I don't know what, if anything, I am going to do with these ramblings. I will probably nuke it out of orbit, although Google never forgets, but sometimes, I just need to write. And my penmanship sucks.
I was on the phone today with an old friend of ours. He was a groomsman at our wedding, I remember talking him off the ledge when his then-girlfriend got knocked up and he wasn't that into her. This was 15 years ago, and that girlfriend is now his wife, and the unplanned baby has a younger brother. He is part of my history, and also a client.
We were on the phone for an hour as I gathered information and I was all business. Just the facts, asking questions, swearing and joking along the way. All was good until the end of the conversation, when he asked me "K, are you and B on civil terms?"
I retreated to familiar territory and assured him that B and I could never really be on acrimonious terms. I loved B too long and too much to wage a war, or otherwise become his enemy. And as I said these words to him, the unthinkable happened: my voice cracked. I think it was only apparent to me, and I was highly aware of it, but I was mortified. I am still getting choked up over B? What the motherfucking hell is this shit? And letting my voice crack while talking to a client, even if that client knows the history of me and B? Jesus, how fucking pathetic.
And it got worse. Said FOB told me that he no longer knew B and what he knew, he didn't like. I confess that I almost went into defending mode out of reflex, as I have never spoken ill of B to any of our mutual friends. I didn't today, either. At least, nothing I haven't said directly to B. Most of what I say is how the man I knew, loved and admired no longer exists. And it truly breaks my heart that he didn't just break my heart. He broke the hearts of a lot of his friends, who also no longer admire him. And I can't explain why this reduced me to tears today, but it did.
I was also reminded of an incident early on in the separation. I was walking my (then) new dog around the lake, and stopped in at his place of work (which is often the space of social gatherings). I didn't know there was an event going on, and although B warmly welcomed me in, I quickly realized I didn't belong there. I was sweaty and gross (I had done three miles before I arrived), I hadn't planned on being seen anywhere, and I wasn't mentally or emotionally prepared. Long story short, I ended up bursting into tears while petting my dog. I was talking to an amazing artist and friend who didn't quite know what to do, but God love her, she just kept talking and saying "K, you will be okay."
I was so mortified, and yet I couldn't stop crying. I was literally sobbing in the middle of a crowded room, except I was hunched over, petting my dog, and wondering how the fuck I was going to get out of there. Mercifully, my friend J appeared, assessed the situation, and realized I needed to get out of there. She devised an exit strategy, and for that, I will always be grateful. It was the very first time in my life that I had no control over my emotions and it was so humiliating.
Today, on the phone with K, I had the exact same feeling when my voice started to crack. I don't want B back and haven't for years. But I think I may need to get some professional help to get these uncontrollable emotions in check, if only to control a cracking voice. Three fucking years? I should be over it.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Tentative Return
Well, wow. Almost a month. It has been too long and yet not nearly long enough.
I am embarking on an unplugging project. I don't really know exactly where I want to go, which almost always means I will meander for a while before I figure out the destination, but it means less time online.
I am unhappy. Plain and simple. Unhappy with a lot of things and I have done next to nothing to improve my situation. I have been standing still for over three years, trying to maintain some semblance of balance while events in my life completely upended. I thought I was being wise and cautious and measured, but in truth, I have just avoided any responsibility and culpability. It was easy to write about it, but far more difficult to actually do something about it. I have reacted, not acted, and I have become a person I barely recognize.
Usually, grand plans accompany these moments of quasi-epiphany. Make lists, resolutions, changes - all of which have the lasting power of a yo-yo diet. Hasn't worked out that well for me, despite having an inordinate amount of luck where many things are concerned. But today, something in me snapped. Or maybe just creaked. I reached a point of thorough disgust with myself, but perhaps most encouraging, hitting some kind of wall that makes me change course. I so fucking need this momentum to get to where I really want to be. A great best friend. A treasured sister/daughter/aunt/cousin. A cherished partner/lover/girlfriend. I am so far from that at the moment, and while normally that makes me want to check the fuck out, right now, that just makes me WANT to get up in the morning and do better.
I have always had a safety net, particularly with B, but also with family and friends who could forgive me any of my many transgressions. I think this particular tumble down the rabbit hole was occasioned by the realization that I no longer have the emotional safety net I always thought I had. This is not a failure of anyone in my life. This is my failure to nurture the relationships that matter most.
Tomorrow is my 37th birthday and I am in a terrible mood. Mad at myself for not being where I want to be and angry at how far I have to go to get there. How did I do this to myself? Why the fuck did I do this to myself?
And I am irrationally angry. Not a single family member or friend tried to arrange a get-together. I know I will get a dozen phone calls and emails tomorrow, wishing me a happy birthday, but it says something about me that no one in my immediate surroundings wanted to spend some time with me. I know that part of it is because I just haven't been a good friend/sister/niece/cousin in the recent past and have set new standards for being a recluse. And still. I am angry that the only person who asked me to have dinner with them tomorrow was my ex-husband.
As I am trying not to date him any longer -- and really, what would be more ironic than dating my ex-husband on the sly from his girlfriend -- I have scheduled a date with myself. Walk the lake with Darby, hit the gym (oh, and I re-sprained my ankle worse than last year and it still hurts, three weeks after the Superbowl Sunday injury), hit a couple of movies, and have dinner by myself at a restaurant I have been wanting to try. I am going to spend it alone, and that both hurts and comforts me. I am at least familiar with how I have let myself down.
I am embarking on an unplugging project. I don't really know exactly where I want to go, which almost always means I will meander for a while before I figure out the destination, but it means less time online.
I am unhappy. Plain and simple. Unhappy with a lot of things and I have done next to nothing to improve my situation. I have been standing still for over three years, trying to maintain some semblance of balance while events in my life completely upended. I thought I was being wise and cautious and measured, but in truth, I have just avoided any responsibility and culpability. It was easy to write about it, but far more difficult to actually do something about it. I have reacted, not acted, and I have become a person I barely recognize.
Usually, grand plans accompany these moments of quasi-epiphany. Make lists, resolutions, changes - all of which have the lasting power of a yo-yo diet. Hasn't worked out that well for me, despite having an inordinate amount of luck where many things are concerned. But today, something in me snapped. Or maybe just creaked. I reached a point of thorough disgust with myself, but perhaps most encouraging, hitting some kind of wall that makes me change course. I so fucking need this momentum to get to where I really want to be. A great best friend. A treasured sister/daughter/aunt/cousin. A cherished partner/lover/girlfriend. I am so far from that at the moment, and while normally that makes me want to check the fuck out, right now, that just makes me WANT to get up in the morning and do better.
I have always had a safety net, particularly with B, but also with family and friends who could forgive me any of my many transgressions. I think this particular tumble down the rabbit hole was occasioned by the realization that I no longer have the emotional safety net I always thought I had. This is not a failure of anyone in my life. This is my failure to nurture the relationships that matter most.
Tomorrow is my 37th birthday and I am in a terrible mood. Mad at myself for not being where I want to be and angry at how far I have to go to get there. How did I do this to myself? Why the fuck did I do this to myself?
And I am irrationally angry. Not a single family member or friend tried to arrange a get-together. I know I will get a dozen phone calls and emails tomorrow, wishing me a happy birthday, but it says something about me that no one in my immediate surroundings wanted to spend some time with me. I know that part of it is because I just haven't been a good friend/sister/niece/cousin in the recent past and have set new standards for being a recluse. And still. I am angry that the only person who asked me to have dinner with them tomorrow was my ex-husband.
As I am trying not to date him any longer -- and really, what would be more ironic than dating my ex-husband on the sly from his girlfriend -- I have scheduled a date with myself. Walk the lake with Darby, hit the gym (oh, and I re-sprained my ankle worse than last year and it still hurts, three weeks after the Superbowl Sunday injury), hit a couple of movies, and have dinner by myself at a restaurant I have been wanting to try. I am going to spend it alone, and that both hurts and comforts me. I am at least familiar with how I have let myself down.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The Upside of Reruns
The Return of Writer Guy!
He was, understandably, frustrated with me, and I did little to allay that frustration. To be honest, I was relieved when he backed off, as I didn't have it in me to really get into a relationship, but felt pretty stupid about that. I felt ridiculous every time I told him I wasn't ready for anything substantive between us because I never say shit like that. I hated how it sounded, every time I backed off, as I sounded like that chick, and I never wanted to be that chick. I just knew I wasn't in any position to have a boyfriend, and when it comes to relationships, I go up to 11. I am an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to matters of the heart.
I had just put a fake log on the fire and was settling in for a night of quiet. Book in hand, FoodTV shows in the background, yoga pants, emanating dried sweat from a run with Darbs, and breath reeking of the tuna sandwich I had just eaten. Life was pleasant and comfortable. And then, the goddamn buzzer rang, alerting me to a visitor. I stealthily sneaked out on the deck and saw who it was, and was fully prepared not to answer the call. Then he started singing. Yes, he sung loudly and badly, to the tune of "I Hear You Knocking," but with much cheesier lyrics.
It was ballsy and honest, so I answered the call. I told him I was settled in for the night, but he could come up. That blew his mind away, as I rarely let him in. He came up, looking fantastic, and I was there in my yoga pants and dried sweat. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other in weeks, and I expected some awkwardness. He scooped up Darby, who hates everyone but me and the P and him, and said "shower, hot stuff, let's sing." I was all proud at my moment of looking like, well, how I look when I am lounging about the house, and said "no, I want to stay in." He said "how well has that been working out for you, [his silly nickname for me]? Take a shower and let's go sing."
I did. I jumped in the shower and got fully ready in less than half an hour. I came out of the bathroom and he whistled at me and said "damn, you clean up good and fast." He called a cab and we set off for that insane karaoke joint in Kent. The whole way there, he acted as though it was perfectly normal for us to resume this whole thing, despite not having spoken in weeks. He politely informed me that he was involved with someone else, but that he just wanted to hang out with me tonight.
Buzzkill. Not that he was seeing someone, as I expected that, but that he thought it was okay to go out with me nevertheless. I had a mild wig out in the cab about that, insisting that I was so far from wanting to pursue in someone involved with another person, and if I were the current object of his affection, I would really resent this whole outing. He was quite taken aback by that and said "K, I always thought of us as friends first, and hopefully more. I'm not shooting for the 'more' tonight, I just wanted to hang out with you."
Yes, that fucking line worked on me. It was a shit week, capped off by a shit day, so I was quite delighted to feel like desired company. We walked in, and he put his arm around the small of my back.I tensed, and he felt it and whispered in my ear "you can be attracted to your friends." When we sat down, I grabbed his hands and asked him to tell me about the screenplay he had been working on. The look on his face positively melted me, as he clearly loves someone taking an interest in his work. He now has an option on that screenplay and shyly asked if I would look over the contract. I said yes.
Then, the shots came. I don't do shots, as a general rule. I prefer to sip. I should add that the shots came because the man can sing. He sang Desperado and he killed it. After a shot, he asked me if I would sing Lying Eyes with him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, so I sang back up, harmony vocals with him. Another round of shots. I was feeling no pain at this point, only a strong desire for my bed, and then he prodded me to do a solo act.
I belted out a Snow Patrol song - Open Your Eyes. I have a history with that song, and although I wasn't feeling particularly maudlin, I apparently had my eyes closed for most of my rendition. Writer Guy led a standing round of applause, but truthfully, at that moment, I just wanted to be home alone. When I got back to the table, he was markedly more affectionate and flirty.
He's so vain. He probably thinks that song is about him, he's so vain.
Our moment of truth came when he sang this song, albeit drunkenly, but earnestly.
You would have had to have seen him sing it. It was good.
Anyway, we cabbed it back here, holding hands the whole way back. That was surprisingly intimate. When we hit my condo, where I am certain he thought I would invite him up for some really good sex, I balked. I told him that I didn't want to get involved with anyone involved with someone else, and he tried to assure me it wasn't serious. I had no reason to doubt him, but at that particular moment, I was sure my judgment was dubious at best. Suffice to say, I once again left him blue balled and likely pissed off, and that was never my intention.
I think we can transition into a great friendship, if we can both let go of the attraction. We have good chemistry, which is hard to find, but our timing is still so off.
He was, understandably, frustrated with me, and I did little to allay that frustration. To be honest, I was relieved when he backed off, as I didn't have it in me to really get into a relationship, but felt pretty stupid about that. I felt ridiculous every time I told him I wasn't ready for anything substantive between us because I never say shit like that. I hated how it sounded, every time I backed off, as I sounded like that chick, and I never wanted to be that chick. I just knew I wasn't in any position to have a boyfriend, and when it comes to relationships, I go up to 11. I am an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to matters of the heart.
I had just put a fake log on the fire and was settling in for a night of quiet. Book in hand, FoodTV shows in the background, yoga pants, emanating dried sweat from a run with Darbs, and breath reeking of the tuna sandwich I had just eaten. Life was pleasant and comfortable. And then, the goddamn buzzer rang, alerting me to a visitor. I stealthily sneaked out on the deck and saw who it was, and was fully prepared not to answer the call. Then he started singing. Yes, he sung loudly and badly, to the tune of "I Hear You Knocking," but with much cheesier lyrics.
It was ballsy and honest, so I answered the call. I told him I was settled in for the night, but he could come up. That blew his mind away, as I rarely let him in. He came up, looking fantastic, and I was there in my yoga pants and dried sweat. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other in weeks, and I expected some awkwardness. He scooped up Darby, who hates everyone but me and the P and him, and said "shower, hot stuff, let's sing." I was all proud at my moment of looking like, well, how I look when I am lounging about the house, and said "no, I want to stay in." He said "how well has that been working out for you, [his silly nickname for me]? Take a shower and let's go sing."
I did. I jumped in the shower and got fully ready in less than half an hour. I came out of the bathroom and he whistled at me and said "damn, you clean up good and fast." He called a cab and we set off for that insane karaoke joint in Kent. The whole way there, he acted as though it was perfectly normal for us to resume this whole thing, despite not having spoken in weeks. He politely informed me that he was involved with someone else, but that he just wanted to hang out with me tonight.
Buzzkill. Not that he was seeing someone, as I expected that, but that he thought it was okay to go out with me nevertheless. I had a mild wig out in the cab about that, insisting that I was so far from wanting to pursue in someone involved with another person, and if I were the current object of his affection, I would really resent this whole outing. He was quite taken aback by that and said "K, I always thought of us as friends first, and hopefully more. I'm not shooting for the 'more' tonight, I just wanted to hang out with you."
Yes, that fucking line worked on me. It was a shit week, capped off by a shit day, so I was quite delighted to feel like desired company. We walked in, and he put his arm around the small of my back.I tensed, and he felt it and whispered in my ear "you can be attracted to your friends." When we sat down, I grabbed his hands and asked him to tell me about the screenplay he had been working on. The look on his face positively melted me, as he clearly loves someone taking an interest in his work. He now has an option on that screenplay and shyly asked if I would look over the contract. I said yes.
Then, the shots came. I don't do shots, as a general rule. I prefer to sip. I should add that the shots came because the man can sing. He sang Desperado and he killed it. After a shot, he asked me if I would sing Lying Eyes with him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, so I sang back up, harmony vocals with him. Another round of shots. I was feeling no pain at this point, only a strong desire for my bed, and then he prodded me to do a solo act.
I belted out a Snow Patrol song - Open Your Eyes. I have a history with that song, and although I wasn't feeling particularly maudlin, I apparently had my eyes closed for most of my rendition. Writer Guy led a standing round of applause, but truthfully, at that moment, I just wanted to be home alone. When I got back to the table, he was markedly more affectionate and flirty.
He's so vain. He probably thinks that song is about him, he's so vain.
Our moment of truth came when he sang this song, albeit drunkenly, but earnestly.
You would have had to have seen him sing it. It was good.
Anyway, we cabbed it back here, holding hands the whole way back. That was surprisingly intimate. When we hit my condo, where I am certain he thought I would invite him up for some really good sex, I balked. I told him that I didn't want to get involved with anyone involved with someone else, and he tried to assure me it wasn't serious. I had no reason to doubt him, but at that particular moment, I was sure my judgment was dubious at best. Suffice to say, I once again left him blue balled and likely pissed off, and that was never my intention.
I think we can transition into a great friendship, if we can both let go of the attraction. We have good chemistry, which is hard to find, but our timing is still so off.
The Upside of Reruns
The Return of Writer Guy!
He was, understandably, frustrated with me, and I did little to allay that frustration. To be honest, I was relieved when he backed off, as I didn't have it in me to really get into a relationship, but felt pretty stupid about that. I felt ridiculous every time I told him I wasn't ready for anything substantive between us because I never say shit like that. I hated how it sounded, every time I backed off, as I sounded like that chick, and I never wanted to be that chick. I just knew I wasn't in any position to have a boyfriend, and when it comes to relationships, I go up to 11. I am an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to matters of the heart.
I had just put a fake log on the fire and was settling in for a night of quiet. Book in hand, FoodTV shows in the background, yoga pants, emanating dried sweat from a run with Darbs, and breath reeking of the tuna sandwich I had just eaten. Life was pleasant and comfortable. And then, the goddamn buzzer rang, alerting me to a visitor. I stealthily sneaked;
{]]'[p;/l
\'[[]
out on the deck and saw who it was, and was fully prepared not to answer the call. Then he started singing. Yes, he sung loudly and badly, to the tune of "I Hear You Knocking," but with much cheesier lyrics.
It was ballsy and honest, so I answered the page. I told him I was settled in for the night, but he could come up. That blew his mind away, as I rarely let him in. He came up, looking fantastic, and I was there in my yoga pants and dried sweat. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other in weeks, and I expected some awkwardness. He scooped up Darby, who hates everyone but me and the P and him, and said "shower, hot stuff, let's sing." I was all proud at my moment of looking like, well, how I look when I am lounging about the house, and said "no, I want to stay in." He said "how well has that been working out for you, [his silly nickname for me}? Take a shower and let's go sing."
I did. I jumped in the shower and got fully ready in less than half an hour. I came out of the bathroom and he whistled at me and said "damn, you clean up good and fast." He called a cab and we set off for that insane karaoke joint in Kent. The whole way there, he acted as though it was perfectly normal for us to resume this whole thing, despite not having spoken in weeks. He politely informed me that he was involved with someone else, but that he just wanted to hang out with me tonight.
Buzz kill. Not that he was seeing someone, as I expected that, but that he thought it was okay to go out with me nevertheless. I had a mild wig out in the cab about that, insisting that I was so far from interesting in someone involved with another person, and if I were the current object of his affection, I would really resent this whole outing. He was quite taken aback by that and said "K, I always thought of us as friends first, and hopefully more. I'm not shooting for the 'more' tonight, I just wanted to hang out with you."
Yes, that fucking line worked on me. It was a shit week, capped off by a shit day, so I was quite delighted to feel like desired company. We walked in, and he put his other around the small of my back.I tensed, and he felt it and whispered in my ear "you can be attracted to your friends." When we sat down, I grabbed his hands and asked him to tell me about the screenplay he had been working on. The look on his face positively melted me, as he clearly loves someone taking an interest in his work. He now has an option on that screenplay and shyly asked if I would look over the contract. I said yes.
Then, the shots came. I don't do shots, as a general rule. I prefer to sip. I should add that the shots came because the man can sing. He sang Desperado and he killed it. After a shot, he asked me if I would sing Lying Eyes with him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, so I sang back up, harmony vocals with him. Another round of shots. I was feeling no pain at this point, only a strong desire for my bed, and then he prodded me to do a solo act.
I belted out a Snow Patrol song - Open Your Eyes. I have a history with that song, and although I wasn't feeling particularly maudlin, I apparently had my eyes closed for most of my rendition. Writer Guy led a standing round of applause, but truthfully, at that moment, I just wanted to be home alone. When I got back to the table, he was markedly more affectionate and flirty.
He's so vain. He probably thinks that song is about him, he's so vain.
Our moment of truth came when he sang this song, albeit drunkenly, but earnestly.
You would have had to have seen him sing it. It was good.
Anyway, we cabbed it back here, holding hands the whole way back. That was surprisingly intimate. When we hit my condo, where I am certain he thought I would invite him up for some really good sex, I balked. I told him that I didn't want to get involved with anyone involved with someone else, and he tried to assure me it wasn't serious. I had no reason to doubt him, but at that particular moment, I was sure my judgment was dubious at best. Suffice to say, I once again left him blue balled and likely pissed off, and that was never my intention.
I think we can transition into a great friendship, if we can both let go of the attraction. We have good chemistry, which is hard to find, but our timing is still so off.
He was, understandably, frustrated with me, and I did little to allay that frustration. To be honest, I was relieved when he backed off, as I didn't have it in me to really get into a relationship, but felt pretty stupid about that. I felt ridiculous every time I told him I wasn't ready for anything substantive between us because I never say shit like that. I hated how it sounded, every time I backed off, as I sounded like that chick, and I never wanted to be that chick. I just knew I wasn't in any position to have a boyfriend, and when it comes to relationships, I go up to 11. I am an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to matters of the heart.
I had just put a fake log on the fire and was settling in for a night of quiet. Book in hand, FoodTV shows in the background, yoga pants, emanating dried sweat from a run with Darbs, and breath reeking of the tuna sandwich I had just eaten. Life was pleasant and comfortable. And then, the goddamn buzzer rang, alerting me to a visitor. I stealthily sneaked;
{]]'[p;/l
\'[[]
out on the deck and saw who it was, and was fully prepared not to answer the call. Then he started singing. Yes, he sung loudly and badly, to the tune of "I Hear You Knocking," but with much cheesier lyrics.
It was ballsy and honest, so I answered the page. I told him I was settled in for the night, but he could come up. That blew his mind away, as I rarely let him in. He came up, looking fantastic, and I was there in my yoga pants and dried sweat. We hadn't seen or spoken to each other in weeks, and I expected some awkwardness. He scooped up Darby, who hates everyone but me and the P and him, and said "shower, hot stuff, let's sing." I was all proud at my moment of looking like, well, how I look when I am lounging about the house, and said "no, I want to stay in." He said "how well has that been working out for you, [his silly nickname for me}? Take a shower and let's go sing."
I did. I jumped in the shower and got fully ready in less than half an hour. I came out of the bathroom and he whistled at me and said "damn, you clean up good and fast." He called a cab and we set off for that insane karaoke joint in Kent. The whole way there, he acted as though it was perfectly normal for us to resume this whole thing, despite not having spoken in weeks. He politely informed me that he was involved with someone else, but that he just wanted to hang out with me tonight.
Buzz kill. Not that he was seeing someone, as I expected that, but that he thought it was okay to go out with me nevertheless. I had a mild wig out in the cab about that, insisting that I was so far from interesting in someone involved with another person, and if I were the current object of his affection, I would really resent this whole outing. He was quite taken aback by that and said "K, I always thought of us as friends first, and hopefully more. I'm not shooting for the 'more' tonight, I just wanted to hang out with you."
Yes, that fucking line worked on me. It was a shit week, capped off by a shit day, so I was quite delighted to feel like desired company. We walked in, and he put his other around the small of my back.I tensed, and he felt it and whispered in my ear "you can be attracted to your friends." When we sat down, I grabbed his hands and asked him to tell me about the screenplay he had been working on. The look on his face positively melted me, as he clearly loves someone taking an interest in his work. He now has an option on that screenplay and shyly asked if I would look over the contract. I said yes.
Then, the shots came. I don't do shots, as a general rule. I prefer to sip. I should add that the shots came because the man can sing. He sang Desperado and he killed it. After a shot, he asked me if I would sing Lying Eyes with him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, so I sang back up, harmony vocals with him. Another round of shots. I was feeling no pain at this point, only a strong desire for my bed, and then he prodded me to do a solo act.
I belted out a Snow Patrol song - Open Your Eyes. I have a history with that song, and although I wasn't feeling particularly maudlin, I apparently had my eyes closed for most of my rendition. Writer Guy led a standing round of applause, but truthfully, at that moment, I just wanted to be home alone. When I got back to the table, he was markedly more affectionate and flirty.
He's so vain. He probably thinks that song is about him, he's so vain.
Our moment of truth came when he sang this song, albeit drunkenly, but earnestly.
You would have had to have seen him sing it. It was good.
Anyway, we cabbed it back here, holding hands the whole way back. That was surprisingly intimate. When we hit my condo, where I am certain he thought I would invite him up for some really good sex, I balked. I told him that I didn't want to get involved with anyone involved with someone else, and he tried to assure me it wasn't serious. I had no reason to doubt him, but at that particular moment, I was sure my judgment was dubious at best. Suffice to say, I once again left him blue balled and likely pissed off, and that was never my intention.
I think we can transition into a great friendship, if we can both let go of the attraction. We have good chemistry, which is hard to find, but our timing is still so off.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Things I Know To Be True
5 things I believe:
1. Scientology is freaking weird.
2. Tom Cruise is delusional beyond any imagination.
3. Britney Spears won't make it through the year.
4. American Idol is utterly unwatchable. With perhaps this one exception:
5. I need a three day weekend.
5 things I don't believe:
1. Katie Holmes ran the NYC marathon.
2. I need the new Mac laptop.
3. Project Runway is as engaging as it has been in season's past.
4. Getting a cat for a companion to my dog is a good idea.
5. I will cross off all of my to-do items this week.
I had a maddening day, even though parts of it were reassuring and positive. Am still kind of sorting through it, but suffice to say, my boss senses my apathy and is making an emotional play to keep me around. It was sort of what I needed, and yet the very last thing I wanted. Fuck, let this week be over and give me three days to recharge.
1. Scientology is freaking weird.
2. Tom Cruise is delusional beyond any imagination.
3. Britney Spears won't make it through the year.
4. American Idol is utterly unwatchable. With perhaps this one exception:
5. I need a three day weekend.
5 things I don't believe:
1. Katie Holmes ran the NYC marathon.
2. I need the new Mac laptop.
3. Project Runway is as engaging as it has been in season's past.
4. Getting a cat for a companion to my dog is a good idea.
5. I will cross off all of my to-do items this week.
I had a maddening day, even though parts of it were reassuring and positive. Am still kind of sorting through it, but suffice to say, my boss senses my apathy and is making an emotional play to keep me around. It was sort of what I needed, and yet the very last thing I wanted. Fuck, let this week be over and give me three days to recharge.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Cravings
I am usually a pretty evenly balanced person. I don't get (typically) get depressed, I don't have manic highs, I don't binge eat, and I don't obsess. My mantra has long been "in all things balance." I am comfortable in the middle and not at the extremes.
Yet, as I climb out from the rabbit hole, I find myself absolutely craving certain foods. Now, I am prone to burger cravings fairly regularly, and indulge them because I believe in the healing powers of a great hamburger and fries. I also routinely need sushi, as it is "clean food" that tends to cleanse the mind and soul, plus the wasabi clears up any congestion or ickiness that I have. And yes, a few times of year, I just need Thai food and the rice noodley goodness that is Phad See Iw. But by and large, I have never understood the Ben-and-Jerry's-in-the-middle-of-the-night thing, or PMS chocolate cravings, or other such stereotypes. I don't ever think about candy or chocolate or ice cream (I actually can't eat more than three bites of the latter), and I can't remember the last time I ate something from a vending machine or convenience store.
Yet in the past two weeks, I have had crazy cravings. Thai, sushi, burgers, pizza - everything that I usually partake in moderation throughout the year. I haven't eaten a lot of anything, at least in one sitting, but in the past two weeks, I had leftover pizza, Thai noodles, crab wontons, egg flower soup, half a burger and (this one was a particularly weird craving) spaghetti bolognese in my refrigerator. I am a firm believer in indulging your cravings, so long as they are occasional and not regular. Otherwise, you get that whole feeling of deprivation, and when you go on a bender, you go nuts.
I am fortunate to live a life where I have to watch what I eat, and I am always mindful of that. I have never been an overeater or junk food person, and when I gain weight, it is always related to my level of exercise. Genetics sucks, but I have to play the cards I was dealt. Eat sensibly, most of the time, stay balanced with exercise, and eat whatever the hell I want if I really want it. But this weird two weeks of craving seemed almost manic. I ordered pizza one night last week and ate a single slice, after I heated it in a cast iron pan on the stove (I need a really crispy crust). I ordered two Thai dishes, ate about three bites of each, and they served as leftovers for the next three days. I have had leftover egg flower soup for breakfast nearly every day for the past five. I needed a medium rare burger tonight with steak fries, and I will have the other half for lunch tomorrow.
I thought it might be PMS, but then I looked at the calendar. Not so much. On one hand, I haven't had an appetite in nearly three years, so maybe I should be grateful. Yes, I have clearly eaten in those years, as I love dining out and trying the culinary creations of talented chefs, but I haven't been hungry in a long time. Thing is, this isn't really hunger. My stomach isn't rumbling and I am not light-headed because I forgot to eat the day before. This is pregnancy-style craving (No. No, not a chance. Nope.) and it is unsettling because I have never experienced such an intense desire for certain foods in a concentrated period of time. As I said, I used to indulge them when they came because they weren't a regular occurrence, but now, I have to resist. I can't (and don't) want to live on takeout or delivery, as I prefer to make my own food.
So my little bender has to come to an end, even though I enjoyed the idea of waking up to (reheated) hot soup or noodles, or a crisped up slice of pizza. It was sort of homey to look in my refrigerator and see a ton of options. But tonight, I tossed out all of the leftover containers, and roasted a chicken (great recipe, by the way) and onions and garlic, and chopped up a huge salad to enjoy for the rest of the week. Darbs and I went for an hour walk tonight in the still frozen snow and I am steering myself back to equilibrium. I don't ever want to be that chick who won't eat certain foods, but I need to get back to the middle of the spectrum.
And yet, even as I type this, full from my salad and roasted chicken quesadilla, I find myself fantasizing about how delicious a few bites of lasagna would taste. There is probably some insight to be gained by the fact that I only crave the savory (not sweet) things in life.
Unrelatd - this is hardly a decent picture of me, but I love it of Keegan. It completely captures him. My sister is equally unable to take a bad picture.
Yet, as I climb out from the rabbit hole, I find myself absolutely craving certain foods. Now, I am prone to burger cravings fairly regularly, and indulge them because I believe in the healing powers of a great hamburger and fries. I also routinely need sushi, as it is "clean food" that tends to cleanse the mind and soul, plus the wasabi clears up any congestion or ickiness that I have. And yes, a few times of year, I just need Thai food and the rice noodley goodness that is Phad See Iw. But by and large, I have never understood the Ben-and-Jerry's-in-the-middle-of-the-night thing, or PMS chocolate cravings, or other such stereotypes. I don't ever think about candy or chocolate or ice cream (I actually can't eat more than three bites of the latter), and I can't remember the last time I ate something from a vending machine or convenience store.
Yet in the past two weeks, I have had crazy cravings. Thai, sushi, burgers, pizza - everything that I usually partake in moderation throughout the year. I haven't eaten a lot of anything, at least in one sitting, but in the past two weeks, I had leftover pizza, Thai noodles, crab wontons, egg flower soup, half a burger and (this one was a particularly weird craving) spaghetti bolognese in my refrigerator. I am a firm believer in indulging your cravings, so long as they are occasional and not regular. Otherwise, you get that whole feeling of deprivation, and when you go on a bender, you go nuts.
I am fortunate to live a life where I have to watch what I eat, and I am always mindful of that. I have never been an overeater or junk food person, and when I gain weight, it is always related to my level of exercise. Genetics sucks, but I have to play the cards I was dealt. Eat sensibly, most of the time, stay balanced with exercise, and eat whatever the hell I want if I really want it. But this weird two weeks of craving seemed almost manic. I ordered pizza one night last week and ate a single slice, after I heated it in a cast iron pan on the stove (I need a really crispy crust). I ordered two Thai dishes, ate about three bites of each, and they served as leftovers for the next three days. I have had leftover egg flower soup for breakfast nearly every day for the past five. I needed a medium rare burger tonight with steak fries, and I will have the other half for lunch tomorrow.
I thought it might be PMS, but then I looked at the calendar. Not so much. On one hand, I haven't had an appetite in nearly three years, so maybe I should be grateful. Yes, I have clearly eaten in those years, as I love dining out and trying the culinary creations of talented chefs, but I haven't been hungry in a long time. Thing is, this isn't really hunger. My stomach isn't rumbling and I am not light-headed because I forgot to eat the day before. This is pregnancy-style craving (No. No, not a chance. Nope.) and it is unsettling because I have never experienced such an intense desire for certain foods in a concentrated period of time. As I said, I used to indulge them when they came because they weren't a regular occurrence, but now, I have to resist. I can't (and don't) want to live on takeout or delivery, as I prefer to make my own food.
So my little bender has to come to an end, even though I enjoyed the idea of waking up to (reheated) hot soup or noodles, or a crisped up slice of pizza. It was sort of homey to look in my refrigerator and see a ton of options. But tonight, I tossed out all of the leftover containers, and roasted a chicken (great recipe, by the way) and onions and garlic, and chopped up a huge salad to enjoy for the rest of the week. Darbs and I went for an hour walk tonight in the still frozen snow and I am steering myself back to equilibrium. I don't ever want to be that chick who won't eat certain foods, but I need to get back to the middle of the spectrum.
And yet, even as I type this, full from my salad and roasted chicken quesadilla, I find myself fantasizing about how delicious a few bites of lasagna would taste. There is probably some insight to be gained by the fact that I only crave the savory (not sweet) things in life.
Unrelatd - this is hardly a decent picture of me, but I love it of Keegan. It completely captures him. My sister is equally unable to take a bad picture.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Manic Monday
God, I am still pissed off, and that is something, as I cannot sustain anger towards anyone or anything.
I am involved in a copyright case that presents truly interesting legal issues and a book that probably only Norm and the P would recognize (Jonathan, Seagull, anyone?), and I am intimately familiar with all of the facts of the case. I am the client's favorite contact, but not her immediate, as I have a lot of competing cases.
ANYWAY. Irritating Colleague, who has a solid background in appellate practice, was charged with writing the brief, which she completed two months ago. The thing about legal writing is it isn't that different from regular writing - authors tend to hate being edited. They are telling a non-fiction story and they know all of the facts that constitute the tale. You have to check your ego at the door. Yes, it might be part of the story you want to tell, but that doesn't mean it is the most effective way to tell the story.
ANYWAY. Irritating Colleague wrote the appellate brief, which was good on some levels, but desperately needed some editing. Our firm associated an 'expert' on certain appellate matters, and I wrongly assumed that meant I would not be needed, aside from a few hours of editing for voice and argument structure. Fuck, was I wrong. I got called in at the very last minute (less than a week before the brief was due) and was tasked with editing someone who hasn't learned to check her ego when it comes to editing.
Long story short, I spent the past week working around the clock, trying to edit someone who refused to be edited. If I were having a moment of optimism, I would say it taught me a lot about learning to surrender my own work product, but quite frankly, it all just pissed me off. I worked all goddamn weekend, making sound editorial revisions and more concise legal arguments, but the author was just too married to her work. Damn near every cut I made was met with a "no, this is how the argument has to sound," and there was no convincing her about the whole 'forest for the trees' perspective. The clincher was last night, as I was readying myself to leave the office after working all weekend, and the author of the brief remarked that she was going to "hit a double feature tonight." This was right after she asked me to write two critical sections of her brief. I finished this task around 1:45 am.
I was up until 2am, and back at the office at 8am. In the end, after much drama and constant revisions, the brief was in condition that I felt our office could stand behind. Irritating Colleague then demanded that my name be added to the brief and I balked. Had I written it, it would have read much differently, and truth be told, I was nothing more than a script doctor. Mainly, however, I am pissed because it is close to midnight and I am not sleepy. My whole schedule was fucked to accommodate someone who doesn't approach her work the way I do.
ANYWAY, this was all good information and confirms what I had tentatively decided. I am ready to move on, in so many ways, and I can't work like this. I am a loner when it comes to legal writing. My office's biggest complaint is that I won't let anyone see it until I can live with it in unedited form. Irritating Colleague will pawn any part off. I can't do that. I can live with editing, but not collaboration, at least in early drafts. Also, she comes to my office at least once an hour, even under a deadline, wanting to shoot the shit. This shouldn't piss me off, but it does.
Clearly time to move on. My only hesitation is that I am so grateful for the opportunities I have been given, and that I know my boss loves me like a daughter.
I am involved in a copyright case that presents truly interesting legal issues and a book that probably only Norm and the P would recognize (Jonathan, Seagull, anyone?), and I am intimately familiar with all of the facts of the case. I am the client's favorite contact, but not her immediate, as I have a lot of competing cases.
ANYWAY. Irritating Colleague, who has a solid background in appellate practice, was charged with writing the brief, which she completed two months ago. The thing about legal writing is it isn't that different from regular writing - authors tend to hate being edited. They are telling a non-fiction story and they know all of the facts that constitute the tale. You have to check your ego at the door. Yes, it might be part of the story you want to tell, but that doesn't mean it is the most effective way to tell the story.
ANYWAY. Irritating Colleague wrote the appellate brief, which was good on some levels, but desperately needed some editing. Our firm associated an 'expert' on certain appellate matters, and I wrongly assumed that meant I would not be needed, aside from a few hours of editing for voice and argument structure. Fuck, was I wrong. I got called in at the very last minute (less than a week before the brief was due) and was tasked with editing someone who hasn't learned to check her ego when it comes to editing.
Long story short, I spent the past week working around the clock, trying to edit someone who refused to be edited. If I were having a moment of optimism, I would say it taught me a lot about learning to surrender my own work product, but quite frankly, it all just pissed me off. I worked all goddamn weekend, making sound editorial revisions and more concise legal arguments, but the author was just too married to her work. Damn near every cut I made was met with a "no, this is how the argument has to sound," and there was no convincing her about the whole 'forest for the trees' perspective. The clincher was last night, as I was readying myself to leave the office after working all weekend, and the author of the brief remarked that she was going to "hit a double feature tonight." This was right after she asked me to write two critical sections of her brief. I finished this task around 1:45 am.
I was up until 2am, and back at the office at 8am. In the end, after much drama and constant revisions, the brief was in condition that I felt our office could stand behind. Irritating Colleague then demanded that my name be added to the brief and I balked. Had I written it, it would have read much differently, and truth be told, I was nothing more than a script doctor. Mainly, however, I am pissed because it is close to midnight and I am not sleepy. My whole schedule was fucked to accommodate someone who doesn't approach her work the way I do.
ANYWAY, this was all good information and confirms what I had tentatively decided. I am ready to move on, in so many ways, and I can't work like this. I am a loner when it comes to legal writing. My office's biggest complaint is that I won't let anyone see it until I can live with it in unedited form. Irritating Colleague will pawn any part off. I can't do that. I can live with editing, but not collaboration, at least in early drafts. Also, she comes to my office at least once an hour, even under a deadline, wanting to shoot the shit. This shouldn't piss me off, but it does.
Clearly time to move on. My only hesitation is that I am so grateful for the opportunities I have been given, and that I know my boss loves me like a daughter.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Meet the Family
Crazy, work-all-weekend kind of weekend, which leaves me pissy beyond words on this Sunday night. Nothing positive to say, but I was emailed some pictures tonight from my aunt's fiancee (that sounds so goddamn weird) that perked me up.
My aunt Arlene (my best friend and proof of goodness in the world) and brother Kyle (ditto)
Arlene and her son, my cousin Justin. Fantastic human beings, and I cannot believe I am related to them, to say nothing of the fact that they love me back.
Justin and his truly perfect wife, Jennifer. She is also a sister-in-law. She is so darling, and so much fun to be around.
Justin and Elisha (the bride and my new sister in law). I have three brothers, and all of them love Elisha.
My niece Kevan (I LOVE this picture of her), Jennifer, and Katie (Kyle's girlfriend, who is just that adorable, and, most likely, my next sister-in-law)
Jennifer (Justin's wife). I can't take my eyes off this picture. Great shot, Chuck.
That's enough for one night. More to follow, especially if I stay this pissed off and bitchy.
My aunt Arlene (my best friend and proof of goodness in the world) and brother Kyle (ditto)
Arlene and her son, my cousin Justin. Fantastic human beings, and I cannot believe I am related to them, to say nothing of the fact that they love me back.
Justin and his truly perfect wife, Jennifer. She is also a sister-in-law. She is so darling, and so much fun to be around.
Justin and Elisha (the bride and my new sister in law). I have three brothers, and all of them love Elisha.
My niece Kevan (I LOVE this picture of her), Jennifer, and Katie (Kyle's girlfriend, who is just that adorable, and, most likely, my next sister-in-law)
Jennifer (Justin's wife). I can't take my eyes off this picture. Great shot, Chuck.
That's enough for one night. More to follow, especially if I stay this pissed off and bitchy.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Thanks, Friend
Sometimes, you find friendship and kindness in the most unexpected places. I have a friend who is going through his own painful breakup,and it has been both an honor and an insightful experience to view it from the male perspective. We 'met' under pretty unusual circumstances and have developed a unique but meaningful friendship. Neither one of us are looking for a replacement for loves or relationships lost and have just paced ourselves towards a long term friendship.
In the madness of the holiday season and my brother's wedding, we didn't keep in touch in December as regularly as we had before, which really wasn't all that regular. We spoke when we wanted or needed to talk to each other, not out of habit or obligation. Sometimes, we would talk about divorce, but more often than not, we talked about anything else. Movies, books, food, politics, Los Angeles, Seattle - and we have slowly gotten to know each other.
I hadn't spoken to him in a couple of weeks when, on NYE morning, about a half hour after my divorce was final, I got an email and a text from him. Both said the same caring words of support and friendship, and I was touched. I sent him back a quick text message of thanks and told him I would be in touch in the New Year. Later that night, as I was scrolling through my missed calls and text messages from my brother's wedding, I saw one from him at 12:01am. It simply said "you made it, K. Here's to a great year of friendship." Another kind gesture.
I fell down the rabbit hole for a few days and didn't return a lot of calls and texts. I finally did a few days ago and spoke to him for a while. After our conversation, I sent him an email, thanking him for, among other things, the best new friendship of 2007, one I intended to protect and nurture in 2008. The next day, I sent him another email, gently encouraging him to resume writing. He is a successful writer by trade, but his well has dried up in the months since he filed for divorce. I included a link to some of my favorite stories of his, with annotations as to why each piece resonated with me.
Today, my assistant walked in my office with a beautiful bouquet and set it down by my window. I was taken aback by how beautiful and positively unexpected it was to see these beautiful dark pink roses and I think my jaw fell open. My assistant said "I don't care who they are from, it is just good to see you're back."
They were, of course, from him, with the most thoughtful note I could have imagined. The man is a goddamn writer. It never ceases to amaze me where you can find sources of support and friendship.
In the madness of the holiday season and my brother's wedding, we didn't keep in touch in December as regularly as we had before, which really wasn't all that regular. We spoke when we wanted or needed to talk to each other, not out of habit or obligation. Sometimes, we would talk about divorce, but more often than not, we talked about anything else. Movies, books, food, politics, Los Angeles, Seattle - and we have slowly gotten to know each other.
I hadn't spoken to him in a couple of weeks when, on NYE morning, about a half hour after my divorce was final, I got an email and a text from him. Both said the same caring words of support and friendship, and I was touched. I sent him back a quick text message of thanks and told him I would be in touch in the New Year. Later that night, as I was scrolling through my missed calls and text messages from my brother's wedding, I saw one from him at 12:01am. It simply said "you made it, K. Here's to a great year of friendship." Another kind gesture.
I fell down the rabbit hole for a few days and didn't return a lot of calls and texts. I finally did a few days ago and spoke to him for a while. After our conversation, I sent him an email, thanking him for, among other things, the best new friendship of 2007, one I intended to protect and nurture in 2008. The next day, I sent him another email, gently encouraging him to resume writing. He is a successful writer by trade, but his well has dried up in the months since he filed for divorce. I included a link to some of my favorite stories of his, with annotations as to why each piece resonated with me.
Today, my assistant walked in my office with a beautiful bouquet and set it down by my window. I was taken aback by how beautiful and positively unexpected it was to see these beautiful dark pink roses and I think my jaw fell open. My assistant said "I don't care who they are from, it is just good to see you're back."
They were, of course, from him, with the most thoughtful note I could have imagined. The man is a goddamn writer. It never ceases to amaze me where you can find sources of support and friendship.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Silver Linings
Perhaps it is just the optimism the permeates a new year - or hell, sometimes just a Monday for me - but I am starting to see more silver than gray. Maybe just saying (or writing) aloud that I have been depressed was an important first step in seeing better shades of gray.
I suspect that those closest to me have known for a while that I haven't been me for some time, and to be truthful, I am not entirely sure who me is anymore. But whereas in the recent past, this was daunting and troubling and an excuse to check out, it is now something different. Not an overnight revolution, but maybe just a revelation. I can change things to whatever I want.
I kind of stood still for the past few years, believing that I needed to hold steady while things were shaking out around me. I don't know if that was the best course of action, but I don't really care or regret it. Can't rewrite history or erase anything, but I don't need to dwell on it, either.
I don't want to write this kind of shit for too much longer. I want to write about what is happening, not what has happened. The P and I had a great conversation Saturday night about this very subject -- positive change and new directions don't often come knocking on your door when you're checked out in front of the television, or in your fifth book of the week, or knee deep into a bottle of wine. You discover them when you venture outside your self-created comfort zone.
I have always been gregarious and ready for adventure, but I have started and stopped more things in the past few years than I could ever keep track of. Friendships, relationships, classes, teams, and a whole host of other things that I let fall by the wayside. I'm going to get back to some of them, one baby step at a time.
I suspect that those closest to me have known for a while that I haven't been me for some time, and to be truthful, I am not entirely sure who me is anymore. But whereas in the recent past, this was daunting and troubling and an excuse to check out, it is now something different. Not an overnight revolution, but maybe just a revelation. I can change things to whatever I want.
I kind of stood still for the past few years, believing that I needed to hold steady while things were shaking out around me. I don't know if that was the best course of action, but I don't really care or regret it. Can't rewrite history or erase anything, but I don't need to dwell on it, either.
I don't want to write this kind of shit for too much longer. I want to write about what is happening, not what has happened. The P and I had a great conversation Saturday night about this very subject -- positive change and new directions don't often come knocking on your door when you're checked out in front of the television, or in your fifth book of the week, or knee deep into a bottle of wine. You discover them when you venture outside your self-created comfort zone.
I have always been gregarious and ready for adventure, but I have started and stopped more things in the past few years than I could ever keep track of. Friendships, relationships, classes, teams, and a whole host of other things that I let fall by the wayside. I'm going to get back to some of them, one baby step at a time.
The New Year
It is way too easy to make grand resolutions, isn't it? I am going to work out for three hours a day, never drink again, cook more (obviously, not eat anything I cook), clean more, organize better, all of that shit. I'm going to do all of that.
But here is what I am really resolving. I am going to work against myself this year. I was fortunate, growing up, in that I wasn't prone to depressive tendencies and could always think myself out of any situation. My sister had it worse, as did my mother, and I had many friends who struggled with the dark side. I couldn't figure out why they couldn't rise above it, think logically about how very fortunate they really were and realize how self-indulgent they were being and just get forward with the business of better living.
This is hard to admit, but I caught the bug. In the last few years, I have had days where staying in bed all day seemed like a fantastic idea. I rarely indulged it, but I am more sympathetic now. There have been many, many days where I contemplated going on antidepressants, if only to know what it might feel like to not want to check the fuck out. Stubbornly, I didn't do it because I wanted to be in control of my brain chemistry. If I needed to check out, I could buy a bottle of wine or a really good book. Master of my destiny and all that.
I know this is situational depression (as opposed to chronic), and yet even as I type that, I think situational depression should be reserved to folks who don't have the means to eat for days. I have yuppie guilt about feeling blue. I really do. How do you feel depressed when you live in a beautiful condo, have loving family and friends, a well-paying career, a loving but neurotic dog? Answer: no fucking idea. Apparently, depression can be a luxury of living in America. And while I bounced out of this last round mostly intact, I have self loathing for having endured it. So very self-indulgent.
So here is my resolve for this year. When I want to have a couch party (my light-hearted term for vegging on my couch all weekend), I am going to do the opposite. I am going to live, not escape or check out, and I am going to live very fucking deliberately. I am going to get in touch with friends that I have failed or neglected and apologize. I am going to do the exact opposite of what my emo brain wants to do when I feel sorry for myself. When I want to drink myself in a bottle, I will go for a two hour walk. When I want to unplug the phones and computer, I will call an old friend and say hi. I will go on tremendously bad dates and live to tell about them. Life is better when it is lived out loud.
I will not be defeated by myself. I can and often am my own worst enemy. My goal for the year is to become my own best friend.
But here is what I am really resolving. I am going to work against myself this year. I was fortunate, growing up, in that I wasn't prone to depressive tendencies and could always think myself out of any situation. My sister had it worse, as did my mother, and I had many friends who struggled with the dark side. I couldn't figure out why they couldn't rise above it, think logically about how very fortunate they really were and realize how self-indulgent they were being and just get forward with the business of better living.
This is hard to admit, but I caught the bug. In the last few years, I have had days where staying in bed all day seemed like a fantastic idea. I rarely indulged it, but I am more sympathetic now. There have been many, many days where I contemplated going on antidepressants, if only to know what it might feel like to not want to check the fuck out. Stubbornly, I didn't do it because I wanted to be in control of my brain chemistry. If I needed to check out, I could buy a bottle of wine or a really good book. Master of my destiny and all that.
I know this is situational depression (as opposed to chronic), and yet even as I type that, I think situational depression should be reserved to folks who don't have the means to eat for days. I have yuppie guilt about feeling blue. I really do. How do you feel depressed when you live in a beautiful condo, have loving family and friends, a well-paying career, a loving but neurotic dog? Answer: no fucking idea. Apparently, depression can be a luxury of living in America. And while I bounced out of this last round mostly intact, I have self loathing for having endured it. So very self-indulgent.
So here is my resolve for this year. When I want to have a couch party (my light-hearted term for vegging on my couch all weekend), I am going to do the opposite. I am going to live, not escape or check out, and I am going to live very fucking deliberately. I am going to get in touch with friends that I have failed or neglected and apologize. I am going to do the exact opposite of what my emo brain wants to do when I feel sorry for myself. When I want to drink myself in a bottle, I will go for a two hour walk. When I want to unplug the phones and computer, I will call an old friend and say hi. I will go on tremendously bad dates and live to tell about them. Life is better when it is lived out loud.
I will not be defeated by myself. I can and often am my own worst enemy. My goal for the year is to become my own best friend.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
How To Ring In A New Year
This was, without question, the very best way to welcome in a new year. Congratulations to my brother Keegan, and my new sister-in-law, Elisha. It was, quite frankly, a perfect night.
Elisha, walking down the aisle with her parents:
Reciting the vows. I should add here that their officiant simply did NOT show up. They had met with him two weeks earlier and went over every detail, yet he no showed at the wedding. At the last minute, they subbed in a friend of theirs who is ordained. I am guessing that 90% of the audience had no idea that he was a substitute officiant, and the ceremony was that much more personal because the officiant was a good friend of the bride and groom.
The bride and groom, with the best man (brother Kyle) and the maid of honor.
Last night was one of the best nights of my life. Everything and anything is possible and I am so goddamn fortunate to have amazing people in my life.
Elisha, walking down the aisle with her parents:
Reciting the vows. I should add here that their officiant simply did NOT show up. They had met with him two weeks earlier and went over every detail, yet he no showed at the wedding. At the last minute, they subbed in a friend of theirs who is ordained. I am guessing that 90% of the audience had no idea that he was a substitute officiant, and the ceremony was that much more personal because the officiant was a good friend of the bride and groom.
The bride and groom, with the best man (brother Kyle) and the maid of honor.
Last night was one of the best nights of my life. Everything and anything is possible and I am so goddamn fortunate to have amazing people in my life.
Monday, December 31, 2007
R.I.P. Marriage, August 6, 1994 - December 31, 2007
It is done. I am divorced (ugly word) and single (hopeful word).
I met B on Sunday morning at Starbucks. I was all business and he was desperately trying to have a prolonged conversation. He asked me about every member of my family, which is amusing, given how little interest he took in them while we were married. It was kind of sad, I guess, but I was ready. He again (!) asked to come to the condo, saying he "missed" it, but I told him it wasn't going to happen:
B read through the proposed final court orders and said he would just sign them on Monday (today) at our court hearing. He didn't need to come to the hearing and I certainly didn't expect him at it, so I was insistent that he sign them right there. He kind of joked and smiled and said he would do it the next day, but I was not going to take the chance of him not showing up. I told him that there was no reason whatsoever for him not to sign right then and actually put the pen in his hand. He said he would come to the hearing because it was the right thing to do. I knew as he was saying it that while he believed that to be true, he wasn't going to do the right thing.
We both signed all of the papers and I got up to leave. B's eyes were pretty misty and he said "K, it isn't like we're never going to talk again. There is no reason we can't be friends." I sat back down, grabbed both of his hands, and told him that I needed to break up with him. That I needed a line in the sand between then and now, and that line can only be created with time and distance. I told him that I still and would always love him, the way you can only love someone you have known intimately for fifteen years, but in order to keep loving him that way, I needed to really break up our relationship - all of it. I told him I wanted to keep loving him because we meant something. We did. We always will.
The only way I can keep loving him is if I stay at a distance and really move on with my life, sans B. I know this in my bones.
Today, I woke up, putzed around the house and the internets, then got divorced at 10:05am. As I expected, B didn't show up at the hearing. I put my hand up, and swore under oath that our marriage was irretrievably broken, and I meant every word. When the judge said "this marriage is dissolved," I felt equal parts relief and sadness. It is so disconcerting to feel two extremes at once.
As I walked out of the courthouse, I texted J and emailed P, both of whom extended their fondest congratulations. I suddenly felt lighter (say, oh, 250 pounds lighter) and heard this song in my head. I should be embarrassed to admit it, but am not. It was the song that played in the final minutes of the series finale of Sex and the City. I felt....hopeful.
(Ignore the video clips, it was just the song that played loudly in my head. But if you want a true sense of what I felt when I walked out of the courthouse, hit play and start again from the beginning of this post. My life has a soundtrack.)
I am so very grateful for family and fanfuckingtastic friends who walked beside me during this whole process, including the people who read this. I promise that, in 2008, I will be better to all of you. I extend the most heartfelt 'thank you' to all of them and you.
I met B on Sunday morning at Starbucks. I was all business and he was desperately trying to have a prolonged conversation. He asked me about every member of my family, which is amusing, given how little interest he took in them while we were married. It was kind of sad, I guess, but I was ready. He again (!) asked to come to the condo, saying he "missed" it, but I told him it wasn't going to happen:
B: I don't understand why it is such a big deal for me to come to the condo.
Me: That's okay. It isn't important to me whether you understand. But it isn't going to happen.
B: *stunned silence*
B read through the proposed final court orders and said he would just sign them on Monday (today) at our court hearing. He didn't need to come to the hearing and I certainly didn't expect him at it, so I was insistent that he sign them right there. He kind of joked and smiled and said he would do it the next day, but I was not going to take the chance of him not showing up. I told him that there was no reason whatsoever for him not to sign right then and actually put the pen in his hand. He said he would come to the hearing because it was the right thing to do. I knew as he was saying it that while he believed that to be true, he wasn't going to do the right thing.
We both signed all of the papers and I got up to leave. B's eyes were pretty misty and he said "K, it isn't like we're never going to talk again. There is no reason we can't be friends." I sat back down, grabbed both of his hands, and told him that I needed to break up with him. That I needed a line in the sand between then and now, and that line can only be created with time and distance. I told him that I still and would always love him, the way you can only love someone you have known intimately for fifteen years, but in order to keep loving him that way, I needed to really break up our relationship - all of it. I told him I wanted to keep loving him because we meant something. We did. We always will.
The only way I can keep loving him is if I stay at a distance and really move on with my life, sans B. I know this in my bones.
Today, I woke up, putzed around the house and the internets, then got divorced at 10:05am. As I expected, B didn't show up at the hearing. I put my hand up, and swore under oath that our marriage was irretrievably broken, and I meant every word. When the judge said "this marriage is dissolved," I felt equal parts relief and sadness. It is so disconcerting to feel two extremes at once.
As I walked out of the courthouse, I texted J and emailed P, both of whom extended their fondest congratulations. I suddenly felt lighter (say, oh, 250 pounds lighter) and heard this song in my head. I should be embarrassed to admit it, but am not. It was the song that played in the final minutes of the series finale of Sex and the City. I felt....hopeful.
(Ignore the video clips, it was just the song that played loudly in my head. But if you want a true sense of what I felt when I walked out of the courthouse, hit play and start again from the beginning of this post. My life has a soundtrack.)
I am so very grateful for family and fanfuckingtastic friends who walked beside me during this whole process, including the people who read this. I promise that, in 2008, I will be better to all of you. I extend the most heartfelt 'thank you' to all of them and you.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Merry Christmas
Last night, I finally got a whiff of the Christmas spirit.
True to form, I decided that 1:30pm on Christmas Eve day was the optimal time to start my Christmas shopping. By 3:00pm, I was done and pleased with my choices. It was a positively glorious day in Seattle and my mood lightened. Kyle offered me a ride up, and about 4pm, as dusk settled in, we headed up to Bellingham. It was, quite frankly, a perfect drive - great conversation and terrific music. I have always believed that Kyle and I are the most alike (among the siblings) and share the most interests and tastes, and the 1.5 hour drive absolutely flew by. It was nearly the polar opposite of the drive last Christmas Eve.
We ended up going into the city of Bellingham to grab some last minute groceries, and Kyle wanted to pick up some beer at his favorite local pub. It comes in these jugs that are just fun to serve, and while we waited for them, we grabbed a pint. Kyle looked at me earnestly and asked if he could bring up a topic that was none of his business. My family is pretty no holds-barred when it comes to most topics, so I told him to go for it. He then asked me if I was going to go back to my maiden name on Monday, the day my divorce is final. I told him that I had thought about it quite a bit and, were it not for my professional career, I would. He said, "you know K, I think this is the last part of the process for you." He laughed and said he understood why I wouldn't want to retake my maiden name, as, quite frankly, it can be obnoxious. But still, this wasn't about the name itself, but rather the principle.
We talked about it for a few minutes and then it hit me. Hell, I could legally change my surname back without any obligation to change my professional surname. I could do it gradually, if at all, and just slowly start changing names on my personal accounts. Suddenly, I agreed. This was the last part of the process. This is not about going back, but more about going forward without the umbrella of B&K. This is me - just me - not B's ex-wife. This is just me. Yes. A good plan. Thanks, Kyle. I just needed a paradigm shift.
When we arrived, we immediately encountered the parents in festive hats. Yes. This was good and right. Keegan and Elisha arrived about an hour later and we all just chilled and hung out. Keegan grilled steaks, I whipped up some pumpkin crack, we ate, watched TV, talked about the wedding, surfed the net and drank entirely too much great wine. It would have been a perfect night if my sister and her daughter would have been there. They aren't coming up until Friday, for the wedding, but I did talk to her on IM and let her know they were terribly and sorely missed. All in all, a nearly flawless Christmas Eve, at least by my standards.
Woke up, popped in the potatoes for the morning brunch and took Darbs for a long walk. There are plenty of places up there where she can run without the leash, and watching her burst in the open fields was a great present in itself. For a little dog, she has a surprising amount of energy and athleticism. She went nuts and completely wore herself out, and as we walked up the steep hill back to the house, she actually stopped and looked at me, as if to ask "would you mind carrying me the rest of the way?"
Answer: No. Buck up and let's sprint, little girl. Hills are why God gave us legs. You have four. Race you to the top.
I finished preparing our breakfast of green eggs (scrambled eggs with jalapeno pecan pesto) and ham (roasted bacon) and roasted potatoes. We finally got around to the business of opening presents and everyone was pleased. My parents bought me an ipod Nano, which I had wanted once I realized that the iphone battery cannot sustain my telephone and ipod habit (and that my last Nano's battery was dead). Keegan and Elisha got me a wine chiller, which is fabulous, and I scored a couple of good books and odds and ends. Keegan loved his Seahawk jacket (I owe Kyle for the tip) and Kyle seemed to like his ipod docking station/alarm clock. I got the parents gift certificates for golf, spa, dinner and other such things (nothing they have to lug back to Nigeria). It really is more fulfilling to give than to receive.
My favorite present, however, came a few hours later. Kyle had disappeared to his old room, attempting to ready it for the guests coming for the wedding. When he emerged, he brought me a CD he had just burned for me. He told me I would like it and I thanked him for the effort. I was reading Into The Wild, which is the book he got me, and made a mental note to listen as soon as I got home.
But I got the chance to listen on the drive home with Keegan and Elisha. They popped it into the CD player and lo and behold, Kyle had made me a CD with all of the songs we listened to on our great drive up. I was grateful for the darkness of the back seat, as I was really touched that he did that. That it was as good for him as it was for me, so to speak. I had already mentally composed a soundtrack for our trip, but he was thoughtful enough to put it in physical form. I will never forget that drive with him.
It never ceases to amaze me that the best gifts are the ones that come from the heart and soul.
I hope all of you had as soul-affirming of a holiday as I did. Merry Christmas, from every part of my heart.
True to form, I decided that 1:30pm on Christmas Eve day was the optimal time to start my Christmas shopping. By 3:00pm, I was done and pleased with my choices. It was a positively glorious day in Seattle and my mood lightened. Kyle offered me a ride up, and about 4pm, as dusk settled in, we headed up to Bellingham. It was, quite frankly, a perfect drive - great conversation and terrific music. I have always believed that Kyle and I are the most alike (among the siblings) and share the most interests and tastes, and the 1.5 hour drive absolutely flew by. It was nearly the polar opposite of the drive last Christmas Eve.
We ended up going into the city of Bellingham to grab some last minute groceries, and Kyle wanted to pick up some beer at his favorite local pub. It comes in these jugs that are just fun to serve, and while we waited for them, we grabbed a pint. Kyle looked at me earnestly and asked if he could bring up a topic that was none of his business. My family is pretty no holds-barred when it comes to most topics, so I told him to go for it. He then asked me if I was going to go back to my maiden name on Monday, the day my divorce is final. I told him that I had thought about it quite a bit and, were it not for my professional career, I would. He said, "you know K, I think this is the last part of the process for you." He laughed and said he understood why I wouldn't want to retake my maiden name, as, quite frankly, it can be obnoxious. But still, this wasn't about the name itself, but rather the principle.
We talked about it for a few minutes and then it hit me. Hell, I could legally change my surname back without any obligation to change my professional surname. I could do it gradually, if at all, and just slowly start changing names on my personal accounts. Suddenly, I agreed. This was the last part of the process. This is not about going back, but more about going forward without the umbrella of B&K. This is me - just me - not B's ex-wife. This is just me. Yes. A good plan. Thanks, Kyle. I just needed a paradigm shift.
When we arrived, we immediately encountered the parents in festive hats. Yes. This was good and right. Keegan and Elisha arrived about an hour later and we all just chilled and hung out. Keegan grilled steaks, I whipped up some pumpkin crack, we ate, watched TV, talked about the wedding, surfed the net and drank
Woke up, popped in the potatoes for the morning brunch and took Darbs for a long walk. There are plenty of places up there where she can run without the leash, and watching her burst in the open fields was a great present in itself. For a little dog, she has a surprising amount of energy and athleticism. She went nuts and completely wore herself out, and as we walked up the steep hill back to the house, she actually stopped and looked at me, as if to ask "would you mind carrying me the rest of the way?"
Answer: No. Buck up and let's sprint, little girl. Hills are why God gave us legs. You have four. Race you to the top.
I finished preparing our breakfast of green eggs (scrambled eggs with jalapeno pecan pesto) and ham (roasted bacon) and roasted potatoes. We finally got around to the business of opening presents and everyone was pleased. My parents bought me an ipod Nano, which I had wanted once I realized that the iphone battery cannot sustain my telephone and ipod habit (and that my last Nano's battery was dead). Keegan and Elisha got me a wine chiller, which is fabulous, and I scored a couple of good books and odds and ends. Keegan loved his Seahawk jacket (I owe Kyle for the tip) and Kyle seemed to like his ipod docking station/alarm clock. I got the parents gift certificates for golf, spa, dinner and other such things (nothing they have to lug back to Nigeria). It really is more fulfilling to give than to receive.
My favorite present, however, came a few hours later. Kyle had disappeared to his old room, attempting to ready it for the guests coming for the wedding. When he emerged, he brought me a CD he had just burned for me. He told me I would like it and I thanked him for the effort. I was reading Into The Wild, which is the book he got me, and made a mental note to listen as soon as I got home.
But I got the chance to listen on the drive home with Keegan and Elisha. They popped it into the CD player and lo and behold, Kyle had made me a CD with all of the songs we listened to on our great drive up. I was grateful for the darkness of the back seat, as I was really touched that he did that. That it was as good for him as it was for me, so to speak. I had already mentally composed a soundtrack for our trip, but he was thoughtful enough to put it in physical form. I will never forget that drive with him.
It never ceases to amaze me that the best gifts are the ones that come from the heart and soul.
I hope all of you had as soul-affirming of a holiday as I did. Merry Christmas, from every part of my heart.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Holiday Sap
Oh holy hell, am I having a maudlin kind of night. The kind of night where you know better than to answer or use your phone, and to stay as far away as you can from your email inbox. It is probably inevitable that, at this time of the year, you want closure from whatever conflicts or issues you had during the course of the year. I have plenty of those, most of my own making, and I am a firm believer in the unqualified apology. In order to give a meaningful one, however, you have to really give it consideration and preparation, and I haven't done the requisite, emotional heavy lifting. I am running out of time (how very 24), but hope to do that and all of my Christmas shopping this weekend.
And see four or five movies.
Speaking of which, and for no apparent reason other than the maudlin state of mind that required me to watch Message in a Bottle on cable tonight (why yes, I did read the book, and no, I didn't hate it), I started thinking about how many terrible movies I absolutely adore. The internets are probably not big enough for me to list all of my guilty pleasure movies, but seeing as this is the time of year for lists, I hereby nominate my top 10 sappy guilty pleasures. A word of caution: there lies ahead some truly bad movies.
10. Message in a Bottle: Yes, based on a sappy Nicholas Sparks book that I probably read in tears on a plane somewhere, the movie has Robin Wright Penn, who I find positively enchanting and who sports truly kickass hair in the movie. It also has Kevin Costner, who, an old friend once argued, is never in a terrible film. Costner won me over in The Upside of Anger and Mr. Brooks, and I never saw The Postman or Waterworld, so I accept that premise. Plus, it has Paul Newman and an eminently enjoyable soundtrack. Favorite scene is when Kevin Costner realizes Robin Penn has found a letter that his late wife sent to him, but he didn't know existed.
9. Stealing Home: Yet another flick involving love and death, I can never turn this one off when it comes on cable. The writing is pretty awful, and yet the story itself was very endearing. Plus, Mark Harmon, beloved star of Summer School, gets to be Mark Harmon. LOVE. Favorite scene actually doesn't have Mark Harmon in it, but rather a young Jodie Foster, who plays a junior Ms. Robertson to a young kid who just lost his dad.
8. Men Don't Leave: Staying with the love and death theme, this kind of bleak film had some incredibly poignant moments, often provided by the supporting characters of Joan Cusack and Arliss Howard (the latter of whom is in the top five of my list of strangely but wildly attractive men). Jessica Lange completely nails the state of spiraling depression after initially sustaining a heartbreaking loss, and the film carefully paces the story of her getting her shit back together. Favorite scene is when she is hurling muffins out the window.
7. Notting Hill: I don't hate Julia Roberts. I never have and, in fact, I actually like her. More than I will ever admit publicly. I don't think she's doing anything groundbreaking as an actress, but she has a screen presence that I usually enjoy. There is a scene in this movie that I can (and have) watched over and over - when she and Hugh Grant are walking though a private garden. There is such a lovely song in the background (You Say It Best (When You Say Nothing At All)) that, for me, cinematically captures the essence of falling in love.
6. Fabulous Baker Boys: This doesn't really fall into the terrible movie category, but still has a high dose of sap, since Michelle Pfeiffer sings. Set in Seattle, it depicts the life of two seasoned but weary career city musicians (the brothers Bridges) who hire a singer to spice up their piano act. My favorite scene involves a short road trip to a resort, where they are going to play on NYE, that features the most beautiful instrumental song by Dave Grusin. I remember watching that scene in the theater and, knowing that after the credits rolled, I would be headed to Tower Records to get the soundtrack. Which is still on my ipod. This is the only YouTube clip:
5. On Golden Pond: Again, not a terrible movie by any stretch of the imagination, just one that tugs at my heartstrings. Hepburn, Fondas Henry and Jane, and Dabney Coleman. I get waterworks just thinking about how simply beautiful this film portrayed families and marriage. Favorite scene is when the onscreen grandson takes the family's Centurian (wooden speedboat) out on the water, with a brilliant Dave Grusin song (I think it is called New Hampshire Hornpipe) perfectly punctuate the energy. That is also on my ipod and one of my favorite songs to listen to while running on the treadmill.
4. Goodbye Girl: I am now veering way off the path of bad movies/guilty pleasures, as this, too, is a great film. The Neil Simon dialogue (he based the story on his marriage to Marsha Mason, the lead actress) is punchy and sharp, and the lifestyle of the working actors of 70's NYC is well captured. Hard to narrow my favorite scene, but probably one with the little girl character of Lucy (portrayed by Quinn Cummings, whose blog is linked on this site) and Elliot (Richard Dreyfuss, whom I believe won the Oscar that year).
3. (Tie) Say Anything and Almost Famous: I am on record that Cameron Crowe can do no wrong, and I have avoided Elizabethtown in support of my argument. The former film is a generational landmark, and the latter was one that made me want to stand up and applaud during the credits. Cameron Crowe is such a fantastic story teller, both as a writer and director. Everyone's favorite scene in Say Anything is the boombox scene, and I certainly loved it, but my favorite scene was when Diane Court came to the boxing ring after finding out her dad was a crook. Cusack asks her whether she needs someone or whether she needs him, then shakes off the question, saying it doesn't matter. In Almost Famous, I adore the scene where Kate Hudson dances alone on a stage to Cat Stevens' The Wind.
2. Love Actually: I am not sure if this is the best Richard Curtis movie, but it is my favorite and easily my favorite Christmas movie. Every time I watch it, I want to edit out certain storylines, particularly the awful one of the London boy, going to the US to meet chicks. However, most of the writing is terrific and it somehow captures my holiday spirit.
So many favorite scenes: the opening wedding scene with Kiera Knightly and the surprise performance of All You Need Is Love; the cue cards and caroling outside Kiera's door; Hugh Grant dancing to Jump by the Pointer Sisters (Ed. Note: would hit Grant with early, often, with abandon and on demand); Emma Thompson, asking her almost-cheating husband (Alan Rickman) what she should do about his wandering ways;this isn't the clip, but still a good one on that storyline; "Liam and his kid, "let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love"); this gorgeous little girl with a crazy set of pipes, singing Mariah better than Mariah; but my favorite scene is when Laura Linney attempts to have an intimate moment with the object of her affection, while the most beautiful song I have ever heard (Eva Cassidy's Songbird) is playing softly in the background.. (Another Ed. Note: I realize the previous clip is dubbed in a foreign language. I think my description still speaks for itself) Seriously - the song moves me to tears every time I hear it*(Final Ed. Note: Go buy the goddamn DVD, as you spend $3 every time you On Demand it. Also, go ahead and get the soundtrack while you are at it. Freak.)
1. Tootsie: This isn't anywhere approaching a bad movie and, in fact, is still my favorite movie of all time. It is an almost perfect comedy and love story, with some of the best one-liners in film history. I once read an interview with Jessica Lange, who said she loved to watch this movie because she filmed it while falling in love with Sam Shepherd and she seemed to be floating throughout it. My favorite scene is easily the one with her, Dustin and Brian Dennehey on the farm, while Stephen Bishop's It Might Be You tells the whole story of the moment. Seriously, that is how you marry visuals with music. Pretty much everything you ever needed to know about me is how much I love this song and this clip.
My favorite line, in any movie, is one of the final lines of the film:
*If you haven't heard of her or her cover of the Fleetwood Mac song, click this link, kind of ignore the fan video and just listen to the song. Also, google her - really talented singer who died of cancer in her early 30's. It is, without question, the most beautiful love song I have ever heard and she had such a simple but perfect voice.
And see four or five movies.
Speaking of which, and for no apparent reason other than the maudlin state of mind that required me to watch Message in a Bottle on cable tonight (why yes, I did read the book, and no, I didn't hate it), I started thinking about how many terrible movies I absolutely adore. The internets are probably not big enough for me to list all of my guilty pleasure movies, but seeing as this is the time of year for lists, I hereby nominate my top 10 sappy guilty pleasures. A word of caution: there lies ahead some truly bad movies.
10. Message in a Bottle: Yes, based on a sappy Nicholas Sparks book that I probably read in tears on a plane somewhere, the movie has Robin Wright Penn, who I find positively enchanting and who sports truly kickass hair in the movie. It also has Kevin Costner, who, an old friend once argued, is never in a terrible film. Costner won me over in The Upside of Anger and Mr. Brooks, and I never saw The Postman or Waterworld, so I accept that premise. Plus, it has Paul Newman and an eminently enjoyable soundtrack. Favorite scene is when Kevin Costner realizes Robin Penn has found a letter that his late wife sent to him, but he didn't know existed.
9. Stealing Home: Yet another flick involving love and death, I can never turn this one off when it comes on cable. The writing is pretty awful, and yet the story itself was very endearing. Plus, Mark Harmon, beloved star of Summer School, gets to be Mark Harmon. LOVE. Favorite scene actually doesn't have Mark Harmon in it, but rather a young Jodie Foster, who plays a junior Ms. Robertson to a young kid who just lost his dad.
8. Men Don't Leave: Staying with the love and death theme, this kind of bleak film had some incredibly poignant moments, often provided by the supporting characters of Joan Cusack and Arliss Howard (the latter of whom is in the top five of my list of strangely but wildly attractive men). Jessica Lange completely nails the state of spiraling depression after initially sustaining a heartbreaking loss, and the film carefully paces the story of her getting her shit back together. Favorite scene is when she is hurling muffins out the window.
7. Notting Hill: I don't hate Julia Roberts. I never have and, in fact, I actually like her. More than I will ever admit publicly. I don't think she's doing anything groundbreaking as an actress, but she has a screen presence that I usually enjoy. There is a scene in this movie that I can (and have) watched over and over - when she and Hugh Grant are walking though a private garden. There is such a lovely song in the background (You Say It Best (When You Say Nothing At All)) that, for me, cinematically captures the essence of falling in love.
6. Fabulous Baker Boys: This doesn't really fall into the terrible movie category, but still has a high dose of sap, since Michelle Pfeiffer sings. Set in Seattle, it depicts the life of two seasoned but weary career city musicians (the brothers Bridges) who hire a singer to spice up their piano act. My favorite scene involves a short road trip to a resort, where they are going to play on NYE, that features the most beautiful instrumental song by Dave Grusin. I remember watching that scene in the theater and, knowing that after the credits rolled, I would be headed to Tower Records to get the soundtrack. Which is still on my ipod. This is the only YouTube clip:
5. On Golden Pond: Again, not a terrible movie by any stretch of the imagination, just one that tugs at my heartstrings. Hepburn, Fondas Henry and Jane, and Dabney Coleman. I get waterworks just thinking about how simply beautiful this film portrayed families and marriage. Favorite scene is when the onscreen grandson takes the family's Centurian (wooden speedboat) out on the water, with a brilliant Dave Grusin song (I think it is called New Hampshire Hornpipe) perfectly punctuate the energy. That is also on my ipod and one of my favorite songs to listen to while running on the treadmill.
4. Goodbye Girl: I am now veering way off the path of bad movies/guilty pleasures, as this, too, is a great film. The Neil Simon dialogue (he based the story on his marriage to Marsha Mason, the lead actress) is punchy and sharp, and the lifestyle of the working actors of 70's NYC is well captured. Hard to narrow my favorite scene, but probably one with the little girl character of Lucy (portrayed by Quinn Cummings, whose blog is linked on this site) and Elliot (Richard Dreyfuss, whom I believe won the Oscar that year).
3. (Tie) Say Anything and Almost Famous: I am on record that Cameron Crowe can do no wrong, and I have avoided Elizabethtown in support of my argument. The former film is a generational landmark, and the latter was one that made me want to stand up and applaud during the credits. Cameron Crowe is such a fantastic story teller, both as a writer and director. Everyone's favorite scene in Say Anything is the boombox scene, and I certainly loved it, but my favorite scene was when Diane Court came to the boxing ring after finding out her dad was a crook. Cusack asks her whether she needs someone or whether she needs him, then shakes off the question, saying it doesn't matter. In Almost Famous, I adore the scene where Kate Hudson dances alone on a stage to Cat Stevens' The Wind.
2. Love Actually: I am not sure if this is the best Richard Curtis movie, but it is my favorite and easily my favorite Christmas movie. Every time I watch it, I want to edit out certain storylines, particularly the awful one of the London boy, going to the US to meet chicks. However, most of the writing is terrific and it somehow captures my holiday spirit.
So many favorite scenes: the opening wedding scene with Kiera Knightly and the surprise performance of All You Need Is Love; the cue cards and caroling outside Kiera's door; Hugh Grant dancing to Jump by the Pointer Sisters (Ed. Note: would hit Grant with early, often, with abandon and on demand); Emma Thompson, asking her almost-cheating husband (Alan Rickman) what she should do about his wandering ways;this isn't the clip, but still a good one on that storyline; "Liam and his kid, "let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love"); this gorgeous little girl with a crazy set of pipes, singing Mariah better than Mariah; but my favorite scene is when Laura Linney attempts to have an intimate moment with the object of her affection, while the most beautiful song I have ever heard (Eva Cassidy's Songbird) is playing softly in the background.. (Another Ed. Note: I realize the previous clip is dubbed in a foreign language. I think my description still speaks for itself) Seriously - the song moves me to tears every time I hear it*(Final Ed. Note: Go buy the goddamn DVD, as you spend $3 every time you On Demand it. Also, go ahead and get the soundtrack while you are at it. Freak.)
1. Tootsie: This isn't anywhere approaching a bad movie and, in fact, is still my favorite movie of all time. It is an almost perfect comedy and love story, with some of the best one-liners in film history. I once read an interview with Jessica Lange, who said she loved to watch this movie because she filmed it while falling in love with Sam Shepherd and she seemed to be floating throughout it. My favorite scene is easily the one with her, Dustin and Brian Dennehey on the farm, while Stephen Bishop's It Might Be You tells the whole story of the moment. Seriously, that is how you marry visuals with music. Pretty much everything you ever needed to know about me is how much I love this song and this clip.
My favorite line, in any movie, is one of the final lines of the film:
"I was a better man, with you, as a woman, than I ever was with a woman as a man."
*If you haven't heard of her or her cover of the Fleetwood Mac song, click this link, kind of ignore the fan video and just listen to the song. Also, google her - really talented singer who died of cancer in her early 30's. It is, without question, the most beautiful love song I have ever heard and she had such a simple but perfect voice.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Disjointed Thoughts
In no particular order:
1. My dad just got in tonight from Nigeria and we went to Austin Cantina for dinner, the first time for all of us. As an aside, my parents would eat at Outback Steakhouse, Buca di Beppos, Cheesecake Factory, or any other chain restaurant if I didn't insist on expanding their dining horizons. It just amazes me that after 25+ years abroad, they have absolutely no sense of adventure when it comes to dining - either here or abroad. My dad always wants to eat something here he can't get overseas, but I seriously doubt he eats anything regional while in Nigeria. For whatever reason, that means chain restaurants, which is how us kids felt, as teenagers, when we got back to the States. Lucky for him, his daughter is an irrepressible city and restaurant snob who refuses to eat in such places. It is only fair. His career expanded my horizons, so, in his near-retirement years, I intend to expand his.
The place was amazing, by the way. Probably seats less than 30 people and all of the food is scratch cooked (homemade tortillas, garden fresh salsa, margaritas sans that awful sweet and sour bullshit). I am so very full. I can't remember the last time I ate after 6pm. I have breakfast, lunch and dinner as leftovers.
2. Today I did something for my cleaning lady of which I am proud. (Ed. Note: I cannot figure out how to write that sentence in a grammatically correct fashion without sounding horribly pretentious and edited.) I told her that I was going to be in and out for the next two weeks, and if she wanted to take the time off, she could. Almost sheepishly, she told me that she was saving up for a small freezer and I left it at that. When I got to work, I called a client who has an appliance business. I found the small freezer she was looking for and my client gave it to me at substantially less than cost, and about $250 less than she would have paid. It is being delivered to my place this weekend and when she comes next Wednesday, it will be here, wrapped in a bow. If I remember to buy a bow.
It felt like Christmas to do that. Give someone I don't know that well something she really wants and needs and completely doesn't expect to receive from me. That is my version of Christmas.
3. I love tumblr and am going to make sure every member of my family creates one over the holidays. I wish all of my friends who use the internet had one. If you try it for a few days and explore it, you will understand why. Yes. Please to be making a tumblr, if only for me, and really, it is all about me. I find myself posting there in a completely different way than here. This place is text-based and more intimate and serves a completely different purpose. Tumblr has a simple, addictive interface and is more like a scrapbook.
4.
Darby sometimes curls up like a bug on the couch.
Other times, she lounges. She was born to be my dog.
5. Related: the POOP BELL (she is trained to ring this when she needs to go out. She rings it whenever she wants to go out, which is fairly regularly).
6. View from my office (northern conference room):
7. More people care about Britney Spears' sister being knocked up than the clusterfuck in Iraq.
8. I have sent letters of interest to seven countries and received five inquires in response. I think I need some time away.
9. Related (Scene: Me on the phone with the catering director for the Space Needle, who I have a connection to because of B):
10. My brother Kyle and I recently discovered that we have the same favorite Dave Matthews Band song. I don't get the DMB haters. Dave may not have much of a voice, but he can assemble talent. In any event, I have met him dozens of times and he is a great guy. He is no Hootie.
1. My dad just got in tonight from Nigeria and we went to Austin Cantina for dinner, the first time for all of us. As an aside, my parents would eat at Outback Steakhouse, Buca di Beppos, Cheesecake Factory, or any other chain restaurant if I didn't insist on expanding their dining horizons. It just amazes me that after 25+ years abroad, they have absolutely no sense of adventure when it comes to dining - either here or abroad. My dad always wants to eat something here he can't get overseas, but I seriously doubt he eats anything regional while in Nigeria. For whatever reason, that means chain restaurants, which is how us kids felt, as teenagers, when we got back to the States. Lucky for him, his daughter is an irrepressible city and restaurant snob who refuses to eat in such places. It is only fair. His career expanded my horizons, so, in his near-retirement years, I intend to expand his.
The place was amazing, by the way. Probably seats less than 30 people and all of the food is scratch cooked (homemade tortillas, garden fresh salsa, margaritas sans that awful sweet and sour bullshit). I am so very full. I can't remember the last time I ate after 6pm. I have breakfast, lunch and dinner as leftovers.
2. Today I did something for my cleaning lady of which I am proud. (Ed. Note: I cannot figure out how to write that sentence in a grammatically correct fashion without sounding horribly pretentious and edited.) I told her that I was going to be in and out for the next two weeks, and if she wanted to take the time off, she could. Almost sheepishly, she told me that she was saving up for a small freezer and I left it at that. When I got to work, I called a client who has an appliance business. I found the small freezer she was looking for and my client gave it to me at substantially less than cost, and about $250 less than she would have paid. It is being delivered to my place this weekend and when she comes next Wednesday, it will be here, wrapped in a bow. If I remember to buy a bow.
It felt like Christmas to do that. Give someone I don't know that well something she really wants and needs and completely doesn't expect to receive from me. That is my version of Christmas.
3. I love tumblr and am going to make sure every member of my family creates one over the holidays. I wish all of my friends who use the internet had one. If you try it for a few days and explore it, you will understand why. Yes. Please to be making a tumblr, if only for me, and really, it is all about me. I find myself posting there in a completely different way than here. This place is text-based and more intimate and serves a completely different purpose. Tumblr has a simple, addictive interface and is more like a scrapbook.
4.
Darby sometimes curls up like a bug on the couch.
Other times, she lounges. She was born to be my dog.
5. Related: the POOP BELL (she is trained to ring this when she needs to go out. She rings it whenever she wants to go out, which is fairly regularly).
6. View from my office (northern conference room):
7. More people care about Britney Spears' sister being knocked up than the clusterfuck in Iraq.
8. I have sent letters of interest to seven countries and received five inquires in response. I think I need some time away.
9. Related (Scene: Me on the phone with the catering director for the Space Needle, who I have a connection to because of B):
Catering Guy: You are a delight and I really enjoy working with you.
Me: Thanks and thank you for all of your assistance in arranging this. You have all of my contact information, yes?
Catering Guy: Yes. (repeats my full name, then very excitedly asks:) WAIT! You're K! B's wife. OMG! We've met! We met at (local charity event). OMG! I love you two!
Me: pregnant pause. (thinks to self: will distancing herself from B result in less favorable treatment from Space Needle, who is now waiving almost every charge?). Yep, that's me.
Catering Guy: You can bring in two cases of wine, but don't tell anyone I said that. I know B has his own wine label.
Me: Yes, yes he does.
Catering Guy: Well, we'll do anything for you two. Bring it in.
10. My brother Kyle and I recently discovered that we have the same favorite Dave Matthews Band song. I don't get the DMB haters. Dave may not have much of a voice, but he can assemble talent. In any event, I have met him dozens of times and he is a great guy. He is no Hootie.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
St. Dick
It is a week before Christmas,
And all through my house,
Not a present was purchased,
I am such a louse.
I have always hated shopping. I think that is an accurate statement, although I guess I remember going to the Gap with friends in high school and not exactly loathing the experience. Earlier, when we lived in Saudi, we used to come home to the States once a year, and during that lone month, we would power shop for clothes for the following year. That was always fun, I guess, as you collected a bounty that you modeled for your friends upon your return. But since I was old enough to have to spend my own money, I just don't really enjoy it.
I am not a browser (of the IE, Firefox, or even Opera variety). I don't enjoy window shopping. I don't enjoy malls whatsoever. There is something about the fluorescent lighting that just knocks me on my ass and makes me want to get out of there as soon as possible. When I go shopping, I usually know exactly what I am looking for and I plot my course accordingly. I hit Nordstroms for makeup related stuff and clothes, Banana Republic for clothes (no need to try them on - they have reliable sizing), Williams Sonoma and Sur La Table for kitchen stuff, Restoration and Pottery Barn (and a local place) for furniture. I am not an impulse shopper, unless I am deep in retail therapy, and usually, if I see something I want, I noodle it for a few days.
Which brings me to Christmas shopping. Hate doesn't begin to cover it. B did ALL of our Christmas shopping throughout our relationship. I am, quite frankly, terrible at it, partly because I hate it, but mostly because I never get it the though that B did. He once picked out a gift for my (then) best friend that she raved and raved about for its thoughtfulness, but to this day, I never told her that B picked it out. Family and friends? B did it all. He had that ability to look and shop for a particular person. I am more of the "stumble across something and think that so-and-so would like it" kind of buyer.
If I were a more organized person, I would employ this strategy year round and just store the goods until the holidays. I suspect I will never actually become this person, but a girl has to have goals. Now, I find myself in a familiar position - a week before Christmas and absolutely no presents purchased. None. Nada. And the odds are, I won't get it done in time. Again.
Last year, I saw a w00t off (woot) and bought everyone a Roomba. That was easy. This year, I have been derelict in my online shopping and have no "one size fits everyone" gift. A few years ago, I bought everyone my favorite book of the year. I liked the idea of supporting both the author and giving everyone a great read. I may try that tonight, as I have Amazon Prime shipping and a few more business days for shipping. But not everyone wants a book for Christmas, and I just haven't taken the time to really think about gift-giving. Keegan's wedding, year-end matters, absolute self-centeredness and apathy have intervened.
My mother asked me last night if there was anything I wanted and I had to think about it. A divorce, I thought - no complications on the 31st and finality, freedom and independence. I thought a little more and said a ipod Nano or a cast iron skillet, or just a GC to Williams Sonoma or Sur La Table. Truth is, what I want cannot be purchased. I want a new direction, a happier perspective, and a little more inner peace. I want better relationships with friends and family and a sense of satisfaction that has eluded me. I want better judgment in friends and lovers and to regain my confidence in those judgments. I want my dog to lighten up and not be so fearful of other people. Hell, I want a little of that for myself.
I will likely make the obligatory weekend run to the hell that is downtown shopping and buy a bunch of crap for my family and friends that will involve little thought in the purchase. I saw something on Tumblr, from a very unlikely source, that made me think. I wish my family maintained a community Tumblr, where we randomly posted shit that interested us. I find that so fascinating and interesting and hope I can set it up over the holiday.
All I want for Christmas is peace of mind and heart. I don't think it is coming in the next week, but a girl can hope.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Google This
At the end of the year, people inevitably start thinking about how they are going to live life better in the next. We read round-up lists, summarizing the year in closing, and make resolutions for the upcoming one.
I started thinking about this little online project. I started it in a state of profound pain. I had finally realized that I was going to file for divorce and end a life than I had known for over a decade. Every breakup sucks out loud and I knew mine wasn't particularly brutal or vicious, but it was my heartache. I went to therapy and it was truly helpful, if not just a little soul-shaking, but I came to realize that what I was doing in that $150 hour each week was just fucking talking about it - and other shit rattling around in my head. I came to realize that if I took the time to actually write out some of those thoughts, I might save on therapy.
Turns out, that was true. I think I am up at least two grand.
Over the year and half that I have written here, I have fleshed out a lot of thoughts, and also written about truly insipid and mundane things. I have never written this for any audience or feedback, but have been grateful and touched by the friends who occasionally leave a comment. I am, of course, aware that this is the internet and this little journal is accessible to anyone who types the right keywords. That doesn't really bother me in any meaningful sense, as these thoughts and words only have value in context. This journal is only personal if you know me personally. Although I occasionally write about things that could hurt or embarrass people who know me personally, I usually try to keep it about me and my thoughts. I have also tried to edit myself with a mind towards the semi-public nature of blogs, mindful that at any point, I could find myself on the business end of a much more public examination of the words I have written.
Why the introspection? I read another person's blog today - someone I have never met in person, but have corresponded with occasionally over the past year. She never told me about her blog and I never sought it out, but it was somewhat publicly revealed, and I followed it down the rabbit hole. She, like me, considered her blog quasi-private - yes, easily accessible, but you had to know where to look, and she considered it her little secret. I knew some of her more personal issues, although I was always careful to let her tell me, rather than ask.
She is a real writer and a good one at that, and having some context to her words, I felt strangely empathetic and like a voyeur. Empathetic because we both were dealing with the emotional fallout of breakups, and like a voyeur because I wasn't sure I was supposed to be reading it. We aren't close friends, just occasional email buddies, and I sort of felt like I had secretly read her diary. I had more context that the other people who stumbled across it and that made me feel guilty as I read her written thoughts. I almost wanted to apologize to her for reading something so private, but then again, how private is writing a blog on the internet? Not hardly.
She sent me an email today and actually apologized to me for not telling me about it. I couldn't believe it. She doesn't know about this little corner of my internet and, truthfully, what the hell would it matter? That kind of gave way to a larger picture for me and I realized that I am not ashamed of anything I have written here, even if some of it is melodramatic and immature. I haven't embarked on any character assassinations or skewered my boss or defamed anyone, although I suspect my soon-to-be ex wouldn't be particularly pleased with his portrayal here. If nothing else, this is just an experiment of sorts - an electronic document of where I have been. Yes, it is sometimes profoundly personal and other times remarkably dull, but it is mine and I own every goddamn word.
I started thinking about this little online project. I started it in a state of profound pain. I had finally realized that I was going to file for divorce and end a life than I had known for over a decade. Every breakup sucks out loud and I knew mine wasn't particularly brutal or vicious, but it was my heartache. I went to therapy and it was truly helpful, if not just a little soul-shaking, but I came to realize that what I was doing in that $150 hour each week was just fucking talking about it - and other shit rattling around in my head. I came to realize that if I took the time to actually write out some of those thoughts, I might save on therapy.
Turns out, that was true. I think I am up at least two grand.
Over the year and half that I have written here, I have fleshed out a lot of thoughts, and also written about truly insipid and mundane things. I have never written this for any audience or feedback, but have been grateful and touched by the friends who occasionally leave a comment. I am, of course, aware that this is the internet and this little journal is accessible to anyone who types the right keywords. That doesn't really bother me in any meaningful sense, as these thoughts and words only have value in context. This journal is only personal if you know me personally. Although I occasionally write about things that could hurt or embarrass people who know me personally, I usually try to keep it about me and my thoughts. I have also tried to edit myself with a mind towards the semi-public nature of blogs, mindful that at any point, I could find myself on the business end of a much more public examination of the words I have written.
Why the introspection? I read another person's blog today - someone I have never met in person, but have corresponded with occasionally over the past year. She never told me about her blog and I never sought it out, but it was somewhat publicly revealed, and I followed it down the rabbit hole. She, like me, considered her blog quasi-private - yes, easily accessible, but you had to know where to look, and she considered it her little secret. I knew some of her more personal issues, although I was always careful to let her tell me, rather than ask.
She is a real writer and a good one at that, and having some context to her words, I felt strangely empathetic and like a voyeur. Empathetic because we both were dealing with the emotional fallout of breakups, and like a voyeur because I wasn't sure I was supposed to be reading it. We aren't close friends, just occasional email buddies, and I sort of felt like I had secretly read her diary. I had more context that the other people who stumbled across it and that made me feel guilty as I read her written thoughts. I almost wanted to apologize to her for reading something so private, but then again, how private is writing a blog on the internet? Not hardly.
She sent me an email today and actually apologized to me for not telling me about it. I couldn't believe it. She doesn't know about this little corner of my internet and, truthfully, what the hell would it matter? That kind of gave way to a larger picture for me and I realized that I am not ashamed of anything I have written here, even if some of it is melodramatic and immature. I haven't embarked on any character assassinations or skewered my boss or defamed anyone, although I suspect my soon-to-be ex wouldn't be particularly pleased with his portrayal here. If nothing else, this is just an experiment of sorts - an electronic document of where I have been. Yes, it is sometimes profoundly personal and other times remarkably dull, but it is mine and I own every goddamn word.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Lessons Learned From My Brother's Bachelor Party
1. My brothers are always my favorite people to hang out with. Always.
2. Keegan (groom) likes his dive bars and I dig that about him. Although sometimes, there are slightly jarring sights to be seen:
(Yes, that is a very hairy ass, and an arm lovingly wrapped around him and up in his shirt. For every lid, there is a pot.)
3. Keegan is still close friends with his buddies from high school, which he attended for just his senior year and while living with me and B on a 30 foot boat. B and I had been married for just a year at that point. In hindsight, that seems almost surreal, but it was one of the best years of my life. And I love that Keegan has the ability to retain and nurture his long-term friendships.
4. Next year will be a monumental one for Kyle, and that gives me a happy. My brothers are both really happy, well-adjusted men.
5. Being called a SILF by your brother's friends is not nearly as offensive as you might think.
6. Related: Kyle has mad cockblocking skills and isn't afraid to use them. For that, I am grateful.
7. Beer is always your best option if you are looking for endurance and stamina partying. Shots are a surefire way to cut an evening short.
8. Strippers and strip clubs aren't nearly as fun as a party bus filled with friends and family. I am sort of proud that they knew that.
9. The best nights are the ones that you don't overplan and just go with the flow. You cannot organize the kind of night we had last night. Kyle and I got a ride home with the party bus driver, in his own personal vehicle. At 3am.
10. Until last night, I was unaware that my dog held me to a curfew. She feels pretty strongly about it, too.
2. Keegan (groom) likes his dive bars and I dig that about him. Although sometimes, there are slightly jarring sights to be seen:
(Yes, that is a very hairy ass, and an arm lovingly wrapped around him and up in his shirt. For every lid, there is a pot.)
3. Keegan is still close friends with his buddies from high school, which he attended for just his senior year and while living with me and B on a 30 foot boat. B and I had been married for just a year at that point. In hindsight, that seems almost surreal, but it was one of the best years of my life. And I love that Keegan has the ability to retain and nurture his long-term friendships.
4. Next year will be a monumental one for Kyle, and that gives me a happy. My brothers are both really happy, well-adjusted men.
5. Being called a SILF by your brother's friends is not nearly as offensive as you might think.
6. Related: Kyle has mad cockblocking skills and isn't afraid to use them. For that, I am grateful.
7. Beer is always your best option if you are looking for endurance and stamina partying. Shots are a surefire way to cut an evening short.
8. Strippers and strip clubs aren't nearly as fun as a party bus filled with friends and family. I am sort of proud that they knew that.
9. The best nights are the ones that you don't overplan and just go with the flow. You cannot organize the kind of night we had last night. Kyle and I got a ride home with the party bus driver, in his own personal vehicle. At 3am.
10. Until last night, I was unaware that my dog held me to a curfew. She feels pretty strongly about it, too.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Passion Fruit or Durian
I am in some whacked out, end-of-the-year funk and I cannot seem to shake it. Is it just being anxious at getting some, oh, major life event over done with, gone with? That's surely part of it. Excitement for my brother's wedding? Definitely. Boredom and burnout at work? 180%. Mostly, I think, no, I know, that I created this completely artificial line in my sand, where the old life ends and the new life begins. Right now, I want to jump into the new life.
I'm completely ADD about that, too. Travel back to Colombia. Maybe take a job overseas. Contemplate the idea of a new relationship. Too many potential changes, and yet I am kind of intoxicated by the possibilities. I just want to get this year the fuck over, get the final divorce hearing the fuck over, dance and celebrate the joy of my brother's wedding, and wake up to 2008 with shit behind me.
Here is what I know for certain - the status quo isn't working for me, and I alone have the capability of altering the status quo. That is both empowering and kind of paralyzing. I have this tendency to shake everything up and bite off way more than I can chew, which is why I have been so cautious over the past few months. I do so much better with baby steps and building momentum and I need to harness that skill sooner, rather than later.
What do I want most? I want to love to go to work and feel challenged and stimulated by my professional life. Perhaps that is a misplaced priority, but that is what I want most. I don't have it now, and my firm is not to blame. Well, not entirely. This is more me realizing that I do need a line drawn somewhere between then and now, and my current employment might be a casualty of that need. I am willing and eager to work 12 hours a day, but want to do it for something I feel passionately about.
And that, in a nutshell, is it. I want to feel passion again. Once you've tasted it, in whatever form, you crave it. I realize that actually desiring passion is a luxury most folks can't entertain. Hell, I am not sure that I am not being melodramatic and impractical by desiring it. My dad has one of the strongest work ethics I've ever known, yet I doubt he would describe himself as passionate about his work. He takes great pride in a day and job well done, but I don't think he is in his dream job. He takes more pleasure in hanging out with his kids when he is home and being around family. Maybe my priorities are just completely fucked, as I am pursuing an opportunity that would take me far away from my family.
The lesson I learned in the course of my breakup with B is that ultimately, I am responsible for the course my life has taken and the direction it can go. Sobering, that. It is a liberating and kind of scary realization. Unhappy? No one to blame but me. Bored? Ditto. Unfulfilled? Here's looking at you, kid. The buck firmly stops with me, and any setbacks or heartaches I have had are behind me. I can either look over my shoulder and risk running into walls, or dare to look ahead.
I'm completely ADD about that, too. Travel back to Colombia. Maybe take a job overseas. Contemplate the idea of a new relationship. Too many potential changes, and yet I am kind of intoxicated by the possibilities. I just want to get this year the fuck over, get the final divorce hearing the fuck over, dance and celebrate the joy of my brother's wedding, and wake up to 2008 with shit behind me.
Here is what I know for certain - the status quo isn't working for me, and I alone have the capability of altering the status quo. That is both empowering and kind of paralyzing. I have this tendency to shake everything up and bite off way more than I can chew, which is why I have been so cautious over the past few months. I do so much better with baby steps and building momentum and I need to harness that skill sooner, rather than later.
What do I want most? I want to love to go to work and feel challenged and stimulated by my professional life. Perhaps that is a misplaced priority, but that is what I want most. I don't have it now, and my firm is not to blame. Well, not entirely. This is more me realizing that I do need a line drawn somewhere between then and now, and my current employment might be a casualty of that need. I am willing and eager to work 12 hours a day, but want to do it for something I feel passionately about.
And that, in a nutshell, is it. I want to feel passion again. Once you've tasted it, in whatever form, you crave it. I realize that actually desiring passion is a luxury most folks can't entertain. Hell, I am not sure that I am not being melodramatic and impractical by desiring it. My dad has one of the strongest work ethics I've ever known, yet I doubt he would describe himself as passionate about his work. He takes great pride in a day and job well done, but I don't think he is in his dream job. He takes more pleasure in hanging out with his kids when he is home and being around family. Maybe my priorities are just completely fucked, as I am pursuing an opportunity that would take me far away from my family.
The lesson I learned in the course of my breakup with B is that ultimately, I am responsible for the course my life has taken and the direction it can go. Sobering, that. It is a liberating and kind of scary realization. Unhappy? No one to blame but me. Bored? Ditto. Unfulfilled? Here's looking at you, kid. The buck firmly stops with me, and any setbacks or heartaches I have had are behind me. I can either look over my shoulder and risk running into walls, or dare to look ahead.
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