Exhaustion sets in.

Things I am thankful for tonight:
 1. The fact that I apparently missed an entire season (season 7) of the X Files. I am now watching said missed episodes. Amazing.
 I could go on at length about the impact that this show had on my life, but I won't. For now, I will just say, that Mulder's trio of obsessions (porn, basketball, aliens) make for one of the most compelling characters in TV history.

 2. Heavy rainfall. It rained while I was at work today, and I had my umbrella ready for my walk home, but the rain had let up. The air was thick and heavy. There were a few sprinkles that kissed my cheeks, but it seemed less like rain and more like the atmosphere was sweating. I came home to an over-excited dog, ready to go for a walk. By the time I changed clothes, used the bathroom, got the dog ready, and headed upstairs it was pouring outside. My umbrella is small-ish, and I was almost immediately soaked from ankles to knees. Candy's first inclination was to turn around and go back inside. I can't say I blame her, but this was not an option. My baby is a princess, and she has been known to go in the house in lieu of walking in the rain. Not acceptable. So I marched her down the street, stopping every few feet so she could shake her fur out. She finally did her business and we hurried back inside. While Candy was decidedly nonplussed by the whole event, I was thrilled. The rain had cleared out the dense air and left in its place cool puddles and a slight breeze. Invigorating.

 3. Perspective. I have two stories I would like to relate about perspective. A few things that have been rattling in my head of late. The first is just sort of an interesting anecdote.
 I was listening to NPR the other day and they had a journalist on talking about interviewing Buzz Aldrin. Apparently, the first thing Aldrin said to him was "don't ask me what is was like to walk on the moon. Everyone asks me that." The journalist then asked him what he had never been asked, what he wanted to answer. "No one ever asked me how I felt about walking on the moon." When the journalist expressed confusion (given Aldrin's previous statement), he elaborated by telling this story.
 After the successful return from the moon, the three Apollo 11 astronauts were put into quarantine for a month in a small airstream trailer. About halfway through, they were given the film footage of the moon landing. They watched the reactions of people all around the world: Rio de Janiero, London, Washington, D.C., Tokyo, everywhere. They watched as people laughed, cried, hugged each other, expressed elation and fear, and watched the world change. At some point, Neil Armstrong leaned over to Buzz Aldrin and said,
 "Buzz! We missed it!"
 Aldrin realized that he was right. That the whole world had shared a moment; 5 billion people came together to watch what was one of the most important moments of the 20th century. But not them. It was their moment, but they weren't part of it.
 I thought about that story for a long time after I heard it. I don't know why it struck me so. I guess I never really thought of it that way.
 My other perspective story has more to do with basic human narcissism. We all think that our problems are greater than others. Our pain somehow trumps everyone else's. There is usually some snap back to reality. I had a quick one about 2 months ago.
 I have been on anti-depressants for almost 15 years. Until recently I had been seeing a psychiatrist in order to have my medication prescribed. I missed an appointment, and I couldn't pay for the missed one, let alone another one. So my doctor let my scrip lapse (I found out later this is pretty unethical). I just figured I would wait until I had the money (about $200) to see her again. Withdrawal from SSRI medication is pretty weird. For the first few days things are OK, although it is more difficult to concentrate and your temper shortens dramatically. Migraines are pretty common. After about 3 days a symptom that I call "the glitches" sets in. Essentially it feels like an electric shock running through your body. It happens, at first, a few times during the day. As withdrawal progresses, it becomes near constant. Concentration is almost impossible (I was literally squinting at customers at work, trying desperately to comprehend and remember what they were saying to me). When I called my mom to find out if this was normal or if I was actually dying, she told me it was a function of the lack of serotonin in your brain.
 The brain uses serotonin in order to send messages through neurons. It gets used to a certain level of it. When it goes to send a message and there isn't as much serotonin as it expects there to be, it gets mad. Seriously. Your brain gets mad. And it sends these little shockwaves through your body. It's awful. I have dealt with panic attacks, where the fear starts at the top of your head and waves through the body, but this feels like every receptor in every part of your physical being instantly electrifies. After about 8 days, I checked the internet (never, ever do that. You will be convinced you are dying. WebMD is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.). After googling "SSRI withdrawal" I was horrified to learn that my symptoms were not about to subside, as I had hoped. In fact, it can go on for months. I curled up in a ball on the couch and sobbed for an hour. I skipped a movie date with Emily because I just couldn't bring myself to even shower. I was absolutely not about to go through this for the next 2 months.
So the next morning I called around and found a local crisis center which would prescribe for me. I showed up around 10:30 AM, signed in, was triaged, and proceeded to wait. And wait (bear in mind, I am now 10 days sans meds, and patience is long a thing of the past). I watched the edited-for-TV version of "Snakes on a Plane" (I've had it with these monkey fighting snakes on this Monday to Friday plane!).
  This same facility was also an intake for inpatient crisis. Sitting near me in the waiting room was a man who looked to be in his forties, with a woman whom I assumed was his mother and a man I assumed was his case manager. The forty-ish man began to cry. No, not cry. He wailed. It was the saddest noise I have ever heard.
I went outside for a cigarette and not long after the man and his social worker emerged. The man walked to the corner, crying. Saying that he was scared, that he didn't do anything wrong, why did they want to hurt him? The social worker calmly tried to explain that these people were trying to help. The man in crisis continued to protest his innocence (for whatever led him to this place), and moaned that he wanted to go home.

I realized how sick he was. How my own discomfort was nothing, nothing, compared to this man's psychosis. He was so scared. My heart broke for him. I hope he is OK now.

Sorry, this post is getting long.


4. Bad pop music. Particularly THIS song. And THIS ONE (I like the way she says "whoop!). And THIS ONE TOO (though my favorite is, and will always be, "Rude Boy"). If you clicked on any of those links I am so, so sorry.
(BTW, the bed she is on in the first video is the one I want. It's from Ikea. Like $100. I know, right?)


I started writing this last night, but I got so tired I decided to finish it tonight. Now I can't remember what else I was going to say.

Oh well, long enough anyway.


Luff,
E

Cigarettes and Coffee

One of my all time favorite love songs is "Cigarettes and Coffee" by Otis Redding. It isn't particularly noteworthy, which is what makes it so special. He doesn't sing of her beauty, or her brains, or her charm. The song is about how wonderful it is to be able to just sit with someone you love, doing nothing.

I have been thinking a lot about love lately. I suppose I always do. While I think I (and everyone, really) am constantly on the lookout for a partner, this is the first time in a long time that I feel like I could actually have one. The problem is, I don't know if I deserve one.

Allow me to explain.

I am difficult to be with. I do not open up willingly. I take coaxing, cajoling, pleading, and any manner of reassurance in order to actually let down my guard. Until then, it's all self-deprecating jokes, deflective questions. I have spent time on these walls. They are good walls. And in the past, when they have been breached, the carnage has been total. I need to find someone who is willing to take some time and deconstruct, brick by brick, that which I have built. I have found that people are not so willing.

I wonder sometimes if maybe I have changed so dramatically in the last 7 years. Because it seems like people are less interested in getting to know you anymore. Of course, it doesn't help that my sexual proclivity seems to hamper any attempt at communication on a deeper level.

Last week my neighbor (and the closest thing I have to a friend here) invited me to an all day punk rock show at a seedy little bar downtown (think the Buffet. It was a neat place). He was doing the sound, and was able to get me in for free. I rolled in about ten-ish. I sat making random conversation with people both in and outside. Mostly I was being shy. I had one drink, but it was a comp and I didn't feel like spending any of my neighbor's money, even though he offered. I ended up spending most of the evening talking to some guys from Boston, who's band had played the show (I missed it. Don't know if they're any good. I'd assume so). There was one in particular who was very sweet, and as the night wound down I was invited back to the house where they were staying for drinks and conversation. Long story short (too late, I know), I ended up making out with the sweet one later that night. I specifically said, "I can't have sex with you, I have to stop sleeping with strange men." We agreed not to have sex.

We had sex.

I'm an idiot.


This time was a bit different though. I wasn't completely wasted, and I didn't do it because I thought I had to, but because I wanted to.
Still, it was the wrong decision.

I have spoken to him once or twice via the internet, but I'm really no good over the internet. I'm all wild hand gestures and silly faces. I am an in-person person. Internet communication is not my forte, unless you already know me pretty well.
  I would say "shy," but that's really the wrong word. Self-conscious is more like it.

I was talking to my therapist about another hookup I had a few weeks ago (ugh, I know. Old habits die hard. But I'm working on it!). This one I left while he was asleep, without leaving my number. She suggested I leave a note for him with my number, apologizing. Last week, she asked me if I had done just that.

"No," I said.

"But what if he liked you?" she responded.

"They usually...don't."

But I don't know that, because I am too afraid to find out. I just assume that I was fun for a bit and life returns to normal the next day. I could not possibly hold any interest for anyone. Short, chubby, overly long faced, know-it-all.

These are the things that go through my head.

(In an interesting twist of fate, the next guy I slept with left in the middle of the night without telling me. Instant karma. Total suckerpunch. I will never do that to someone again.)
(If you're keeping count that is three (3) people I have had sex with in the last four weeks. :/)

I am afraid that I will never find someone who wants to tear down the walls if I just keep having sex with people. Because what is the point of getting to know me after that? Right?

But that isn't even important. Not right now, at least.

I just want someone to have cigarettes and coffee with.

(Well, I'll have chamomile tea. Not coffee.)





 All this relates back to some work I've been doing recently. Elaboration later.



Personal enough for you? I've decided I don't care. I am going to let it all out.

Buttoned up and Beautiful.

Now that I have been here almost a month, Baltimore has begun to feel like home. While I cannot say that I have made no mistakes since arriving, I can say that, on the whole, I am so much happier now than I was just 5 weeks ago. The change in my outlook and demeanor is incredible.

I have two jobs now, though I think money will still be pretty tight.

Living in a city like this is phenomenal. Being able to just walk out the front door and walk to work, or to a restaurant, or anywhere has been liberating. I love to walk. I would walk most anywhere, if I could.

And it rains here a lot. I suppose that after a while I will tire of the constant rain, but right now it is exactly what I need. Hailing from a desert clime, rain is such a novelty that any hint of it is enough to rejoice. The rain has the effect of replenishing and rejuvenating the dry, arid countryside, leaving it lush and teeming with life. It has the same effect on me. I feel somehow cleansed.

This is not to say that things have not been difficult. I have no money, and I am completely alone.  But for the first time in a long time, I have hope.

I am learning to embrace single life as well. Having never spent more than six months on my own, this has been the most difficult transition for me. But I realized the other day that I am not only ok on my own, I am thriving. All those things I thought I couldn't do without help I have done. And I didn't do them to please someone else, I did them for myself. There is a long way to go yet, but I know that if I meet someone, I am in a much more amenable place.

I had a conversation with my ex-husband tonight which was striking to me for two reasons:

1. He is one of my best friends, and I am grateful for his presence, but I am no longer wholly reliant on him for my self assurance.
2. He was speaking about his new girlfriend, and how he treats her very well. "Like a princess," he said. "I treat her the way I should have treated you."
        This second part was remarkable to me. We both were terrible spouses. We both were too young to get married. But I hope that we have learned enough from each other not to make the same mistakes again.
Further, normally when our conversations turn to our former relationship I get sad. It isn't regret, or even so much nostalgia. I suppose that I, in taking marriage vows, really really wanted things to work. And I am sad that I managed (with his help) to fuck up what should have been the most important and momentous relationship in my life. But this time I didn't cry. I didn't get sad. I just allowed that statement to be what it was; an apology of sorts.

Maybe it is just because I have been in the most incredible mood for the last 4 days or so, but life is pretty amazing for me right now. No money, no friends, no clue where I am or how to get to oh, say, target without getting lost. But amazing.

I do have stories to relate about travelling across the country, and I will further disclose my reasons for doing so, but I wanted to update first.

exes and ohs

E

Finnegan, begin again.

I knew I wanted to start a new blog to mark the updates in my life. In ten days I will pack up everything I can in my car. I will sell, trash, or donate the rest. I will point the car east. I will move my life to Baltimore, MD. I will begin again.

I want to chronicle my journey across the country. I have always wanted to do this. I enjoy travelling alone. That said, my car is not exactly a paragon of mechanical fitness. It should be...interesting.

Along the way I will relate some of the reasons for this move. Some of them will be funny. Some of them will be sad. All of them will be mine.

I have been kicking blog ideas around for a while. I wasn't sure what to title it. I wanted it to somehow reflect the upheaval in my life.
As I drove to work the other day, Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer" came on the radio. The last verse has always been a source of strength for me. But on this particular day I found myself in tears as I sang out the lyrics.

In the clearing stands a boxer
and a fighter by his trade,
and he carries the reminders
of every glove that laid him down
or cut him til he cried out
in his anger and his shame:
I am leaving, I am leaving!
but the fighter still remains


I imagine that many more embarrassing car moments will ensue. I am an idiot in the car.

What is it about a block of metal, sheathed in windows, that makes us feel like we are invisible? Raise your hands if you have ever danced, sang, cried, or picked your nose in the car.

...that's what I thought.