Posts Tagged ‘ Sigh’

It’s Over. And I’m Taking the Bounty…

Posted on February 24, 2009

Over and Out

Over and Out

When did taking the contact solution become the solution to mending a broken heart?
When did even division of the bulk toothpaste you purchased together, make separating any easier?

Some months ago, my sister-in-law left my brother-in-law.
I mean “left” in the truest sense of the word. She wrote a note, took half the money from the bank account, 6 rolls of toilet paper from the “Economy Size” package they’d purchased at Costco the week before, and called it a day on their 15-month marriage.

When I heard the story, the thing that struck me as the most bizarre was not the “taking half of the money.”
If you are silly enough to have a joint bank account with your Other in the first place, I think it’s wise to take half on your way out the door and risk having to give some back later should the court demand it, than fight for months just to get what was yours all along.
So the money thing, I was fine with.

In terms of the note, I thought it was moderately heinous and disrespectful, but if things were as deteriorated as I understood them to be, perhaps she felt it was the only way. Plus, she was 19 when they married. Emotional maturity hasn’t exactly peaked at this point.

The thing that struck me as peculiar was actually the toilet paper. I understand that breaking up is hard and, you know, expensive, but really? The paper products??? You took exactly half of everything that wasn’t nailed down; you can’t relax on the Charmin?

Still, I chalked it up to a “mid-west thing” and hadn’t given it much thought since.

Until the other day.
I sit with Lady Earth, (I swear I’d have given her a better name if I’d known that I’d be speaking of her situation so often) discussing her big move.
Yes, she is, in fact, moving out of the apartment she and Gentleman Earth shared, putting her things in storage and skipping town for awhile.
But she isn’t gone yet and she is currently mid-crisis on the “what to take” debate.
Or as she cleverly puts it, the “Mean Vs. Mine Conundrum.”
Their arrangement had been that he paid a bit more in rent, but she took care of the groceries and household purchases, to compensate.
So now, she feels entitled to what is “hers.”
She speaks of the hand soap in the kitchen that is ¾ full and the unopened shampoo that she just bought. She says they obviously fall into the “Mine” category. She concedes that leaving the half full contact solution in case he is out when he returns home from his 6-week shoot is the right thing to do.
Because, apparently dry contacts are just “Mean.”
She asks me my thoughts on taking the Salt.
I tell her that she should certainly take my opinions with only a grain of it, but that I think the whole debate is a huge song and dance around the reality. And the reality is that this is sad. And that she never wanted this to get here. She wanted to save their relationship. And she’s now hoping that he’ll walk into their place after having been gone for so long and the weight of his choice will hit him in the gut and he’ll realize he has no option but to beg her back.
I remind her that “anger” is a far easier emotion than “pain and sadness,” and that if he’s angry because he has no condiments, “sadness” is going to be trumped and the “begging back” will be far less likely.
Not that I think that it’s highly likely anyway, but I stop myself before I get there.

I do point out that she is leaving and has no need for spices or cleaning products anyway.
Perhaps, if she was immediately getting a new apartment and would have imminent need for household items, the dish detergent debate would feel more valid, but at this point it just feels trivial.

I suppose I have my gypsy blood to thank, but I’ve personally never wanted any THING after a break-up.

I could never be bothered.
I’ve always just wanted out. Clean. Neat.
With as little blood spatter and the lowest body count as possible.
I’ve had awareness that no amount of mouthwash or Q-Tips would repair the hurt of lost love.

Which is not to say I’m above the fray.

To the contrary, I can be petty as hell; I’ll just surrender the tissue before I start hanging out with your best friend.

“I prefer women with a past. They’re always so demmed amusing to talk to.”
Oscar Wilde

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Well Hello, Past! I Thought We’d Parted Ways…

Posted on February 3, 2009

Something Wicked this Way Comes…

Something Wicked this Way Comes…

If one were to believe the lore, I vanished.
That’s how it was orchestrated and for all intents and purposes, this is a verifiable fact.
Except that it isn’t. I mean, I didn’t. I am very much here.
But as I live and breathe, there are those who swear I do not.

The circumstances are of little consequence at present, but nearly a decade ago, I ceased.
The surname I’d known for the first decades of my life was unceremoniously dropped and a new one taken in its place. Few knew and fewer noticed.
Three lines in the Village Voice “Legal Notices” was all it took and I successfully dissociated myself from all that I’d been.
At least, that was the intention.

In order to properly punctuate my “rebirth,” I relocated to the opposite shore and began anew.

And so it goes…

I come from a long line of escape artists. Though perhaps my people are not as visually remarkable as Houdini and Copperfield, we are masters of undetectable, quiet moves through the night. We are nimble in the physical realm and agile in the mental.

But sometimes, the temptation to gaze into Pandora’s Box is overwhelming.
Within our group, this deepest of transgressions is spoken of only in hushed tones and is positioned as a cautionary tale. We are bred to know better. We are acutely aware that our very survival depends upon unwavering acceptance that once the Past has passed, it’s gone.
But sometimes, that unrelenting tug to peer inside, if only for a moment, and see what has become of those we left behind, is stronger than we are.
Clearly, we’ve forgotten that it only takes that one moment for our Past to slip through the crack into which we stared, and settle squarely in our Present.
It is then that we remember why we never say goodbye… and why we think it best to evaporate straight away, rather than fade and leave a trail.

I have a sinking feeling that my usual evasive tactics will be of no use now.

I suppose that this is the disparity between good Escape artists and great ones. Great “Escapists” are always aware that when resurfacing, there will be questions.

Questions which will demand answers.

In this moment, I am wholly unprepared for the looming scrutiny.
Which matters not at all…

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“I want to feel that again…” A Continuing Tale of Discontinued Desire

Posted on January 27, 2009

Just not gonna sound like it used to...Just not gonna sound like it used to…

“I think he’s going to break up with me,” she weeps.

This sentence actually takes a solid 3 minutes for her to communicate amidst shallow gasps for air, tear-filled halting and hysterical hiccups, but for our purposes, I thought I’d give you the benefit of the upshot.

I mentally search for the verbal balance between “reassurance” and “reality check.”

I am once again listening to the sad chronicle of my broken hearted friend, Lady Earth.
I am also making a conscious effort towards increased compassion and empathy.
“Well, what do you want or need him to say?” I gently ask, “What would make this better?”
Her answer doesn’t surprise me.

“I want him to tell me he’s sorry. That I’m his best friend. That he can’t see his life without me. That he loves me. That he’ll try…”

I wish she wanted the couch. The couch I could help her with.

Making someone feel something that they simply do not feel… hmph.
Sadly, there is nothing anyone can do to reinstate emotion gone AWOL.

I contemplate her situation and find myself running through a litany of my own futile attempts to manipulate people and situations.
Ugh, I swear it was like meeting the Ghost of Absurd Actions Past.
I cringe in the face of the memories.

To be fair (to myself) and not allow a crazy spiral into the abyss of self-loathing that the rehashing of mortifying thoughts can cause, I remind myself that to “desire” is human.
In some religions, desire is the considered the divide between “human” and “Deity.”

I suppose, in the religion of my own mind, desire is a blessing. I thrive on that internal pinging which reminds me that I’m a bit off course. That I’m not fulfilled. It’s like sonar for the soul.

The sonar just gets really fucked up when it encounters foreign objects. Like other souls. It gets confused. It wants to ping and guide and dictate the course for everything and everyone within its functional radius. Soul sonar can be pretty self-absorbed…it doesn’t recognize that Others have their own path.

Diversion…sorry.

I attempt to reason my way out of this…for her, of course.
We are in a perpetual struggle, from birth until death, to get back there. To feel as good as we once did. Even if it wasn’t actually that good, for the mind has a funny way of glorifying the past.

We are born and desperately reach for the first breath of life. We struggle and suddenly feel the relief of the oxygen seeping into our lungs and tissues and vital organs and we spend the next 80 years chasing that breath. It’s probably good that we don’t remember how amazing that first breath felt, for I’ll just bet that an inhalation has never been as gratifying as that initial gulp.

We move through the tunnel of childhood and peek our heads out at the end and we glimpse Oz. Everything is new. Everything is unusual. But it’s scary. So we rush about trying to assimilate and make it feel normal and then complain about how mundane life is.
We wish we could see Emerald City as we had when we first emerged from the tunnel. Before we were scarred. Before we were forgotten or left behind.
Before. Then. Not now.
Still, we try. To revive the mutual amazement.

We fall in love and see the amazing beauty in anOther. We long to incorporate pieces of that person’s extraordinary facets of being into ourselves and we hope that they see us as equally intoxicating.
But occasionally, amongst all the incorporation and assimilation, we stop exploring the “extraordinary” facets within ourselves. We become wholly entrenched in our mate. Sadly, our Other also sees this and the equilibrium of mutual stimulation is thrown perilously out of whack.

And then suddenly, you’re gobsmacked by reality and you’re friends are giving you corny nicknames like “Lady Earth” and blogging about you. Sigh.

Essentially, my sweet Lady friend lost herself. She quit her important-ish career. She became cash-dependent, attention-needy, and high-powered-telescope-style focused on her relationship and forgot exactly what made it “cool” and “challenging” (in the positive sense) in the first place. Her Other, however did notice the change.

I don’t mean to seem like I am placing blame solely on her. There is never a single defendant in the Court of Broken Promises. We are all guilty. We are all at fault. We all wandered down the path that led to here.

We deserve to feel gratified and validated, but we cannot ignore the way “Today” looks. And the reason “Today” and “Yesterday” have different monikers are because they are not, in fact, the same.
Ignoring that fact and hitting the mental “Repeat” button on that track entitled “Days of Yore,” may invoke emotion in you, but will just annoy someone who is “over” that tune.

I pray that there will peaceful and expedient resolve for my friends. I pray that she realizes that she cannot forcibly make him see her as he once did.

And I pray that I’ll remember to re-read this musing the next time I am tempted to take “What Is” back to my mental General Store and exchange it for “What Was…”

“Thou art to me a delicious torment.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Marinate on This…

Posted on January 26, 2009

Take the time to let it all seep in...

Take the time to let it all seep in...

Today, these feel so strikingly beautiful to me…

“Yes! You are the ruin–the ruin–the ruin–of me. I have no resources in myself, I have no confidence in myself, I have no government of myself when you are near me or in my thoughts. And you are always in my thoughts now. I have never been quit of you since I first saw you. Oh, that was a wretched day for me! That was a wretched, miserable day!” ~“Our Mutual Friend” Charles Dickens

“What I want is to be needed. What I need is to be indispensable to somebody. Who I need is somebody that will eat up all my free time, my ego, my attention. Somebody addicted to me. A mutual addiction.”~ Chuck Palahniuk

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Overall, The Girl has a Crappy Holiday Attitude…

Posted on December 23, 2008

Light Beyond the Tunnel

Light Beyond the Tunnel

The Girl is a pleasure to have in class.
The Girl is very social. Though she occasionally talks during lessons she does get on well with Others.
The Girl is a social butterfly. She always has a smile and a kind word for her classmates.

The Girl makes gnarly-ass mean faces as she walks down the street.
The Girl has a general distrust of people and tends to believe that she is smarter than everyone
The Girl is pretty exclusive regarding who she allows into her inner circle and can’t be bothered to formulate nice things to say about those outside of it. Nor does she say mean things, though… so maybe she is somewhat salvageable….

The Girl is a shadow of who she once was… particularly during the Holidays.

I realize that I make expressly mean faces when in the presence of tourists. Especially in Times Square. Which I should know better than to walk through, pretty much anytime between Thanksgiving and New Year’s, but certainly just before Christmas. Sadly, Times Square is the main artery that bridges midtown NYC with…well, everywhere else on Earth, so The Girl finds herself trudging and shoving and occasionally grumbling aloud far more often than is recommended by the AMA, AHA, FAA, FDA,NA, AA and the like…

Look, regarding the money tossing tourists… I’m grateful. Please do buy 3 dollar cans of soda from the illegal street vendors and poor imitations of Kate Spade bags from the thief with the bed sheet on the corner. Please enjoy our fine cuisine at luxe establishments like Red Lobster, Bubba Gump’s, and Friday’s. It’s good for the economy. Please, DO stop dead as soon as you get to the top of the subway steps and stare at the sky as you try to get your bearings and figure out if left is North or South. Don’t mind me and my 17 shopping bags. Don’t concern yourself with the 98 pound human who is now being bottle necked by everyone else who is pushing me into your newly purchased I Love NY foam finger. Please! Enjoy the view! I’ll wait.

Seriously, I’m not that angry of a person, but I do get a bit haughty regarding the cultural rules of visiting a new place. Especially a crowded new place. That I have to share with you.

Sigh. For the first time, I am excited for the dark and gray skies of January and February. When the Others leave and I am left to my devices.  When the invasion ends and the lull returns.

But for now, I wait. I dig my heels in and sway in the breeze hoping it blows quickly. Turns out, I just may love the wind.

“Tell me, you go over a man’s house for the first time, do you take off your shoes? Do you put your feet up on his coffee table? Do you walk in the kitchen, eat food that doesn’t belong to you? Open the door to rooms you got no business opening?” ~The Hunting Party

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An Open Apology to the Thief Who Stole My IPOD…

Posted on December 17, 2008

May Karma Be With You...

May Karma Be With You...

Dear “Person” Who Stole My IPOD,

Yeah, I know it was like a month ago. I guess I thought you’d eventually feel bad and return to sender. At this point, I’m grieving.

Sure, I have all the music on my computer. In better fiscal times, I probably would’ve pretended to be saddened by the loss but been internally elated at the opportunity to go down to the Apple store and upgrade my 2006 model for the sleeker 2008/2009 version. Alas, today is not that day.

My mourning process has been agonizing.

Thoughts of the thousands of miles we’d traveled together haunt me…

The memories of the countless late nights when you quietly comforted me in the darkness…

That time at Chappy’s when I realized that insomnia is no fun at all without Internet… you were there. And now you aren’t.

Still, I’ve had a month to reconcile these thoughts and mentally move on. And it was only today that it occurred to me that I owe YOU an apology, Kind IPOD Thief.

I am truly repentant for the gay pop rock anthems that you’ve endured. I’m sorry that you have to sift through Playlists with super-descriptive names like “Travel and Rock Out” (it was an inside joke, not intended for someone on the outside) and “Great Workout” which includes rad songs by prolific artists like Natasha Beddingfield and Fergie.

Still, I encourage you to navigate through the unfamiliar names and chart new territory. You’ll be pleased. Seriously, since you felt the need to steal one of three physical objects that has any meaning to me at all, I do hope you’ll take the time to learn the beauty of artists like Guts and Apparat and Ladytron and Elodie O.

And again, I’m sorry for the most intimate glimpse you stole into the corny parts of my mind. I assure you that if you move through the “Toxic” Britney Spears and “Africa” Toto stuff, the rewards will be plentiful.

Slightly defiled but totally getting on with it,

The Girl of the Water~

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Tactical Radio Silence and the War in the Water

Posted on December 8, 2008

SILENCE FINI!!!

SILENCE FINI!!!

Radio silence can be deafening.

Even when the airwaves are abuzz with stories of the Falling Sky, there is some comfort in the white noise between the words. The indication of the existence of other life forms.

Radio Silence warps those notions. It can be disorienting and cause inordinately rough waters. Tactically speaking, it is necessary but should also be viewed as proof of movement in the enemy camp.

When the airwaves are suddenly silent, awareness of impending change is peaked. Any sudden sense of doom or dread is a warning and should be heeded as such.

We have been at war in the Water World for a very long time. Decades, even. We understand the need to break patterns, tune out, turn off, shut down (mentally, physically), separate, cease communication, work it out, and then return… or not.

We are used to internal battles and have become deft at sensing the possibility of adversarial confrontation (internally or externally.) We are avid non-confrontationalists.

Still, we have feelings of curiosity. When Others deal in tactical warfare, we wonder… in spite of ourselves. In spite of the depth of our understanding. And we hate it. We like control and at these depths, complete obstruction of signals is gnarly, indeed.

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If You Think You’ve Gone Too Far, You Aren’t Quite There…

Posted on December 7, 2008

Treacherous Beauty

Treacherous Beauty

I’ve been marinating on the idea of going “too far.”

There are obvious things that we can “overdo”… drugs, sleeping, eating, working, stressing… all negative when taken to a level that renders us out of control of the result… but still I wonder… how far is too far? Where does control end and surrender begin?

The prophet, Hunter S. Thompson, was quoted as saying “The Edge… there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is, are the ones who have gone over.”

I buy that, but maybe there is another level. Between on it and over it. Yes friends, here we are again… in the grey area.

My first great romance was with a boy named Alex. We toiled in the mutual torture of love for nearly seven years. On. Off. Illicit. Respectable. Planned. Synchronistic. Beautiful. Heinous. Stoic conversations on cold New York City street corners, euphoric hellos, tearful goodbyes, forbidden Margaritas at fancy Los Angeles hotels… Until eventually I wandered long enough that it seemed that our moment had passed. We traded coasts and agreed on strict visitation rights of the opposite shore, and successfully moved forward.

Except for when one of us broke said agreement and we ended up within a closer-than-acceptable proximity to one another. We inevitably revisited the appeal of the past. Once again, we’d remember… On. Off. Illicit. Respectable. Planned. Synchronistic. Beautiful. Heinous. I broke his heart and he broke mine.  Win? Lose? Draw? Hard to say. But I met the Edge on that one. Several million times. And never did I ever feel more real. More susceptible. More scared. More ALIVE… than when I stared down that Edge.

Metaphorically, that Edge is also a “great love” of my life. I have been chasing it since the first time I saw it.

And I (generally) don’t chase.

It thrills me and seduces me. It entices and lures. It taunts me with it’s beautiful shadow. I believe that when it is near, I am whole. I am allowed to see my truth. You always see your truth in the shadow. Though it may be distorted, it is also magnified. It will not be ignored. And that is the innate appeal of the Edge.

It is never far away. And somehow it always begs to be found. It needs visitors. It needs you. It desires me. I oblige.

There was a time when I visited frequently with little concern of a physical fall. Danger loomed and I cared not at all.

It is different today. Like all relationships, the Edge and I have grown. Changed. Tempered. Our mutual respect is greater and we meet less often. But we are always aware of one another. Present and mentally accounted for.

Lurking in the shadows. Lying in wait…

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