them...and you don't have to clean up in the morning. To the guests of my party: I commend you for your recycling efforts. However, I might need a truck to get all of this to the recycling bins.

This past week has been strange. I have simultaneously had a desperate craving for human contact and fellowship and held on tightly to the rope of my own solitude. I find myself holding my breath trying not to make a million mistakes, trying to do the things that everyone says I should do, behave the way that everyone says I should behave. I've been terribly lonely, and overwhelmed with company, intimacy even. I'm probably entering the phase where it might be a good idea to get into therapy. I get lost in the loneliness. I miss Liam. I miss London. I ache even. I'm sick of trying to think of things as working or not working depending upon which way that you do them...or play them. My relationships with the people that I have loved passionately have begun in these spectacularly romantic ways and, subsequently, ended with my own terrifying revelation of insecurity, fear, and...hopelessness? The ends were never pretty. I wonder if that's possible. I also wonder if the big sweeping gestures that these guys made for me in the beginning were really worth it. They set my expectations in the stratosphere, and that's why it was so terrifying to lose them. Did they try to set my expectations so high because they had the same sort of expectations for me? There isn't enough organics in my relationships. I fall too fast, too far, drown too quickly. My heart begins to break the instant I realize I'm in love. Wish I could be cool. Wish I could have been cool.

What I'm trying to say is, what if I never figure that out? What if I never figure out how to be cool, how to be completely and utterly wrapped up in me. Whenever I asked what "cool" meant when I was a kid, I was always told that to be cool was to be myself. Which led me to ask the question, "when am I not myself?" And what if myself...is just incapable of being cool...or playing it cool. Different concepts, but very closely related. Also...what if no one ever figures that out. What if we're not supposed to. That's the other thing: thinking that things are supposed to be one way or another. Pretty sure that's not the way it is.

I can't reach

Today, while my roomie was slathering aloe on my sunburn, she asked me what the point of spray on aloe gel was, and she had a point. It's not like it mists. It comes out in blobs of aloe gel. I got it because I was hoping it would just mist all over my back, and I wouldn't have to twist myself into a pretzel to rub it in. However, I did not figure into the equation the fact that I would still have to twist myself into a pretzel in order to point the spray top towards my back and aim it at my burned skin. I spent the better part of Sunday evening hunched over trying to get just ONE blob of aloe to land on the angry top layer of my epidermis. Hooray for living with someone. I don't know if she realizes how much I appreciate the two minutes she takes to rub aloe onto my back. It feels phenomenal.

Speaking of the sun: I was walking to the Barbecue Shop this afternoon, and I noticed the temp reading on the bank across from Huey's on Madison said that it was 93 degrees. I was thinking to myself, before this, that it felt absolutely wonderful outside. It was a little bright, but the humidity was low, and there was a nice little breeze. Does this mean I have become so acclimated to the weather here that I actually think 93 equals a "nice" day? Does this mean Memphis heat is so bad that 93 actually does equal a "nice" day?

I am currently sitting at home waiting for a cable guy to come and fix our cable so that it doesn't cut out and shut down every five minutes. I called yesterday to explain all of this to a woman who had me go through this whole unplugging my cable box and waiting five minutes for a reboot rigmarole. After which she told me, "and that's all you need to do when the cable cuts out." To which I replied, "you're not understanding me. It happens three or four times EVERY time I sit down to watch T.V. I'm not going to do that. I'm just not. I'd like to be able to watch an entire program without having to do cable box olympics every five minutes. I mean, that's kind of silly...right?" SO...some guy is coming between 3 and 6. I suppose I should feel lucky that it's not between Monday and Friday 9 and 5. It's a freaking blessing.

And with that. I will leave you. Quip away.

Angry

I haven't blogged in over a week. How does this happen? It's not like I've been terribly busy. In fact, the opposite is true. Maybe that's why I'm not blogging. Nothing is happening.

But things are happening. Last weekend I went spelunking. I had a really good time. I got a really good sunburn on this one part of my back. Yes, Spelunking. I wasn't in the cave the whole time. Sometimes I was outside of the cave...swimming...hence the sunburn. It itches.

Then I got back from spelunking and decided to spend the next 36 hours in bed, being sad. Okay, I wasn't sad the whole time. Sometimes I was watching Gossip Girl on the internet, and I was incredibly happy. Well, not incredibly. I was moderately happy watching Gossip Girl. Then sometimes I was terribly sad. Lately I've been forgetting to remind myself every day that I don't need a man to be happy and to feel secure, and lately I've been thinking that I do. When this happens, I usually have to get out of the house and go for a very long walk. I walk until I don't feel like I need a man anymore. This often takes a very long time, but that's good because I need the activity.

I left my Master's Degree at Liam's in May because I didn't want to risk getting it wrinkled or bent in my suitcase. He sent it to me a few weeks after I left, and, apparently, the post office has been trying to get it to me, but I haven't been getting the messages. They've sent it back to sender. I don't know if that means Liam or The University of Memphis because he used the same packaging they sent it in with their address printed on it. This...is exhausting to me. I don't want to go chasing after this. I gave a good portion of my study time to Liam thinking he was like, my partner or something. I gave him my graduation because I wanted to be with him, and now it seems I have to toss out the Certificate because I wanted it to be sent to me at my new "home" in England. I cried for about two hours yesterday. It's not that having the certificate makes having the Master's real. I have the Master's. I don't know how to explain it really. Everything I did to be with Liam was very hard for me because being without Liam was very hard for me. Sometimes it seems like none of that meant anything to him. Moving to England, trying to fit in, trying to make friends, trying to adapt. It meant so little to him. It hurts. Sometimes life feels like this never ending road of struggle. Life seems like suffering. I hurt.

There's a monologue in "Angels In America" the second part, given by this animatronic mormon woman. She describes life in this way (and I would use the actual words, if I could find my copy, but, alas): God cuts us open at the middle, reaches in and tears out all of our insides. Then we have to put them back together, and that is life. Except, what I feel is that I have come before this person that I fell madly in love with, and I cut myself open, and I let all that stuff fall out onto the floor...like an idiot. And here I am, picking it all up and putting it back together again. Kinda gross, I know...but a way to describe the feeling at least.

Sometimes I think the only thing I learn from my relationships is how to build bigger and stronger walls. I tell myself, I won't do that again, and that probably cuts me off from experience, but it also cuts me off from having to get down on my hands and knees amongst all the blood and guts and stuff it all back inside...alone.

I am angry with Liam for pretending to be an adult for longer than he knew how to. I am angry with myself for forgetting that I AM an adult. I am angry with myself for thinking that it had to be that hard for me, for thinking that I didn't deserve better. For continuing to think that.

Another Saturday Night

Today was an interesting day. In fact, I've had a couple of interesting days. I feel like many days are a spattering of boredom/reflection/enlightenment. Take for instance, yesterday: I tutored an older student, had lunch with an old friend, went to an art opening, ate Kimchi, and managed to keep most of my wits about me despite a "misunderstanding" that is too tiresome to go into at this point. Okay, so there is very little boredom in that list, but I did have about thirty minutes in which I ate some of the delicious Moussaka I made the night before and watched Rachel Ray cook a thirty minute version of "cassoulet." She told me she bought her baguette that morning at the market, but I knew that some intern for the show probably bought it while she was in make-up. Seriously. I digress. The lunch with an old friend inspired a great deal of reflection, while the art show/kimchi/long story inspired a great deal of enlightenment. All in all it was a full day.

Now back to my original statement of "Today was an interesting day." Perhaps not quite as interesting as yesterday, but thought provoking enough for me, to say the least. I started by showing up late to help a friend move, and, in the end, just took some of her clothes home with me. Chatted with the room mate, then went to meet my mom for a fabulously satisfying X-files movie. I mean...I liked it. Afterwards, I was in great spirits, and my mom and I went for one of our favorite past times: Bra shopping. Tax free weekend! AND, joy of joys, Macy's was having a sale on bras. I could get four for the price of two with no sales tax! The only problem was, I couldn't find the bras I wanted in my size. I can't really explain what happened to me over the course of the two hours I was trapped in the Macy's "intimates" department, but it was not pretty. As I began to realize the absence of any bra I wanted in my size, I imagined toppling racks, screaming at the sales clerks, foaming at the mouth. And when I asked if they could check on the availability of a particular bra at other stores and was told there wasn't one available in my size at any store in THE STATE, my wild imaginings nearly became a reality. It was like Jekyll and Hyde, only...without the hat...or the tweed (he wore tweed, right? I mean, probably). I don't know why I became so emotional. I reverted back to age six (as my mother so poignantly pointed out to me), and I felt it coming. I could have shaken it off, but I didn't. I felt trapped. I looked into my bra shopping future and saw only a bitter acceptance of the bras I am allowed rather the ones I really really want. I realize I am currently speaking about bras. I am aware of the absurdity of the situation. I am baffled by my emotional incompetence.

Perhaps this is all a manifestation of the idealistic child in me coming to begrudging terms with the embittered adult in me. Things are not the way I thought they would be. Things are not the way we thought they would be. I'm referring to the personal and the political. The looming recession is yanking petals off of my flower power. My glorious country is different from what I thought it was as a child. It is full of people that don't want change, and people that don't understand the realities of, I don't know, the rest of the world. I have always believed that the United States was built on the dream of progress, but progress is relative really...isn't it? The student that I tutor is an older gentleman from Venezuela. He said to me Friday that there is so much wrong with this country, the worst of it being its citizens' apathy. Why don't we speak out? Why don't we demand the government work for us? Instead, we demand the government let us keep more of our tax money so that they can do less, and we can buy more SUVs. Why don't we stand up and demand action against the rising oil prices? Why are we content to live in "blissful" ignorance? I had no answer for him. I honestly don't know.

I am frustrated by my inability to do anything but be angry about things. I am saddened by this looming sense of powerlessness, even though it doesn't necessarily permeate every aspect of my life. Mostly just lingerie related activities...well...shopping in general. However, none of this has anything to do with bras, and none of this excuses crying over the wrong bra size. It's just to say that I feel weakened by the state of my brain lately. I will leave out the story about leaving my keys in the kitchenware section of Target and having to go back after close. I will only ask this: Where is my mind?

Expectations

I hate writing a new blog after a particularly well received blog post. I feel sometimes that I might crumble under the pressure. However, I was reminded yesterday, that some people are interested in keeping up with my moods. SO....here you go:

My first full day off work was a bust. I suppose. I sat on the couch in the living room for about five hours arranging my music library and watching Sportsnight. I also ate some soggy leftovers and a bag of microwave popcorn. Enough happened to make me realize that this sucks. I've got to get out. I know, I should volunteer! Or I might go to Chicago. ;)

Having nothing to do reminds me of all the crap still stuck in my brain. In other words: it depresses me. The silence...even the lack of silence...through the long hours of nothingness, screams in my ears, and all those memories and pictures of days past come flooding back. So, I did what any sane person would do. I stopped trying fight it, and I just looked at the pictures I had loaded on my computer. I wish I had taken more pictures. I mean, of the normal every day things. I wish I had more pictures of me on the tube, or just people on the tube. I wish I had taken more pictures of all the little English houses, carbon copies of each other, little chimneys sprouting out of the roofs, stretched out across the horizon. However, I spent most of the time with my gloved hands tucked deep into the pockets of my coat.

I am entering into a new phase of this whole business. The miserable ache is gone. I'm now left with a faint, very faint, hint of the pain that was drowning me. It doesn't feel final though. It feels in be-tween, however. I don't know why. Just...like a shifting...nothing final. I was thinking about the pain, you know, the blinding pain part, and I actually kind of missed it. It seemed to have a little more direction than this...a greater purpose. I'm sure there's purpose in the transitions. I'm positive. It's just not as much...fun.

The Spark

On my way to my car this evening, before my night class, I had a strange experience. I was strolling to my car door, minding my own business, when I noticed a loud rustling in the grass. I looked up just in time to see one of the many stray cats that roam around behind my place grab a bird in its teeth. The bird struggled, cried, puffed it's feathers, but it couldn't get away, and I just watched. I was stunned. I had locked eyes with the cat, and my first reaction was to shout and wave my hands, but the cat just looked at me. It's eyes were cold, the bird in it's mouth, struggling...not wanting to give up, and it just stared at me, as if to say, "this is how it's supposed to be. This is life," and for a minute I believed it. I accepted that that was life.

I had been having this conversation in my head earlier in the day. Life is pain and struggling. That's just what it is. It's hard, and it's not fair, and there's not a whole lot we can do to change it. This bird, caught in the jaws of a slinky alley cat, began to accept this as well. He was a part of the circle of everything, and his time was up. His chest had stopped puffing, and his cries had subsided.

As I turned to my car door, my keys shaking in my hand, I couldn't get the image of the beautiful chest of this bird out of my head. It wasn't an ordinary bird. Its breast had flecks of red and gold mixed with black, and it's cries, while made in agony, were almost beautiful. In a split second I let out an emphatic, "no!" I turned, picked up the closest thing I could find (there was a brick and a stick, and I chose the stick because I imagined I could throw it further). I tossed the stick towards the cat, its eyes locked on mine...and it dropped the bird.

Without wasting a moment, the bird beat it's wings and flew away. The cat ran in the opposite direction. It was remarkable. I don't know if the bird made it very far. Perhaps it made it home to bleed to death, but I try to find comfort in the fact that it had those moments of freedom. That it got away instead of completely surrendering to the clenches of the cat's jaw.

I say it all the time: life is hard. That's just the way it is, and I feel a sense of satisfaction in my contentment with that fact. What surprised me about today, was the power behind that small part of me that refused to believe in that as the final answer. It was a spark of hope, not just for the bird that, like me, had begun to stop struggling against the fate of the drudgery of life. The instant the bird regained its freedom, it began to sing again. Sometimes the only thing we need is for someone to come along to throw a stick at the despair that is holding us tightly in its jaw. Sometimes we need to do the throwing. (However, I would definitely go with a stick rather than a brick. We don't want to risk killing the bird in the process of rescuing it)

Molting

I pulled into my driveway late this morning on an unplanned trip back home to pick up some things for class. I was listening to a somewhat melancholy Death Cab song, against the recommendation of my good friend Vanessa Fargo ("Quit listening to that depressing shit."). I sat still for a few moments just staring off into the distance, listening to the music, and a little creature caught my eye. However, it wasn't actually a creature. It was the remnants of a creature, the skin of a Cicada, left behind on the railing along the steps to my back door. It wasn't entirely apparent that it was just the skin from my car, but upon closer inspection, I could see the split right down the back from whence the fresh, new Cicada had emerged. I wondered if it was painful. I imagine that it must be. I imagine that it must be incredibly uncomfortable flying around in an old dying layer of skin. It must also be a bit disarming when the suit begins to split and the insect inside has to peel it's new skin away from the old skin in order to climb out.

Perhaps that is what this stage I am in is all about. I'm draped in the hopes and dreams I built for two years of my adult life. Not only are they draped over me, but they are also sealed tightly to my skin. They are dying now. I say dying because they are not dead yet. The worst part of this entire process is having to live with the fact that I am still terribly in love with Liam. I am in hopeless love. I cannot turn it off. Therefore, as the skin of these past years begins to die and crack off of my skin, I experience excruciating pain. Sometimes I imagine these memories tearing away from my being in the most violent and bloody way possible. I picture my tissue and muscle ripping and bleeding. It's the only way I can explain the emotional pain because it doesn't feel emotional. It feels frighteningly physical. I wake up in the night drowning in this pain.

My only hope now is that one day, the rift that has begun down the back of this old skin will be wide enough for me to crawl out of it. I look forward to the day that I peel myself away from this moment in time, stretch my new skin, and leave behind the shell for someone to find, for someone to find hope.

I still cry. I'm still frightened of the days to come. I make terrible mistakes, and I feel the darkness growing around me, but I will not give up on the light...as easy to do as it may seem. The only way out is to keep walking. The darkness can't last forever.

so...second post for the day

I've been in most of the day. I don't have all the money in world, so I can't go out all the time. I have also discovered that I have a job that requires me to put in time outside of the classroom. This leads to the topic of my blog: being lonely.

My last two breakups were very different from this breakup. Once I got through the miserable, I can't wake up without hurting parts, I was good to go. Enjoying life with my friends, having a grand old time. It's different now. I'm not waiting tables...which is good...grand even. I'm actually doing something I like...but when I was waiting tables, I was with my friends at night...working, and not working. Now I'm home...working (and making a lame job of it)...alone. Now I can't go out every night. Those days are pretty much over...and yeah, they had to end. A) it's not good for me, and B)it's expensive...and also C)I have actual responsibilities now. But, I'm LONELY. I just returned from a 6 month stint in another country...and yeah...sometimes I got lonely....but I was lonely less often than I wasn't lonely.

Now it feels like I have too much time to myself. I can't get the balance. I just think when I'm alone. I think, and I get sad...and I get scared...and I get frustrated. Is this my life? Is this the way my life will be? Will I have to come to terms with my loneliness? I suppose I will. I feel so hopeless sometimes. So....I don't know...destined for blahdom. I mean...not blah...success...but the kind of success and satisfaction that comes from being content with the pangs of things you lost along the way...forever. Kind of like how Jane Austen is depicted as feeling when reading one of her stories at the end of that Becoming Jane movie...which...wasn't fantastic...but it wasn't totally terrible. But, at the end...she and the guy both...had to give these silent shots in which they expressed acceptance of the lives they were forced into. God, will that be me? I mean...I know there's no answer...but it's terrifying. I NEVER wanted to go back to being single once I met Liam. I mean...I spent my single years not wanting to be single...I had fun...I had a lot of fun...but...okay, there were times when I was really happy. But there was always this hope, that just around the corner there was someone to share it all with. And well...I just don't think that's a given any more. Not everyone finds someone to share it with. Not everyone joins the world of couple-dom. I may not find anyone to share it with. It may just be me. The world made me think it was supposed to be a certain way...but it didn't make any promises. No one ever made me any promises.

I've realized that it's this fear that makes me bury myself in an almost entirely one-sided relationship. It's this fear that makes me sell all my stuff and move to England to be with a guy that could NEVER offer me the same level of sacrifice (granted...it was a huge level...but I felt like he was worth that...I just don't know if I felt that I was). And well...in the end...he just wasn't good enough. I asked a lot...yeah...and I don't think I'll ever be asking that much of myself or anyone else again...but he couldn't make ANY compromises. He didn't think he should have to. So. Maybe I don't know anything. Maybe I'm just flailing around trying to fit all the wrong puzzle pieces together...and all I get is a pile of sloppy puzzle pieces. I don't know where I'm trying to take that metaphor. Any ideas?

Give me something to look forward to

Why is it that we live like that? from exciting moment to exciting moment? Since my breakup...I've felt trapped in a world without exciting moments. There was so much going on with Liam...either I was jetting off to London, or he was coming here...and I was going to get to show him around. We traveled so much. We traveled when I lived in London too...even if we didn't leave London. The city was infinitely fascinating. Every weekend, there was a different nook to be explored. An Underground trip to be mapped out. I spent about three hours sitting in one place Monday afternoon wondering what to do with myself...wondering how high my MLGW bill would be if I turned the air down just a little more to keep the sweat off the under side of my knees.

Then some days I get wrapped up in the daily tasks that make life livable. I get carried away in the kitchen, listening to NPR, cleaning up messes...yes...even cleaning out the litter box. Cleaning the shower this Sunday was fabulous...I listened to Showtunes on digital cable. It was so gay (not that there's anything wrong with being....into showtunes)....and by gay I mean...fabulous...FABULOUS. It's really the only way to clean...and listening to NPR is the only way to cook. I'm finally getting well. God, it feels good. I was sick for two freaking weeks. I almost had pinkeye at one point...it was INSANE.

What I'm saying is: It's not SO bad living...just living...and trying to figure out living. It's awesome having the opportunity to roam...and even awesomer having someone to roam with. But sometimes living requires cleaning...the little corners. Getting down on my hands and knees...finding joy in sucking up the ball of fur in the corner of the hallway.

Even though I'm looking forward to something...who knows what. Always....

Thoughts on...Things

I've been sick for almost a week now, but luckily, I feel as if I'm coming out of it. Being sick really makes a person think...and usually in a more melancholy way...I'm also listening to some Patty Griffin...so I'm going to wax...sad....but also retrospective. (retrospective? is that the right word?)

A lot of people were concerned about Liam's visit to Memphis, and I won't lie, I was too...but I was adamant that I wanted him to come here. I described it as the wake for the funeral of our relationship. I figure, at the end of a relationship, everything...him and it...and you...has to kind of die...in order to be reincarnated into whatever it's all going to be in the future...or something. Anyway. He's been here for almost two weeks now, and he leaves on Friday evening. I've been sick for half of his visit...and that's been hard. Here's why: I feel like I should be savoring these moments with him...after I've had some distance...now that I see things more clearly...but I am unable to because of my illness...and when I start to regret that...I wonder to myself if it's really worth being sad about. I've learned some truths over the past two weeks. 1. Liam is over me, and...well...I'm actually kind of over him...meaning, I no longer want him back. and 2. Liam is immature and while he was a very attentive boyfriend, he never really loved me the way I loved him...and not that that's a bad thing...wait...well...I mean...there were things that I didn't like about the relationship, about him even, but I LOVED him, and that made it easy to overlook those things. But HE...he didn't overlook those things, I don't think. He decided he didn't really like me...and he doesn't really like me now...I mean, he does...just not all of me...and he lets that part affect his love for me...and well...I just don't think it's worth getting all sad about not being able to entertain someone that doesn't really like you. It's hard to be vulnerable. It's hard to show people who you are...in your darkest places...and when you get the courage to actually do that...it helps if they don't decide that the relationship isn't really worth it. I always felt like it was worth it, but I was the only one.

We always had these arguments in which I would point out things that I didn't like...things that he did that hurt me...always trying to acknowledge that the hurt was more than likely unintentional. And he would always get upset...and throw this brilliant argument back at me: "You make me feel like a terrible person, and I'm not a terrible person. I have a lot of friends and none of them think I'm a terrible person." Let's not completely dissect this...let's accept that we all realize that no one can make you feel anything...and let's focus on this "my friends don't think I'm terrible." We recently had an argument in which I just told him sometimes he was a real asshole...to which he argued, "none of my friends think I'm an asshole." Um...well done? I have loads of friends that think I can be a real bitch sometimes...but I'm pretty sure they still like me...and well, that's pretty much why they're my friends. That's the concept he doesn't get. That it is possible to be a jerk sometimes...to make big mistakes...to hurt people (accidentally)...and to still be loved. That's what love is...in a nutshell. Part of growing up for me was accepting that I can be a real bitch...wanting to change...and still loving myself in the process. And loving myself should always come first. So....what I'm saying is: I'm putting this regret nonsense behind my and I'm going to focus on that first part.

I'm also going to focus on loving my cats. They're freakin cute...and awesome. and also my family and friends...cause theys all I gots.

Muddled thoughts. I know...but I feel like I might be getting somewhere. Finally.

Death

I've blogged about this exact thing before...but it was in a different setting.

A couple of years ago, I came across a dead squirrel outside my old apartment on Mclean. It was bizarre, surreal, and engrossing. I couldn't stop looking at it. Well, I've found a new squirrel. It's along the walk from that curve in Zach Curlin, right in front of the school...not the college...but the kids school...I think that's what it is. I see kids there all the time. Anyway...this dead squirrel has been there for weeks now. In fact, I think that if I walked by, and it was gone, I'd be a little sad. I know...insane...but it's interesting. Sometimes I walk by, and I just glance at it, and sometimes I walk by and have a little moment of silence. It looks different every time. I can run the respective pictures in my mind of the 'body' and it would be like watching a stop motion film of a decomposing dead thing. It fascinates me. It's there...but it's not there. It was living once, and now it's not, and no one seems to want to be the one to move it out of the way. I mean, I'm not going to. It almost, at this point, seems unnatural to...like it would break up the continuity of the landscape...of the natural-ness...of things. It's teeth were very prominent this evening. It's eyes have been gone for some time, but it's teeth, naturally, are hanging on for dear life(?).

I have a hard time imagining myself a few months ago...in London...taking the tube places...going about my daily routine. I have a hard time picturing that as me...doing those things...walking those paths. I found a great deal of joy in very small things. Or maybe they weren't small. I found this short-cut on my walk home from the overland train through this field/park surrounded by houses. The wind would always hit my face at an angle, and make my nose run and my eyes water...but I liked the feel of it in my hair. I can't decide if I was unhappy or happy. I remember myself as happy. Maybe that's just my remorse. I fell in love with walking all over the city one day after working at the charity for the dame. I didn't feel like going home, and the city seemed to be bustling. The tunes on my ipod were particularly agreeable, so I just kept walking...enjoying myself...enjoying the sights, the history, the busyness of everything. I ran into one of the guys from the office, and he looked confused, asked me if I was lost, and then told me a little about the history of the area. It was a lovely area. There were many lovely areas.

I can't stay here forever. Someone...probably me...is going to have to move me along. It seems natural at the moment...I'm a part of the landscape, but I can't be forever. I know this. I feel this. If I don't, I'm just decomposing...nourishing the soil, sure...but flat, and lifeless all the while. It's comfortable...but frightening....surreal.

Long Weekend

Well, thank goodness for the long weekend, otherwise, I would have had to call in sick to work, and I hate doing that. Some sort of bug, I don't know what, has made it's way into my apartment, and is feeding on my well being. I slept all day Thursday, sadly missing the IEI picnic. I was supposed to bring buns for the hot dogs. I was really stressed out about whether or not they would have buns.

I forced myself out on Friday, the fabulous fourth, and went to bed grumpy. Saturday, I thought, surely all that sleep had done me some good, but by the end of the day, my throat was killing me. And when I woke up this morning, my throat felt like it had swollen to the size of my head. This is the exact series of 'events' that Diana suffered about two weeks ago. So...I know where I got it. She went to the doctor's office, and they couldn't find anything treatable wrong with her...so...I'm going to sit this one out. Advil really really helps. Also...sleeping helps. Cheese and crackers are good.

So...my first fourth of July stateside in about two years, has been....interesting. I feel like I haven't been off work at all. Crappy crap craps.

I did, despite the evil spirits in my blood stream, end up enjoying myself...for the most part, on the fourth. I ate a lovely American flag cupcake, and lounged in Melissa F's front yard, waving to all the people, and at the end of it all, I got to set off bottle rockets and wave sparklers around. I never realized the joy that setting off tiny explosives could bring me.

There is a pause in the Wimbledon Nadal/Federererererrr final right now. Because of rain. Apparently Wimbledon will be getting a roof over some of the courts....next year. Over 100 years of tournament, and England still refuses to admit that it RAINS EVERY DAY IN ENGLAND.
Serena Williams has nice boobs.....what?

Discovering Denial Deep Down

I wrote a week or so ago about entering into the acceptance stage. I might have been wrong about that. Over the past few weeks...the 'no internet' weeks...I have been overcome with bouts of anger...yes acceptance...but more anger...and the arrival of said bane has forced me to realize the level of my denial while simultaneously perpetuating more anger.

I miss London. I miss the people. I miss the sky. I miss the walks. I miss the rides on the Tube.I miss the feeling of moving forward. The absence of this weird fear of a stymied existence. The feeling of power I got from figuring out the city...in a sense. I denied myself those feelings for a long time. Accepting them makes me angry. Accepting my being sent home makes me angry. What is there for me in London now? Nothing. There is no reason to go back...and I'm angry about that. Every Memphian fears that nothing will come along to help us break out. I love Memphis...but the big world is out there...begging me to join it...and without a reason...it seems a bit of a stretch to go dashing off my front porch for longer than a month. I miss London. I wanted to be there longer. I really really did.

Also...with the arrival of this person...I get to hear complaints of how much better London is than crappy, hot, have to drive everywhere Memphis. Which makes me angry...because I didn't ask to come back here. I was sent here.

Then I have these moments of believing for a split second that he's missed me desperately. That he regrets his decision every day...that he's miserable. But he isn't. He's fine. Peachy. Of course.

My internet is back up. Let's get down with the emotional updates.

Blank Screen

I've been sitting here, looking at this blank screen for a few good long moments...also chewing on my hangnails...fervently. It really is easier to write in the morning or the evening...right after or just before bed. It will be a relief to have the internet at home very soon. It will also be a relief to get a paycheck on Friday. I don't like getting paid once a month. I don't like having to manage my money. I hold on too tight. 'Tis the norm for me...in everything.

I have been overwhelmed, as of late, with confusion, terror, loneliness, peace, productivity, and the occasional spark of power. I spent the weekend in the sun...in a hammock...at someone else's house in the faraway land of Collierville. I spent the weekend loving the people around me...but hiding away...deep inside of myself. And no...I'm not coming out.

I have these terrifying moments of desperation...of the inability to sit still and to let things sink in...to let the reality of what must be done affect me...instead, I'm looking for an out...a distraction in hopes that it might make things easier. I feel like I am not allowed to be myself...for the moment...even with myself. I am a sleepwalker in my own dreams. I am screaming inside...stupid ideas and stupid thoughts. The past two years seem surreal to me. I cannot imagine the future...I am torn between desperately wanting the old future and wondering every once in a while just what the new future might hold.

I do not feel very strong. There are times when I feel like I have a gaping, bleeding hole inside of me. The idea of letting go of...not just the past...but my unquenchable thirst for insights into the future...is exhausting.

The Absence of Blog

SO....I betcher all wonderin....where the H-E-L-L has Caroline been all week. WELL...I do NOT have internet...so....it's not that I don't love you...it's that I don't have the means of communication.

Now. This week, I have moved into a new apartment. I have a new room mate. I have no pots or pans. I have no lamps. These are things I love...and I am, therefore, sad. For those of you that don't know me....I love lamp....s. Yes...it's true. I am a fan of the low lighting. I find overhead lights to be a bit too invasive...like they're questioning me...forcing me to see everything while allowing everyone to see all of me. Overhead lights = poo. Pots and pans...make it possible for me to feed myself. I have food...but no way to cook it...except a microwave. hooray.

This leads me to the sadness of the week...and I KNOW....why won't I just get over it? I mean...come ON. It's been over a month. I could tell you how many days....but I'd have to stop and count...which, I think, is an improvement. So...sadness...and I will try to be brief: Being surrounded by all this stuff....my old stuff...and the absence of stuff....stuff that I sold...reminds me of my former fervor...of how desperately and passionately I loved Liam...how much I wanted to be with him and to share my life with him. And now I'm back...with the stuff I left behind...and without the stuff I never thought I'd need again. And it makes me feel sad...and often lonely. There is much silence...and the occasional cry.

Enough.

I introduced Mr. Pants and Alexander to the new place today...and they promptly ran under my bed and hid for about an hour. Mr. Pants was the first to venture out...and he gradually began exploring, chatting with me all the while. When I left this evening...Alexander was still under the bed. So much for the old Alexander the Great "fortune favors the brave" nonsense. Kid needs to live up to his name.

I'm glad this week is over. Moving is hard. Moving actually kind of sucks...but getting settled can be really nice...I'm waiting for that part. My apartment is so lovely. You should come see me. Sit on my porch...have a beer. We'll talk. It'll be nice.

The In-Between Days

This is going to sound really strange, but I have decided that....despite the fact that it will become progressively more miserable....the heat is quite cleansing. My professor, Dr. Scraba's wife, Mechelle, commented once that she felt like she was detoxing all the time during the summer in Memphis...and I have to agree with her. It is oppressive...and it does get insanely worse...but the sticky layer on top of my skin is kind of comforting. It reminds me to slow down and put my feet up, allows me to wear shorts and sandals, makes me want to go swimming, makes me feel alive...it's also kind of sexy...you know? maybe?

I've cooked for some lovely ladies both Thursday and Friday evening...and Friday evening Grace and I decided to start an underground dance movement in Memphis...so...even if it's just us doing it...we're totally dancing...once a week. bitches.

It's been really nice living with my cats again...they are incredibly lovable. The only issue I have is their intense need for me to play with them at five in the morning. Mr Pants actually dropped a hair tie on my face because I kept ignoring his invitation to play fetch with him on Thursday morning. I threw the hair tie out the door and slammed it shut. He still loves me though. His love is steadfast...as long as I feed him and clean out his litter box...which really isn't too much to ask. It's kind of a deal.

This has been an insanely boring blog...My apologies for that. I guess because I'm not feeling intense sorrow or overwhelming happiness. I still get sad...but I feel incredibly strong at the moment. It's this weird feeling...like...you know how you feel after a really good cry? Kind of relaxed and calm...and warm? There are moments of that...even when I haven't cried, and I still cry...I just don't document it so much any more. I feel empowered with the remarkable ability to rise up...out of the ashes.

hind sight

I think the hardest thing to get past during this process of eliminating my sorrow/anger/confusion/disillusion would be waking up every morning. Every morning I wake up...and it's hard anyway...but the first thing I think...my waking thought is a reminder that I am no longer with Liam. I don't know why it was easier to get up in the morning when I knew I had him...when he was in my life...in a future kind of way.

I was so tired during class this morning. I had to apologize about a million times for yawning. At one point during a group activity, I drifted off and had this realization: From the moment I knew that Liam liked me...I immediately began to project all these...I don't know...hopes....for us. It wasn't as bad until after he told me he loved me...and then I just built this gigantic dream all around him and me...all around us, and I expected it to be that...I trusted it to be this thing I had created...or imagined it could and should be. I made him into this superhero....that was better than me....and I never felt like I could live up to it...be good enough for it...this image I had created. When I got lost, I think that's where I went. I suppose that's a lot of pressure to put on someone. I suppose it's a bit exhausting. It was exhausting for me too. I think if I apologize for anything...it's that. I'm sure it was a burden on the relationship. If I could go back and change something, I wouldn't need him so much....or think I needed him. I would have kept my head about me. I wish I could go back...right now...I wish I could do things differently...erase the bad and the difficult. But I can't. And that makes me sad. I teared up just a little in class...but I choked it back. And kept going. as tired as I was.

I would like to think that it wasn't my fault. I would like to think that I don't have the uncanny ability to destroy my relationships. It is too late to think of all I did wrong. I hope he knew, at least, how much I loved and appreciated him...all the time...even when I didn't show it.

Pre-Calculus Blows

I believe, perhaps...more than likely...I have entered into the acceptance stage of my grief. I am no longer operating under the impression that this isn't actually happening to me...I am also no longer operating under the impression that this is the worst thing that has or will ever happen to me. I am trying...I am taking my life back because it is the only thing I can do...really.

Driving...despite being quite a pain...is easier now because, for some reason, I've stopped obsessing about the people that constantly tail gate me. I used to go crazy about that...now...I just ignore it...even though I'm probably being tailgated for driving like a grandma.

I am inundated...by myself...with books to read. I occasionally get hit on in bookstores by strange, reclusive guys hyped up on coffee at 9 p.m, and I try to hide my desperate search for an exit. I got chatted up in the reference section the other day at Border's. So ladies...GO!

Yesterday evening I was tooling around in Barnes and Noble when I came across this book called Lady In Waiting. I remember this book from college and Bible studies. I think it's no secret that I believe in God. I was raised in the church, but I do not, currently, find a connection within organized religion. Goodness knows there is a great deal being taught and thought that is as far from who God is as George Bush is from being someone that would be coming over to my place for dinner. Anyway..This book had a caption at the bottom below a picture of this girl that was, I guess, supposed to be...contemplating? Waiting?...anyway...it read, "Becoming God's best while waiting for Mr. Right."

.............................

I'm pausing....for effect...................................................................
......................


............


Okay. I just want to focus on one part of this statement....and how reading it...suddenly made everything clear to me. "While waiting for Mr. Right..." As if life...LIFE...is waiting. This is the rhetoric that I used to cling to...it was a huge part of that idea of the way things are supposed to be...what my purpose in life is...the life formula in which the correct variables equal the way life is supposed to be. Except...the variables don't always work...in fact...life is rarely mathematical...and NEVER waiting. WAITING? It's a tough thing when you have to learn that life is not waiting, but instead...living. I lived under the pretense that I was being prepared for something...that I was preparing...for, I don't know...the big life math test? I know now, that I started living the moment I was born. All the falling down and messing up, that wasn't learning...that was living. LIVING. And the truth is...sometimes the living...is all we get.

Now let's talk about Mr Right.....and who might that be? What might that be...and why the hell should I be waiting for him? What will he do for me? Is he going to save me? Is he going to confirm my beliefs? Is he going to make me feel pretty? The more important question is...is he going to give me a job? Mr. Right is a figment of every girl's imagination. I doubt that, if I get married, I'll ever think of him as Mr. Right. The term implies that there is this one special person for everyone...a soul mate.......and that soul mate will be your partner....you know...for love and sex and babies and things....well....this is nonsense. bollocks. insanity. My soul mate is possibly my best friend...and I don't have sex with her (however, I do make jokes about having sex with her) (Also...Mr. Pants is my other soul mate...or he might as well be). Mr Right is another one of those variables that just doesn't fit into the reality equation.

Nobody teaches you when you're growing up that your life purpose is not to get married and have kids. Nobody teaches you that you might have to be able to take care of yourself. Nobody teaches you to make decisions based on what you need rather than what someone else needs. Nobody teaches you to make decisions. Become a better, holier person + Mr Right = you'll be the best wife ever = happiness. As a believer, I cannot believe in a god that didn't create me to be capable of making my own way in this world, in a god that narrowed life down to a simple equation. I think the writers of the aforementioned book have a different idea of God than I do.

Well...I'll never be the best wife ever. I probably won't even be a good one...if I am one. And with my own hands...I will never be holy. It's time to teach women to make decisions, to decide what they want to do with their lives, to use the tools they've been given to succeed and to stop trying to be...and preparing to be. It's time to teach women that they are. No more waiting. No more wishing. It's time for Deciding. Fighting. Believing in ourselves. It's time to be. Time for living....finally.

I have never been good at math.

When The Crying Stops

So...it's been three days since I last cried. I bet you're wondering, "when you're not crying, what on EARTH do you do with your time?!" And the truth is, nothing much really. I take a while to get out of bed. I take a while to decide what to eat. I take a while to get dressed. I take a while to decide to do the next thing. Everything moves in slow motion, rather than being at a complete standstill. I sometimes wonder if I've found some way to suppress my true feelings and fool myself into being somewhat content. I don't know. I'm not destitute, by any means. I see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm confident that it will continue to get bigger, the closer I get to it.

I am haunted by the past...still. I have these moments of terrible sadness. Not violent, or dramatic, just very quiet, slow sadness. I still wish he would change his mind, and try to find a way back into my life, but I do not expect it...in any way. Life is rarely ever magical unless it's because of something I've worked for...and then it's not really magical...is it? I feel awkward in many social situations. I want to talk about it all the time, and then sometimes I never want to talk about it again. Today in the middle of my first class (which I TOTALLY improvised because I planned for the wrong class)...I wanted to talk all about it. It reminded me of how open I was with all my students in the fall about my future plans and my "boyfriend" and how I was so excited. They were excited for me. Luckily, the part of my brain that is managing to move forward through the mess held me back from teaching a terrible lesson about heartbreak, rather than writing in English.

I still believe, after everything...and it certainly wasn't as much as it could have been...in love. I know it is out there...probably in the very distant future...but it is out there again...waiting for me to be completely unprepared for it. It is also here...with me...beside me...and all around me. So...

Revisiting

I googled 'the stages of grief' today...after spending the entire day in my underwear. I woke up at 8:30 and promptly went back to sleep until 10:30 and then i roamed around the house, cried, watched tv, cried, checked my email, cried, reset my preferences on my facebook, cried, and pretty much had a full day. I'm not quite sure if I'm in denial, anger, bargaining, depression, or acceptance...well...definitely not in acceptance stage. I got to the point today where I felt comfort feeling tears stream down the side of my face...it was like someone gently caressing my cheek. someone with a thin, warm, wet touch.

I often wonder if there is something terribly wrong with me.

I then...despite my better judgement (i've said that often lately, have i not?) began to reread emails between him and me (he and i?)....and emails between me and diana, and between me and the general public...before he and i were an item. we talked candidly, intelligently, openly, and honestly. It was ridiculous. Ridiculous how we started...how our conversations began...and how our connection looked in the end. I have always operated with the belief that most relationships are salvageable as long as both parties are willing to go back and revisit when and why they fell in love. It is so clear to me why that is...and it is so clear to me that we parted as completely different people. I came across in these emails as exactly how I've always wanted to come across to a guy...smart, well read, funny, adventurous, confident. He came across...surely as he wanted to...smart, funny, charming, strong, totally interested. WHERE DID THAT GO?! MY GOD?! I suppose we fell victim to our circumstances...and I fell victim to my own insecurities....he possibly did too...but neither of us recognized that...well...I think I did...and I tried to talk about it a lot...cause I think girls do stuff like that. I just wanted help, I guess...I recognized the weakness in me and I wanted him to help me up...but he didn't...maybe i didn't recognize the weakness in him...or maybe i did, and the weakness in me was just too weak to do anything about it.

WHERE DID THAT GIRL GO? the girl that made a decision and ran with it. the girl that tumbled into dark holes and crawled back out...saw the world by herself...was ready for anything. I am a twisted ball of disillusion. The shitty shitty part is that I actually have to wait before I can get back to that...I have to deal with this rebuilding before I can get back to that...and THAT...will eventually come upon me without my even realizing it. Hell, I can't even rebuild right now I'm so damn miserable. Next time I fall in love, I hope it's with someone that doesn't ever let me forget that girl. I hope it's also with someone that is in it like I'm in it. To work. The fruit of our labor will be glorious.

I referred to that summer as the best summer of my life. the summer I met him. I was open to any and all possibilities. I was brave. I was a kid in a freakin' candy store...yeah...I got down about having a hard time meeting the right guy...but I still had a hell of a lot of fun. And I had this correspondence with this guy that I knew was totally into me...but I didn't have to make any decisions about it...I just got to enjoy knowing that this guy...that was so super cool was totally into me. It was slow enough for me to show him who I wanted him to see...but it wasn't slow enough for him to see who I was all around....in and out...up and down...same for him. I eventually, as he did, found out things about him that I wasn't crazy about...things that irritated me...things that concerned me....BUT...at least I was strong enough to keep loving him, if not strong enough to let go when it was time to let go...at least I gave him what I promised...unconditional love. I don't know who comes out on top in this situation. I am still convinced that if he were really strong...he would want to go back WITH me and remember why we fell in love...and we could try to challenge each other to be the strong people we know we are. I just don't know who comes out on top in the reality of it all. No one? I mean...I can't even admit what he was able to admit, that he isn't ready. Because I would like to believe that I'm smart enough to not fall in love with a guy that isn't ready. because the guy that I saw that summer, in our correspondence, was totally ready...was looking for me, and I for him.

He told me he wanted things to be easy. I have given up on easy. I gave up on it a long time ago. Perhaps that puts me in the lead. The fact that I accept the reality of adulthood....except right now...when all I want to do is sit in bed and cry. which probably puts me a few points behind. not that this is actually a race...or a contest. not that it ever was.

Relativity

So, I made it through a day without crying. Wednesday, 28 May 2008: I did not cry. The Events leading up to this day are as follows: Tuesday morning, I got up, lifted weights with some cheery girl on some DVD my mom has and then made myself a bowl of my favorite food: beans. I sat on the couch watching court television, eating my beans and drinking Dr. Pepper...doing fine. When I am texting people, and I don't receive answers in a manner that I deem timely (which...in my twisted reality at present...means like, two minutes), I get very sad. I start to think that maybe no one likes me and wants to meaninglessly banter with me via text messaging (I have unlimited text messaging on my phone plan). I was spooning beans into my mouth and watching this poor kid in a wheelchair argue about how it wasn't fair that he had to come all the way into the city to meet this guy for a job interview when the guy wasn't even taking it seriously. The judge ruled on the side of the jerk that didn't show up for the interview, and I cried my eyes out for the poor kid in the wheelchair. It was...almost...comical. I couldn't finish my food.

Then texting commenced, and the minutes flew by until it was time for me to go to trivia at the P and H. It was good to see people, and to share pitcher after pitcher of cheap beer. I even had some delicious Jalapeño poppers. I also got to share my knowledge of terrible 90s music as well as my extensive knowledge of television shows. If not for the tie-breaker question of "pick a number between 1 and 200" (WTF) we would have come into money. It was a robbing of sorts. My favorite moment...the question was something about who had a hit in some year in the 90s with 'That's the Way Love Goes.' Zack immediately began to sing the chorus and I chimed in with the spoken bit...and punctuated it with 'Janet Jackson,' which was right...and oh so wrong that Zack and I both not only know the artist but can perform the song. Oh FM 100...you have taught me well.

I stayed at the P and H talking with Jeff and his wife Michelle (Mechelle?) until about three in the morning...when Diana and I went to Krystal to indulge in some Krystal Chiks...because they're so good for you.

My day without tears was interesting. I ate at Fino's with Diana and we put in our applications for this apartment we are interested in. Then I met Tess and her two lovely daughters at the zoo. It was surprisingly lovely outside (cool and cloudy), but Saylah (?) still insisted that I needed to wear sandals. She kept grabbing my hand to drag me forward and warn me, 'wait til you see the polar bears!' Tess is infinitely patient with two girls. At one point Saylah ran up to her, grabbed her hands and said, 'I am so in love with Otters,' despite the fact that we were watching the sea lions.

By close to the end of the day I had bitterly reminded a young girl that is newly in love, that she is probably not in love and that she needs to wait and see and sat in grim silence for a time...and Tess still told me I was doing really well. She bought my Mango sorbet...for which I was grateful.

I ran into Chris and April at Target and we talked for a good long time about what have you...making each other laugh. It was nice. Then I bought "The Audacity of Hope" and a half gallon of Edy's Rocky Road ice cream. I went home...read...ate ice cream...and wanted to cry. Being in this place...it looks normal I suppose...but it doesn't really feel that way. I always feel kind of naked...and sore. My whole body feels sore. Sometimes...I think crying relieves a bit of that pain. But sometimes...there is not a catalyst...and I don't cry. I suppose thinking that it would be a good day when I didn't cry was a bit naive. I mean...I've had good days when I did cry...and not to say it wasn't a good day...because it was...but in and out, and up and down, I'm still in this naked painful place...and I suppose a good day is really just relative.

Craziness

This morning i thought to myself that I might make it through the day without crying. I drove to midtown after a shower to remove the thick film of insect repellent from my skin, and I sang to some music in the car, and thought, "maybe I won't cry today." I spent the afternoon watching television with Diana, which, probably isn't that bad...but I've just moved to Memphis from London. I've moved from a place where something is constantly happening to a place where nothing is happening....except the humidity, and I feel like I'm practically dead. Sitting on my ass for four hours at a time makes me hate myself even more...hate my...I don't know. So, at the end of the day...I went home and I cried. I walked into my mom's place and I gave her this teary look and said, "can I cry a little?" So we went to her room and we climbed into bed, and she told me to just talk...so I did. I rambled on and on about how I don't feel like I have a place here any more. Every one is one place, and I'm over here...in this crappy place...and I don't feel like I fit...like I can contribute...I rambled about how I should just go somewhere else and start completely fresh...how I don't know what I should do, but I'm scared to marry myself to a decision right now. My mom told me to slow down and be here for a minute...she pretty much told me to do what I'd been planning to do...but she emphasized that I would be going somewhere else in the future...I just had to figure out where the best place to go would be. Sometimes I get scared that I'll get scared...that if I stay here too long...I'll get overly comfortable again...and not be able to venture out and meet my goals.

Before I met him, I always felt like I was looking for someone. And, after I met him, I felt like I didn't need to look anymore...I thought I'd never have to worry about having to look again (because I'm just that naive)...and it made me happy...it made me feel safe. I don't feel safe any more. I feel like my searching will take over again...and instead of finding myself, I'll continue looking for someone else, and I'll forget my dreams. Is there a remedy for the desperately seeking soul? Is there something to calm the fear that I will be alone for the rest of my life...long enough to allow me to see clearly down the path towards my future...so that I might be more open...more prepared...to find someone that won't ask me to give anything up....or to wait.

So...I did not make it through the day without crying. Day 26. Not enough days yet, I suppose. That's just how it goes.

I'm Sorry

So...today was day 25 of being broken up with him, day 11 of actually being separated from him. I'm doing OKAY. I decided that I would do something nice for myself today and go out and buy some underwear that I really like...but I went to like....four different places, and no one had the exact type of underwear that I was looking for...so I didn't get any...because I'm sick of buying underwear that I hate because I can't find what I like. Thus...I did nothing for myself today. I cried a little, and thought...man...it's going to be a really good day when I get through it without crying.

I also got myself out of my bed, after my failed underwear adventure, and made it over to Grace's for a pre-memorial day cookout. I couldn't believe my ability to actually have conversations with people without breaking down and crying to them about how sad I am. I only broke once...technically. And let me just say this...I'm SORRY that I'm not happy enough to be cheerleader pumped about other people's fantastic relationship successes. I have to convince myself to stop thinking about the guy that broke up with me and how much I want him back...and I have to convince myself that I need to start coming to terms with the fact that I will never be able to have him back. This is the difficult journey in my head and heart. And so...for those of you that are experiencing relationship bliss...I am sorry...deep in the recesses of my heart, I am incredibly happy for you...there is a tiny version of me locked away somewhere behind all this baggage that is doing a little cheerleader toe touch for you..and flicking her pig tails. Which are cute. But the me outside, is stuck in a block of muck...trying to keep from crying at random times because the person she put stock in...gave up and sold out. Don't feel sorry for me. There is nothing to be sorry for...just understand my lack of enthusiasm...and take the minute expressions of happiness that I give as HUGE...perhaps even a high five...up high AND down low.