It's weird, the parts of your life that fade into the background, lost forever. I'm only 23 and yet there are years, whole sections of my life, that feel like they don't belong to me. My first job at college was working at a winery. They needed help, I had no previous experience whatsoever, they hired me on the spot. And I loved it. It was right on the lake, I had the privilege of learning about the process of making wine, and when it was the dead of winter, with no customers in sight, they'd let me sit at the counter and do my homework so as not to fall behind in school. I saw my boss a few years later, from afar, and she'd lost all her hair. I felt bad that I hadn't heard of any sickness, but also that I'd just completely lost touch after I left. She gave me a chance and I'm forever grateful for that.
My first job in high school, so, really, my first job ever, was in the kitchen at the SLU dining hall. I had to wear a hat or a hairnet (guess which one I chose) and I had burns on my wrists that entire summer from having to drop the pans of boiling water into the line. I met a guy named Simba, from Africa, who had a crush on me but who I supposed had a crush on a lot of local girls. I was sixteen, he was nineteen, and knew things about the world that I could never dream of understanding. He was charming and could always make me laugh; for the years after, when I worked in various offices on campus, I would see him and wave, and he'd flash his contagious smile and melt my heart all over again. Ben hated him, but then again, that was his right. We were so in love then, and the thought that anyone might steal me away was inconceivable. He drove me to and from work every day that summer because I didn't have my license, and I'd pulled a rolling stop on my driving test, failing miserably. I'd come out of work, sweaty and greasy and hating life, and he'd have the air conditioning in his jeep on full blast, with a sweatshirt on to keep the chills at bay. I hate that I forgot those things later, but they were so easily overshadowed that I don't think remembering would have mattered much anyway.
I watched my grandmother die. I was in the room when she stopped breathing; looked on as my grandfather bent down and kissed her, telling her he'd love her forever. My heart broke into pieces, and I remember standing next to Joe, crying hysterically, while he rubbed my back and tried not to sob himself. I think that was the first significant moment in our relationship, the first little chip in a wall that had been built up for years. It's hard to imagine now that we weren't always as close as we are, but I think that Grandma would love the fact that she had something to do with it.
I know the exact moment I stopped loving Ben. It wasn't what you'd expect; I loved him through girl after girl, affair after affair, through endless broken hearts. Pure torture. But I always picked myself up and moved on, letting the dust settle on a version of me that became less like someone I liked every day. No, I stopped loving him on a very ordinary day last summer. When I'd gotten my tattoo in June, we had talked about what I would get for years. He had wanted to draw it, in the beginning, and then later had changed his mind. Said he didn't want something on me that he'd drawn because it was akin to having his name tattooed there; entirely too much commitment for someone like Ben. So when I got it, and picked out a design that was exactly what I wanted, I felt free. It was for me and only me, and I loved it. When we met up about a month later, I picked him up from the bus station. After we hugged, we got in the car, and my tattoo was the first thing he wanted to see. So I hunched over in the driver's seat and pulled up my shirt. He was quiet for a long time, and mumbled something about how he liked it. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he wished he'd drawn it after all; he wanted something on me that would make me his forever. And that was it. I turned the car on, and we drove in silence, until he couldn't take it anymore and changed the subject. But for me it ended there. I understood then that he would always jerk me around, would never know just what he wanted until I'd already turned in another direction. It just wasn't enough for me anymore.
I don't know why I'm writing all of this. Maybe it's because I hate endings, and want to keep these times in my life that seem over, alive. Maybe it's because lately I feel so much older than 23. I feel used up, as though I have nothing left to give, and so I need to validate the fact that I was once a very interesting girl. I think it's to close chapters that were lovely and hard, so that I can make new ones, jump out of this rut that seems impossibly full of monotony.
Right now, it's time for more tea and less reflecting. Too much of a good thing, and all that.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Even if it's a lie, say it will be alright, and I shall believe.
I read somewhere once that if you don't write something everyday, then you're not really a writer, you're just playing at it. It's stuck with me for awhile, and I think I believe it to be true. Writing is work; it's a philosophy and a belief system. It's far from just plain talent. The thing is, I don't write everyday. I have all of these ideas floating in my head that just never make it down on paper. But that's going to change now. I think that I need to write everyday, not only to prove to myself that I can do it, but so I can keep myself sane.
We heard yesterday that the store is going to be re-opening here in a few weeks. And last week, I walked into the bookstore, complaining to my old boss that I didn't have a coupon and couldn't afford to buy a book without one, and she offered me a set of keys to be supervisor. It's been a surreal seven days. I feel like I've been sort of reinventing myself, even though nothing really seems to have changed. I just feel... differently.
The other day I wrote Ben another letter because I found an old picture of us. I had to cry when I looked at it because I'd pushed it so far back, hidden it so deep, that I forgot it even existed. He used to reference the picture all the time, after things had changed, and we just couldn't seem to get back to the way we were. He'd say he wanted that to be us again, the couple that everyone envied.
The thing is, M, is that I'm not sure what he might have been doing back then. Given his personality, and his actions over the last 7 years, I don't see how I can ignore the possibility that he was lying to me right from the get-go. But it never mattered. I always seemed to ignore the warning signs, the things everyone told me were happening but that I couldn't see for myself. I loved him with everything I had, and that meant always trying to see the best in him. After awhile, it became too obvious to ignore, and I realize now that that's where the real trouble began. We were fine when I turned my back to all of that shit, but as soon as I let it in, as soon as I opened up the box and let it all seep out, we cracked. And there wasn't enough glue in the world to put us back together. I don't know if I'm telling you this so that you'll give him a second chance and just ignore all of the things that have happened; I don't think I am, but then again, I have trouble figuring out what I want to happen with you guys on a day to day basis. It's almost like I want you guys to work so that I know he's capable of love and that everything we had was real. On the flip side, I almost revel in the fact that this has happened to you, and it wasn't just me that couldn't make him work. I don't know which one is more terrible or more selfish.
I'm not sure how I got here. This is not at all what this post was supposed to be about. I'm happy, and I'd hoped to convey that here. That even when I have my down days, and I remember all of this stuff about him that I loved, it's never enough to want him back. I used to think that he and I could be friends, but I know now that won't ever happen. I can't condone the things he's done to both of us, and I refuse to sit back and give him advice on a life that he created. He's alone like I always told him he would be. Then again, so are we. I guess it's both a blessing and a curse.
We heard yesterday that the store is going to be re-opening here in a few weeks. And last week, I walked into the bookstore, complaining to my old boss that I didn't have a coupon and couldn't afford to buy a book without one, and she offered me a set of keys to be supervisor. It's been a surreal seven days. I feel like I've been sort of reinventing myself, even though nothing really seems to have changed. I just feel... differently.
The other day I wrote Ben another letter because I found an old picture of us. I had to cry when I looked at it because I'd pushed it so far back, hidden it so deep, that I forgot it even existed. He used to reference the picture all the time, after things had changed, and we just couldn't seem to get back to the way we were. He'd say he wanted that to be us again, the couple that everyone envied.
The thing is, M, is that I'm not sure what he might have been doing back then. Given his personality, and his actions over the last 7 years, I don't see how I can ignore the possibility that he was lying to me right from the get-go. But it never mattered. I always seemed to ignore the warning signs, the things everyone told me were happening but that I couldn't see for myself. I loved him with everything I had, and that meant always trying to see the best in him. After awhile, it became too obvious to ignore, and I realize now that that's where the real trouble began. We were fine when I turned my back to all of that shit, but as soon as I let it in, as soon as I opened up the box and let it all seep out, we cracked. And there wasn't enough glue in the world to put us back together. I don't know if I'm telling you this so that you'll give him a second chance and just ignore all of the things that have happened; I don't think I am, but then again, I have trouble figuring out what I want to happen with you guys on a day to day basis. It's almost like I want you guys to work so that I know he's capable of love and that everything we had was real. On the flip side, I almost revel in the fact that this has happened to you, and it wasn't just me that couldn't make him work. I don't know which one is more terrible or more selfish.
I'm not sure how I got here. This is not at all what this post was supposed to be about. I'm happy, and I'd hoped to convey that here. That even when I have my down days, and I remember all of this stuff about him that I loved, it's never enough to want him back. I used to think that he and I could be friends, but I know now that won't ever happen. I can't condone the things he's done to both of us, and I refuse to sit back and give him advice on a life that he created. He's alone like I always told him he would be. Then again, so are we. I guess it's both a blessing and a curse.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I'm sorry for this.
I found the picture of you and I today from your senior prom. You know the one. You had it framed for me before you left for college that fall, and it has followed me through move after move, never far from reach. I remember the first time I saw it, in a collage of pictures your parents had made of you at your graduation party. It took my breath away; literally, I remember thinking that there would never be any greater love in this world than the love we had. You're looking at me with such... longing. As though in your eyes, I'm the most beautiful person in the world, and you can't imagine your world without me. If I look at the picture as a metaphor for our relationship it seems accurate; you're staring at me, awaiting my next move, while I barely lift my eyes to the camera, still not sure of what I'm doing there.
I tackled my room today. You'd be proud. I found a note from you from last year, a chore list, meant as a joke, but a serious one. In it, you ask me to not let things continue to rot in the fridge, or for dishes to grow mold in the sink. You ask me to vacuum and do laundry, and occasionally, put things back after I get them out. You adamantly remind me that I shouldn't buy any more things for the apartment that we don't need. I laughed when I read it, and showed it to Sam and Jules, but it brought it all back. The expectations, and how neither of us could ever seem to meet those of the other. I never thought that I asked for a lot, but maybe I did. Or maybe I just thought you could do anything. I don't really know.
I didn't want to be reminded of you today any more than I already had been. And if being forced into it, I wanted to only remember the bad, never the good. But you follow me, just like our picture, and I couldn't escape. All the things of you that I've hidden over the last year suddenly found their way to the surface, and I relived all the different emotions. Do you know what it's like to realize that the person you love the most, no longer fits that description? I suppose that you do, but it's hard just the same. I know that I let you down in all the ways a person can, and I'm sorry for that. I don't want to be but I am. But I want you to know that you let me down, too. I think that I would have loved you forever.
I'm not sure how much more of this there will be. It's been almost a year since I came home and found my room rearranged, along with a new life without you in it. I'm still grateful that you did what you did; that you stayed with me that night and let me think, against all odds, that the decision was hard for you. I'm grateful that I didn't know the last time I saw you would be just that, and so there were no tearful goodbyes, just a kiss on the lips and a, "I'll call you later."
You're not forgiven for what you did. You never will be. You were wrong and I will always hate you for the lies, the hurt, the tears. You can't undo damage like that; it's irreparable. But sometimes, late at night or when the sun starts to set, I think of the moment in the picture and know that we weren't always the couple that people felt bad for. For a time, we were the ones to envy. And that's enough for me.
I tackled my room today. You'd be proud. I found a note from you from last year, a chore list, meant as a joke, but a serious one. In it, you ask me to not let things continue to rot in the fridge, or for dishes to grow mold in the sink. You ask me to vacuum and do laundry, and occasionally, put things back after I get them out. You adamantly remind me that I shouldn't buy any more things for the apartment that we don't need. I laughed when I read it, and showed it to Sam and Jules, but it brought it all back. The expectations, and how neither of us could ever seem to meet those of the other. I never thought that I asked for a lot, but maybe I did. Or maybe I just thought you could do anything. I don't really know.
I didn't want to be reminded of you today any more than I already had been. And if being forced into it, I wanted to only remember the bad, never the good. But you follow me, just like our picture, and I couldn't escape. All the things of you that I've hidden over the last year suddenly found their way to the surface, and I relived all the different emotions. Do you know what it's like to realize that the person you love the most, no longer fits that description? I suppose that you do, but it's hard just the same. I know that I let you down in all the ways a person can, and I'm sorry for that. I don't want to be but I am. But I want you to know that you let me down, too. I think that I would have loved you forever.
I'm not sure how much more of this there will be. It's been almost a year since I came home and found my room rearranged, along with a new life without you in it. I'm still grateful that you did what you did; that you stayed with me that night and let me think, against all odds, that the decision was hard for you. I'm grateful that I didn't know the last time I saw you would be just that, and so there were no tearful goodbyes, just a kiss on the lips and a, "I'll call you later."
You're not forgiven for what you did. You never will be. You were wrong and I will always hate you for the lies, the hurt, the tears. You can't undo damage like that; it's irreparable. But sometimes, late at night or when the sun starts to set, I think of the moment in the picture and know that we weren't always the couple that people felt bad for. For a time, we were the ones to envy. And that's enough for me.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
How can you resist this face?
I figured I'd put up some pictures of one of the loves of my life; the ones you hear about all the time. This is Jack Jack (a little freaked out in the first one from seeing his reflection on my computer) in from the outdoors, and playing in the giant pile of dirt that was delivered yesterday for the landscaping project. As stressful as it is having all four kids, two dogs, and six adults at the house at all times, running in and out, getting wet and dirty and tired, this week so far as been perfect. The weather has held up so Jess and the boys can get stuff done outside, while Sam, Jules and I have been in charge of distracting the children for eight hours a day. I'll post pictures when the project is done, but for now, I just wanted to put a face to my little man. I'll get more of the kids tomorrow. Ciao, bellas.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Haunted.
I had a terrible dream last night. Ben invited me down to his family reunion; we apparently were still very much together. And as we walk in, he suddenly stops dead, and starts backing up, with me behind him. Guess who showed up unexpectedly? Micaela. She starts advancing on him, in an attempt to confront him about what an asshole he is, I'm sure, and he's still tripping over me in his attempt to run away. Then I see in his eyes his split second decision; he leaves me behind and moves towards here, with some bullshit excuse about how he found me on the side of the road, and I simply wouldn't leave him alone. I weigh my options, and seriously consider walking away when I finally stand up for myself, walk over to Micaela and say, "We need to talk." Ben is absolutely stunned, and Sarah runs after us, yelling at her brother, "We all knew this would happen, you idiot! You don't get to treat people this way." And the three of us walk off into the Cape Cod sunset.
Now, you might be thinking that shit like this is therapeutic. Maybe, deep down, it is. But the problem with this particular dream is that it was so vivid. And before we walked in, and all hell broke loose, it was just Ben and I, the way things were. It's almost like my subconscious is insisting that I keep on dealing with this, to ensure that I'm really okay. I don't know if it's loneliness, or having so much time on my hands from being unemployed, but I've been thinking about him a lot lately. Not about getting back together, or in any real "scene"; mostly just flashes of his face, or things we had together. It could be this Ithaca idea that's stirred up all of these emotions. I saw the apartment we lived in on Craigslist for rent and it brought all of those memories rushing back. Fighting and working 10 hour shifts after a day full of school simply because I didn't want to be home. But it also brought back walking into the apartment and having my favorite meal prepared, and the day I came home and found Zander waiting for me, the most perfect present anyone could ask for. There's got to be a dichotomy; I think even when it ends in hurt and pain, you still end up thinking about all of the good stuff that led up to that moment.
This is part of the reason why I'm so damn eager to start the next phase of my life. Heather and I have been talking about opportunities in Buffalo, I'm still considering Ithaca and Vermont, and Rochester hasn't been totally ruled out either. I just know that it's time for me, it's time to be 23, it's time to live. And fuck it if I'm afraid. Nothing amazing ever came of being comfortable.
Now, you might be thinking that shit like this is therapeutic. Maybe, deep down, it is. But the problem with this particular dream is that it was so vivid. And before we walked in, and all hell broke loose, it was just Ben and I, the way things were. It's almost like my subconscious is insisting that I keep on dealing with this, to ensure that I'm really okay. I don't know if it's loneliness, or having so much time on my hands from being unemployed, but I've been thinking about him a lot lately. Not about getting back together, or in any real "scene"; mostly just flashes of his face, or things we had together. It could be this Ithaca idea that's stirred up all of these emotions. I saw the apartment we lived in on Craigslist for rent and it brought all of those memories rushing back. Fighting and working 10 hour shifts after a day full of school simply because I didn't want to be home. But it also brought back walking into the apartment and having my favorite meal prepared, and the day I came home and found Zander waiting for me, the most perfect present anyone could ask for. There's got to be a dichotomy; I think even when it ends in hurt and pain, you still end up thinking about all of the good stuff that led up to that moment.
This is part of the reason why I'm so damn eager to start the next phase of my life. Heather and I have been talking about opportunities in Buffalo, I'm still considering Ithaca and Vermont, and Rochester hasn't been totally ruled out either. I just know that it's time for me, it's time to be 23, it's time to live. And fuck it if I'm afraid. Nothing amazing ever came of being comfortable.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Oh, the reasons I don't have a boyfriend...
It's been two months since I got laid. I'm just going to put that out there right now. Two months to the day. And it's not like I've been counting or anything, I'm just really good at remembering ridiculous, inconsequential things. And I weighed myself this morning. There's a general consensus around here that since we fixed the scale, it's been reading four pounds heavier than normal. So while I take my 147 lbs this morning as a sign from The Fates that it's time to start running, I also recognize that that same 147lbs could very well be 143. And let's face it. 143 can obviously be rounded down to 140. I've been a steady 140 most of my life. But just to give you an idea of how this COULD continue to go, let's dissect what I ate yesterday:
8:30AM: I drink a cup of coffee with Chocolate Toffee coffee creamer, no sugar.
12:30PM: I'm famished, and only have ten minutes to eat at work, so I run over to Espresso, etc. to grab something quick... and the only "quick" thing to eat he has is a lemon bar. I'll take one. I run to smoke a cigarette, then jet back inside, down the lemon bar in four bites, and am back on the floor to help Mary with ornaments in record time.
3:30PM: I have a half hour break coming to me, so I call Jules to see if she wants to meet for lunch. Being mostly unemployed, and seriously short on time, I suggest a quickie-lunch at Taco Bell. She orders a soft taco supreme. I order my usual: cheesy bean and rice burrito with sour cream and a diet soda.
5:00PM: I leave work, make it home by 5:15 and chill for 20 minutes. Then I grab myself a Sam Adams from the fridge, and hunker on down with my new book and the chaise lounge outside.
7:00PM: Dad decides he's hungry, but takes his sweet time figuring out what he wants. I grab another Sam Adams and tell him to let me know when he's ready.
8:00PM: After a disappointing trip to a so-called deli that can only be described as "the place where people go to die", we make our way to Jrecks and then Burger King, so as to satisfy everyone's needs. I order half of a turkey sub with a little mayo, no Russian dressing, with cheese, lettuce, tomato, and onions. I then share a large order of fries with Jules, with my signature onion ring sauce, and a diet soda there as well.
11:00PM: I eat a banana bread muffin that Jules made, with a little bit of melted butter and a glass of milk.
Awful stuff, isn't it. The truth is, I've always eaten what I wanted. Very rarely do I censor myself. But that's just plain bad. A day full of fast food, sugar and carbs does not a fit girl make. So. I've dusted off my sneakers, and updated my iPod with all the new songs I've downloaded in the last three weeks. We're going to take the cans back for a little extra cash, run some errands around town, and then come back here for a run/walk if it kills us. I'm going to try and talk Sam into going with us. My goal is to look stunning for Les's wedding next June. I know it's a long shot, but let's face it: I'm unemployed with really nothing better to do. Wish me luck.
PS: I just realized that it's 1PM and I've got nothing in my system but two cups of coffee and two cigarettes. This could be the root of all of my problems right here. Just a thought.
8:30AM: I drink a cup of coffee with Chocolate Toffee coffee creamer, no sugar.
12:30PM: I'm famished, and only have ten minutes to eat at work, so I run over to Espresso, etc. to grab something quick... and the only "quick" thing to eat he has is a lemon bar. I'll take one. I run to smoke a cigarette, then jet back inside, down the lemon bar in four bites, and am back on the floor to help Mary with ornaments in record time.
3:30PM: I have a half hour break coming to me, so I call Jules to see if she wants to meet for lunch. Being mostly unemployed, and seriously short on time, I suggest a quickie-lunch at Taco Bell. She orders a soft taco supreme. I order my usual: cheesy bean and rice burrito with sour cream and a diet soda.
5:00PM: I leave work, make it home by 5:15 and chill for 20 minutes. Then I grab myself a Sam Adams from the fridge, and hunker on down with my new book and the chaise lounge outside.
7:00PM: Dad decides he's hungry, but takes his sweet time figuring out what he wants. I grab another Sam Adams and tell him to let me know when he's ready.
8:00PM: After a disappointing trip to a so-called deli that can only be described as "the place where people go to die", we make our way to Jrecks and then Burger King, so as to satisfy everyone's needs. I order half of a turkey sub with a little mayo, no Russian dressing, with cheese, lettuce, tomato, and onions. I then share a large order of fries with Jules, with my signature onion ring sauce, and a diet soda there as well.
11:00PM: I eat a banana bread muffin that Jules made, with a little bit of melted butter and a glass of milk.
Awful stuff, isn't it. The truth is, I've always eaten what I wanted. Very rarely do I censor myself. But that's just plain bad. A day full of fast food, sugar and carbs does not a fit girl make. So. I've dusted off my sneakers, and updated my iPod with all the new songs I've downloaded in the last three weeks. We're going to take the cans back for a little extra cash, run some errands around town, and then come back here for a run/walk if it kills us. I'm going to try and talk Sam into going with us. My goal is to look stunning for Les's wedding next June. I know it's a long shot, but let's face it: I'm unemployed with really nothing better to do. Wish me luck.
PS: I just realized that it's 1PM and I've got nothing in my system but two cups of coffee and two cigarettes. This could be the root of all of my problems right here. Just a thought.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
My best friend gave me the best advice. He said, "Each day's a gift and not a given right."
Okay Les, Whit. This is for you. I was actually thinking today about how I wanted to sit down and update, so I guess we're still somewhat telephathically connected. The bond of Dunkin' will never be broken.
I'm still very much (mostly) unemployed, and I'm starting to get used to it. A little too used it, some might say. It's so much harder going into work when I've had three days off in a row. Before, when I was working 12 hour days back to back, I didn't have time to think about anything except how exhausted I was. Now, with all of this time on my hands, I've started an epic list of books I want to read, jobs I want to have, things I want to accomplish before I die. For the last six months, I've become the 60-year-old version of myself, and I don't want to be that anymore. I need to find something to validate the fact that I'm still only 23 years old; I've got a lot of time left to be boring.
I desperately want to move back to Ithaca. Ladies, this means, I believe, that I will be approximately an hour or so away from both of you. Which really works for me, and is pro number 5 on my pro/con list. I don't want to leave my family, but I can't do this anymore. I can wait maybe another year, for the right job/housing situation to present itself, but then I need to get the hell out. Not because it hasn't been wonderful being home. And not because I don't love my family more than anything in the world. But because for the first time since my parents got divorced and Ben and I split up, I need to do something for myself. I'm a completely different person than who I was just a few years ago; why stop now? I've been afraid of so many things for so long, that I really can't remember the last time I challenged myself, or did something that's worthwhile.
Dad and I were talking about happiness the other night, and as I lit my cigarette he told me that perhaps my expectations are too high. I obviously disagree. Firstly, any expectation of mine is certainly not too high; if it's something I deem important, then I'm not going to settle for less. And secondly, I really want very simple things. In the next five years or so I'd like to meet someone who's my equal, get my heart broken, enjoy an adult relationship that's based on more than dishonesty and distrust. I'd like to find a job that challenges me a little, even if it isn't what I always pictured myself doing. I'd like to make enough money so that every paycheck isn't spent the day before the next one arrives. I'd like to rent/buy a small house with a deck and a fenced in yard, so that I can get my Great Dane and name him King. That's it. I really don't think it's too much to ask. And I'm so ready. I've closed the hardest chapter in my life so far and I'm ready to just let it be.
I will title the next one, quite simply: "The Best Years of My Life." You're all invited.
I'm still very much (mostly) unemployed, and I'm starting to get used to it. A little too used it, some might say. It's so much harder going into work when I've had three days off in a row. Before, when I was working 12 hour days back to back, I didn't have time to think about anything except how exhausted I was. Now, with all of this time on my hands, I've started an epic list of books I want to read, jobs I want to have, things I want to accomplish before I die. For the last six months, I've become the 60-year-old version of myself, and I don't want to be that anymore. I need to find something to validate the fact that I'm still only 23 years old; I've got a lot of time left to be boring.
I desperately want to move back to Ithaca. Ladies, this means, I believe, that I will be approximately an hour or so away from both of you. Which really works for me, and is pro number 5 on my pro/con list. I don't want to leave my family, but I can't do this anymore. I can wait maybe another year, for the right job/housing situation to present itself, but then I need to get the hell out. Not because it hasn't been wonderful being home. And not because I don't love my family more than anything in the world. But because for the first time since my parents got divorced and Ben and I split up, I need to do something for myself. I'm a completely different person than who I was just a few years ago; why stop now? I've been afraid of so many things for so long, that I really can't remember the last time I challenged myself, or did something that's worthwhile.
Dad and I were talking about happiness the other night, and as I lit my cigarette he told me that perhaps my expectations are too high. I obviously disagree. Firstly, any expectation of mine is certainly not too high; if it's something I deem important, then I'm not going to settle for less. And secondly, I really want very simple things. In the next five years or so I'd like to meet someone who's my equal, get my heart broken, enjoy an adult relationship that's based on more than dishonesty and distrust. I'd like to find a job that challenges me a little, even if it isn't what I always pictured myself doing. I'd like to make enough money so that every paycheck isn't spent the day before the next one arrives. I'd like to rent/buy a small house with a deck and a fenced in yard, so that I can get my Great Dane and name him King. That's it. I really don't think it's too much to ask. And I'm so ready. I've closed the hardest chapter in my life so far and I'm ready to just let it be.
I will title the next one, quite simply: "The Best Years of My Life." You're all invited.
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