Not a Planner

Today I watched an episode of Dead Like Me (which I just found, and have decided I love), and one of the characters described people as being of two camps: bowling balls and pins. I think, for the most part, I have been a pin in my life. I have “gone with the flow,” or “drifted,” or whatever other cutesy name you want to give it. And, I have to say, everything has generally turned out well. I have a great job, great friends, and am generally pretty happy. Yes, there’s the whole love/partner piece still missing, but I think this will be the case for quite awhile. (Side note: I have realized lately that something is different in me, that something has changed when it comes to men, love, relationships. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. It is kind of like a hole, or that my heart is covered in scar tissue and can’t really feel anything right now, and I’m not really in any hurry to let it feel anything again. So, we will come back to this some other time.) What do I want? I am blessed to be smart and crafty enough to basically have whatever I want in life, so why can’t I decide?

I’ve been thinking that I need a plan, so here are the basics of it. I don’t know where the plan will get me, but it is a start.

Things I want to do:

• Move back to New Orleans.
• Remodel a house in New Orleans (I can see this in my mind, and think about it frequently.)
• Play roller derby.
• Be an artist.
• Be happy.
• Be in better shape.
• Get another degree.
• Save enough money to have a nest egg.
• Pay off my bills.
• Buy a new-to-me Jeep.
• Find a way to do my job from Louisiana, or find an equally satisfying job there.
• Open my heart again.
• Stop wasting time.
• Travel: Mexico, Africa.
• Do more outdoorsy things.
• Not be lonely.
• Go to the dentist and doctor.

Pretty simple list, really. Some of them actually involve planning, and some of them don’t. And of course, this is just a sarting place. I am sure that I will edit/add to/delete things again and again.

I guess the next step is figuring out how to get to each of these goals? I should be pragmatic and plan and save and then move back to New Orleans when everything fits. But, I really don’t want to. I want to jump. I know it will all work out in the end, but I don’t know how I will do with the uncomfortableness that comes with jumping again. I am just now settling from my last jump and would kind of like to not do it again for awhile. But then again, I don’t want to get bored either.

Hmm… I can think on it, awhile, but not too long. Thinking is what makes people never do anything and only dream about it. I don’t want to live a life of regret.

New Writing!!

I woke up this morning with a story going through my brain. I am writing it down so that I don’t forget!  Will definitely have to work on it, as I think it has legs!! Enjoy!

I like frat boys. And boys visiting Bourbon for the first time from Kansas and Colorado. Usually they’re attending their best friend’s bachelor party, here for spring break or simply on that once in a lifetime road trip. And what am I? Well, I’m that local girl that they still dream about even after they’ve sunk back into their everyday life. When they’re sitting in their cubicle, or retelling the story about their trip to New Orleans (they’re all the same); even when they’re lying beside their girlfriend of going on six years now. They still dream about me. About us. About our night together in New Orleans. I’m their story.

I wasn’t always this way. And yes, I still love love as much as the next woman. But somewhere along the line, this way became easier. I always know the outcome this way. I’ll meet a cute guy in The Quarter; he’ll not be able to believe his luck. A local girl is into him. Generally I like to look like a bit of a bad girl, black corset top showing off my Day of the Dead shoulder tattoo, jeans and some funky heels. I usually wear my hair down or piled messily up, and depending on my mood, I may be the sexy smart girl by wearing my nerdy glasses. Boys love this look. Especially the ones with popped collars and too much product in their hair. I am not the girl that they date back home so of course they go for it. I am just about the antithesis.

If I’m not in the bad girl sort of mood, I’ll either go completely prepped out with my own popped collar unbuttoned a little too low with khaki short shorts or a mini and expensive looking sunglasses holding back my hair. Then it’s a nice surprise when the out of town boy gets to see that this girl who does in fact look like someone he would date back home, really is a bad girl when she takes off her shirt.

Like I said, I’ll always know the outcome this way. I’m not a prostitute, or promiscuous really; I honestly don’t get past some flirting and a kiss most of the time. This is just how I fill that need for male attention now. It is so much easier than having a boyfriend; I always know what will happen. We will hangout all night, and maybe part of the next day or so, but he always goes home. Some have promised that they would write, or call or come back to NOLA; whatever. And actually, a few of them do. But for most of them, I am a fantasy. Someone their girlfriend will never find out about. Someone their parent’s will never have to disapprove of. Someone who will not pressure them for a ring, or a promise or a relationship at all. I am just there. In New Orleans, and that’s where I will always be. He can dream about our time together as often as he likes; it wasn’t polluted with all of those relationshipy things that poison passion, lust, love. In that sense, we were perfect. If we were real, we wouldn’t be perfect, so that’s how we like it. It’s that promise of what could have been that is delicious. That keeps us smiling when our everyday life is boring, constrictive, or downright bad.

Boxes

I was shaken a little when I heard, but that’s just it–I was shaken, a little. Not utterly destroyed, not hurt, not really–much, come to think of it. Just shaken. As for you, and me, and US, well, I’ve put that all in a nice little box, wrapped it in kraft paper, using plenty of tape, and tied it all together using string and a neat little bow. Right now, that box is still in the middle of the floor, but soon I will tire of tripping over it and will put it on a shelf. As time passes, I will add more things to my shelf, and eventually, well this box, the US box, will get pushed all the way to the back, with plenty of other boxes in its way. I am sure I will come across this box again one day, probably several times since it will always be on my shelf, but only when I am looking for it.

Oh the Places You’ll Go… (Part I)

I have moved across the country three times for a boy — twice for the same one. Yes, three times. What does that say about me?  I don’t know, and am trying to figure it out.

The first boy was Jeremiah. He was on his way to Bible College (really.) in Seattle when I met him. He had stopped in Idaho to visit family. I met him at a party at his aunt’s house, and we fell in love quickly and completely. We were utterly unsuitable for each other. I am/was much more like the Bible School attending person he thought he wanted to become than his real self. Falling in love quickly and completely blinds you; you are only able to see the other person through a filter — not that I am saying anything new here at all; I realize that countless things have been uttered on this theme for as long as there has been love.

Anyway, as happens in all relationships, our true selves began to show through, and we weren’t at all what the other person needed/wanted. But, I (maybe we? I don’t know) was too stubborn to let go when I should have, and kept up the relationship for entirely too long.

Jeremiah bounced between jobs, was sometimes homeless, and generally unhappily searching for his place in the world. I was living at home, working a dead-end job, and trying to go to school at a second rate university. At one point in our relationship, Jeremiah had a breakdown. One of his best friends died, and he lost it. He went to the funeral, and spent the better part of a year following Phish around the country, even dabbling in selling weed to pay his way. He was gone. Somewhere in the Midwest. No cell phone. No email. No contact.

Instead of letting go (because we were obviously so well suited for each other) I tracked him down at his friend Jason’s parents’ house in North Dakota. He told me he was in trouble. That he had cheated on me, not then, as we were apparently not together then, but before — God was I dumb. That he was at the worst point in his life. So what did I do? I went to him. I finished my last week of classes, and met him in Minneapolis. Here, he was practically living in a van (I know; so weird that I got mixed up in this), and “living” with his friend Allison, who I am pretty sure made her living as a full fledged drug dealer.

Good God, what was I thinking? All I could see was love (which wasn’t even really there, the more I look at it), and it didn’t matter to me that I was putting myself in danger — drugs (not just weed, and not just using it either, though I swear I never touched ANY of it, still, just to be around it …), alcohol, so many illegal activities a thousand miles away from everything I had ever known. WHAT WAS I THINKING? How did I believe in the fairy tale so much that I could do that to myself?

Luckily, I didn’t last long. All I would do is hide in “our” bedroom while Jeremiah did whatever with his friends in the basement. One night, Jeremiah was gone, and Allison came home and started throwing things; I swear she broke everything in the kitchen. So I left. I got out of the house, and went to the park behind the house and hid until I saw Jeremiah come home in his van. Then I ran out and told him what happened. It just wasn’t working. This life wasn’t me.

Then next morning I called my grandma and she bought me a plane ticket home for that day. I think I was about 23, and I suppose that is an age where you are supposed to be messing up royally as I had done, but it still makes me mad that I let that happen to myself.

So was that it? Was that the end of Jeremiah? Of course not! A few months passed, and Jeremiah and I talked again. I had finally moved out of my parents’ house, and had found a great place in downtown Boise. It was pricey for me (at $500 a month!), but I knew that if I had a place then Jeremiah would come back (again, what the hell was wrong with me? how degrading is that?). Not that Jeremiah was a completely bad guy. I do believe that he loved me; he just wasn’t the right one for me.

So, Jeremiah came back to Boise (I bought him a ticket). I remember going to Savers before he got to Boise and buying him two new outfits. He literally didn’t have a thing. So, he moved in. It seemed like we were happy again. But, eventually our true selves showed through everything again. Jeremiah decided that he wanted to become a country music star (and guess what? he has.) and I wanted him to be something more suitable, say an accountant. Anyway, Jeremiah was embarrassed of me when we were out, and never wanted me to come and see him play (this seems to be a theme in my relationships — I embarrass him when we are out). Things got bad. I broke (okay, smashed, destroyed) his Martin. He wrote an album full of country songs about me. I moved to Louisiana. And that was that with Jeremiah.

30 Days

In 30 days I will by 29. I always give myself until my birthday to officially start my new year. This one is going to be tough. I am nowhere near where I thought that I would be when I turned 29. Here are the facts:

• I am single (I feel spinsterdom sneaking up)
• I am heartbroken (and it is really hindering by progress more than I thought it would. I really, really, really believed he was the one, and don’t want to let go of that… I want to hold onto hope. Silly, I know.)
• I am unemployed.
• I live with my parents again.
• I am depressed.
• I am in debt.
• I am overweight.

But on the positive side of things (I try really, really hard to believe there is one…)

• I am really smart.
• I have been heartbroken before (though not this badly) and survived it to love again.
• I have $2000 in savings, enough to get me started at something new.
• I can lose weight.
• I can become happy (the most important step in all of this I think).

So what am I going to do about all of this? I don’t really know. I am applying for so many (30?) jobs everyday, just to find something, somewhere different from here. I don’t really care where said job is, just somewhere other than here. I have had a few leads so far, so all is not bad on the job front, and it is the week of Christmas.

I am so frustrated with the guy (that one). He wants to talk to me almost everyday. I miss him so much. He must miss me if he talks to me all of the time, right? I think that all he wants from me is to be more independent, and I am trying, but when do I get to reap the rewards? When will I have done enough? I get so many mixed signals from him. I just want to scream. Maybe I just won’t talk to him anymore. Maybe that would be easier. I want us to be together again. Silly, isn’t it? But half of me feels like it is missing without him.

Why does it have to be like this? I just don’t understand. I want a concrete answer. But I can’t have one. That’s that.

Since the Peace Corps plan fell through, this is what I am planning, I think.

1. Move. Houston, Austin, (I like Texas), or somewhere else warm.
2. Get a job (hopefully before I move).
3. Make some friends.
4. Take some classes.
5. Learn to weld.
6. Learn to play golf.
7. Play some sports.
8. Go to law school.
9. Forget about him.
10. Find someone new (or him, don’t know) and fall in love again.

I feel so weak and silly that love matters this much to me, that I can’t just do. Never have been able to.

I will just keep on keepin on.

In Memory of Cutes

A lovely lady passed today in Texas. She fought cancer very hard for quite some time. She fought for those she loved even harder (and even longer). She was surrounded by those she loved most when she left. Now she can rest. I am so happy that I had the chance to meet her.

My heart goes out to the family. She will be in my heart always.

Hard Sun

I am off to Seattle this weekend. It should be a nice trip; I haven’t been there in a long time, and never while unfettered. While there I of course want to visit Pike Place Market, and I am determined to find the really interesting outdoor art museum nestled along the Sound that I saw on some random website.

Going to Seattle makes me think of Pearl Jam (who are awesome!). Which makes me think of Eddie Vedder’s version of Hard Sun. It is amazing; probably my favorite song out there right now. I Googled the song and found out that the song was first put out by Indio, on the album Big Harvest in 1989. Who knew? (I must admit, I was slightly disappointed to find out that this was not an Eddie Vedder original; but his version is marvelous!) My grunge-days crush on Eddie Vedder is back again.

Aside from the song’s pedigree, I looked at the lyrics, as Vedder’s voice is a bit hard to understand (beautiful, but still a bit hard to decipher). Here are a few:

when I walk beside her
I am the better man
when I look to leave her
I always stagger back again
once I built an ivory tower
so I could worship from above
and when I climbed down to be set free
she took me in again

Beautiful!

And more:

when she comes to greet me
she is mercy at my feet
when I see her pin her charm
she just throws it back again
once I sought an early grave
to find a better land
she just smiled and laughed at me
and took her blues back again

In the context of a relationship, I strive to be this woman. She is loving, yet strong, she doesn’t waiver in her love, yet she isn’t afraid to stand up to him even when in conflict. And, she is his Sun, so she is obviously her own, shining from within to light her own life.

Blog vs. Conversation

Blogs are wonderful because I can share my deepest feelings with everyone and no one at the same time. A blog is unrequited by its very nature. You don’t, I don’t anyway, nor do I think most people, sit and wait for comments or replies to pile up at various posts. When a comment does show up, it is a pleasant surprise. Blogs are the flip side of an intimate conversation. In a blog, I can write I love you as many times as I like and happily not expect a return. If I were to say or write via post, or the twenty first century equivalent (email, text), I would of course wait in expectation for a reply, it really doesn’t matter if the reply is affirmative or not; a reply is expected.

Blogs offer freedom from all of the soul bearing that goes along with waiting for a reply. Often, I have found myself holding my tongue, not conveying my true feelings because I am afraid of the reply that will inevitably come along with my utterance. With a blog, a reply is not mandated, nor is it generally expected, because of this, I feel like I have more freedom to be true; I am not worried about being rejected, or hurt, or flattered, none of it! I am able to simply write what I want without worrying about the consequences; it is exhilarating to express myself with that freedom. I am very much trying to use this approach in other areas of my life; It doesn’t matter how others react to what I am saying (writing, what have you) if I truly, honestly believe what I am trying to say, then I absolutely need to say it despite the reply I may or may not receive. I am certain my skin will thicken as needed.

I love you, I love you, I love you!!! There.
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