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?