I know why I've had such a hard time writing lately. My mind is completely preoccupied with a situation that I haven't wanted to write about and therefore any other topic seems fluffy and unnecessary. I may as well just get this out right?
For the entire time I have been writing here, I had a boyfriend who I never wrote about. I don't know why I didn't... I guess because for one thing, people I know read this and I didn't need to give them an in depth look at my relationship. For another thing, deep down inside I have known for a long time that he is not the right one for me and I knew the end was inevitable. So why bother saying anything?
A couple of months ago, we broke up in a rather anticlimactic way. In fact, it coincided with my move so I was for the most part, doing just fine. I had so many new and different things going on. Plus, I felt a little bit relieved. Not because I didn't want to be with him, but because the impending reality had been whispering in my ear for a long time. Things about growing up and needing to figure it all out and not waste anymore time in my life.
The biggest problem with the separation is that he was my best friend. Although we were quite different in a number of key ways that would crop up down the line in the not-so-distant future and we both knew that, during the day to day we were amazingly matched. We laughed and talked and had so much fun together.
So I thought I was ready to be friends. I thought I could handle it. We got together a few weeks ago and things were great. Just like old times (in the friendship sense). Then over dinner, he told me he is seeing someone new. Someone dramatically younger than him and someone who he thinks could be "the one". I immediately lost my appetite.
This whole thing has been devastating for me. It has brought to the surface so many memories from the beginning when he felt that way about me. Ultimately knowing that we don't belong together has not been able to stop me from feeling so terrible. I can't stop myself from thinking things I shouldn't and I can't seem to get the whole mess out of my head.
I miss him in so many ways. And on top of it all, I know he genuinely wants to be friends with me. He has always felt the way I did about the friendship aspect of our relationship. I want to be friends too. But I can't even talk to him right now. I just can't. Not because I'm angry but because it just hurts so much. I'm still going over in my head what went wrong with us and at what point did he stop feeling like it was me who might be "the one". Never mind my own revelations - I know it's not rational.
I also know that on occasion, he reads this blog. I didn't want him to think that I was pining away for him, wanting to get back together. I'm not and I don't. I have a lot of mixed feelings. In some ways I feel angry - how could he have gotten over me so quickly? In some ways I feel nonsensical - I don't want him to be with someone else, even though I don't want him for myself. This is all a jumble of things that I don't want him to read about here because they are just words. I may feel a million different things from minute to minute and then they are gone. The real truth is I am just sad. I am mourning the loss of us and I am baffled that he is not. But I know that it will all be o.k. I know that I need to feel bad right now and that I will get over this.
And if he happens to be reading, well I guess it doesn't matter if he knows all of that.
¶ 9:09 AM
Monday, July 25, 2005
This morning I said to myself, "Self, come hell or high water, you are posting today." What does that even mean - hell or high water? It's kind of funny. Anyway, I fully intended to write something last Friday but I ended up actually having a ton of work to do. I've actually had a super busy couple of weeks at work. That's why I've gotten way behind on my blog reading (and writing). Oh well, enough of my excuses.
I'd like to tell you that I saw an outstandingly good movie that I would recommend to anyone. It is called Me and You and Everyone We Know and it is funny and great and amazing. Go see it now and report back to me.
Secondly, I have discovered a wonderful book called "29 and Counting: A Chick's Guide to Turning 30". I have only just started it and I feel like it is speaking directly to me. I almost started crying while I was reading, not because turning 30 is so awfully sad, but because this book has just been completely validating me and giving me hope. So if you are anywhere near the big 3-0 and are feeling the pressure, read this book.
O.K., now that I've gotten my movie and book recommendations out of the way, I'll tell you a little something else that's been on my mind. I realized yesterday that aside from coffee, I have drank (drunk? drinken?) nothing but water for so long I don't remember the last time I had anything else to drink. I realized this when I poured myself a glass of yummy mango juice and barely felt thirst quenched because it was so darn sweet.
Something else I've been tossing around in my head: I think that if you start seeing someone else soon after breaking up with someone, that means that your previous relationship meant nothing to you and that sucks. Just hypothetically.
Also I have had a life changing revelation: I am in desperate need of a bicycle. There are certain places in the city which are just too far to walk to and too ridiculously short to drive to. I am going to check my old friend craigslist. If I ride my bike I can't be followed by weirdos on foot.
And finally, I am so happy that it's that magical time of year again, Big Brother is back. You may recall that Big Brother is my only reality show I like. I was going to say it's a guilty pleasure but I actually have to confess that I have a real guilty pleasure and it's something I don't even want to admit to, even to you loyal readers. But I will because I am all about honesty in this space. Secretly, I have been enjoying and singing along with her when she comes on the radio. But I haven't bought the album, I swear!! Now what are your guilty pleasures? Come on, I shared mine.
¶ 4:50 PM
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
On Saturday afternoon, I was browsing in my local new age bookstore. The one that's located on the main street where everything is. Everything that I can walk to anyway. I picked up a book from a table about the secrets of the Davinci Code or something like that. I was looking at it when suddenly a random creepy guy started talking to me out of nowhere. He was complaining, rather strongly, about the author and how the book was not based on fact (um, duh, it's a novel not an encyclopedia). He started talking about a book that he claimed was fact based, the bible. I started to think that he was one of those religious fanatics that hangs out at new age bookstores waiting to tell people how evil everything is.
Not knowing what to do, I sort of politely nodded and said, "that's a good point" and started to turn away. He kept going and I continued nodding, "mmmhmmming", and trying to turn away. Finally I managed to get away from him but I didn't want to leave immediately thinking he might follow me or something. Plus, he was between me and the door.
I spent several minutes intensely scrutinizing the various crystals on the counter. Then, checking to see that he was not looking, I made my escape. I was glad to be away from him because he freaked me out a little. It's o.k. to talk to a stranger about a book, but it's not o.k. to start venting to a stranger, in an angry tone, about a book they've just been looking at. That is not friendly, it's frightening.
I ducked into a coffee shop two doors down. I waited in line, ordered an iced chai, paid for it, and turned to leave. Who do you think was standing there waiting for me just inside the door? That's right, it was the creepy guy. He started talking again right where he left off. He told me he had seen me in that book store a few times (that was honestly only the second time I'd been in there). He said he had been wanting to say something encouraging to me. Encouraging?? He started asking me questions about what I did and where I was from. I gave short vague answers and when I found an opening, said that I had to be going to meet someone.
Finally outside, I walked home as fast as I could, checking behind me and taking different streets than I normally would, just in case. It was creepy on so many levels but here are the most obvious - asking me 80 million questions, saying he'd seen me a few times, and getting visibly emotional about the Davinci Code. I wish politeness and social grace were not such ingrained characteristics. I wish that I had not been afraid to appear rude and said, "get away from me you weirdo!" Now I'm sort of afraid to walk up there again. What do I do if I see him and he tries to talk to me? Any ideas? After all, it was bound to happen eventually that I would have a run in with someone creepy, considering I live in the big city now. I better prepare myself for the next time something like that happens. Yikes!
¶ 5:03 PM
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Yesterday morning I had a headache. My usual dilemma with headaches is that if I don't eat a solid meal before taking an advil, I will get sick. So I thought I could just hang in there until lunch time. I don't know why I thought that because so many times I've been through this before where I think I can just wait to take something and then I feel worse and worse.
Before I could eat lunch however, I suddenly took a rapid turn for the worse. I broke into a cold sweat and got all shaky and nauseous. I told the coworkers in my department I wasn't feeling well and everyone kept saying things like, "you don't look well" or "you look pale" or "you look completely ashen". It was all very strange and if I had been of my right mind, I might've gone to look in the mirror because I would like to know what someone looks like when they look "ashen".
Anyway, they sent me home post haste. A block or so from the office, stuck at a red light, I realized that throwing up was inevitable. At first my mind raced to where I could pull over - I was in a residential area after all. Then I glanced quickly around the car to see if there was any sort of container I could use but really, I'm not sure what would be suitable in a situation like that. Finally in desperation I made sure no one was coming and I ran the red light, pulled down a side street where there was a woodsy clearing, hopped out and got sick while crouched down behind my car. Yes I know it's not a very attractive visual, but I'm telling a story here. Anyway, I wondered if anyone could see me, but I just didn't care. I noticed a school not far from where I was squatting. Sorry kids.
I dragged myself back into the car and managed to get the rest of the way home before round two hit. Then I put myself to bed for three hours and woke up feeling perfectly fine. It was just the weirdest thing. I'm guessing it was some sort of migraine. I actually get headaches that make me sick once every couple months or so but it usually hits me at night and I can usually pinpoint a trigger. Anyway, I felt just awful and for the record, I never leave work sick. My last sick day was back in December of '03.
But in retrospect, now that I'm feeling better, the idea of me running a red light and stumbling into the woods to throw up strikes me as a little humorous. But I have an even more humorous story about throwing up and here it is.
Years ago, maybe seven or eight to be exact, I had a first date with a guy who took me to a fine drinking establishment where I proceeded to drink seven white russians. The reason for my excess was that I was so nervous. I have a tendency to get horribly nervous on first (or second) dates and find a bit of courage in a bottle. Luckily, since I haven't been on a first date in 8 million years, I haven't exhibited that unfortunate vice recently.
Anyway, after about six white russians we were having a grand time laughing together like old pals and making friends with strangers. It was the seventh white russian that pushed me over the edge. We decided to call it a night and he drove me home. As we were getting closer I started to feel worse and worse. It got to the point where I wasn't even talking because I was afraid to open my mouth. When he pulled up in front of my house (my parents house to be exact because that's where I was still living), I turned to him, said "thanksIhadagreattime", jumped out of the car and practically ran up the front walk and into the house.
In the bathroom which happens to be adjacent to my parents bedroom, I kept knocking things over and making all kinds of noise in addition to the lovely throw up noises. I was thinking "oh my gosh, they are going to know I'm drunk for sure." The next day I casually told my mom, "I'm sorry if I woke you up when I got in last night, I accidentally knocked something over in the bathroom," to which she replied, "no I didn't hear a thing". And then, surprisingly, the guy asked me out for a second date anyway, even though he probably thought I was an alcoholic of some sort.
Now I would like feedback on two things - one, what sort of medical diagnosis would you make about my incident yesterday? It wasn't something I ate - the only thing I had eaten that morning was an odwalla breakfast bar. And secondly, I would really like to hear other people's funny stories about getting sick because misery loves company and I don't want to think I'm the only one who has humorous throw up stories.
¶ 4:25 PM
Monday, July 11, 2005
I feel like I haven't written in ages. I don't know if it's because I've been away from the computer since last Thursday or if I just don't feel like boring you with my drama, but regardless, I am still here.
I took a vacation day Friday and for once, actually felt like I had a nice long weekend. Today I was at an all day seminar out of the office. The seminar was about managing time. I am all for skill building and professional development and I truly did find it to be worthwhile. However, I just know that I will have a hard time applying it. It requires discipline and forethought and endless amounts of structure.
When I got home I couldn't get into my apartment. The front stairs had been fixed and were wet with concrete. Our landlord has yet to give us a key to the back door. I stood in the heat with a bag full of 40 pounds worth of brand new daily-planner on my arm and called the landlord on my cell. Because English is not his first language and he has a strong accent and a muddled way of speaking, I have to close my eyes and concentrate in order to understand what he's trying to say.
This time what he was trying to say was he couldn't find a key to our back door but in a little while, it would be o.k. to go in the front. I had to repeat myself a couple of times in order to get across my question, "how can I get in now?" To which he had no answer other than "you will be my house guest." He lives with his very Englishly-challenged family down the street and while they are sweet, I think too much focusing would give me a headache. I give him a lot of credit though. Anyone who is multi-lingual, even just enough to get by, is admirable in my book. I can't imagine that at all, especially when the two languages are so entirely different. I saw some educational program not long ago (why do I feel like I'm always saying that?) about some guy with an amazing brain that learned to speak fluent Icelandic in a week's time.
But I digress. The landlord and his family came by to test if the front steps were dry and managed to explain to me through demonstration how to climb them gingerly. Perhaps if my landlord had managed his time better he could've ensured we had the key to the back door before making the front door inaccessible. It's not like I can just stay home for days. I have to get back to work sometime and start managing my time.
Work has been the only thing to keep me sane lately. But, and maybe this is really paranoid, I always worry that they've gotten along just fine without me there and they will realize they don't need me after all. Does anyone else think that way? Oh well, at least I can manage my time a little better than I could yesterday, and one of my goals was to write something. This has been sort of a rambly post but that epitomizes my relationship with structure so there you go.
¶ 8:43 PM
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
When I was eleven a boy in my class had a crush on me. I knew this because his friend told me and because I would catch him looking at me across the room, and I would see him start to blush when our eyes met. This was all a big deal to me because I was shy and awkward and book-wormish and to the best of my knowledge, had never before been the object of anyone's desire. So after making sure that I could trust his intentions (a couple of weeks went by and he still seemed to like me as fervently as ever) I started to like him back. All of my youthful fantasies were pinned on the upcoming end of the year dance. I expected we would end up dancing and then have a passionate romance of sitting together in the cafeteria and holding hands on the bus, or whatever an eleven year old envisions a passionate romance consisting of.
The day of the dance I looked really good, far exceeding mid-eighties middle school appearance expectations. The important thing was I felt good. However, after a little while of sitting and waiting, it started to slowly dawn on me that he wasn't going to ask me to dance. In fact, it was strange how he kept dancing with another girl in our class. Song after song went by and the boy who supposedly liked ME repeatedly danced with someone else. At one point I even overheard a comment made by one of the other boys about the seemingly happy couple, along the lines of "woo hoo, check them out!"
Finally I approached the boy's friend. "I thought you said he liked me," I said. I was sure there was some logical explanation for this sudden turn of events. "He did, but now he likes her," he replied matter-of-factly as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I stood there, watching the boy who was supposed to be my passionate romance, dancing with someone else and I wondered, not for the last time in my life, how boys can be so fickle. One minute they are blushing at you across the classroom and the next, you find your toothbrush in a box of empty promises while they're off chasing after the next shiny thing that happens to catch their eye.
¶ 8:30 PM