rant rave rebelrousing

I made it through surprisingly well yesterday. While every step was very intentional, I’m pretty proud and happy about it. Only two more ‘dates’ to make it past in the next few months. I had dinner and Project Runway night with my oldest friends in Colorado, and their daughters. Perfection. I couldn’t have asked for better company on such a day. I didn’t shed one tear! (I did on Wednesday, but whatever—I didn’t yesterday!) I said a prayer of thankfulness for the gift of his love that I was able to have and prayed for him to find what he needs and to be happy and fell asleep.

Then this morning, a friend let me know what he was up to last night. I never understood when people said their heart hurt as a kid. I always figured it was just a figure of speech. I still have no idea how it happens, but it is so real. I keep asking people to quit telling me things they see him doing or where he is at. Especially on what would have been our anniversary. Every time I hear something, it there is a physical clenching in my chest. I feel exposed and slapped in the face. I don’t need to know what he has found so much more appealing and valuable than me. What drove him to end his little experiment to see what ‘boyfriend life’ is like. What was worth more than me and merited throwing me away. I don’t need to know, I don’t want to know. If I can keep him abstract in my mind, I can move on.

While we are on the topic, I have been privy to several conversations the past couple days—some I was actually involved in, others I was simply eavesdropping (one of my favorite past times). The result being: if I hear one more person say that they are breaking up with their boyfriend because they want too much or are too serious, I truly and going to kill the messenger. Imagine! The audacity of a boyfriend expecting and working towards a future, wanting to be with his boyfriend. What a needy, clingy leech! While it is prevalent in the straight community as well, it is an epidemic in the gay community. Everybody wanting a boyfriend, but having no idea what one is or why they actually want it. The men that actually want a loving, committed, monogamous, lifelong, real relationship are pawned off as weak, clingy, and pathetic. Those that don’t know to do anything but cut bait and run when the potholes come are the ones that are ‘stable,’ and more grounded. “It’s just not supposed to be this hard.” This was even said by a straight friend this week (one with children—not my friends that came for dinner)—and not about something huge or horrible—something normal. Well, who the fuck told us it shouldn’t be hard? That is shouldn’t be work? That there shouldn’t be sacrifice? That we would never have to think of anyone else or the other person’s needs—that they are there to provide for every one of out fucking insecurities and whims, but that we don’t have to reciprocate? Sure, it is easier to leave. Easier to say I’d rather be single. Go from one ‘relationship’ to the next. One bed to the next. To say that I need to figure myself out. Just need to be myself for awhile. Never mind that I’m thirty-five and don’t have the commitment or emotional capacity of a twelve-year old! Sure, it’s easy. Till you’re old, you’re ugly, you’re fat, you’re sick, you’re alone, and never ever known, never ever real with someone, never took the time to pull your dick out of every bar, dance club, or whore to look around and realize that you’re the one not living in reality. It is so horrible to see so many amazing people throwing so much of their lives away in frivolous and endless pointlessness that does nothing more than suck the life out of them and steal the possible true happiness and contentment and fulfillment they could have.

(Wow—sorry about that. That has just been building and building inside of me. And no, it actually is not about who you think it is about. I do think he has bought into that theology, but he truly is pretty young, at least compared to the ones I’ve been hearing it from lately. It all makes me truly sad and truly angry.)

Anniversary

Today would have been another marker of our love

Today would have been another step through life together, hands clasped

Your choice made today just another Friday

Today I will only curse your name once

Today I will not give you any more of my tears

After all, you won’t even remember what today is

Today I will only give five minutes to remembering our first date, kiss, time

Today I will only honor your gift of the best years of my life

You gave me that, you earned it

Today I will only give five minutes to pondering the future

Today I will not look for answers

It will just be another day for you, as always

Today I will bask in what I have now

Today I will remember those who choose to walk this path with me

Return from Oz

It’s funny how one sentence from someone who knows everything about you can change everything. Funny and wonderful.

This morning’s blog was the tip of the iceberg. I haven’t been all depressed and such (well, a little—especially considering what tomorrow is), but my brain has literally been going nuts—pulled a hundred different directions.

On the way home from the gym, I realized, that in the hour and a half work out I’d done, I’d made up my mind on about twenty different outcomes/decisions. Each one conflicting from the previous. I tried to take a step back and ask, “What the hell is wrong with me?” One, I realized part of me was freaking about how good things had been going with boy I’ve been going on dates with, who might move away. Second, I remembered I’d quit my anti-depressants a couple weeks ago or so. In addition to aiding depression, they assist in chaotic/obsessive thinking patterns. My doctor warned me to under so certain terms come off of them before nine months had passed with being on them, he suggested waiting a year—as coming off too soon can make the originating problems come back full force and even stronger. Nine months had barely passed. I had been doing so much better that I thought it was time. However, what I didn’t plan out was that it might be pretty horrible timing: potential new relationship starting and all the questions that go along with that, stressful events that my family is going through, anniversary of important dates coming up, etc. So, I have made the decision to return to the meds until more time has passed and I am not in the middle of time of life changes. At first I felt like a failure for deciding they helped, but pride goeth before a fall…

I talked to my BFF (KE) this evening. I had told him earlier in the week that I needed his perspective since mine seems to be off, and we had been playing phone tag. I told him some of the things that have been going through my head. About the stuff I blogged about earlier, except with full details. No sooner had I gotten it out than he told me that I indeed was crazy and that I was getting stuff all mixed up in my head because I was freaking out about things and trying to protect myself. As far as the friend I been considering, he told me I was crazy and pointed out how, for one, the timing with the friend is horrible and would be nothing but shattering to me. It was such a complete different reaction than what I expected from him that it shocked me. And then we starting talking about Parker Boy. I like him a lot.

And, everything he said felt right. Really right.

So, back on track. J Live in reality, Mr. Witt. Enjoy the extremely cool man you’ve been seeing—along with the fun and stressful butterflies that go along with it.

It feels nice to be able to breathe again.

Thanks, KE!

Ridiculous

I keep finding out that more people (or at least different people) read this blog (some regularly, some on occasion) than I thought. Some that I never would have guessed in a million years. I still find it fascinating that someone would read this. The only thing I really can compare it to is maybe someone enjoying a reality show about patients in a psych ward. It’s nice that people read it, and I like that fact. I guess it is part of what gives this blog its power to me. On the days I don’t think I can take another step, knowing someone out there knows the inner workings of my heart/head give enough validation to the pain to keep going. And on the other days, the joyful and amusing days, it is simply nice to ‘share life’ with someone. All this to say, I am not complaining about what I am going to say next, just making an observation.
As I have demonstrated, I’m willing to put almost anything about myself out into cyberspace, whether it be voyeuristic, suicidal, or therapy, the results are the same. However, there are times like that past several days where I am not able to completely figure out how to process things in my mind without blogging but all the while trying to protect others in my life who don’t need to have a blog about them, and also process my own feelings and emotions about people when they (or someone they know) might read this blog. But, as my brain has refused to shut down these past many days, I’m going to give at an attempt in order to hopefully either get some clarity or simply put stuff out in the universe to get it out of my own head.
I’m not sure if it is reality, things I am actually feeling, or just my psyche’s way of trying to protect myself from more hurt. Probably, it’s just because I have some deeply entrenched need to complicate my life.
After a conversation with my BFF this past weekend, I’ve started to give more thought to someone I’ve never really allowed myself to have much thought about. (There’s a Brandon sentence—sheesh!) This person has been a dear friend for years. Years. Back into when I was in the abusive relationship years. A man I truly love dearly. A man I respect and care for. Many times, to several people, I have said, I really wish I could fall for so-and-so. Well, it seems at least for the moment, part of me thinks I have. And, it really doesn’t make much sense. Because I know him so well, I also know the parts of us that would really clash and cause problems. I know the things he would HAVE to change for us to be together, as well as the things I would HAVE to change. Things that have always helped the feelings stay very platonic. (Not to mention, I am nearly certain that I am physically not his type at all.) Nevertheless, the past few days have brought him forefront to my mind. Do I wait and see if these feelings leave on their own? Do I talk to him about them? Do I shove them away? Are they are real? A portion of me wonders if I am simply trying to protect myself from getting hurt again. I am definitely developing sincere feelings for the man I’ve gone a four dates with, and I already care for him deeply and can see a possible relationship further in the future. So, maybe this all a knee-jerk reaction to help cut those feelings off. There is also a good chance he’s moving away, maybe this is my way of protecting myself from that as well. It sounds just like me to fall for someone who will leave, right? So, real or not. Protection or not, I’m not sure. I’m not sure how to figure it out or how to think about it. I guess I should just let life happen and quit trying to figure it out and control, since it does what it fucking wants to do anyway, regardless of me. In a glorious life moment, I got on facebook, just to look at his pictures and see what gut reaction I might have (because life is so simply to figure out). His profile came on, and with all of out tons and tons of mutual friends we have, who was the one that showed up in the spot that show three of our friends? Him. Of course, Him. Anytime his face comes into view without warning, it is still like a knife’s slash all over again. I’ve done such a good job this month of not acknowledging his existence that it all seems nearly like a dream. Like I made it all up. Not really acknowledging that our anniversary would have been tomorrow. Then those moments happen. Maybe that moment was my answer to both of my ponderies. Or maybe it is just one more way to protect myself. Imagine, pain somehow protecting.
So, do I continue to simply let life happen and enjoy the company of the man I am beginning to fall for before he leaves me? Do I inspect these new feelings for a friend? Or do I simply shut the doors again and realize I’m too fucked in the head to even make decisions?
HUH. Wow, after proof reading (I know you didn’t think I actually did that, due to all the errors all the time ), I didn’t figure out anything or have any revelations about all of this, but I did figure out why I haven’t been able to stop eating all week. Really, it’s been crazy (I had two dinners last night). I should have had enough insight to have nailed that one down days ago. Well, if nothing else, maybe this will help me return to normal on that front. Geesh!

conversations

I can’t help but have the song that goes, “I made it through the wilderness, somehow I made it through…” continuously going through my head today.
Knowing me, I would imagine, you first thought was of romance or getting over romance or whatnot. Nope. All work. The past six days of work have been pretty hellish—only partly due to the children, mainly due to parents who should never have been given permission to be parents and ‘educators’ (these people ARE NOT teachers at my school, btw) who don’t have a spine to stand up straight with. I actually might get back to enjoying teaching again today, and if not today, then I will tomorrow when the adrenaline has finally started to ebb.
As far as that being taken in reference to my love life… well, I guess I am closer to being through the wilderness than I was previously, however, not so much if my dreams and never ending obsession with ‘figuring things out’ is any indication. However, at least I think I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. It might just be an emergency light that leads off into more aimless darkness, but it’s a light nonetheless.
Speaking of ‘romance,’ my mom was very cute last night. I went with her to get gas, and I could tell she was wanting to ask me something. Finally, she cautiously inquired, “So, is your new friend, [boy who did Sunday in Parker day], more than a friend?” She’s heard his name a couple times when she’s asked what I am doing at certain times; she knows that he lives in Parker and that there is a good chance he might be moving away in a few months. Grudgingly, I said that he is, knowing what was coming: how they had been praying that after the hell I went through with him that I would have learned my lesson, that I needed to give it more time and prayer, that she couldn’t stand to see me hurt more.
“He might be moving, right?”
I nodded.
“What does that mean for you?”
“It’s just something I may have to deal with.”
“Are you thinking of moving with him?” the ache in her eyes was palpable and I finally figured out this wasn’t the conversation I thought we were having.
“No, Mom. I’m not moving for anyone. I’m here. I’m staying here. This is where I belong right now.” (Not that I truly haven’t thought about running away every day since he left—if there is one spot in this town that doesn’t have a connection to him, I haven’t found it yet.)
The relief that flooded her was instantaneous. I hadn’t even thought she’d have considered that. Even if we’d been dating long enough for me to consider moving with him (which, obviously is laughable at this point), I wouldn’t now anyway. I’m needed here. New baby, Younger Brother, Family having to leave their house to get an apartment, thing after thing after thing.
It was very cute, and such a relief to not have go through the whole, ‘no matter how much it hurts, I can’t turn myself straight, and now wouldn’t if I could’ conversation yet again.
There are not words to express how much I love my family and how much I rely on them with every fiber in me.

Sunday in the Suburbs

After a fairly wonderful date, I am finally feeling somewhat sane again. I tell ya what, I really picked a bad week to stop taking the depression meds, and I am for sure feeling their absence. Not overly depressed or anything, I can just tell a difference. (Great planning on coming off meds right in time for what would have been our anniversary this Friday (thank God for PCS&LDR-L who are coming over.) Apparently they helped some of my obsessive thoughts too, which I guess makes sense. Anyway, hopefully, this week will go better. After the hell of work last week, and then over thinking things with the date I had tonight, it will be a nice break to be sane once more.

During a discussion with my bff on Friday, I realized there was something I needed to tell [the man I’m dating], and ever since then I’ve had this dread in the pit of my stomach, and even had some trouble sleeping. However, after sitting him down and talking to him, he just shrugged and said that it was no big deal. I may never be the Brandon I was, but I guess the over thinking and obsessing thing is just too much of a part of me to kill.

Just a quick date note: is this not one of the cutest things ever? So, I go to Parker, and he lets me in his house. I am all dressed up (not suit dressed up, but looking good), and he is in his old sweats and a t-shirt. Which would never bother me, but he is so type-A, I was somewhat confused. I didn’t say anything about it. He took me over to the stove where he was making what turned out to be amazing hot chocolate. Then he pointed to a gift bag and told me that he had gotten me something. Inside was a brand new set of pajamas and socks (in Brandon colors). He announced we were going to have Sunday lounge around day in Parker. I went and got in my new clothes and we had hot chocolate, lay in bed and watched ‘Waitress’ and then he made Brunch for dinner—in keeping with the theme. With all the over thinking I have been doing past couple days, I had almost convinced myself I shouldn’t be dating anyone. However, the date was beyond adorable and rather perfect. Even if he moves in a few months (which of course, I hope he deosn’t), it is so healing to be spend time and date someone who is so sweet and genuinely kind and good. Talk about being spoiled rotten.

weakness dilemma

I’ve had to look my weakness full in the face today (no, not in weepy, crying way).
First, was my FaceBook post. It told of a fourth grade boy catching me in the lunch line and telling me that he thought I looked like an Albert and that my tattoo made my skin look like a hairless cat. I followed that story up with, “And I wonder why I’m single…” Well, a few people seemed to understand that I thought it was cute and that I was joking around. Most, however, felt inclined to reassure me that I do not look like a hairless cat and that I am actually cute and my looks have nothing to do with my singleness. While I was very touched at how people were concerned and so quick to try to bolster my morale and self-image, I couldn’t help but take it as, “Wow, people must truly think I am beyond fragile.” In all honesty, it was the highlight of my week. It has been a HORRIBLE week at work. I’ve loved teaching this year more than ever before, but this week has been my worst, ever. This moment with this random fourth grader made me laugh harder than anything in several days. He wasn’t trying to be rude in the slightest. He was just looking at me, pondering, and then shared his thoughts so sincerely. He couldn’t have said anything more perfectly timed. He made my week, and gave me such a great story to tell—which I love. I thought there would be all kinds of witty and sarcastic remarks on my post (thank you AMA and JA for rising to the occasion!)—I never dreamed people would think I was feeling bad about myself and somehow worrying that I actually look like a hairless cat! Either I have been visually weaker than I realized or there must be some truth in the hairless cat comparison, otherwise, people wouldn’t be so quick to rush to my aide. Regardless, it is very sweet that people care.
For proof that I don’t think I look like a hairless demon from hell (remember, not so fond of felines), I think my current actions demonstrate that it is my weakness people are picking up on. I just got done emailing one of my friends that I love the most, asking him if he minds if I skip his birthday party this Saturday. All because I don’t want to run into him or his friends. I want to be strong enough that it wouldn’t matter. That I could smile and not crack. That there would be no tears. That it wouldn’t set me back for a few weeks in my recovery. However, for the past two weeks, the dread in my stomach has been getting heavier and heavier. To the point it has been keeping me up a little at night. I think I need to listen to that. It would be stupid to set myself back and to turn into a mess for awhile just to try to prove a point and try to be strong. So, if my friend is okay with it, I will skip. If not, I will go. Him knowing I love him and that his friendship is important to me is worth it, if that is what it takes.
I think I will get there, where I can see him and not crumble. Maybe even get there to where I don’t feel the spear sink into me. However, while I’m closer, I’m not there yet. While it may be weak, it may be selfish, it may be cowardly, and it may simply communicate to him that he left a wuss, I’m learning that I need to listen more to gut and not do things simply because I feel like I should or that it is expected or because others might think I’m weak. Maybe in a twisted way this takes more strength? Yeah, I don’t really think so either, but I’d like to spin it like that. However, I can say, that I might believe it takes more wisdom. Either way, at least the pit of my stomach can get back to ‘normal.’

Don't you just wanna pinch their cheeks?

Right before walking away and leaving my wallet on the floor of Starbucks, I laughed out loud while reading the headlines from the New York Times—causing the table of police who have their coffee there every morning to look over at me nervously (which wasn’t helped when I came back two more times searching for my wallet all over the store). The head line:
“Taliban Overhaul Image to Win Allies.”
The first part of the article:
“KABUL, Afghanistan — The Taliban have embarked on a sophisticated information war, using modern media tools as well as some old-fashioned ones, to soften their image and win favor with local Afghans as they try to counter the Americans’ new campaign to win Afghan hearts and minds. The Taliban’s spiritual leader, Mullah Muhammad Omar, issued a lengthy directive late last spring outlining a new code of conduct for the Taliban. The dictates include bans on suicide bombings against civilians, burning down schools, or cutting off ears, lips and tongues.
The code, which has been spottily enforced, does not necessarily mean a gentler insurgency. Although the Taliban warned some civilians away before the assault on the heart of Kabul on Monday, they were still responsible for three-quarters of civilian casualties last year, according to the United Nations.”
Seriously? I love this! It’s like they are taking notes from Hollywood or something—trying to recreate how the public see them. Like Paris Hilton trying to change her spots by only making sex tapes on Thursdays!
So, we no longer need to fear or hate the Taliban. They’re reformed. No more dangerous than rabid rabbits!

**All quotes used directly from The New York Times; Jan. 21, 2010

test

Yesterday seemed like a trial by fire to see if I am serious about being happy again, about trying to shove the past out of my present, all the while attempting to do so unaided by chemicals prescribed by a doctor.
The trigger: I won’t write much detail, as it would be unethical and unwise, but I had the worst IEP meeting of my life yesterday. Here are the two hours summed up in one sentence: After a couple ‘special request’ meetings this year for my new sixth grader, I finally conceded to do things as the parents wanted—not focus on school/homework (just too stressful) and instead focused solely on her maintaining, only to be ripped apart by the parents because she wasn’t getting enough work and homework. That is the extreme watered-down run-on sentence version. Typically, I can let things from work go pretty quickly. This was different. I don’t handle being pressured to do things I don’t fundamentally agree with, especially when I am set up to be crucified for the very thing I was forced into. Work, blah, blah, blah.
The result: Blame my co-dependant nature if you will, why not… All I wanted was to rush home and be held for moment. To be reminded (like I used to be) that it is just a job, it’s not all that I am or all that I have—that I have something much bigger I am building with someone. Or even a phone call to say, “I am having a horrible, horrible day,” and for him to say, “Sorry, Babe. I love you, I’ll be home with you in awhile.’
The surprising thing, and maybe the hopeful thing (in regards to my mental reality), is that I didn’t think of him first. I thought of the one I’ve been going on dates with. Which is entirely inappropriate and stupid considering where we are currently, and his potential move (plus I’m fairly certain I am much more into him than he is to me—shocking!). No sooner had I thought of him, then I realized I hadn’t thought of him. I realized I have done a great job of shoving him away and turning him into someone who simply would let me down and reject all that I am. Which in turn, brought back in a rush all that I thought I had with him. How much I love him and how much he doesn’t love me.
Thankfully, my brother called and seemed to be in a similar mood, so we played Nintendo and ate a lot, and then I fell asleep with my puppies. Not what I had before, not even close. But, it is much more than what many people have, and I am blessed to be able to take solace in them.
So, functioning so far unaided. I can see a little more removed today and realize that this reality is what I have. Even if it’s not the reality I want. It all seems like the reality I thought I was living in before was never reality for him, so in turn, it was never a real reality for me either. At least what I have now is real, right?
And, either way, it is 2010. That year is dead, as is the person I was. So, onward and, hopefully, upward.

Equalibrium

A Monday that feels like Sunday. Beautiful. Meaning when Friday rolls around, it should feel like Thursday. Such a great start to the week! Although, often, these short weeks somehow turn into drama filled weeks at school, and if Friday was any indication, we are in for a doozy.

It was a fairly wonderful weekend. I didn’t get any writing done, but whatever. Two family/nephew times, a horrible haircut, new ipod (old one broke—good thing I’m hurting from doing so many massages so I can pay for it), clean dogs, and a pretty wonderful date. Yeah couldn’t be much better.

And here’s the kicker, and I almost fell over when I realized it. When I walked into my house tonight, I sighed and though, ‘so good to be home…’ Not because the day was hard, just because it was nice to come back into my safe dwelling. I haven’t thought that since he left. It’s starting to be my home again, instead of ours. And I am becoming myself again. Actually, no I’m not. I really don’t have much of a clue who I am right now, and he is very different from who I was, but I feel him solidifying. That is nice, as well. Yay for some moments of stability! It seems (at least for now) that I am at the place where I can miss him and still ache for him, but function. And even beyond function, be happy. (Now, if only he would quit being with me in my dreams.)

I made a decision today, a few weeks earlier than I was planning. I thought I’d wait till the pills were gone, but I decided to stop today. Actually, I just forgot, and then forgot again, and then decided to just go with it. I am going to stop taking my antidepressants (I’d already lowered the dose, the next doctor approved step was stopping all together—so don’t preach.) I am excited to see if I can maintain homeostasis without the pills now. I’d never been on anti-depressants before, but I am thankful for them. I literally was going insane before, and there were so, so, so many horrible days after, that I can fathom how much more horrible they could have been.

So, dating again… It really is the strangest thing. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to have feelings for someone again (yes, I know you all knew I would, but I didn’t). But, I do believe the old Brandon had to die in order to feel again. I still don’t know if it can ever be as wonderful as it was, but I am excited that I am capable of feeling at all. I have developed quite the crush on the man I’ve now got a fourth date scheduled with for the next weekend. Of course, there is a 50/50 chance he is moving, so why wouldn’t I start to fall for someone who is destined to hurt me? Makes sense, right? However, I am going into this open minded, but also with my eyes wide open—not that it protects the heart, but still. Not that there’s much of a heart left. It’s funny, I really do feel like a divorcee going out on dates. There are still the giddy, butterfly feelings, but where as he always made me feel young and immortal, it is a much more somber experience—although really, really nice.

And after last year, nice is miraculous!

You and I

You dropped my hand in the middle of our beginning
I spent the year between pause and rewind

You were my lover and best friend, the first I ran to
I, even now, have to stop myself from dialing your number with news

You loved me more than anyone you’d ever know, you said
I was your fool to loose

You said you couldn’t handle the thought of another touching me
I told you they never would; maybe I should have been more coy

You were the one I planned to marry, to share my life
I was the one you wanted for the moment

You were the one who swore I’d be the one to leave
I was the one that got left

You moved on, party, work, laugh, party
I crumbled, shattered, and broke

You still have lunches with me, give me hugs, kiss my cheek
I fear the sound of your voice, the beauty of your face—and their absence

You move on, party, work, laugh, party
I become someone new, I couldn’t be me without you

There you are.
Still the life of the party. Still in the heat of the moment.
Never looking back. Seemingly never ahead.
Still the man I love. Still the best friend I’ve ever had.
You don’t think of me or miss me. You’re happier now.
You are you.

Here I am.
Becoming a stranger. Letting who I was die so I can be free of you.
Always looking back. Seemingly always ahead.
Realizing I can learn to love again, that I have to. Missing the best friend I ever had.
I still think of you and miss you. I’m learning to smile and laugh with another.
I am someone new.

According to Prophet Robertson

(Inspired by a dinner conversation with P R-L. Thanks, P-lie!)

A long, long time ago, there once was a group of people. Some would say they were a country. Some would attest they were merely a village. Others would swear they were simply a renegade of lost souls banded together. (Warning to our more sensitive readers—you may wanna stop reading here. This story is about. . . well. . . [whispered] black people, mostly. I know. I know.)


It was a dark and stormy night. The snow was pilling high on the ground. This was unusual, as snow normally didn’t fall so close to the equator during this time of year. However, given the nature of these people, they simply thought it was the French somehow tossing frozen powdered sugar over the land, like one big beignet.
They had been troubled for many weeks by the intrusion of the French. They had decided they had had enough! No to little bitty artistic hats! No to fancy cheeses! No arrogant foreign films! No to tiny thin mustaches—everyone knew they made you look like a child-molester!
It was the tiny mustaches that were the final straw.
Late one night, the entire country gathered in a small backroom of a Starbucks. Some say there were five people, others swear there were hundreds, maybe billions, of people gathered in that small room—either way, the whole country was in attendance. Well, except for Ralf. Everyone knew Ralf had an over-active bladder when faced with a large group of people. They made poor Ralf wait outside to warn them if he sawn anyone approaching wearing a beret.
After a couple rounds of pumpkin spiced chais, no one had yet been able to come up with a solution to the French situation. Some of the men began to cry softly, their tears freezing on their cheeks (remember, they were not used to snow—this particular Starbucks had not thought ahead to install radiant heat).
It was after his fifth venti soy latte that Francois (looking back, it does seem strange no one found his name, his ivory skin, or his tiny mustache to be a red flag) stood up and in a trembling voice suggested, “If we call the Devil, he might be able to help us with these French bastards!” No one seemed to notice the uncomfortable grimace he gave as he insulted the invading country.
The room sat in stunned silence for a few moments. Just pondering. Then, as one mind, the entire country within the room stood to riotous applause and rushed to embrace Francois in their arms and worship him as their savior. Poor Ralf, who had fallen asleep against the door frame, his over-active bladder startled by the uproar from within, had to rush home for another pair of Wranglers.
It took nearly an hour for the country in the backroom to locate Satan’s phone number. Finally, a little girl found it scribbled on a pink sheet of tissue paper under the cappuccino machine—little hearts forming the zeros.
Satan took a few moments in arriving, and when he did, he was winded and blurry eyed—he’d been at his Chippendale desk for several days planning one of his greatest weapons, which wouldn’t be release for several more generations—at this point, Jerry Falwell was just a gleam in his father’s eyes. Putting aside his irritation, he listened patiently to the country’s French problem. With a roll of his eyes at Francois, he murmured, “I can solve your problem, but I must have your soul. All of your souls. Even if one man, woman, or child refuses to sign, there shall be no salvation for you.”
As one, the people rushed forward. Their souls and the souls of their children’s children’s children flowing out with the ink form their pen.
From that day on, they were free to live in absence from the French influence.
Later, much later, a terrible Earthquake shook the land.
In another country, a descendent of Francois got in his desk, pulled out the ancient Devilish contract and reminded the people of the world that some things are a blessing in disguise and there are consequences to people’s actions.
What he didn’t realize was the contract was null and void. There was one little problem with the Devil’s deal—Not everyone had signed. Dear old Ralf never had the chance to give his consent. He had almost returned to the Starbucks when the Devil arrived, but a stray mutt barked at him from behind, startling him—causing him once again to have to return home for a change of pants.
Oh, well, back to the drawing board, Pat.

request (update)

While I don’t have details and haven’t have confirmation from the source, I have learned that there has been a text message somehow to the family letting them know the group in Haiti is safe and well. Thank you all for your prayers and support for my friends. Please continue to pray for their safety and return, as well as all those that we don’t know directly. I will count this up as one of the miracles I have been allowed to witness. And, in a world where I see few answers to prayers, I will hold on to this.

request

I just learned of something last night, and I would ask all of you to please pray—even those of you who don’t.

Paul C., who is a missionary for the Church of God Holiness (I have known him and his family since I can remember—his son is a dear friend of mine) was in Haiti when the earthquake arrived. His wife and family have yet to hear from him, or those in his party.
I will not give my own thoughts and concerns and hopes in this matter—they are not for me to say; however, knowing the entire country is in pain, my thoughts are with the one person I know and his family. Please, pray for Paul. Pray for his family.
Those of you who know him I know I already praying, but for those of you who only know me, please pray. For those of you whose faith is stronger than mine, tie my prayers with yours. For those of you whose faith is less or non-existent, pray for a good man and beautiful family—as well as those who are hurting that we don’t know.
Thank you.

TMI

As previously discussed on multiple occasions, I am a creature of habit. I function best in a loosely structured world (one that I can change at will, but only in cosmetic ways). It just creates a sense of safety and peace for me. It has become more and more apparent that this isn’t just a mental attribute on my part, but something that permeates every part me. Most of the time, this doesn’t bother me so much, nor do I try to hide. However, there has been one little area that has been causing me embarrassment for weeks. Every morning, I have the same routine (the only variance is if I go to Starbucks or if I make coffee at home). The routine continues at school. I go to my classroom and turn on a few lights to create a soft ambience, and sign in to my computer and then run to the restroom before returning to class to start preparing for math. I’m not sure if it is the coffee, the five to six hours of sleep every night, the twenty minute drive, who knows, but my bowels seem to be just as habitual as I am. (Aren’t you glad you’re reading this?) Likewise, my new student (who I love) shows up with his mother (who I also love—very unusual) at the exact same time. This time seems to somehow correspond with when I am making my way (sometimes at a very brisk pace) to the restroom. She often stops to talk to me—most of the time, I don’t mind, except for those days when I truly am rushing—not the time you wanna talk about all the details of your classroom. We typically run into each other when I am ten or less feet away from my destination—making it very difficult to pretend that I on a different mission than the one I am truly undertaking (which I tried a couple times and finally just gave up). It’s funny, I wouldn’t mind her knowing I’m gay, that I’m often a emotional basket case, or any of the other oh-so-glorious shit about Mr. Witt, but the knowledge that she knows and I know that she knows dynamic of my restroom habits is very off-putting and somehow decreases the authority of my position, at least in my eyes. Now, if I knew hers (which, thankfully, I don’t), we be on equal footing—but alas….
And while we are on the topic of things best left unsaid, let’s say some more. Without getting specific, I have been made aware of some ‘drama’ in my home church back in ElDo. From the gossip (and yes, every bit of this is gossip) I have been privy to, it definitely sounds like drama, and much more drama than it would have to be. My heart goes out to the people (specifically, person) involved. I wish I could reach out and wrap my arms around the person and tell them they really are okay and that, while not the most desirable situation, neither is it Earth shattering like it is portrayed. However, receiving support from the oh-so-fallen golden boy would only make things worse and probably seem like solace from the devil himself. (And no, this drama is nothing to do with gayness.)
This has all put me in the frame of mind of really thinking about where I grew up, church as a whole, and people in general. Especially in the area where sex is concerned. I was speaking to an older cousin the several months ago and he was telling me things about the church that blew my mind. Despite the ‘gayness demon in my soul,’ I was a very pretty innocent youth—fairly oblivious to anything outside of my world-view. Turns out, that several of the men (straight-married-men or straight-soon-to-be-married men) in my church (some of which were in leadership positions when I was younger) used to gather in the church basement—where the Sunday school rooms are and have a toned-down version of gay orgies. There were several other details, but they don’t need to be shared. Needless to say, it blew my mind. Not only knowing that people back home had done those sort of things, but actually done them IN my church! It seems I still have a large streak of naivety within me, as the people I have talked to and expected equal shock from, have simply nodded and gone, ‘Yeah, it happens.’ That continual response is nearly as world-view altering as the acts themselves. In addition, hearing the older members of my family reminisce about ‘days-gone-by’ has been world-rocking as well. Older people in the church (many of whom are women I never wanted to think about in a sexual situation), who I always saw at fairly pious, having sex in the ‘streets/alleyways’ of my tiny little town, etc. Story after story comes to the surface from time to time. Things that if I wrote them down in a book set in a Bible-Belt ‘farm’ town, people would say I was being shocking and dramatic for the sake of it all.
All of this continues to reshape my views of sexuality and the church. So much is unsaid, and shoved aside. And sex is the ultimate sin, the ultimate example of our depravity and sinfulness. Here’s my theory—all the other ‘sins’ we are so able to talk about in church and admit as struggles are things that not everyone deals with for the most part. They are things that many people can go, wow, that is really hard, and I understand, but I don’t deal that myself. The sexual ‘sins,’ however, everyone deals with and each one is mirror for everyone else. They are shoved in back rooms, basements, alleys (which is a thought I’m used to for the gay stuff—but is a new thought for me with the straight stuff). Our society and our ‘religiousness’ seems to do nothing but create a more dangerous and secretive culture around sex that is beyond damaging, both to those who partake and those that hide themselves in fear of onslaught from those who would seek to destroy them as their truth shown light upon their own lives.

sand

It’s happening. I’m thrilled about it, and I’m saddened as well. And before, I would have said I am just telling myself the lies I need to tell myself to move on. Maybe I am. Probably, I am. At first, it was intentional, and now it seems to just be happening. I am shoving him away. Even when I intentionally try to remember some of the wonderful moments we shared, I can’t. They are becoming blurry pictures in the past and the emotions around them are lessening. I can remember how I felt, but can’t make myself access the emotion. However, I also don’t look at pictures and such either or see him to talk to him, that would be bad. The only time lately where those emotions return are when I’m sleeping, in my dreams. There he is beside me like he always was. I don’t want to let him go. I want him to disappear from me (like he didn’t do that nearly a year ago). I want to be here, waiting, when he comes back. You know, cause that’ll happen. One day, I’ll look back and say, yeah, I loved him, but I wasn’t as happy as I thought I was. That will be a lie. One that I will probably believe and accept. Maybe that’s how it has to be. It feels like a betrayal. I was talking to my brother last night about going on a date (we have similar mind sets) and he said, ‘doesn’t it feel like you’re cheating on him?’ I though for a moment, and said, ‘No, I’m not cheating on him.’ Hell, I could be dating the entire Broncos team and cast of glee (the male cast) and still not be cheating—he doesn’t care. In a rare insightful moment, my brother clarified, ‘I mean, on yourself.’ My only answer to that was, ‘Yes, that I do feel.’ It does feel like I cheating on myself. I love him. He’s still the one I want. I know that will lessen and maybe even go away—just because that’s how life is and how we cope and evolve. I am cheating on what I want. However, I have to live again. I have let life happen and not wallow in the death any longer. I’m accepting that. I just have to work a little harder at not feeling guilty about it, and intentionally trying to make him a stranger in my mind and heart (be it real or not).
That said, the second date was perfect. He made me a wonderful dinner, was unintentionally clumsily charming. TMI, our second date was much more innocent than our first, which also pulled at my heart strings. There is a chance that he may have to move to Boston for work. Perfect. I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I am setting myself up for greater pain. Maybe I’m doing what I should—maybe this is the right path. Maybe not. Either way, I’m going follow it for a bit, maybe more than a bit. I’m feeling human again. It’s nice to have butterflies about a cute boy, who is very sweet. He’s about as different from him as possible. That, in and of itself, is confusing and strange. However, it may be the only thing that makes this doable.
There you go, your self-absorbed over thinking for the day. In my new fashion, I am shoving away all the crap (real and not) and focusing on how much better the past eleven days have been. Whatever pitfalls or mountain tops are in the near and distant future, I am choosing to take solace in this respite of a haven.

Dinner

Three hours until date number two. I’ve shaved, trimmed, put on a face mask (yes, I do that every once in awhile), I’ve dieted all week and doubled my cardio (and I’ve gotten fatter—not kidding), and I’m getting ready to soak in the tub for a bit while playing bejeweled on my new phone—I need to relax and try to breathe. It seems the second date is more nerve-wracking than the first.

I’ve been battling guilt all day. Not huge, but still. I expressed such to a dear friend and he just looked at me when I said I wondered if I should still be waiting. He said, ‘waiting for what, exactly?’ It was a good question, one I couldn’t answer. Waiting for the impossible to happen.

I am going to do my very best to relax and enjoy being in my date’s company tonight and enjoy the dinner he is cooking for me. I am going to do my best to not think about the man who doesn’t want to be with me. Also not think about the publisher that doesn’t want to be with me. I have a date with a cute man with a phenomenal body who is kind and sweet and who wants to cook me dinner. That’s enough.

The Shattered Door, Shattered

Maybe this is how I know I’m a writer. I can’t even seem to make it through the moment I am in without taking time to write and reflect about the moment itself. Probably not the best plan, probably shouldn’t reflect on a moment that isn’t even finished yet. However, I seem to have lost the ability to process things unless my fingers are moving across the keyboard.

I got home fifteen minutes ago or so after watching a chick flick with some of my favorite chicks. There was a huge package on my porch. At first, excitement went through me—What did I get? Did he send me something? Then fear—Did I preorder something a long time ago when I thought I had money and then forgot to cancel it once I woke up and saw reality? Then I saw the return address and I was so glad I had decided to wait until next week to write the inquiring email. Kensington Publishing.

I’ve never had any contact with a publishing company before, but even I know that if my manuscript is sittin’ on the porch, it ain’t a good thang.

“Dear Mr. Witt,

Thanks for letting me have a look at your novel, THE SHATTERED DOOR. After having had a chance to read it, I’m sorry to say I will be passing. While the writing here was good, I’m afraid I wasn’t as involved with the story and characters as I needed to be. Hopefully another publisher will feel differently. You may want to check with [...] at Alyson Publishing.

Thanks again for the look and best of luck with your writing.

Sincerely,

[JS]”

I wasn’t surprised. I’m surprised I didn’t cry. However, I don’t cry when I buy a lotto ticket and it turns out to be Not A Winner. This would be like winning the lotto, just a lot more work. A lot more work. It’s hard to hear someone say they aren’t involved in characters that I love so much, but again, not surprised.

My only real regret? I wish I’d gotten this last week. Before the year ended. Stupidly enough, the only time I’ve had real hope about this was this past week, because it’s 2010 now. 2009 is over! Only good things in 2010. Right.

I knew what it said before I opened it. I sat it on the coffee table and bent down to pet the pups, why rush to rip open a Christmas present when you know what’s inside you’d rather return?

I opened it. Read the letter twice. I waited for the tears to come, really. They didn’t. Still haven’t. Kinda close now, but that’s more about what I’m getting ready to write than the book. It just made me feel really tired.

It was rather a numb sensation reading the letter. The only stab was when I accidentally said out loud, “huh, rejected again.” Didn’t even realize that was coming out, until it reached my ears. Kinda put it in perspective. This was just a book I wrote and spent a lot of time on. And it was just my dream editor/publisher rejecting. He doesn’t know me or care about me or wish me any harm. He just didn’t like my book, which is completely okay and understandable. This is absolutely nothing compared to the other rejection I had.

Sickeningly, my first reaction was to text him to tell him about what I found out about the book. Then I realized what I was thinking, scolded myself, and went to brush my teeth. You don’t text the person who rejected everything you are to flaunt about someone else who merely rejected your self-proclaimed, self-important talent.

The next thought I had was, “I wish I hadn’t told anybody that I was submitting it—or writing at all.” There are so many people out there who are genuinely so excited to hear what the publisher has to say. A testament to what wonderful people I have in my life. I hate to let them down. I hate to be one of those people who always talk about what they are working on, what they are writing, and nothing ever comes of it. I tried to shake this off as well, after all, these same people have seen me rejected by the man most of them thought would build his life with me, so this is nothing. However, I’m having a hard time shaking this feeling. So what do I do? Immediately write about it—can’t learn for trying.

So, do I stop? No. I knew I wouldn’t, but I thought I’d consider it. Thought I might see it as a wakeup call and quit living in fantasyland. I didn’t when they signs were there before the other rejection, why would I now? It’s not like I even have a choice. Published or never published. I have to write. The fingers have to take solace in the keyboard. I have to vomit everything I think, feel, experience, and dream up. It’s not a choice any longer.

So, I’ve experience a love few get to ever feel. I’ve experience writing a book (books at this point) and few people get to feel that. I’ve made it through the last year and into a new decade. While titled way before my world was shattered, The Shattered Door turned out to be an ominous omen. And while I may not be whole and intact as I once was, while I may still be licking my wounds, and trying to re-discover my heart, unlike my book, I am not shattered. Not yet. While there are several doors this past year that have slammed in my face and I have not been able to shatter them so that I could get back in, I am not shattered.

Now, to fall asleep with pups, then wake to be just one more reject author/lover, I will work out, give massages so I can afford to eat, go on a date in an effort to rediscover my humanity and heart, and then return home to fall asleep with the pups once more. Not shattered.

I got my Masters (and it shows)

Yesterday, during a Wilson lesson (which is a reading program), one of my sixth graders—who reads at a first grade level—attempted to read the follow sentence: My classmate got the top prize. He read: My classmate got the pot pizza. (He wasn’t trying to be funny.) I lost it. Laughed and laughed until tears were rolling. He and his classmate starting laughing too. His little face got so red. He wasn’t embarrassed in a bad way, he thought it was silly as well. As I turned to relay the story to my para who wanted to know what was so funny, my student (still laughing) said, “Yeah, like you could make pizza in a pot!” At which I laughed all the harder. I was touched by the little scrap of innocence he showed—which is rare in my job. After several minutes, I got myself calmed down enough to continue with the lesson. I have a couple friends that would enjoy a pot pizza—and not the kind you make in a bowl.
During another reading lesson with one of my fifth graders, I was attempting to explain what a silo is. I thought it would be a good idea to draw a picture to demonstrate. So, I did. Two parallel lines with a dome on top. A nice little tower. As soon as I finished, I turned the drawing for him to see better; I realized what I had drawn. Sure, it could be a silo, but it really was penis. In a panic I did the only thing I could think of and drew a wind vein on top (yes I know those aren’t on silos). This only made the matter worse. Now the penis was shooting urine everywhere—or the other stuff that erupts occasionally. Turning redder the longer this went on, I quickly drew a building beside it. When he asked what I was doing, I told him I was drawing a barn (complete with hay loft)—every silo needs a barn. I then slid him the picture of a barn with an enormous penis attached. Thankfully, his innocence was somewhat intact as well, and he never realized what his special ed teacher had drawn for him. The drawing quickly found its way into the recycle box.

Complicated

Regardless that I am getting accustomed to accepting that there are many aspects of life that I will never be able to comprehend (God, what happens to my children, why he left/doesn’t love me), it is still such a battle within my head to find homeostasis when things aren’t clear and lain out in color-by-number steps. This ‘new chapter’ of my life is really fucking with my head. I’m not sure what I am supposed to do and not do. The really strange part is wondering if there isn’t a set way to thing that I am supposed to do or be or think. Maybe there are several options that are valid and I simply have to choose. Maybe not.
Starting to date again is both liberating and terrifying. It makes me feel that I can experience a good portion of life like I hope to one day. Maybe there is someone else out there I can build a life with and even fall in love with. However, it has been so long since I have dated, and I’ve never dated with intention of possibly finding a husband, at least until him. That’s not why I’m dating now (although, it for sure is in the back of my head), I’m really just trying to experience living and emotions again. However, with that thought in the back of my head, it changes everything. Makes every date, conversation, everything, have a possibly bigger meaning and the consequence more sever. It also, has created this guilt/terror dynamic. I chose the man I want to spend my life with. In my head, he was/was going to be my husband. It’s hard to not feel like I’m cheating on him and giving up on him. Which, I guess I am giving up on him—or at least trying to force myself. He gave up on us a long, long time ago. Why shouldn’t I? My friends say I’ve held on for too long the way it is. However, what if he comes back and I’ve fucked it up? What if I would have had faith a little longer?
In addition, how am I supposed to be with dating? What are the rules now? What is right and wrong? Do I date several people? Do I not date at all? What do I owe the man/men I go out with? How do I have healthy expectations and not fall into something due to codependence or loneliness or weakness, and how do I open myself up to the possibility of something real and lasting while trying to guard again the previous list? I don’t want to screw things up with him (not that there is anything to screw up—he left), and I don’t want to screw things up with someone else if they are potential life mate, I don’t want to be a needy, romantic wimp and fall into something with someone when I shouldn’t.
To top it all off, he’s in my dreams nearly every night. We are slated to be at a birthday party together a few days before what would have been our anniversary in the next couple weeks (which I really want to skip, but I feel like I have force myself—both to be there for my dear friend on his birthday, and in an attempt to start living life and quit hiding from him—even if it hurts).
Maybe I’m making things too difficult. I’d actually like to think that. That it’s just my neurotic self. That things will simply work out they are meant to be. However, I’ve lived too long, hurt too much, and seen too much to not be aware that there are consequences to every single choice I make, every move I do. However, I am in territory that I have no map for, and I feel like every turn I make or don’t make will/can affect the things I want most in life, but I’m not able to see the consequences for each turn. Actually, I am. I see multiple consequences (good and bad) for each turn. If it were just me in control, I would be able to choose what is best. However, obviously, this path is not solitary and up to me. The other characters in this story have just as many choices and paths to choose or ignore as I do, and their choices or inactions affect my path as well, as they already have so greatly.
Talk about over thinking! Good grief.

what's in my coffee mug

There seems to be a phenomenon that has been going on around me that I had yet to be made aware of. (BTW, I know you’re not supposed to end a sentence in a preposition, but I like to.) I was discussing how the last few weeks before Christmas turned my children, who had been doing a much better job this year, into psychotic psychopaths (I also like to repeat myself). Somehow the conversation turned to Christmas gifts. I told my friend I was feeling rather strange about one of the parents (of a child who makes me want to throw myself off a cliff) giving me a fifteen dollar gift card to some dessert place. Heretofore, I had only received an immense supply of coffee mugs, pictures of my students, and homemade cookies (those are rare). There seemed to be something different about receiving a gift card. One it felt like cash, which would be an odd gift to a teacher, and two it could be something I could actually use (unlike the endless supply of tacky coffee mugs (I don’t use coffee mugs, especially theme coffee mugs [I have yet to receive a mermaid one, which would be the exception]). I almost felt like I should turn the gift card into the office or the district or something. As a teacher, I’m not supposed to accept things like that, right?
Following my confession, my friend (who teaches kindergarten), proceeded to tell me about what he typically gets from his parents. It seemed this year was rather sparse. He only received Three Hundred dollars in gift cards and cash (Cash!). Three hundred dollars—nope it wasn’t a typo or an exaggeration. I stood there, my jaw grazing the coffee shop floor as he continued to tell me of years past and the extravagance he and other teacher friends are accustomed to (see, dangling preposition again, I should have written ‘to which his friends are accustomed’—notice that I’m not doing that. I know, rebel. Pretty sexy, huh?). I let this fascinate me for the remaining days of break, wondering what other perks one might receive when teaching in Cherry Creek (for those of you who are unlucky enough not to live here [if you live in San Diego or Hawaii, consider yourself exempt from that jab] Cherry Creek is the ritzy {that’s right, ritzy} part of Denver). Upon returning to school yesterday, I was sharing my fascination (and partly confessing to receiving a gift card) to other teachers at my school. While they were impressed with how much my friend received, they began to tell me what they typically get from their students—Fifty Dollar gifts cards and such to Barnes & Noble, different nice restaurants, coupons for hookers (just seeing if you’re paying attention), etc.
It seems this is commonplace and expected. I don’t remember ever giving my teachers cash and gift cards from my parents. I think it was like candy or something.
So far, when I have expressed my shock and utter bewilderment at such treatment, every teacher has said, “Well, look at your population that you work with (DP, again). No wonder.”
So, I have decided the next time a parent asks me why their student is abusive to them at home and what my advice would be, I am just going to casually remind them that children learn to be kind to other through examples. Without any other words, I will primly slide an already made form with a list of desired behaviors and which teacher gifts correspond with the specific desired effect.
Beginning to do homework and household chores……$10 gift card to Sonic
Showing love and respect to parents and others………$50 gift card to Amazon.com
Reading on grade level and having internal happiness..Gift card to the hooker who looks like Ricky Martin

Crazy!

After my new frame of mind blogging yesterday, I spent a couple hours basking in my newfound liberty before promptly getting depressed. I swear, I drive myself crazy. Sunday afternoons are either one of the best times of the week or one of the most depressing, yesterday was the second. However, I figured out a couple things.
One, I already knew—I’m crazy. I don’t wanna fall into a relationship. One, I still need a lot more time; two, I nowhere near over him; three, no, just no. However, my massive insecurity has grown to mammoth proportions over the past year, so riding high after a very enjoyable date apparently means I have to be stressed about if the boy is going to call and really plan a second date. Yes, I know the rule is to wait a minimum of two days before next contact, but still. Apparently, a lot of ‘self-worth’ was caught up in that second date. Around eight, he called and asked if I would go on a second date with him. I said yes. He’s making me dinner. That crazy part of me calmed down.
Two, I’m crazy. As soon as I felt better and happy that he called and actually liked me enough to want to see me again, my brain starting freaking out about what I was doing. I shouldn’t be going on dates! I shouldn’t want to go on dates! What if I fall into a relationship that I’m not supposed to be in because I’m weak? What if I should be in a relationship with this guy and I screw it up because it’s too soon? What if? What if? What if? I’ve never been good at just enjoying the moment and letting life happen (I was with him, and we all know how that turned out). Talk about being my own worst enemy. Like I said, crazy.
Three, I’m not as self-aware as I like to boast. This whole process, not just the dates, is definitely a different step. One that I didn’t consciously make, and one that freaks me out. I’m attempting to sever my ties to him, it seems. I didn’t really mean to. I mean, what’s left to sever? How do you sever ties with someone who left, who doesn’t love you? He did the severing for me. Or so I thought. By changing my frame of intention like I talked about yesterday, and by going out on dates, I really am saying that he is in the past—or at least trying to move him there. Of course, that’s not what I want, but it is what I have to do. (Duh, I know.) Apparently, there is a whole new kind of grieving process associated with this. Fun. Then the what if’s come back. What if I am supposed to hold on? Am I attempting to let go too early? If I had more faith would things turn out? Am I betraying him? Myself?
ARGGHHHHHH! Yes, crazy!
In the midst of pondering through all these thoughts and trying to make sense of them, while watching Glee, also trying to sleep (yeah, let’s not talk about how much sleep I got last night), he texted me on his way back from California. He sent me a picture of a luggage tag he saw on the plane. It was corgi (WANT ONE). I responded, and then after several minutes and guilty feelings, I erased his text.
Four, I don’t how to do this insane thing called life. Again, not new news. Just reiterated again and again.
I’m going to do everything I can to hold on to the outlook I was so strong in yesterday, and I feel good about that. I’m going to go on this date, and maybe third if he wants, and simply try to enjoy it, not over-analyze too much. I’m going to try to get stronger again. Somehow, even though we all know the core of me is waiting for his return that will never come, I am going to intentionally sever the ties my soul has with him. I have to. And, I’m going to attempt, in the midst of trying to reinvent and better myself, to not make every moment about me. 2009 was all about Brandon. No wonder it was horrible.

Come What May

One more reason to be gay: (not that all women are like this, and plenty of gay men are…) I am at the coffee shop (my last day of freedom till spring break) and there is one table left (I got my favorite one!) and this straight couple with an adorable little girl came over to this table. He starts to sit down, and she starts griping and gesturing around the place. Wanting a better seat (this is the second best seat in the place, btw, so she’s nuts). He tries explaining how this is the only seat. She refuses. Gestures a lot. Finally, she walks away to stand in front of the coffee shop, staring at all the tables she would rather have. He follows her. They stand there for a bit, staring. Gesturing. They leave. Even in my darkest moments, I won’t trade places with that man, or that adorable daughter, for that matter.

Disclaimer: Nothing that follows is meant to be a resolution—it’s just poor timing. I don’t do resolutions. Haven’t in years and years. I think they are stupid. Plus, thanks to other people making resolutions, my gym gets more crowded for a couple months every year until people remember they never intended keeping their promises anyway.

Last night’s date was pretty great. Not perfect, but really great. He apparently isn’t a hand holder in the movies. I am. I would almost hold hands with the stranger beside me if the mood hit. However, from the very first moments, conversation flowed easily and genuinely. Doesn’t do drugs or smoke, wants kids, yada, yada. Pretty good kisser too!

Don’t worry. I’m not in love or even beginning to fool myself with such nonsense. However, it was wonderful to be on date with someone cute, whom I sincerely enjoyed and connected with. Plus, I got to go back to Pandora. (If I ever just disappear off the face of the Earth, just assume I found a way to get home.) We’ll see if he calls again. He said he would. . . but we know how that goes.

Disclaimer two: Very little of the following is due to a good date last night—although it did reinforce it. It has been going in and out of my brain a lot the past couple days—especially yesterday during the day, and even more so while at the gym this morning.

It is time for a change. A change of attitude. A change of outlook. A change of expectations. While I don’t believe you can totally simply make up your mind and change every one of your circumstances, it can’t hurt.

I am going to be happy. I’ve been so focused on the happiness I lost, I haven’t been able to let myself be happy at all. There are different levels of happiness, just as there are different levels of pain. I am such an all or nothing person, I’ve seen it as since I can’t have the level of happiness I want, I simply can’t be happy. That isn’t true. I don’t expect to have that level of happiness again—many people (I would argue most) never get to experience the happiness in which I lived. If I spend the rest of my life waiting to be that happy again, I will miss all the lesser happiness around me, which is still happiness. Just because a McDonald’s cheeseburger isn’t a Sonic cheeseburger, it’s still a cheeseburger, and that’s a good thing. And a McDonald’s cheeseburger is better than no cheeseburger at all. Yes, I know some people call that settling.

Another thing I realized, and this is due to last night, is that I will probably be in a relationship again (no I’m not thinking in regards to the man I went out with last night, just in general). Anyone that knows me knows that I am made to be in a relationship—I just function better—call it weak and enmeshment if you want. I’m fine with labels. Do I expect to have a love like I had with him? No, I don’t. Which means, I’m not really sure what a relationship could look like. I don’t think I would consider marriage when I didn’t love that person as much as I love him, and I can’t see that happening. But still. Even if it only looks like going on dates frequently or from time to time.

Also, I simply want to live again. I want to be happy with my body once more, and wear clothes that I feel attractive in. I want to be with my friends again, and sometimes go to parties and such. I want to quit hurting and quite crying. I want to smile and laugh and not bring everyone around me down with melancholy. I want to turn into a form of Brandon again. Even if that Brandon isn’t the same Brandon I was with him and before him. Any Brandon is better than the Brandon I was all last year.

Yes, yes, I realize I am on a high right now, and that these things are easy to say. However, I would argue, these things aren’t easy to say. I’ve not been able to say them before… I know there will be days when these words are far, far from me. I don’t know how I will handle it when I see him out and about, when I see him with someone else. None of these feelings or words lessen what I feel for him or what I want, but I can’t continue to let him not loving me ruin my life. Everyone, everyone says it’s his loss. I don’t believe that. If it were his loss, he would miss me, remember he loved me. Obviously, he is happier now, otherwise he would choose differently. It was MY loss. However, I can’t continue to live consumed by the loss. And, I have to call BullShit on the whole, well, obviously it was God’s plan. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard that. Maybe it wasn’t his plan, maybe it was. Who says that God’s plans always go the way he planned. He gave us this little thing called free will, which mean we can ignore his plan. A plenty of us fuck up our lives because we don’t do his will. And fuck the lives of others the same way. I blame God for A LOT, but he gets A LOT of blame for a ton of things he had nothing to do with. There may be a part of me that never heals, but there are other parts of me that can still function. And, it’s time I do that. Time to function. Time to face trying to be happy, even if that means facing his absence and rejection in a reality that I have yet to do. It’s time.

anticipation

2010—day two.

Not to worry, I’m not gonna keep track of the days. Although, that could be interesting. Well, not really. I guess if you can count to three hundred and sixty-five, you can pretty much figure it out on your own, huh? Maybe I should start numbering the days of my life! Start back from the beginning and just keep going, occasionally subtracting a few hours or days or weeks depending on what might be subtracting from my life at the moment—maybe even adding on occasionally. Oh, oh, OR I could go to a psychic and find out when I’m gonna die and start a countdown! Hmmmm…..

So, I have date tonight. Pretty sure it’s officially a date anyway. It will be the first ‘official’ date of the new year, and of any day past April 18, 2009, for that matter. I had trouble sleeping last night because I was nervous. Excited too, I suppose. Not in a ‘I’m going to see Avatar (for the third time) with the boy I will one day marry or anything. Not in the slightest. (Not that I’m not delirious about entering the world of Avatar again.) However, it will be nice to go on an actual date for the sake of it being a date with a cute boy who may or may not hold my hand during the movie, and who’d better kiss me at the end of the night.

See, told you I was going to have different outlook.

I have battled with guilt around it all today. It’s not like I haven’t kissed other boys and such since he left me, but I haven’t gone on a date date, and that changes things quite a bit. Thoughts of it hurting him when/if he finds out (thoughts of him equally not giving a shit when/if he finds out). Thoughts of it ruining the chances of him coming back—I didn’t promise I could stop being delusional. Thoughts of what was and what I don’t have.

However, I have done a very good job of shoving those away and focusing on the excitement of getting dressed up, hoping that I’m cute, going to dinner, being all nervous, being close in the movie, the possibility of asking him to come in after to meet the dogs (would YOU like to come meet the dogs?).

Remember the days I used to hold back what was really on my mind in my blog? No? Yeah, me neither.

I lost a little over twenty pounds right after he left—mostly because I couldn’t make myself eat. I still need to loose about twenty more to get back to where I was when we first started dating. I’ve wanted to keep loosing weight, but I’ve found it hard to be motivated. What was the point? I can be fat and hairy, no one to impress. And food is love. I am regretting that at the moment. The boy has the body of a marble David statue. Talk about not measuring up. Good thing I’m at least tall and have a great tan.

Oh, shit… I forgot I’m not Ricky Martin again.

This Decade and The Last

2010. 2010. Sounds like a futuristic space movie to me. Really. I remember as a kid thinking of living in a new century one day. It scared the shit outta me. I couldn’t fathom it. And here we are—a whole decade into the new millennium. And, I realize that it truly is nothing but another day. Just like yesterday. Just like tomorrow. However, it’s felt different today. Maybe because I told myself it would be, maybe not. Not only is it a new year, but it is a new decade.

Let’s flash back to a decade ago, shall we?

The year is 2000. All the computers and electronics across the world failed and our whole economy and civilization turned to dust.

Oh, wait, that was the futuristic space movie shit the news media and zealots wanted us to prescribe to.

The year is 2000. We find a twenty-one year old Brandon returning from a night in the mountains with a few of his best college friends (who would quickly disappear four months later after he graduated college). It was his first night away with just friends, and he was feeling pretty grown up, although disappointed by the lame NYE they actually’d had. He wished he had just stayed at home or done something he hadn’t built up to be so wonderful in his head.

In a few months time, he would have done several interviews to be the youth pastor (using his new degree) for churches in the area and answered several interview questions inquiring if there were sexually impure sins that he needed to confess before taking the job. As much as he hated it, he lied in each one of those interviews and said, ‘No.’ Shortly, he decided he couldn’t live a lie in such a manner and pulled out of the positions for youth pastor, one of which was seeming very likely. Thus, he entered the world of social work instead.

The year is 2000. Ten years later, Brandon realized that he had spent exactly half of the decade going to ‘learn to be straight’ therapy, one to three times a week. He’s glad that didn’t work out so well.

The year is 2000. In three more years he would enter a two year relationship with an verbally and mentally abusive man that would over-take him and suffocate and terrorize him to the point he didn’t recognize who he was when he was finally able to break free.

The year is 2000. In six years, he would fall in love for the first time with a man he would only date for a few months. His first heartbreak—getting him ready for the real one to come a little over three years later.

The year is 2010. Brandon has gone from a terrified soon-to-be college graduate to a counselor, massage therapist, teacher, aspiring author. He has spent three of the past ten years in school, both getting his massage license and his masters.

The year is 2010. He went from knowing exactly who God is to having no idea. He has gone from knowing he was going to Hell to not fearing it in the slightest. He has gone from fresh skin to nearly a fourth of his body covered in ink. He has laughed more than he dreamed possible. He has cried more and harder than he ever knew he would.

The year is 2010. He is alone, but surrounded by amazing family and friends who are family. He has experienced the love of a lifetime—one he never dared to believe could be real.

The year is 2010. All the pictures of the past, good and bad, have just been flushed from his computer’s hard drive. Ready for fresh. For what is to come.

Today is January first, 2010. I am under no delusions that I don’t have tears in my future or that I won’t hurt over what is no longer. I still hope I may have the familiar hand in mine once again, but am fully aware that I probably won’t. I may never be that loved or happy again, but I am still here, and I am going to do my best to live again. I am going to get published, I am going on a date tomorrow, I am going to listen to Britney Spears again, I am going to spend time with my beautiful family, I am going to be more of the Brandon I used to be with my friends. I will morn what I’ve lost, but I will love what I have. 2000-2010 were the years for me to discover who I was and what is possible in this life. 2010-2020 are the years for me to truly take all I have learned about life and myself and no longer walk, but fly.