On turning 45

This birthday has me extremely conflicted. I don’t know if it’s just that I’m finally processing some things about my life or if I’m facing new things about my life but I’m struggling to get through it and come out the other side.

One side of me feels like the woman so many of you see me as – strong, confident, radiant, talented, gifted, loving, caring, powerful. I get glimpses of this woman that supposedly exists and those glimpses are getting more and more common and easier to see sometimes. I can feel her inside of my heart, fighting to get a foothold in the real world instead of just existing within my soul. She is the one who gave me the courage to walk away from a marriage that was destroying me. She is the one who gave me the courage to get up and discover the joy of singing again. She is the one who, without hesitation, knew that moving in with my parents was absolutely essential and the only thing to do. She is who I aspire to be and am anxious to release on to the world. She is the one who wears the red Carlos Santana boots with pride and strength.

The other side of me, however, still holds on tight to my reality. It is the vestiges of the 43 years leading up to that moment almost two years ago when I took hold of my life. That side is the product of those 43 years and all the negativity that has been foisted upon me for all of those years. Now, that’s not a excuse, it’s an acknowledgement. I could have maybe found a way to push that negativity away and maybe I have, for the most part. But that negativity ate away at my soul and left me with huge, open, gaping wounds that have only begun to scab around the edges. That side is who I see most often in the mirror – weak, inferior, terrified, unfocused, unsuccessful, lazy, stupid, unlovable and unloved. That side haunts me at night and consumes me in the worst moments of my days. That is the side I am trying to cut out of my soul and lose forever. But two years versus 43 years is an unfair balance. I am hoping it won’t take me 43 years to find the other side of me.

This birthday is not what I wanted it to be. A.J. said some very profound things today at coffee about not letting things that we have no control over consume me. That I should not try to use comparisons or expectations as a bar of accomplishment. But then he also understood that one can’t help but do that.

The two sides of me battle over that. I can see what I have accomplished in less than two years, yet I can see the failures. I struggle with finishing the film because I’m terrified it’s not good, yet I know it’s good. I’m afraid that I’m a phony, that there is not talent there and no one has bothered to tell me, yet I know without a doubt I am a strong director. Two minds arguing constantly. No wonder the clowns have a field day up there.

The biggest thing about this birthday is that it is another one spent alone. Yes, I know I have amazing friends and many of them were around me tonight as the three day celebration began/continued. I realize how rich my life is because of these people. I would not be anywhere near where I am today without the people that I have listed endlessly in this blog. But that doesn’t help at times like this, when all I want in the world is the arms of someone who loves me to wrap me up and hold me tight. I wonder if giving up a relationship – no matter how horrible or empty or cruel it was – was worth this ache and pain and sorrow of being alone. I see so many friends in relationships that aren’t as full as I think a relationship should be but at least they have someone to hold them, be with them, and, yes, have sex with them. And I envy them that, even while I can see how their relationships are unfulfilling in other areas. What is the trade-off then? Settle for someone who doesn’t fulfill me but is kind of there and kind of what I want but not really but he’s there when I want someone and he’ll sleep with me and hold me, even if he doesn’t really turn out to be something worthwhile? It’s that the alternative to being alone?

And the one person who I thought would always be a friend and never, ever hurt me seems to have chosen to put a huge distance between us. I take a lot of that responsibility because I have broken the cardinal rule – I have been open and honest in a public forum about my feelings about him and that’s got to be unnerving for such a private person. I keep trying to find a way to tell him in person that I really don’t care about anything more than being his friend. Yes, something more would be great but if I have to choose between losing his friendship over this, I would choose to keep his friendship. He’s been so important to me and colors every frame of my life that I can’t imagine my life without him. But he seems to have chosen to step away, not completely, but enough that I can no longer consider him the close friend he once was. And that kills me more than anything. I have somehow contributed to driving him away and shattering this friendship. Yeah, I know he’s got some responsibility in this but I can’t seem to find the right way to fix this and make it better so I have to just stand by and let him go. And that’s one of the worst things I can think of because, when it comes down to it, I love him very much, as a drear, dear friend and an important part of my life. But my two sides cannot figure out what to do so nothing will be done. I miss you, I’m sorry, I hope you come back some time and we can start over again.

But there are those moments when I feel my destiny and see my future. When I’m running the meetings for the new film at the Ark and those five other faces are looking to me for answers, I know I have the answers they’re looking for. I am extremely confident in the script I am writing for my segment based on my Wraith blog, and the partnership with PRS is working out great on this script. I can say it’s probably the best thing I’ve written, with a great deal of that because of PRS’s input. I can see how good Cinderella could be, if I could get my shit together and finish it. And I see what I am doing for my parents, how important that this time is for us, particularly with what we’ve just gone through. time is counting down and every moment with my father is precious. I know, in so many ways, this is exactly where I am supposed to be right now, personally, professionally, everything.

So I hope to get through this birthday, put it behind me and find a way to let the soul self that is trapped right now run free and finally take me firmly on the path to the rest of my life. Maybe by 50. Maybe 60. I’ll let you know.

Early Birthday Treat

For those of you who don't know, my 45th birthday is Sunday. This seems apt for the moment.

God bless Keith Urban

Finally heard this whole song tonight. Had to pull the car over and have a breakdown, it touches so close to home for me.


KEITH URBAN LYRICS

"Stupid Boy"

Well, she was precious like a flower
She grew wild, wild but innocent
A perfect prayer in a desperate hour
She was everything beautiful and different

Stupid boy, you can't fence that in
Stupid boy, it's like holding back the wind
she laid her heart and soul right in your hands
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't
Stupid boy, stupid boy
Oh

So what made you think you could take a life
And just push it push it around
I guess you build yourself up so high
You had to take her and break her down

she laid her heart and soul right in your hands
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't
You stupid boy

Oh, you always had to be right but now you've lost
The only thing that ever made you feel alive
Yeah, yeah

Well, she laid her heart and soul right in your hands
And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans
Yes, ya did
She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens
When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't
You stupid boy, oh, I'm the same old
Same old stupid boy

It took awhile for her to figure out she could run
But when she did, she was long gone
Long gone, long gone
Ah, she's gone

Nobody's ever gonna love me like she loved me
And she loved me, she loved me
God please, just let her know
I'm sorry, I'm sorry
I'm sorry, I'm sorry
Baby, yeah, I'm down on my knees
She's never coming back to me



(Unfortunately, don't have this album yet but will soon!)

Mirror, Mirror

03/28/07 – Beauty

I caught myself in the mirror just now and you know what I saw?

Beauty.



Okay, sure, I saw the extra 20 (or 30 or 40) pounds that are sitting around my waist and my butt. I saw the lines around my eyes (my father’s eyes, apparently, and so, therefore, my father’s lines). I saw the toll from 16 years of an abusive relationship on my face. I saw the flaws and the imperfections and the areas that need improvement.

But, for the first time in the past almost two years of my new life, I saw a glimpse of the beauty I have. It’s something we all, as women, lose the ability to see in ourselves. The most beautiful women I know doubt that about themselves, no matter how confident, no matter how sure they are. They still doubt. That’s why we endless do crunches and subject ourselves to counting every calorie and every bite of food and constantly assess and reassess the size of our ass/thighs/waist/boobs.

But tonight, I saw the way my hair now lies – a little longer, a little shaggier, a little more feminine. I saw the faintest glimpse of cheekbone struggling to come through. I saw the light in my eyes – what I’ve always thought was my best feature. I saw a voluptuous woman instead of an overweight one. I saw a figure, not a flaw. I caught a glimpse of the woman I was at 25 and I could see that the woman I was then is still in the woman that I am now, as I face a landmark birthday 20 years later.

I saw that the years that the marriage put on me made me mature, not worn. I saw that the defiance I have makes me strong, not hard. I saw that the struggles and the choices and the disappointments I have faced in the past two years, as well as those through the end of my marriage, gave me a grace and a serenity by accepting and dealing with and trying to put those behind me. I saw the difference between a victim and a Wonder Woman.

I finally saw that, despite the flaws and the foibles and the weight and the wear and tear, I am a dynamic, incredible, beautiful woman who is slowly but surely coming into her own, regardless of the age, regardless of the time. I caught a glimpse of the woman I am becoming through the trials and the struggles and the loneliness and the pain and all of that. I caught a glimpse of the future me and she is astounding. I cannot wait to meet her.

Pooped.

Wonder Woman is tired. She’s tired of being strong and powerful and tough. She is tired of the expectation of the world because of the image she has put forth. She wants to break down and weep and scream how she is full of rage and pain and sorrow and worry and fear and uncertainty and terror. She wants to cry copious amounts of tears, rend her clothing at the unfairness of things and pound the ground with her fists. She wants to behave like a four-year-old, just for a few moments.

Wonder Woman is tired of boys in men’s clothing, swaggering and pretending to be grown-up when, at the heart of it, they are four years old and incapable of looking past their own noses and seeing there is something out there other than their self-concern. She is tired of Mr. OOMA who can’t get past his own fear and inexperience to just be a goddamned friend. Fine, don’t want to sleep with me but stop being so fucking schizophrenic. If you think I’m too much and you’re worried I’m going to pull a Glenn Close and boil a rabbit in your kitchen, then tell me that. If you’re scared and unsure and just plain confused, just tell me that. If you never want to see me again and you’re sorry you’ve invested the time in this relationship, the grow some balls and tell me that so I can get on with my life. If you read this (and I’m pretty sure you do, although, god forbid that you actually admit it), then just talk to me. Be a friend, because, at the heart of it all, that’s what I thought you truly were. And Mr. Cute Boy, willing to flirt and play and be coy while being with someone who obviously doesn’t do anything for you, yet not willing to put your neck out to try something that might make you happy, either embrace the one you’re with or get off the pot and do something. If just one of you would be a Superman and just open your stupid mouths, Wonder Woman maybe would be able to get some rest and stop trying to read your frigging minds.

And Wonder Woman is tired of being tired. Of seeking and wanting and needing and reaching and coming back empty-handed. What she wants is simple – inner peace, contentment, someone to hold her close and tell her it’s okay not to be Wonder Woman for a while. Someone to rub her feet and kiss her forehead. Nothing much. Just everything.

Mostly, she is tired of her broken heart, shattered by someone who should have protected it for all those years, leaving her incapable of trusting that fractured organ to be real, to feel real, to be true. She wants the pieces to be put together so they will stop sticking her in the ribs, keeping her in constant pain, every single day, every single moment, while she keeps on the face the public expects.

Or maybe Wonder Woman just needs to quit whining, accept her fate and wreak havoc on the world. That’s always an option. Wonder Woman goes Emo. Hmmm. Food for thought.

Warning - poetry ahead

Arm's length
has become
too far
to cross.

I'm tired of trying
reaching
finding
nothing
on the other end.

You win.
I'm worn out.

So
when you look for me
I won't be there
across the table
across the room
across your life.

And what breaks my heart
is that
you won't even
miss
me.

what i need...

tonight, what I need is to be able to get shif-faced, incoherently drunk. to have some warm, wonderful incredible man see my pain, understand, wrap me up in his embrace, take me home, tuck me into his bed (the option to curl up in said bed and hold me all night is open). Sorry, no sex tonight. Wake me gently in the morning, still holding me. Tell me everything’s all right and let me cry out everything I’ve held in the past few days. Wipe away my tears, tell me to come back when I need to, and kiss me sweetly and gently and tell me he loves me.

Instead, I’ll go and sing a few heartbreak songs, have a single drink, as I am driving the parents’ car tonight, and come home to my empty bed, shed a few tears into my pillow, get up and start all over again tomorrow.

That’s what I need to do.

Sometimes I forget...

The day-to-day drama that I create in my own mind and life sometimes makes me forget how lucky I am to have the life I have.

In talking to my aunt and uncle, who flew down from Canada yesterday, and regaling them with tales of my life with all of you - particulary Patty, Monica, Zadra, Peter, Chairman, and AJ (and too many others to name) - I am again reminded how lucky and blessed I am to have all of you in my life.

I'm sorry sometimes I'm crazy and manic and make a big thing out of nothing. I'm sorry I take some of you for granted sometimes. And I'm sorry that sometimes I don't feel like I am the friend to you that you are to me. Know you are loved and appreciated and that I would not have the wondrous life that I have without every single one of you.

I want a Superman

Men don’t want Wonder Woman.



They want the victims that Wonder Woman saves – the meek, mild, unambitious 25 to 30-year-olds who aren’t a threat and aren’t a challenge. Men admire Wonder Woman from a distance but are afraid to get too close to her, afraid that they’ll never be able to stand up to her superpowers. They are eager to have her around when they need her support and her help and her strength. But after that, Wonder Woman’s on her own. They’ll hover at her periphery, holding court, looking up to her, sleep with her if she’d let them, but when it comes to something more, there’s a man-shaped hole in the wall announcing their departure. But if Wonder Woman needs them or their support or their participation, they find an excuse and run to the victim, hiding behind her vulnerability and her fear and making sure that Wonder Woman can’t find them.

Wonder Woman is screwed.

I want Superman.



A man who is not afraid of my Wonder Woman-ness. A man with the balls to not be afraid of my super-powers and who is not going to use his gifts of evil instead of good. A Superman who knows when I need to be Wonder Woman and when I need to just be Lt. Diana Prince and let him be Superman and protect me and take care of me. I am tired of mere mortals like the OOMA and Cute Boy who don’t see the wonder that is me standing in front of them and who can’t handle a Wonder Woman in their life. Let them hole up somewhere protected and unreachable with the victims of the world while I keep up my search for a man to stand with me and be proud of the Wonder Woman I can be. A man who is just as strong, just as determined, just as ambitious as I am and who can handle my vulnerable days when being a superhero is just too much.

Because, days like today, I could use a Superman in my life.

Read into this what you will...

I had survived some weird, military, "LOST" sort of scenario in some far off island. I thought others had survived but I could not find them. Somehow, I was back in a military building, no one knowing that I had survived this thing. They were looking for me but I was in the lobby of the building and no one knew where to find me. And I couldn’t get anyone to tell me where I should go. There was this pattern on the floor in a circular pattern that were words but not words and they seemed to keep shifting. Every time I’d figure out what it said and where I should go, the pattern shifted again and the words were in a different order. They were words like “eleventh” and “management” and “services.”

The OOMA kept coming through the front door over and over again, not like Groundhog Day because things didn’t repeat. He just seemed to keep coming through the door. He was in full dress Navy whites, which is weird because he’s Air Force and I kept thinking exactly that – that’s weird, he’s in Navy whites and he’s Air Force. At one point, I was in some odd Star Trek sort of outfit that was a red jumpsuit with white patches and silver trim and he was trying to help me get the shoulders to fit right because they kept sitting oddly. He would adjust the shoulders and then they would slide right back to where they were. He was infinitely patient and it seemed fairly important that the shoulders were just so. And it seemed that every time he appeared, I was somehow closer to where I was supposed to be. He was infinitely patient and sometimes seemed to know I had been missing and was glad I was there and wanted to help me get to where I should be and sometimes both of us seemed unaware that I had been missing and couldn’t figure out where I was supposed to be. But he was unflappable, knowing that it would be all right eventually and I would get to where I was supposed to be. And Nellie Bly’s “His Uncheckered Life” kept playing in the background.

During all of this, I kept getting flashbacks of my adventure, which included getting some sort of robotic dinosaur thing to work and that’s how I got off the island. That part’s kind of blurry because I don’t remember much other than getting the thing upright and something about someone who was a negative essence – not really a threat, just very negative and I was trying to get away from him. I knew there were others on the island but I couldn’t figure out where they were or what they were doing, yet they seemed to know I was there with this dinosaur thing and they wouldn’t come over to where I was for no apparent reason.

Then I was in a grocery store with the OOMA and we were trying to get something specific but I didn’t seem to know exactly what it was. He kept asking me, “Is that it?” and I’d say, “I think so.” But then we’d put it back and keep going. I put a Caesar salad in my cart and that was the only thing that was consistent.

Then we were back in the lobby and we had dishes that had been used and couldn’t figure out where to put them. I finally put mine on the guard desk after we kept walking around and around but then couldn’t find the others to tell them where to put their dishes and it seemed really important to tell them where to put their dishes. And the OOMA came in again, in his dress whites, and finally seemed surprised to see me there because I supposedly had been lost in this weird astronaut crash landing thing.

And then Twyla jumped on my head in real life and woke me up.

I've made my own Freudian analysis, I'm sure you will, too.

Yeah, right.

I'm so full of shit sometimes. I actually believe what I say when I write it and then...

Well, anyway...

Doubt.

The hardest thing in dealing with emotional abuse is the lingering vestiges of doubt that invade your life. Even now, almost two years after leaving my ex, I still harbor huge amounts of doubt about my emotional life. Every single day, I ponder and obsess and wonder whether or not what I feel is true, from everything from my on-going struggle with the OOMA to how I am dealing with living with my parents to just happiness on an on-going basis. I have to run everything through a “test” filter almost to see and evaluate if what I feel is true. And the thing is, everything that you feel is true. It’s true to you and doesn’t matter if it’s “true” to anyone else.

I was lucky in my creative life to have outside verification of my intuition and impulses. And it’s easier to be objective about the truth of my creativity because it’s an external extension of my life. I see something on screen or on stage and the response of the people watching it let me know whether what I think about the piece is true. And I have been able to gain enough objectivity of my own that I know when something I do is good and when it could be better. My fears and worries about “Cinderella” are just normal, every day concerns I’m sure every filmmaker goes through so I’m handling that part of my life.

It’s the every day banality of life that still stumps me, particularly when it comes to the relationship with men in my life. Considering the fact that most of the men that have been in my life have been emotionally distant, it’s no wonder I don’t know what the hell to do or to feel when I’m around someone I am attracted to. And, wow, no wonder I’m attracted to emotionally distant men. My father, a lovely, darling man, is not that open emotionally. Through all of this stuff in the last two years, once in a while we have broached the subject of how I feel but mostly, it’s just the “we want you to be happy” approach to emotion. We have never discussed my depression or my almost-suicide. I don’t think he could. My brother also was extremely distant throughout my life. I think the deepest conversations we had were when he was using me as a hair model and we talked about my moving to LA. That’s about it.

My first husband, while passionate about many things, was not passionate about us. We never talked about our relationship or where we were going or anything like that. We were also so young. He said “I love you”, as required, but never tried to find out how I felt. He belittled my dancing ability, which eventually drove me to quit dancing. He belittled anything I did that made him feel less than.

Ditto with my current ex. “I love you” came frequently to his lips but did not always come frequently to my heart.

So now that I am thinking I would like to have someone in my life, I realize I don’t necessarily know how to approach that. I think my current lesson is learning about boundaries, because I have never been good at setting boundaries with the men in my life. I can say, “what you said hurt me” but I’ve never been good at the kind of confrontational end of that. That hurt me and you need to know and understand that it hurts me and you need to change the way you treat me because I will not tolerate it anymore. I always backed down, I always hesitated to convey the depth of the injury caused.

So now I have to practice what I’ve been learning. I have to learn to set boundaries with the OOMA because things recently have made me feel the way my ex made me feel, to a point. And this is where I get hung up. Do I feel bad because of the way he’s treating me? Do I feel bad because I bring a whole cartload of baggage to this and it’s not him, it’s me, because that’s what I was told for so long – it’s just how YOU feel so don’t feel that way. It’s not that he’s so much treating me badly but it’s that he’s got me at arm’s length again and it reminds me of where my ex kept me for so many years. In his life, but not IN his life. Valid as long as he needed me but not valid when I needed him. I was there when it was convenient but god forbid I should need him to be there for me. And the OOMA is on the receiving end of a lot of confusing emotions from me, some of which he causes, a lot of which I cause for myself.

So, in examining things lately, I realize that this is where I fail on my end of a relationship, because I have never had a lot of success with saying, “hey, what’s going on here? Why are you treating me like this? I don’t like it. Talk to me and tell me what’s going on. It’s okay, whatever you’re feeling, but you need to know and understand that this is how I’m feeling.” Because how I’m feeling has always been negated and never allowed to be accepted as true. I seem to be able to convey these things to the women in my life or to those men who aren’t as close to me as this particular one, which makes sense, I guess.

My work right now is on finding a way to tell him that I’m not happy with being at arm’s length, which doesn’t mean we have to be attached at the hip. I miss him. I miss spending time with him. I need to know if there is something I am doing that is causing him to hold me at a distance. I need to know if our relationship has changed on his end but he hasn’t bothered to inform me of that (men seem to do that – change what they think about a relationship and wait for the woman to put the point on it and then do something about it). This whole scenario terrifies me because my ex would never allow that discussion to go past “well, that’s what you feel, just don’t feel that way.” If I would push the issue, he’d end the discussion with, “I don’t accept that” or, my favorite, “That’s not true so don’t feel that way.” There was never a way to get past that with him and I’m afraid to have my feelings negated by the OOMA. But it’s got to be better than this unknown, unspoken tension between us. I may lose him, and I know that, because he’s not great with confrontation either. But maybe it’ll free something up in both of us. Maybe it’ll get us past this awkwardness and on to whatever the next phase of our friendship is. Maybe it’ll show both of us that open conversation approached with affection and honesty can lead to something better rather than just ignoring a situation and hoping it will go away.

The most important thing is that I need to learn to take care of myself first, acknowledge that something is not making me happy and confront the source of that unhappiness. I need to learn that the core of my feelings are true – I’m hurt by the distance between us, I don’t like being held out here with no explanation – and that the tsunami that these feelings stir up are the “untrue” parts of this whole thing. My challenge is to express the clear true feelings without the waves of other emotions that get tangled up in it. Be clear, be concise and be honest. Sounds simple. Soooo not simple.

We’ll see what happens.

Damn you.

(Warning - if you're a friend of my ex, you don't want to read this.)

Damn you.

Damn you for taking something so precious and so important to me – my jewelry business – and infecting it with your anger and your perception and your criticism.

Damn you for doing such a good job that every time I do a show/sale, like today, it only fills me with dread and worry and panic because nothing I have/do is good enough, despite the fact that people stop me on the street and chase me across stores to find out where I got my jewelry/purse/notebook.

Damn you for filling my boxes of supplies and stock with your negativism, so much so that I almost vomit with anxiety every time I open them up and start working with them.

Damn you for instilling so much doubt in me that even today, 18 months later, I still hear your angry, bitter voice in my head, making me not want to pursue something that is lucrative, creative, and fulfilling.

And damn me for allowing you to do this to me.

Well, today, I am damning you to the past. No matter what happens at this sale today, it has nothing to do with you. I damn your anger, bitterness and criticism to hell, where it belongs. Today is all about me, I will succeed or fail on my own merit. And if today is not successful financially, I’m sure I will find success in damning you into the distance, where you belong. And these events always have success – they always show me that what I do is valuable, even if it’s just to a few people, because those few people are the ones who will help me build a success. I’d rather have five excited customers than 25 unenthusiastic ones.

So, damn you to hell, where you belong, take your shit with you. I don’t need it here anymore.

The woman to be

I am beginning to see the woman I am to become. Something about stability in my life – as much as I will have – that seems to have brought this about. That and the lack of clowns in my head – although I do hear their tin cups banging against the bars, demanding to be let free. Luckily, the bars have held.

What I see is probably not that much different from what I was. Maybe just more defined. Ironically, without having someone in my life to be defined by, I am becoming more defined. There are no expectations except what I put upon myself. No one to answer to except for myself. Sounds great but I can be pretty hard to please.

What I see is the image of a woman done in watercolor or maybe done by Picasso. There are bits and pieces I can make out clearly and see what they are and they are incredible. But there are still bits and pieces that are not so easily seen and could be anything at this point, and they are shadowy and erratic. But without those, the picture wouldn’t make sense.

I see a woman in front of me who is strong, confident, fearless. Someone who doesn’t second guess (well, not too much) and has embraced her strength rather than find excuses to hide it. I see a woman who understands her emotions, doesn’t strangle them and conceal them, but who also knows how to wrangle them and work through them instead of letting her emotions run amuck and create destruction. I see a woman who laughs easily and loudly and doesn’t worry about being too loud. A woman who loves deeply those around her, without hesitation, without over-thinking, without agenda. A woman who understands that, to be whole, you have to be open to being hurt again. A woman who is no longer in hiding, who doesn’t cower, but doesn’t overpower at the same time.

That same woman is also vulnerable and easily wounded. That maybe is not as much of a weakness as it sounds. It means being able to love fully and completely, regardless of the outcome. It does mean pain and sorrow but it also means an incredible amount of feeling and passion. You can’t have one without the other, I don’t think. She trusts maybe a little too easily but it also makes her easy to trust. She is the pillar many others need and, in turn, there are suddenly pillars for her in her times of need.

She is creativity personified. Maybe to a fault sometimes with too many fingers in too many pies but there is such a deep passion and drive for this creativity that it makes up for all else. Embracing that creativity and learning to acknowledge her gift for it allows that passion to be released without qualification and so it becomes true artistry, not something that someone else thinks it should be. It is pure and from the source.

Mostly, I see someone who is unapologetic about who she is, both with good and bad, because we are all made up of both. There is no perfect. There is no right way to be. There is only who I am, with strength and weakness, with power and with fear, with grace and with goofiness. Ying and yang, one and the other.

There is still a long way to go to build this woman I see but I can also see the blocks that are there for this creature. I see it in the eyes of those around me, both my new friends and my cherished older ones. I am so unbelievably blessed to have those eyes around me because, without them, I wouldn’t have begun to see a reflection that mirrors what I see in my mind’s eye. I see the person I have wanted to be for so long reflected back in your eyes, all of you, and it’s astounding. With those reflections, with that love, with that support, I know I am on the right path and that the woman I am meant to be is just waiting around the corner for me to finish discovering.

Truths

Facing some truths today that I don't want to. No big revelation beget it. Just... life, I guess. Growth, maybe. Letting go of some things that have been so precious and so desirous. But sometimes, in the light of day, things are so clear and so without guile that you cannot deny them. But I'm not devastated, so I guess that's good. I'm just... dealing. Hard to put away things sometimes but it's long past time that I did.

Big, bad word.

Abuse is a big word. I always think that it should be written only in capital letters – ABUSE. There should also be a symbol for it, like there is for hazardous material.

Abuse is not a word to throw around. Accusing someone of abuse is very powerful, very dangerous and can be very destructive. Too many people throw the word abuse around because they don’t understand what it means.

Abuse means fear. Living every day of your life in fear. Every encounter with the person who abuses you is infused with that fear. You go to sleep in fear, you wake up in fear. You live, breathe, eat fear. You get so good at it that you don’t even realize that you’re afraid. And if you asked anyone around you, they wouldn’t see the fear. They wouldn’t see the abuse. They might see something is not right but they won’t ever put the word “abuse” to it because the word is that big of a word.

I think every man has the potential to be an abuser. Now, before you start coming after me, let me explain why. Most men are not very in touch with their emotions. Most of them wouldn’t know an emotion if it came up and kicked them in the groin. That lack of connection to that core essence is what makes me believe that most men could easily become abusers. On the flip side, I think most women will, at some time in their life, think that they are being abused because we live so much in that emotional state. Every stupid comment, every little slight can get blown out of proportion to the point that one could think it is abuse.

The difference is fear. If your husband/lover/boyfriend/significant other points to your outfit and says, “You’re not going to wear that, are you?”, he’s an ass. He’s stupid. He’s ignorant of the fact that this simple statement could send you into a crying jag that will last for hours. But you’re not afraid of him. You’re not afraid of what he’s going to do if you don’t change that outfit. You’re not afraid that all night, he’s going to be judging you and at the end of the night, you will receive a very harsh, blow by blow account of what was wrong with the outfit, why you shouldn’t have worn it and, god forbid something goes wrong with the outfit, you will be told in no uncertain terms why that thing went wrong, that it was your fault because you wore said outfit and you’re not going to be stupid enough to do that again, after he’s told you over and over again not to wear that outfit. Then you go to bed, with him being angry because you wore an outfit that you liked and didn’t bend to his will and change. The next morning, he’ll remind you again of what a disaster that outfit was and he will tell you that he hopes you did something about it. Like what, I’m not sure, but you better do something about it.

Abuse is when innocuous things that shouldn’t matter become the focus of every day battery, whether it’s physical or emotional. It’s when dinner becomes the focus of all of your shortcomings. It’s when a dumpster that has not been emptied – and that you can do nothing about – is the jumping off point for a screaming rage attack on you. It’s when, all day, every day, every sentence delivered to you by the person who has your heart is simply a reminder of how pathetic you are and what a failure you are.

It doesn’t sound like much. But it’s like drops of water on cement. Eventually, the cement will give way to the water. If, every time you do some little thing wrong, the person you love responds with “of course you screwed up,” you begin to believe that you are a screw up. When you are consistently on the receiving end of the rage he has been suppressing all day because Target was out of the soap he liked and you didn’t spend the ENTIRE day going from Target to Target to find it, you begin to believe that you are a screw up. When there isn’t enough money to pay the bills and he refuses to participate in any process that will lead to a solution and when he blames you because the bills aren’t being paid, you believe you’re a failure. And that means you don't love him anywhere near as much as he loves you because you are incapable of that.

Abuse is when you find those things that make you happy and fulfilled and complete and the person you love can only find fault with them. It’s when he violently throws your belongings across the room when he’s cleaning but gently picks up and places his belongings safely away. It’s the screaming and yelling and cursing at inanimate objects that are then hurled across the room – but only if they’re yours and not his. It’s when he threatens to take away from you the very things that provide you joy because they are not his. It’s when any moment of pleasure or joy or pride becomes about him and becomes negative and bad and empty because he cannot allow you to have joy/pleasure/pride.

Abuse is being told that your feelings and emotions mean nothing. If you’re angry, just don’t be angry. Oh, I’m sorry, if you’re angry at him and he doesn’t agree with you, then don’t be angry because your anger is wrong. He has done nothing wrong. He never does anything wrong. It’s you, all you, you’re too emotional, you’re too sensitive. You shouldn’t take his screaming in your face about someone’s car blocking the driveway as any sort of attack on you. That’s just you being sensitive. He never disappoints, it’s just you being over-reactive. Just don’t feel, just don’t feel, just don’t feel. Your emotions, your feelings mean absolutely nothing because they do not serve him.

Abuse is when you shut down because the person you love only loves you when you’re shut down. Abuse is when you can no longer feel because that’s the only way to get through the day. Abuse is when he’s happy only when you’re silent.

My ex will never see he was abusive. Many of our friends probably now won’t admit that he was. Because ABUSE is a huge word. To utter it is to admit that it was there. Better to not say it, better to not use it, in case you’re wrong, in case he wasn’t.

I still have trouble saying it. Because I could be wrong. Maybe I was too sensitive. Maybe I was too emotional. Maybe it was my own emotions that drove me into a depression so deep that I almost killed myself. To accuse him of being abusive is hard and harsh and terrible and wrong and painful and uncomfortable.

But he was. And until I can really acknowledge it and get a handle on it, I will still be his victim.

Broken but healing

(Okay, so I miss blogging. Don't expect this to be as regular as previously but I will probably be posting now and again.)

02/14/07

Broken but healing?

I am still broken, wounded, far from completion. The wounds are very deep and not yet scarred over. I am trying to heal based on some unknown timetable – when I “should” be healed. Whose timetable, I don’t know. But I feel the pressure to be fine, to be past the hurt, past the anger, past the tears. I see others around me moving on, finding someone for their life, not necessarily permanent but at least someone. And I stand by the side, thinking, that’s where I “should” be. I “should” have someone by now because others do. I don’t know why I “should”. To be complete? To be “normal”? To be a woman? Yet the reason I left him was to be my own person. Yet I feel compelled to find a man to be in my life to, in a way, define me. Because I don’t know what I am by myself. The dichotomy is feeling the need to be defined by the man in my life and yet fighting that very desire. Do I even know how to be with someone without being defined by them? Am I whole enough, healed enough, to be just who I am with someone else? Will I ever be?

I’m not sure how to go about healing. Is moving beyond anger where I need to be? How do I get there? I know I need to get past comparing every new situation to what it would have been with him there. I’m tackling that one right now. But will I ever heal enough to actually be able to let someone else in?

I understand why my heart lives where it does right now because, in some twisted way, maybe if I can reach him – the great unreachable one – then I can be reached myself. I think he reflects my own fear, my own wounds, back at me. And if I heal his wounds, I heal my own. But that’s where the trouble starts. Then it’s about him and his pain, not me and mine. It’s about making him whole first, then we’ll get around to me eventually. It’s about focusing on his needs rather than my own. I guess what I don’t know is whether or not we can heal each other together, not one sacrificing so that the other becomes whole. Can two wounded souls heal each other or is that just co-dependency in its finest form? Can I let him go, decide he’s not going to be that part of my life – whether by his choice, by my choice or by the universe’s choice – and move past him while I’m at it?

Can I be whole, complete and healed without someone in my life is what it comes down to, I guess. There are days when I feel that power, that completeness, and I know and understand my world. Then there are the rest of the days, where I am lost, seeking, grasping, hoping something or someone will save me.

And on this day of hearts and flowers and love, I am torn. Appreciative and grateful for this life I have created because it is truly mine, with all its glories and its blemishes. Wistful for the best of my past life because there was good there once. Longing for someone to fill in the holes in my life and help me find the next step I must take. Yet glad that there isn’t that smothering, controlling, unyielding hand that threatened my very existence. Missing someone I don’t have and not even sure if I want him or just want the thought of him.

Leaving me where? Thinking, looking, seeking an answer that Cupid and his bow and arrow cannot supply.

Only I can.

Just passing through...

Lately, I seem to feel like I have to apologize to people for many things. For not finishing the film yet, for not launching my jewelry site again, for not being there for them personally (that one I WILL apologize for), for many, many things. However, I once again find myself under the influence of the feisty full moon and just want to say, for the record, I’m not sorry. There’s a terrific female duo out of Northern California called Antara and Delilah that have a great song called "I’m Not Sorry" and that’s running through my head right now. Here’s the list of things I am not sorry for:

1. I am not sorry that my emotions tend to get carried away and bury me. Yes, maybe I should have better control of them, but you spend almost your entire adult life and a third of your entire life being emotionally battered and then tell me you can recover in a year and a half. I’ve been beaten, I’ve been abused. I’m not going to get over it. Deal with it. It took him 15 years to almost kill me, it’s going to take me a little while to put it in perspective.

2. I am not sorry the film is not done. In the 10 months since we started shooting, I’ve moved twice, dealt with serious health issues with my father, am dealing with moving in with my parents and watching my father basically die, am dealing with the effects of my marriage (see point #1 above). You’re lucky it’s as done as it is. It will get done. Just let me do it in my time.

3. I’m not sorry I fell in love with you. I’m sorry you can’t/won’t/don’t choose to see it or do anything about it. I’m sorry you feel the need to keep me close but on your terms. I’m sorry you’re jealous when someone else intrudes on your territory. I’m sorry that you can’t let me in. And I’m sorry that you’re going to turn around very soon and see that I am not there. But I won’t be sorry for walking away because I did love you, I gave you every chance and it was your choice to let me walk away. At least I learned I could love again. I am sorry that you won’t be the one to get that love. Sorry that you couldn’t do it.

4. I’m not sorry that I’m pissed off at you. You beat me within an inch of my life and left me to die. Fuck you. I will never get past it. And those of you who think I should get past it, fuck you, too. I won’t. I can forgive you, I can understand why you’re the bastard that you are. I can appreciate that you don’t see what you did. But fuck you anyway.

5. I am not sorry that I am complicated. I love that Anna said at breakfast yesterday that she and I are “too complex” for internet dating. Yes, we are. Let’s embrace our complexity and quit apologizing for it.

6. I am not sorry I chose to move in with my parents. This is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life and I’m not sure how I’ll get through it. But it was the right choice and it was the right thing.

7. I’m not sorry I stopped this blog. I needed to turn my eyes inward. It was so difficult, so painful, so overwhelming not to have this forum to spew forth all of my guts. But I needed to not spew for a while so I could deal with the things I didn’t want to face. And I’ve done that. And I think I’m ready to face the world again, clearer, smarter, not completely healed but at least bandaged.

8. I’m not sorry that I probably won’t post again here for a long time. I may return occasionally when I have something to share or to spew. I do miss you all and your supportive comments. I do continue to follow your lives, although it may be somewhat more silently than previously.

I think that’s it for now. Just felt that I needed to get that off my chest and share it with the universe.

There. I’m done. I’ll talk to you all again some time. Take care of each other.

Wraith of Love

Yeah, yeah, I know. Just click..



Also, check out the trailer for "Cinderella Drives A Pick-Up".

And to all, a good night...

My dear friends and loyal readers:

As the year comes to a close and we all look behind us to see what we left behind, it seems that this is the perfect time to close this chapter of my life. This will be the last entry in this internet therapy couch as I find it is time for me to turn the focus inward as I move forward with my life. This space has been very therapeutic and the support and advice I’ve gotten invaluable. And that is not to say that I am through all the dark times and my midlife crisis. In fact, this is probably the darkest time I have had since this whole adventure began in June, 2005. But I find it time to turn my focus inward and really figure out how to sort through things on my own.

So, I’ll say good-bye with a little note to some of you (and forgive me if I miss you on this list):

Twyla: I have so appreciated your “cyberfriendship” and your comments through this time. Your blog has also inspired and moved me, with the stories of your beautiful children and Justin. I wish you all the peace and love you deserve with what you’ve gone through in such a short lifetime. Blessings on your beautiful family. I’ll keep my eye on you!

Naomi: I have shared your struggles and been in your shoes and am glad you found some inspiration and comfort with my words. I look forward to following your adventures as you endure the wonder that is “entertainment.” Please let me know if you should end up in LA. I’d love to have coffee with you and discuss OOMA’s.

Anonymous Lesbian – thanks for the offer and for giving me some of the biggest chuckles so far. I hope you find your dream girl… and I’m sorry it’s not me.

Erik – I don’t think I ever acknowledge how much you mean to me. Your support through your own difficult circumstances means the world to me. We’ve both been through so much. I hope this year finds us sharing better memories and better things.

Anna – I’m sure we will continue on this road together as we both try to piece together the puzzles that are our lives. I’m glad you’ve entered my life and I’m glad we’ve shared food, tears and successes together. I look forward to more!

Carlos – Because I know you still check in, let me say this. We’ve burst apart and shattered what we once shared but it’s important that you know I still carry some wonderful memories of you in my heart. You were very special to me for that time and I’ll never regret giving my friendship to you. I hope you have found the peace and the contentment you have been searching for. I only wish you joy and success, my friend.

Brewer – You are one of the biggest things I miss from my old life. You meant a lot to me and I miss your friendship terribly. I’m glad you chose to check in here from time to time and I’m glad you’ve let me have my say, without criticism and without judgment. I love you very much.

Monica – You are one of the biggest and best-est blessings in my life. We don’t need the internet to share and I am so glad you’ve found someone who adores you as much as you adore him. You are precious to me always.

Zadra – Where would I be without you? There aren’t words, my dearest friend, there just aren’t words.

Cindy – I’m sorry you won’t be able to follow my adventures here any more but maybe we’ll find a way to stay connected anyway. As much as we bang heads and as crazy as we can make each other, we will always be sisters and I will always love you for who you are.

A.J. – I miss you. I’m beside myself for your success. There will be a huge hole left when you jet off into the stratosphere and leave me behind. I adore you, but you know that already.

Mikee – Your evolution continues to move me and inspire me. I look forward to seeing who you become.

Peter – you are the little brother I never had. I’m glad you’ve moved through your darkness and are finding your way to what makes you light. Keep seeking, my darling, keep seeking.

Patty Jean – LG, Petunia, my birthday twin. I pass the mantle of living dangerously on to you. You have been amazing this year, I cannot wait to see what you become in 2007. You deserve love, you deserve success, you deserve everything you chase after, my sweetie.

Chairman – maybe you really don’t know what you mean to me and that’s just fine. You don’t have to. Wherever your path takes you, a piece of my heart will go with you, whether you know it or not. You are loved. By me.

And to those who I did not list, thank you for your comments, thoughts and support. I wish you joy, love and happiness through this holiday season and through the new year. Go and chase your hopes and dreams. Be brave

A year in the life...

I looked back at my calendar for the year today. Wow. What a year.

January – went to Vegas, got "Inked", which just aired recently. Played Texas Hold ‘Em for the first time. Lost everything. My divorce was finalized.

February – met the wondrous Anna Borg through Chairman as we prepped the CD soundtrack for "Cinderella Drives A Pick-Up." Began to plan the fundraiser for the film with Chairman and Paul Wagar. Began pre-production for the film in earnest. Had a lovely Valentine’s Day with the adorable AJ and his beautiful wife, Amanda, and Zadra.

March – An incredible month – midnight painting at the Ark with Chairman, because we’re both night owls and nuts. Cast "Cinderella." Hired crew. Started working for Jennifer Warren. Went into rehearsal/rewrites on the film. Had our incredible fundraiser with four of the bands from the soundtrack and raised $300 towards our budget. The entire Career Success Group from my other life was there and I couldn’t get over how much we had all accomplished, thinking how amazing it was that I was going into this film. Met Kate Murphy, who became my first DP, at a party that I didn’t want to go to.

April – words cannot describe April. Starting shooting "Cinderella" on my birthday. Took a huge misstep with one of the most important people in my life the day before (if I could take that day back, I would, one of the few regrets in my life). My sister and my mother came out for the first day of filming, making my birthday even more special. My dear friend showed why he is an amazing man and showed up for the first day of filming, never mentioning my blunder, behaving like the incredible man he is. Shot most of the film, and I treasure and remember every single day of it. Had an incredible birthday party with my birthday twin, Patty Jean. Got the best cake ever, with a pick-up truck on it, from Chairman. One of the best months of my life. Met Beth Wallen, who took over DP duties from Kate, and she turned out to be yet another amazing collaborator.

May – Finished the majority of filming on "Cinderella," including our incredibly long one night, 23 pages in 12 hours with more than 50 set-ups (that’s pretty much an impossible task, for those of you not in the industry). One of the best nights of my life. Saw some of my favorite bands throughout these months. Reconnected with the wonder that is Al Underwood at Dean’s birthday party. Oh, yeah, and I moved again at the end of the month. Began "Cinderella" edit.

June – Saw more bands, did some pick-ups for the film, went to my first Dodger game with some of the most amazing people – Zadra, Chairman, Rose, and I forget who else right now! Monica sponsored the first Ark Dance Party, which was small but successful. Oh, yeah, then shot "Weight of the Word," a 48 Hour Film Project, with my usual suspects.

July – had a reading of "Live at 5", a script I had abandoned because of negative feedback from my ex, and the reading went really well. Got great notes from my amazing cast. My father took a turn for the worse, coming very close to leaving us all behind. My sister and brother flew in from Minneapolis and Winnipeg, respectively, to just touch base in case. Quit working with Jennifer due to Dad’s poor health. Lost an old friend earlier in the month. Began rehearsals for "Importance of Being Ernest" lab show. Got headshots. Spent four amazing days at Comicon with Chairman and Monica, to see his short film, "A Fairy Tale," and hang out with the geeks and the freaks. More fun than I can remember having in a long time, particularly "Snakes on a Plane" panel and the midnight trip to the adult shop with Monica.

August – began going to the Remo drum circle. Wow. Second Dodger Game with more friends, more fun and more garlic fries. Committed to doing a play, which eventually fell through. Went to "Snakes on a Plane" with Bonnie G., Chairman and a bunch of Dalt’s Gang friends, waaaay too much fun. Ark Bingo night, got to call a game with the drag queen host(ess?). Had a screening night at home with "Dark Guitar," "Weight of the Word" and "A Fairy Tale." Included margaritas and apple martinis. Two nights of the "Ernest" lab show. Dad fell and fractured his shoulder, precipitating my current move.

September – "Fight Club" screening night with the girls. More testosterone than I have ever seen from a bunch of women. And a girl’s night out. Started both the Artists Way and Career Success Group. More bands, more parties, more food. "Cinderella" pick-ups. Chairman in "Johnny Guitar" debuting his new look.

October – Second Dance Club! Wheee! Kept working on the play I eventually dropped out of. Celebrated Erik’s birthday. More food, more coffees, more goodies with the girls. Went to the Magic Castle with Chairman for his birthday with his mother and my friend, Kurt. More Career Success Group and Artists Way.

November – mellow month, finally. Lots of screenings, lots of parties, lots of food as usual. Found a new apartment, began packing. Saw "A Fairy Tale" for the third time, with Chairman and his mother (never say I don’t support my friends). Career Success Group, Artists Way. Thanksgiving with Erik, his kids, and Chairman. Went to the debut performance of Zen Boy and Karma Girl.

December – moved again. First ever Hooters Tuesday, where we won the trivia contest, thanks to the competitive nature of myself, Chairman, Dave, Rose, Anna B., et al. The annual Vertigo Road Christmas show before that. Parties, parties, parties. Beating the guys at Peter’s party in Texas Hold ‘Em (should have agreed to strip version, I would have been the only one clothed). Completed both Artists Way and the first semester for Career Success Group. Almost finished with edit. Screened 20 minutes of footage for the Ark Christmas party. Saying good-bye to Michelle, who is on her way to Virginia to begin a new life. Plans for Peter’s for Christmas. Parents move in on the 28th. A new life begins again December 31.

It’s been a tumultuous year for me. Some of the greatest moments in my life happened this year. Went through some of the darkest moments of my life as well. Jumped from the ledge as well as spent far too many days standing on that ledge. Ignored a lot about my marriage then began to deal with the fractured pieces of my life left over from that marriage. Fell in love, still am in love, but am slowly accepting that it will probably never be. Learning to trust myself in every area of my life, the most difficult thing of all. Learning to exorcise the demon that is HIS voice in my head, which makes me doubt and fear and want to hide.

Looking to 2007 with more optimism than I have had in a while. Can’t wait to move forward with "Cinderella" and get it done. Birthday in Disneyland. Maybe Hooters Tuesday in Vegas in April. Teotihuacán in June with my birthday twin and apparently up to a dozen others. Of course, the 48 Hour Film Project in June, can’t miss that. The Ark’s next film, which we’ve just begun work on. Personally, looking forward to sharing time with my father and mother, although it will be challenging. Hoping to maybe recover my heart and pass it off on to someone else. I would love to have someone special to share Teotihuacán with, although accepting that it may be my lot right now to go it alone for a while. Want to put my past behind me now and focus on me for the future.

Looking forward to seeing you all grow and change and become the amazing selves you are meant to be. Can’t wait to see where we are next year, as we anticipate 2008.

Peace and love and all the gifts God can bring be yours as you head into this holiday season, whether you’re at home or traveling to loved ones.

One day at a time...

The funny thing about dealing with abuse is that it reduces your life to a single day at a time. You live for today, but not in a good way. You hope you make the right choices so that he won’t come home and yell at you and belittle you. You call him 100 times a day to make sure that every single decision/thought you’re having is in line with what he wants you to have. You don’t wan to disappoint him and deal with the anger that comes with that disappointment so you exist by moments, by hours, by a day and then another day and then another. You go to bed at night just praying that you’ll wake up tomorrow and finally get things right so you won’t have to get back on that cycle again and battle through another day. You lose sight of the long term, other than whatever long term he desires for you to have.

The last few years of my marriage – maybe even longer than that – were lived in that moment-to-moment, day-to-day focus. Get through today, go to bed, wake up tomorrow and try to get it right. I’m realizing that I’m still living that way because it’s all I know how to do. That’s why I feel so untethered, unfocused, because there isn’t someone forcing me to exist in his world, with his rules, with my only goal trying to please him and avoid the rage episode that will inevitably follow. I’ve lost the rager but I haven’t lost the behavior.

Couple that with the sort of abandonment issues I have. Now, let me preface this with the following is not a criticism of my sister but my point of view. My sister moved around a lot through my late teens and young adult life. I always wanted to connect with her and she tried her best to stay connected with me. But she had to make the choices she made and live her life the way she chose to and, for me, that left me feeling like she abandoned me and left me behind. And, for some reason, my sister’s relationship to me is the strongest “masculine” relationship, I discovered in working with my therapist last year. So many of the issues I have surrounding my sister bleed over into my relationships with men. Again, MY issues, not blaming her for any of it. It’s just how she affected me, as we all affect each other.

I’m slowly realizing that I break my relationships with the important men in my life down to a single day at a time. If they don’t react the way I was hoping for when I see them today, I am crushed and devastated because, obviously, I have done something wrong to incur their wrath and their distance. Never mind that he may not have slept all night or that he’s sick or that he’s just gotten back in town from being gone for weeks or he’s dealing with his own personal exploration. Doesn’t matter because it’s all about how “he” is today, whichever “he” it is. If I don’t do what he wants, behave in a way that will keep him close to me, then he’ll be gone from my life tomorrow and I’ll never see him again. It’s such a weird combination of these two situations with my sister and my ex that create this panic and this desperate need to make sure that I do everything exactly right for this single moment in time, causing me to ignore the overall picture and the overall relationship.

With the OOMA, it’s, of course, jacked up to ridiculous proportions. That’s where the obsession comes in. Ohmigod, he was distant last night so obviously I did something wrong and made him angry and, although I know I’m going to see him every night for the next few nights, it doesn’t matter because he’ll “leave me” emotionally because I displeased him. Never mind the past history of him not leaving and the fact that none of this is true. It’s just what I feel in my heart. I’ve disappointed him somehow and the result will be abandonment. I haven’t been able to step back and see the history of our relationship and that it is a strong relationship, regardless of what it is labeled. He’s in my life for a long term, I think, if I can just quit being so ridiculously desperate about not losing him.

This feeling lingers with the other significant men in my life, although, obviously, not to such a degree. It leaves me convinced that I have driven away all of my “boys” and that I am a terrible person and that I don’t deserve to have any man in my life love me because I am a disappoint and am a bad person who deserves only to be left alone.

Wow, that’s a lot of pressure on the men in my life, as well as a lot of pressure on me to be perfect each and every time I see them. I have forgotten what my therapist tried to instill in me – that I am beautiful in my imperfection. I can be imperfect with the women in my life, weirdly enough, but not when it comes to the men in my life because both my ex-husbands would not tolerate imperfect. Yet both of them wore their imperfections on their sleeves as well as everywhere else.

I don’t know how to get past this perception but I’m hoping that just by realizing that this is what I do that it will somehow allow me to get past it and see these relationships for what they are – very dear, very strong and very present. These guys aren’t about to walk out of my life just because tonight we didn’t connect the way we normally do.

I also need to really see that they have emotions and problems and things they are going through that have nothing to do with me. My myopathy and my ex’s inability to communicate with me emotionally tends to make me forget that these men are deeply emotional and men who can feel and hurt and be depressed and are mostly able to be in touch with those emotions. I am neglectful by ignoring this part of them and, as a friend, I have to be more aware of how they are really feeling, not what feelings I project on them.

And I have to remember that these three men in particular have been such an important part of my growth and the beginning of me letting go of my perceptions of men through the lens of my ex-husband. And as I grow and as I discover more about myself, maybe I don’t need them the way I did before. That makes me kind of sad because it means that maybe our connections won’t be as intense and strong and potent as they once were. I’m going to miss that. But I have to learn to look past this exact moment in time and know and trust that they will be there for my 45th birthday and my 50th and, hopefully, my 60th and beyond. And, if not, that they will leave my life with fond memories and kind words, leaving behind the warmth of their presence.

Whew.

It’s been a long couple of weeks. Thanks to my friends for their tolerance of my moodiness lately. Just when I think I have a handle on my emotions, they pull the rug out from under me and I end up beating myself up for letting them. Of course, moving twice since June doesn’t help my temperament.

I haven’t done anything about putting my stuff away or organizing it really since I moved in because it’s just felt so overwhelming. I stare at the boxes, knowing that things will change when Mom and Dad get up here at the end of the month. I’ve just been mired in doubt and indecision and fear and pain and so many things I can’t even identify. I’ve been trying to journal about it but even that won’t come. I cannot write, I cannot speak of the things I am feeling and until I can, I can’t deal with them.

But I woke up today feeling stronger and better than I have in a while. Not all of life’s problems are solved nor do they need to be. I don’t know why I go through these bleak periods and maybe there is something more there than just pre-menopausal blues or the inherited depression that runs through our family.

I guess I can sum it up this way, with some of the things going on around me. First, my friend, Patty, has begun her “year of living dangerously” and I so applaud her for that She took a major step into that the other day and I was too far into my own funk to really let her know how proud I am of her and how brave I think she is for tackling that situation. I love you, LogiGal, and this is why I am so glad you’re in my life. Then my sister said something about how she took a year off when she left her second husband to just breathe and live and be. She recommended that I do that. At first, I was totally against the whole thing. What?! Take a year off! Do you know how far behind that’ll put me?! Are you nuts?

But in looking at both of these situations, I think I’m beginning to see what I can declare my next year as – the year of just living. I have spent almost the last 18 months or more struggling through the end of my marriage, moving out, moving four times, struggling to keep my head above water financially (thank God for my parents), struggling with my heart, fighting to keep myself going, battling depression so black and so dark that I’ve heard the call of the pill bottles more times than I can count. I’ve had my year and a half or more of living dangerously, of discovery, of finding and seeking and chasing. This next year needs to be about breathing, relaxing, giving in and really living the life I’ve been creating. I’ve built a really wonderful life but because I’ve gotten used to battling and fighting and struggling, I don’t know how not to do that. And taking my sister’s advice at face value, at first, made me resent it because I cannot take a year “off.” But looking at it more closely, I think I see what she meant. Take a year off of the struggle. Stop trying to solve all of my problems in one fell swoop. Step back and take stock without trying to put a label on things. Take the time to relax without pushing myself to be Wonder Woman and conquer all. Stop chasing the one who has my heart, let my heart live there and just leave it there until someone else comes to claim it. Stop beating my head against the wall and just be.

Yeah, that’ll be easy.

But I truly think that’s what I needed to hear. Just be. I’ve been trying to define myself and it hasn’t been easy. I feel like I have no identity. My family sees me one way, my friends see me another, my ex sees me completely differently from everyone else. Even the OOMA sees me in another way. Cute Boy sees me in a way I haven’t been seen in a long time. I’ve been trying to jam all of these versions of me into one solid, identifiable blob that is SUSAN. Instead, I just need to let susan out and see where she takes me. Stop trying to define myself by my work, by my friends, by the OOMA. Let the toddler in me out and see where she goes, what she discovers, what she wants to be when she grows up.

There is no urgency to the definition of me. It is an evolving task and I will continue to define myself and be defined by the experiences around me. And if I continue to let the darkness rule my life, I am going to lose those experiences. That darkness taints everything when it’s around, leaving every memory with a black mark on it and I need to change that.

I also realized, in regards to Cute Boy and OOMA, that, as we get older, relationships do get harder because we all have had such failure and such hurt behind us that it’s almost impossible to go into a relationship without wondering and worrying how it will turn out and how badly will I be hurt at the end of it instead of stumbling blindly into the abyss and just hoping we don’t drown. We’re constantly looking behind us, going, well, that didn’t work out, why should this? Why should I risk it? And as we get older, it’s harder and harder to get past that. I don’t know what the solution is or if there is one. I guess maybe letting go and not looking back might be a start. Clean slate. Leave the past in the past and see what the future holds. Be glad that I am loved in so many ways – by friends, my OOMA in his own very special way, by Cute Boy in that superficial, flirty way. Much love, all different, all wondrous and fulfilling. When I stand with OOMA and Cute Boy, I feel like a vampire, draining off their energy, filling myself up with it and sad to see it go. I just have to learn to take that energy at face value and enjoy it, and not think about when the next refill will happen.

I was thinking I feel like I’ve been on a bungee jump this past year and a half, leaping into the unknown below me, knowing there is a tether there but unsure just exactly how long that tether is, my heart in my throat, my breathe taken away. Just recently, I have reached the end of that tether and am hanging just above the ground, looking back up at where I started, thinking, holy shit, did I just do that? What was I thinking? And then the fear hits and the adrenaline makes you want to do something to get out of that harness and just put your feet on the ground again.

I can see the ground. And I can feel the person in charge letting the tether out so that I can plant my feet again on terra firma and get a grip on things before I make that long climb back up to the top and leap off again.

(I was going to write about chopping off my hair myself but I’ll save that for later.)

Okay, enough.

Dear Anonymous Lesbian:

Right now, you are just like the men in my life – unattainable, unreachable, obtuse and out of reach.

Not that I’m thinking about changing sides at this point but if you’re so interested in me and so convinced that you can convince me to try something new and exciting, then grow some balls (unlike the men in my life) and say something. Something real, something tangible. Something that makes me think you’re different than someone with a penis.

Because otherwise, you’re just the same. And the one thing I don’t need in my life right now is more of the same.

This is the problem...

He was trying to give me Cinderella and the prince and the glass slipper or some chick flick idea of the perfect romantic comedy version of our life.

But my idea the perfect romantic comedy is a little askew. “Benny & Joon,” “Chasing Amy, “ even “The Fisher King” is my idea of romance. Dark, twisted, slightly off center, with red knights and comic book geeks and men who twirl hubcaps.

And you can’t take Sandra Bullock type of romance and try to combine it with Johnny Depp type of romance. The two just don’t work. It seems like they should. After all, Johnny Depp and Sandra Bullock sound like they would be perfect together.

And it’s funny. You would have thought he would have been the Johnny Depp, dark romantic side with his brooding and his anger and his fear. But he wanted to be Prince Charming for me and I guess that should count for so much.

And I thought that’s what I wanted. I thought I wanted to be Sandra Bullock and smile that crooked, goofy, sweet smile and be swept away by my prince.

But I’m the one with the dark side that never got to see the light. I’m the one who needed just a little twisted instead of sweet and charming. I was trying to be the sweet, light, funny one and never let the darker side out.

I don’t need to be rescued. I don’t need to be charmed and coddled and chastely kissed. I need to be allowed to see the wounds that are there, the pain that is in the heart, the real essence of you, whoever you are out there, whoever comes into my life and chooses to stay. I don’t need the gloss, I need the reality. I’ve been wounded beyond repair. I have almost no heart left. The very thought of opening myself up again makes me want to vomit and makes me hurt down to the soles of my feet. I want someone who feels that pain as well and finds a way to share that with me. Someone like Perry in “The Fisher King” who can stand on my doorstep and not be able to keep his feelings in any longer and his words come out in a torrent because, despite the pain, despite the wounds, he just has to tell me how he feels. And it breaks my heart just to hear him speak because I know how wounded he has been and it hurts me to share that with him but we do.

I don’t know if any of this makes sense to you, dear readers, but it makes sense to me. We live in a world where everyone thinks the ideal is light and grace and beauty and rescue and safety. In my world, the ideal is just the opposite. It’s dark, it’s dirty, it’s afraid and it’s desperate and it’s scared and scary and so incredibly dangerous and unsafe. But the one thing it is – passionate. I always loved him, I always adored him, but I don’t think I was ever passionate about him. I never felt that swell of emotion when he walked in the door because he was safe. He never put himself out there for me, never put his real wounds, his real self out there for me. He tried to be light for me and I wanted his darkness.

So, dear reader, if you are the one who holds my heart – or one who will eventually want to try – know that I do not seek the fairy tale. I’ve had that and it was awful. I’m seeking the reality of your heart, the shadows that cover your wounds, and I don’t want you to fix me or rescue me or treat me with care, because I am no longer fragile. And I don’t want to fix you either. I want your red knight, your illiterate insecurities, your dark comics. Because I have a few of my own to share with you.

Desperately Seeking Susan

She was here.
I saw her
or,
at least,
a glimpse of her.
Fleeting,
just a shock
of red hair
and red boots.
Then
she was gone.
Please send her
back to me
if you should
find her.

Why I hang on

These past few days have been very hard. Can't even begin to explain. But went through some photos from last June until today and there are so many reasons why I haven't picked up the phone and begged him to take me back. These are the people who fill my life with so much love, so much joy, they get me through the blackest times.

Light and dark

It was sad, packing up from my temporary sanctuary this week. Not sad that I was leaving but sad how empty the place looked once I had all my things packed away. In the process of packing, I kept thinking, I have too much stuff, I have to get rid of some of this. Why do I keep the things I do – my favorite props from “Lloyd’s Prayer” (Porpy’s nose, Bob’s water dish), 15 oversized teddy bears, Ren and Stimpy stuff – and how do I choose what to get rid of?

But looking at the emptiness that I was leaving behind, it made me realize something – these things, this crap I have accumulated, this all reflects a life that is being lived. And, looking at the empty space, I realized how easy it would be to just live without anything. Give in to the depression that lingers around the edges and use that as an excuse to not live. Because if you don’t experience a life, you cannot be hurt, you cannot be wounded, you cannot be challenged, you cannot be vulnerable. If you don’t experience a life, you don’t have to live up to expectations because there aren’t any. If you don’t experience a life, you won’t disappoint anyone because there isn’t anyone to let down. You can just sit and stare and stew and ponder and never risk a thing.

I could be you. I could live in the dark, on the edge, watching life as it goes by, watching in wonder at the things others do and have and accomplish. I could say good-bye to all that hurt and pain and bury it way down, hide it away and just say, you know what, I’m done. And no one would find fault with it. There would be concern, there would be care and consideration, but eventually, those people will go away, leaving the life that you have. An empty apartment that holds nothing but your few pieces of furniture, a square of carpet and dust bunnies.

And sometimes it is so tempting to join you in that void, to leave the pain behind, to leave the current struggles behind, to not contemplate what lies ahead, because it’s so hard for me to even see past the end of today. It’s tempting to bury my head in the sand and let it all go.

But then I have nights like last night. Simple, easy, lovely night. Met Chairman at Starbucks in Studio City to see Vertigo Road in their yearly holiday show. We did this last year and it seems to be the beginning of a tradition for my dear friend and myself. These two women are so exquisitely talented and their harmonies are rich and gorgeous. Sitting with one of my favorite people listening to one of my favorite bands, watching him concentrating so hard on the silly holiday origami dove instructions that were on the table, being greeted with warm hugs and welcome. Then heading over to the inaugural “Hooters Tuesday” that Chairman has instituted, beginning this month in Hollywood. Being met by Dave (one of the guys from Koji’s) and Anna and Zadra and Damon and Rose and so many other people. Battling with great seriousness to win the trivia contest (which we did, WE ROCK!) and consuming huge amounts of delicious, un-nutritional food served by women in tight t-shirts, much to the delight of at least Dave and Chairman. Concluding the evening by wandering down Hollywood Blvd. to a gelato place and savoring this glorious treat. We all walked back to our cars together, hugging good night, saying “see you soon” and coming home to my new apartment. Simple. Easy. Lovely.

I came into the chaos of moving into my new place – clothing everywhere, boxes stacked so high and everywhere. I sat down and thought about the emptiness that I had just left hours before, hearing the door echo hollowly behind me. And I realized that, in many ways, this is what I did 16 months ago. I chose to walk out of something that was empty and hollow and dark and lonely. I chose to take all my crap and my silly trinkets and my trivialities and find somewhere with light to put them. I chose to close that door and leave that colorless vacuum where it was and go into the chaos that has been my life.

And although it’s hard to resist the draw of that vacuum when things get hard and when my life feels so empty and alone and heartbreaking, nights like last night show me what I would miss. And maybe it’s just the silly things – Dave and I discussing the intricacies of steer wrestling, Chairman’s laugh all through dinner, winning $50 off our dinner bill because we all knew who the only Brady was that didn’t participate in the last TV movie – but without those things, without those trivial moments, the emptiness would be unfathomable.

I’ve watched you over the short time we spent together and I am sorry that you can’t see past the darkness into what light is out there. And maybe it is about medication and therapy and the depth of your darkness and things I don’t understand. And maybe my darkness is light compared to yours. All I know is that your darkness makes me appreciate the light in my life – the lights in my life maybe is a better way to put it. Several people have been doing gratitude lists lately and mine remains fairly consistent.

I am grateful for my amazing friends. Each of them for their particular proclivities. Zadra and her lip balms. Anna and destination food. Chairman and his laugh and his joy. Patty for her right eyebrow. Misha for her dogged determination to find her life. Monica and her newly fulfilled heart. Al and his potty mouth. A.J. and his A.J.-ness. So many other people and so many other little tiny joys they provide every time I see them.

I am grateful for the gifts God has given me and is allowing me to share with others.

I am grateful for my parents and for every single day I get to have with my father.

I am mostly grateful for those moments of contemplating the darkness and wondering what would I have to lose if I left it all behind. I am grateful because those moments show me what I have to lose. And although I want more in my life, I want so much more, I know there is so much that I already have. And maybe getting away from your darkness and your energy will bring me back to where I can appreciate the light in my life so much more because it is not being eclipsed by the vacuum that is that empty, hollow, dark space. I wish I could help you find your light but, as I have learned, that light is elusive sometimes, and you can only find it yourself. Others can offer it to you and show you where it is but you have to be the one to reach out and wrap your hands around it and bring it into your heart. I hope, somehow, that you find your own light because, when you do, you’ll cherish every little moment of it and wonder how you lived without it.

How many teddy bears...

... does it take to fill up a back seat? 16 oversized VIB's (Very Important Bears), that's how many.



The funniest, strangest moment of moving was taking my cherished bears and piling them like dead bodies in the back seat of my car, then piling them on the moving dolly to get them into the apartment. Weird, spooky, kinda creepy but very funny, all at the same time. Currently, they are hiding in the closet until my Ikea trip later this week to find homes for them.

And Twyla accepted moving into the new place with all the bravery and courage that you've all come to expect from her - she spent most of the first night (Friday) wandering around the apartment, crying that weird cat sonar cry where they go into the corners and wail, like they're waiting for the echo to come back. Then, around 6:15 Saturday morning, she finally climbed under the sheets on the mattress with me and has pretty much stayed there since. She peeks out once in a while.

Undefined

Dear OOMA:

I know why you attract me and frighten me at the same time. I finally figured it out.

You could define me.

You are everything that has attracted me to a man in the past. You are smart, funny, articulate, passionate, and extremely talented. I find that most men can’t keep up with me, particularly intellectually, or they are intimidated by my being an intelligent woman who doesn’t know how to bat her eyelashes or toss her hair to get their attention. A lot of men can’t relate to me on a cerebral level, which makes it all that much more exciting and attractive when someone does. You could help me grow as an artist, help me find my way and help me explore who I am. You could shape me and guide me and be a partner at my side.

And the men in my past that have shared those traits I had always seen as someone who could define me positively, make me a better person, make me a better artist, make my life better by just being in it.

And they didn’t. They almost destroyed me in the process.

I came to them undefined and allowed their desires, their requirements, their projections of what I should be shape who I am. I never really thought I had a choice because I always thought that we shaped each other. But I was wrong. My shape became distorted and grotesque and unidentifiable.

I am now just beginning to put my hands into the clay to decide what shape I want to be and I am terrified that if I let you – or any other man at this point – put their hands in the clay as well that the shape I am beginning to see in my mind’s eye will be lost and will become what you - or they – want it to be and not what I want it to be. I am terrified that, despite all my best efforts and all my determination to not allow this to happen again, that I will wake up in five months or five years or 15 years and wonder how I found myself here again, starting over again, staring at the lump of clay and wondering where that delicate shape went that I began so long ago went.

Yet part of me so wants someone like you to be the one who takes me and shapes me and makes me something because then I don’t have to do the work. I don’t have to be responsible for being the way that I am because I didn’t know what I was doing, I let someone else do the work and I just took whatever came along with that. I’m tired of trying to see the shape in the clay and when I look into your eyes, I see you have a shape already in mind, whatever that is. And I want to be that shape you see, I want to turn into that fine sculpture and make you smile and make you proud and make you say, see what I did, I made that.

But I have to take ownership of my own formation. And I’ve never had to do that before. And I’m terrified that, during that process, I am going to lose you, both as a potential partner for whatever might happen but also as the dear, close, intimate friend that you are. I’m afraid that my fear will not let me lower the guards around me to truly find a way to convey to you what you mean to me because that would leave me vulnerable to letting you take some of this control away from me as I try to see who I am. And I don’t know if our friendship can survive all of my insecurities about you and me and us and everything around us. I’m afraid that you’ll tire of my endless confusion and indecision and crossed signals and simply walk away, gently, quietly, leaving me to wonder where you went. And a part of me would be incomplete because, no matter how you did it, you have left your handprints on my life and on my formation, without my seeing it. So far, those handprints have been a precious part of this delicate formation. But will you stay around to see what the results are?

So I am stuck, needing, wanting you to be a part of what’s going on and tell me what you think and show me what to do, yet I resent that I want that from you. My divided self cannot make up its mind about whether to pull you close and hide within you or drive you away so that I don’t have to ever face what could happen, good or bad.

I have to define myself first, at least partly, before I can really let anyone in, I guess. I have to protect that precarious beginning in me so that it won’t be tainted and twisted and ruined before it begins. And if it means sacrificing you and our friendship or whatever this relationship is, then I have to accept that it wasn’t the right friendship or relationship if it cannot survive my taking the time to arrive at who I desire to be. I hope you stay around, I hope you’re still here when I get there, because I would love nothing more than to sit down with you over some delicious repast and share with you the person I have become and watch your eyes light up the way they do when you’re so delighted at something I’ve done or when I make you laugh or when we’re sharing something dear and close to both our hearts. I want to be able to share this journey with you, as you started out on it with me, and keep you close to me as I go. And, who knows, maybe along the way, I might get my handprints on you a bit, which might not be a bad thing.

Luv. =)

Epiphany 987

So I kind of have figured out why I have been so lost and out of sorts the last few months.

It’s a growth spurt.

When I left my ex, I went all the way out. Trying to be exactly what he told me I couldn’t be, rebelling against everything he wanted, everything he put on me, everything I hated about our relationship. I totally went a far way out to change my life to be different from what it was with him. I didn’t think, I just went.

And there were so many distractions on the way – short films, the feature, several plays, four moves, new people in my life, quick trips with my dearest friends, dealing with my father’s health, dealing with finances. I never took to the time to really stop and think through what these changes all meant and what shape they were taking inside of me, who Susan was really becoming. I’m an artist, I proudly proclaimed. I’m free. I’m becoming fearless (wow, weird, I typed “fearful” instead of fearless initially). I’m loving my life and my friends and doing all that I ever wanted to do. I am who I am, and tough shit if you don’t like it.

I thought I looked deep inside in those dark moments. I thought I delved deep into my psyche and found the deep, hidden answers I had been seeking. I thought I had made such huge progress because everyone around me said I did.

Well, you know what? I was doing exactly what I did with my ex. I was trying to become the person everyone around me was seeing. Susan, you’re so strong, you’re so brave, you’re so… fill in the blank. And, yes, I am those things. But they don’t really define who I am. And that’s what I never really looked at too deeply. I looked at what I wanted and what I didn’t want.

But this new me has to be a true real new me. I have to really examine the mistakes I’ve made and own them. I have to really see the issues in my life that keep reoccurring. My sister doesn’t really do that with her life and she keeps tripping up on the same things over and over again (I know I’ll get an earful about this, I’m sure) but while we can all pursue the life we want, until we can truly see where we went wrong, where our choices put us in peril, where we mistepped, I don’t think we can truly become what we want.

I was thinking about this the past few days as I once again migrate my belongings and my Twyla to yet another new apartment. There was so much baggage going along with this move. And I focused my attention outwardly, on the things around me that frustrate me – guess what the big one is? – and tried to deflect what was really bothering me deep down inside, particularly about this move.

I’m 44 years old. In less than six months, I’ll be 45. I’m starting back at square one in a way I have never done before. I was 25 when my first marriage ended, not yet a fully defined human being. I came to Los Angeles, seeking to find who Susan was. And I found parts of her here, parts of her with my ex, parts of her at Universal Studios and with Susan Strasberg and all over the place. But at that age, I never learned to take all those pieces of me and build the person I am. My ex was a huge obstacle in putting those pieces together but I allowed a certain amount of that.

Anyway, I realized that moving in with my parents, for all its altruistic outwardly appearances, is really getting to me for several reasons. First, I think it puts in all of our minds how delicate the next year could be. My father is regaining much of his strength, once again befuddling his doctors. He may live another five years, ten years, who knows? But this move, his allowing me to become a part of his day-to-day life, means he’s accepted that he needs help and he’s never admitted that before. I think that paints the picture for all of us – his time may be very short. This move makes that concrete, whether anybody is willing to say it or not. I will spend the last days of his life with him. I can only hope that they multiply exponentially and that I move out eventually because they don’t need me anymore. But the reality is not that.

Second, I feel like I am somehow giving up on things with this move. It is not where I would choose to be. I feel like it’s going backwards, living with my parents. I will be once again in the “child” role in such a visceral and constant basis. It’s feeing into all of my insecurities and I am worried that I will somehow lose everything that I have fought so hard for these past 16 months. That is something I’ll have to look at closer. Why would I lose ground with this move? How can I tackle this and find the issues and face them head on instead of just accepting what my parents perceive me to be? As wonderful and amazing as they are, they do see me in a particular way and it influences how they treat me. I have to guard against becoming what they perceive.

Third, I don’t think I have begun to really see and define who I am truly. I have the adjectives, I have the palette, but I don’t own those yet. I feel like a fraud because I’ve just taken what you all have handed to me as to who I am. I am who you see. And that’s different to each one of you. And I will take the very gracious and amazing traits you have all infused me with – bravery, courage, strength, power, beauty, grace, dignity. I will try to live up to those traits, as they are what I desire to be. But up until now, I have been playing at them. I’m supposed to be “brave” because I left my abusive husband and followed my heart. But to me, I was brave on one day then spent the next 480 days trying to figure out what the hell I did and why I did it. I realize that, when I look inside, there is nothing solid there yet. I see the bits and pieces of things, of who I want to be and what I want my life to look like. Yet, I can’t see me yet. I can tell you what I want, how I want to be, where I want to go, all of that.

Sidebar – Holy cow, such hugely strong déjà vu just now. I’ve written this before. Lindsay says that’s crossing your destiny line. But the sense I have of this déjà vu, as so many of them, there is a slight difference from what I sensed the first time. If it is true to exactly what the original sense was, the man I am in love with will call/show up/somehow be present as I type this. But we all, those things never happen.

Anyway, what I guess it comes down to is this. I need to disconnect from others’ expectations of me. I need to find out exactly who this person is, laying here in her Nick and Nora pajamas, trying to see inside of herself. It’s like going through adolescence all over again. The awkward stage of looking in the mirror and seeing on the braces and the glasses and the clothes that aren’t quite right, going to where all the cool people are and feeling like they’re all laughing at you behind your back, standing on the edge of the hipper, prettier, more popular girls and not quite living up to their image, wanting, needing, so desperately desiring to belong and yet not quite knowing how to do that, seeing the boy you want to ask you to the dance and you know that he wants to but he doesn’t and he ends up with someone else and you’re heartbroken because you just know it’s because of the braces and the glasses and the imperfect clothes and the laughing and not living up to expectations.

Maybe by the time I’m 50, I’ll have grown out of the awkward mid-life adolescence I am struggling through now and find the beauty and the grace of someone who has maybe not figured it all out yet but who has found peace with not figuring it out and knowing that it’s okay to continue to ask, continue to seek, continue to find, because she knows deep inside who she is and what she wants, without compromise. I look forward to that day.

Until then, I beg your tolerance and understanding when I throw temper tantrums and I rant endlessly about boys and I break out in metaphorical zits and I am just plain unruly. I promise it won’t go on forever and I hope you all will still be there when I grow up.

What the f***?!

So…

Tonight at Koji’s, I had basically decided to not give the two guys there (OOMA and Cute Boy) any of my time. Okay, well, that lasted about 25 seconds as I walked in and Cute Boy was sitting there. So we started chatting and he’s adorable and taken and…

Then OOMA walks in, greets everyone, hangs out with the other girls, which was fine with me. I was enjoying Cute Boy and his flirtation and just thought, what the hell. Then talked to Cute Boy about the concept of “boys are stupid, throw rocks at them.” He was intrigued.

Oh, wait. Let me add that when I walked in and Cute Boy stood up and offered me his seat, I declined. He said he needed to get up any way, he’d been sitting for a while, so I told him he could walk to the bar and get me a drink. And he did. Wow, that really works. He went to the bar later, got distracted when he went to sing and the bartender gave him two drinks, so he handed me his extra one. And for context for this blog, I’ve had two drinks tonight, which is one over my limit, so I apologize if this tangents off into the stratosphere.

So, anyway, chatting with Cute Boy about throwing rocks at boys. I told him after a few more drinks, I might tell him everything, and he was threatening all night to take me up that.

Then OOMA joins us. Not all that unusual, as the two of them get along and chat from time to time. But it always seems that OOMA hangs around Cute Boy more when Cute Boy and I are talking. And he and talked a lot tonight, so OOMA hung around a lot tonight. Interesting.

As the evening went on, everyone pretty much left, leaving me sitting between these two. And I couldn’t help but go, what the f***?! We were having a blast, the three of us, but I noticed a bit of... I don’t know. Maybe it’s the two drinks. But I kinda felt a little bit like there was maybe some competition going on. Of course, two drinks and I could think just about anything. OOMA even held up the elevator to finish telling me a little story as Cute Boy and I got off on our parking level. He’s never done that before.

So Cute Boy walks me to my car and we hugged good night and he lingered a moment before walking away.

So I get in my car (gosh, I’ve written “so” a lot) and plug in my Ipod and the first song that comes up is Keith Urban’s version of “Stuck in the Middle with You.” The universe has one fucked up sense of humor. I got stuck on “clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you.”

Story of my life.