Elusive Diversions

elusive exclusivity – hey, it rhymes

One of the most difficult things for me to do is tell someone less-than-pleasant news. (I mean, consider how I worded that: “less-than-pleasant news.” I can’t even write anything other than a euphemism.) And, when it’s an experience I have never had, neither from the giving nor receiving standpoint, I am absolutely agonized. So, what happened?

Last night, during a pretty decent conversation with the guy I’ve been seeing, I let him know how I have been feeling, or rather, not been feeling, about our relationship. I hadn’t planned on saying anything last night; I wasn’t even certain I would say anything at all, in the near-term at least. But I had been planning what I would say whenever the time came that I mustered up the guts to follow through with it.

I had just gotten out of a movie around 5:45pm and was headed home to get ready to go out with some friends who wanted to “do something” for my birthday, which was Friday. John had called and left a voice mail, so I rang him back. We talked the entire drive home and continued to do so as I got ready to go out. The conversation really was good: he told me about a funny situation with a woman at work who was having a relationship with him that he was unaware of (she had “broken up” with him on the phone that morning – quite a funny story) and then we meandered into talking about our relationship by way of him asking me essentially if I would be his girlfriend. This latter portion of the conversation, too, was good, though I played coy quite a bit because I didn’t know how to answer him.

[On the one hand, I really do enjoy hanging out with him: seeing a movie, sharing a good conversation, and just plain having someone around who seems to  like me for who I am. But on the other hand, I have been having trouble feeling anything romantic.]

In his silly-yet-serious tone, he asked me for one reason I shouldn’t be with him and three that I should. I hesitantly gave him my responses: I should not be with you because of the problems you have (e.g., drinking heavily); I should be with you because you sincerely like me for who I am, you’re a very caring person, and you’re a very sensitive person. I meant every last word. He is a good guy on all those counts. We chatted some more, and I could tell – just like I’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks – that he is far more into me than I feel I am with him. For instance, he told me that he feels best when he is around me; that he looks forward to seeing me when he never feels that way about anyone else.

I want to be into him. I feel I have tried to be into him. But our relationship has basically flip-flopped. In November and December, I was far more into him than I thought he was with me. After Christmas, that all changed. And, I know why…

The Sunday after Christmas we were hanging out at his place and he was relying heavily on beer. He drank a lot. I mean, he finished off nearly 18 beers all on his own (over the course of 10 hours or so, but still). He was shitfaced by the time I left (my car was elsewhere so I had to rely on carpooling back to my vehicle, so it’s not like I could easily just walk out). Now, when he is drunk, he’s just drunk: not violent, not abusive, just inebriated. But, it was a side of him I didn’t want to see but one that I potentially needed to see sooner rather than later. I was embarrassed to be seen with him. He was utterly unattractive to me in those hours. Later that Monday I could tell he was trying to pretend like the night before hadn’t happened; he even asked me to “try to look past this.” And I wanted to try.  But something in my voice over the next week told him I was bothered…

That’s when he called me out on it about a week later and after several phone conversations. He told me that the way I was responding to him had an edge in it that made him feel like I had a problem – ever since “that night.” I was thrown off guard, but I was as honest as I could make myself be while trying to maintain the relationship. I told him that I was bothered by his drinking that night and that if I had an edge in my voice since then it was probably because of that; that, it is important to me that he can be around me without drinking so much; that what I saw of him that night was unattractive – not so much physically as otherwise. I could tell he was hurt by what I had to say but he took it as well as could be expected, I suppose. The call ended sort of abruptly and for about three days, I wondered where we stood.

Being the understanding (perhaps naive in your view) person, I knew that the week this all happened was a rough one for him: school (he is a high-school teacher) was just going back into session after the holidays and the school he works at has significant behavioral issues. And, John is tormented by the strain/stress of working there, so he has to pull back from other things in order to make it through the day/week/month. And I get that. But still, he didn’t call… he didn’t email… nothing. That’s when I decided to make the first move. I called him three days later; by week’s end, we were talking again as if nothing had ever happened.

And that is when the dynamics of our relationship had flipped: I still had a problem with “that night” while he saw it as an opportunity to redeem himself and prove to me that he was trying to change.

…

Back to the now.

As our call continued last night, he suggested that, “the answer is at least not a ‘no’,” to which I responded for him to repeat the question. He said it was whether or not I would be “his monogamous companion.” After a few barbs back and forth I finally said that there was something I had wanted to say to him. (Where did this courage come from?)

I was miserable. I mean, seriously, I had no intention in the least of saying any of what I said at that time. I was about to go out with my friends! I was supposed to be having a great time! It was my friggin’ birthday weekend and I did not want this to happen – not this way, not now. But I said it:

… I get the feeling that you are far more into me than I am with you

… I feel like you are more serious about me than I am about you

… I am really torn about saying anything to you because from one minute to the next I feel one way then the other about you; I love hanging out with you and having a good conversation… but

… I just haven’t been feeling that, erm, romantic ‘spark’; I think we’re good for friends but…

As I heard his responses, each time, I tried to back out of the hole I had just dug for myself. Seriously, he really did take it “as well as could be expected” in that he said that he honestly appreciates being told the truth rather than be strung along, etc. We even continued to talk a bit more as I tried to help him understand what all I meant by what I said.

I was hurting, badly. You see, he is on the verge of a huge change in his life, one that I truly, in my heart, want to be witness to. He used to cycle competitively and is awaiting receipt of his new custom-built bike. He will pour his heart and soul into getting back on his bike and starting to ride competitively again. Whenever he talks about this, I see the passion in his eyes and I am astounded. I know he will be a different and better man for it and this is one huge reason I wanted to see our relationship out for a while longer. I told him as much, last night, as I was breaking his heart.

As I was breaking my own heart.

What hurts the most right now is knowing that he was really has been trying to change. On Friday night he wanted to treat me to something for my birthday, so we hung out at a restaurant and talked while he ate (I had dinner earlier with my parents) and we had some drinks. He had just bought a new car that afternoon and was quite proud of it and had me drive it to and from the restaurant (a huge sign of trust). While we were driving he’d occasionally put his hand on mine – something he had never done before. Later, when I was getting into my car to leave, he put his arms around my neck and leaned his forehead against mine and told me about what a nice time he had with me, etc. And all I could do was stand there, being almost aloof and nodding along.

Why did I have to say anything last night? Right when he was putting himself on the line… finally opening up to me like I wanted him to for so long? Am I fickle? I mean, I got exactly what I wanted from him: desire, interest, loyalty. And then I throw it back as if it’s just not good enough for me.

…

About eighty-percent of the time, I feel like I’m certain in my feelings that this was never going to be a long-term relationship. In fact, I had resolved myself some time ago – at least to a degree – that he wasn’t “the one.” However, I then turn around on myself thinking, “You’re just putting up your own wall… you yourself are scared to ‘be’ with anyone.” That’s how I feel right now: like things were starting to get serious and I got scared and ran away. And I hate giving up on anything I’ve put effort into, I really and honestly do. It feels like such a waste of resources… of energy… of time… of myself.

What if he was the one? What if he’s the only guy who will every take me for who I am: body and mind alike. He made me feel beautiful: something no one has ever made me feel in my life (I mean that). He wants to be around me, spend time with me, and get to know me. And I tossed it aside…

Was Joni Mitchell right when she said, “you don’t know what you got till its gone?”

I’m not very political. I probably couldn’t tell you half of what either of the major party candidates stood for this election year. For that matter, I got the feeling that no one else I ran into could either: this was an election based solely on a marketing campaign. But, that’s just my opinion.

Though I lack any political expertise, I have had one opinion I feel should be considered: that Barack Obama is not black; he is bi-racial. And it bothers me, to my core, that he waged a campaign under the banner of being black. I am not denying him his African American heritage. However, he is denying something: his white heritage; his mother’s heritage. Be who you are, and I will love you for it.

And now, we are calling him our first “black” president. No, he’s our first [known] bi-racial president, and there’s a big difference.

I just had to get that off my chest. I like things to be called what they are, not molded as someone feels a situation deems.

About five minutes ago, after many long hours filling in the application, reviewing the application, and of course writing the two essays, I finally submitted my application for the Peace Corps.

Now, I just need to sit back and wait to be contacted by a recruiter (3-4 weeks is what we’re told online, but an email I just received says two weeks). Of course, I will be an active applicant, not simply waiting for things to come to me. This is, after all, a job just like any other, if not more competitive. I am bummed that it took me so long (almost two months!) to complete the application; I expected to take merely a couple of weeks. However, I wanted to put a lot of thought into what I wrote (regardless of how the essays sound to others, I feel good about them), and often times, writing just needs to flow naturally. Forcing myself to write was making me crazy.

At the same time, the delay in submitting my application gave me opportunity to stew on the choice I was making. Just the other day, while reading “The Geography of Bliss” by Eric Weiner (a non-fiction about one man’s travels in search of what makes the world’s happiest places so happy), I enjoyed a chapter on the world’s least happy country: Moldova. I bring this up because he wrote a passage about an interview with a group of Peace Corps Volunteers that he had. It was a little scary. Moldova – a former Soviet nation – is, according to scholars, the least happy place to live, and the Peace Corps volunteers he spoke with believed it. I thought to myself, “Gee, that’s definitely one of those countries in eastern Europe that I could be sent to… and, there are other former Soviet nations that may be in similar shape… can I handle that?” The answer I eventually came to was, YES. The Peace Corps is not about having a party in another country. No where is going to be easy or a continuous blast. Whatever experience I may have, should I be accepted as a volunteer, is what I make of it. If I am chosen and am placed in the field I desire (education), then I will find something to keep me going. It is all about helping others as best I can and learning about myself.

I mean, seriously, people live through considerably worse. For example, my brother had to spend a year in South Korea alone, about a month after his daughter was born; and, another year in Turkey a few years later, again apart from his family. I think I can handle two-years being brought down to earth.

Anyone who comes across these last few postings, please keep your fingers crossed for me. I want to do this, more than anything, and as it is a competitive and lengthy process, I will need all the help and support I can get.

UPDATE: Turns out, the man driving the vehicle that hit Laura’s car may not have been intoxicated. The initial stories in the paper jumped on the fact that he had a previous DUI on record and made the assumption that he was again driving under the influence. What appears to have been the issue is an old house, owned by the city, which sits so close to the intersection that the cross traffic cannot see highway traffic clearly, if at all. Apparently this has been an issue for the city for quite some time, and, ironically, which is set to be torn down on August 25 for this reason. Unfortunately, that is about three weeks too late for Laura.

My brother’s first wife, Laura, while returning home this morning with her husband’s family, was killed in an automobile accident caused by a drunk driver. She was the only one of the four in her vehicle killed; she was a passenger in the backseat. The driver of the other vehicle, the drunk guy?, yeah, not a scratch.

(Also, about ten years ago, seven months pregnant, and my seven year old nephew in the backseat, Laura’s car was hit by a semi during a snowstorm. She lost the baby. My nephew miraculously had been sitting on the side other than his normal spot, which saved his life.)

Laura and I had never been close and had not seen or spoken to each other probably since she and my brother divorced over sixteen years ago. And, though she put my brother through a lot of heartache and pain, I have always carried a mote of respect for her because of something she taught me, unwittingly. She was great at responding to sudden stressors. I know this sounds silly, but I was maybe sixteen at the time. I and my parents were visiting my brother, Laura, and my baby nephew Christopher, in Hawaii (where my brother was stationed). One day we were waiting in line for something, I think, my mom holding the 8 month old baby. Somehow we noticed that the charm from her necklace was missing – a heart shaped piece of quartz, maybe 3/4″ or more at its widest. My mother was freaking out… my brother was freaking out… my dad and even me to an extent were freaking out… certain the baby had it in his mouth. But Laura, his mother, responded coolly by sticking her finger in his mouth and scooping the stone out. Just like a professional.

I remarked on how calm she remained. She answered by saying something along the lines of, panicking only makes the situation worse. From that day on I have used her words as I too respond to stressful moments when others may panic. Is that not strange, that something so small as a calm response can affect someone so profoundly?

It is strange, now, responding to her death. Like I said, we were never close while she and my brother were together. And seriously? She really did a number on him (and my family – a story for another time perhaps). But I never hated her. I always respected her. And in a sense I was proud of her for starting a new life and family. I think I felt a little sorry for her until then; as if with my brother she had simply fallen into a life that never should have been and then found her way back on track.

I am saddened for her and her family, and most definitely my nephew who just graduated high school in June. Laura worked hard, from what I understand, to keep him on track, ensuring that he stayed in school and worked hard. Regardless of what transpired between her and my brother, she did a good job raising my nephew. She desereved better than to be survived by the drunk driver who took her life.

So, how cool am I, posting to my blog from my new iPod touch? See, I’ve never been much of one to keep up with the latest technology, at least in terms of purchasing it. But, when I went to buy myself a new Macbook Pro, using Apple’s “back to school” offer, I couldn’t resist picking up a free iPod while I was there! It’s a pretty cool little device; they call it the iPhone w/out the phone. And that pretty much sums it up. Though, obviously, it includes wireless Internet service. However, b/c it is not a phone, it is only free wi-fi where available. That is to say, so long as the signal is open/ free, I can do things like this! Pretty cool, actually. My only other “gripe” (tough to call these gripes) is that I cannot get used to iTunes & syncing. It seems that to add anything to this device, one must have it in a playlist, AND have the item checked; and, if one wants to keep all the stuff that is already on the iPod, he/she must ensure that ALL those itmes remain checked in the syncing options or else the sync will remove them from the iPod. I don’t know if that’s how it has always been with iPods, but it is really frustrating when I try to do something really simple; I don’t feel like I should have to think, “hey, remember to keep all the I already put on there, on there!” Anyway, it’s all good just to have this FREE & COOL tool. I am now participating in the new cool, for whatever that is worth!

Ciao!

I’m just the big baby who can’t handle shit. I’m stuck now in my room brooding or crying while everyone out there chats and enjoys the food – half of which I cooked. If I were to open my door and attempt to join them, everyone would be thinking of what I child I was, running off to my room after I overheard my mother telling her sister how I drive her nuts. How dare I take a stand once and a while? Just suck it up and deal with it – that’s the story of my life. But when it comes to other people making me feel like crap, like those ‘bullies’ in my schools growing up, I get sympathy. When it’s my mom and dad bullying me, I’m just overreacting and nothing I say ever comes out in a way that doesn’t somehow offend them.

All I want is to be able to be friggin’ human! I want to be able to not stifle my emotions, or them to stifle theirs. I’m not asking for everyone to spill their guts – heck no! I just wish that there wasn’t all this unspoken tension all the time. Everyone acts like it’s just “wrong” to discuss matters pertaining to the home or each other when it’s about each other. So when I do try to prod, to get to the heart of why my mother (and my father occasionally) is acting so pissed off, the reaction I get is as if I just dared to ask the devil to enter the house.

That’s not my place. I’m a child; the baby in fact. I’m not a grown up, and I never will be. I am just simply not supposed to think or question or act or anything. I am supposed to suck it up and let what makes me feel like shit all the time. I’m not supposed to say anything. But, I guess I knew that when I moved in. It was a conscious, and difficult, choice. I knew it would be rough; I won’t kid myself or anyone else on that. But it was only going to be for a short time (relatively I thought). We could deal with it, right?

I was always a good kid. I never got into trouble. That was my brother’s job. So, I took care of myself. I had very few friends, particularly anyone I could turn to when things were rough. When I was bullied in school, I had only my parents – my mother – to talk to. And it was always, “oh, you’re better than them, just turn the other cheek.” That’s how I turned out, always turning the other cheek, never questioning anything until I would get so fed up I’d finally let it spill. And yes, I know that what I say comes out as offensive. But when nothing I ever try to say gets me anywhere – and I mean, the response is a pursed mouth, deep annoyed sigh, followed by silence, which means, “Shut up, you little child don’t have a clue what you’re talking about” – I turn uglier. Why? Because I’m tired of the passive-aggressive bullshit that hangs over this house. It only drives a deeper wedge. Just friggin’ say what’s bothering you about dad cleaning the house before company comes to visit. Just tell us what is wrong when everything we do just isn’t right. How else will we make you happy? How else will we not feel like we’ve just wronged you in some way? How else will anyone ever be able to feel like they are a human being with the same rights and abilities as you? Come on!

So I sit here, hungry. The first day in I don’t know how long that I haven’t had a good breakfast. Normally I eat first thing when I wake up. Now, it’s just past noon. And I hear everyone talking out there, knowing that it will be painful when I finally work up the nerve to go out there and attempt to be normal. The thing that gets me? There will be absolutely no compassion given. Not that I want to be a martyr, by all means. But my family? Nothing. Never. No how. I’m just the big cry baby who can’t handle what life deals her. Funny thing, though. What life has dealt me – being bullied, never having friends, a divorce, going back to school, living with my parents – I think I’ve dealt with pretty fucking well. Let’s face it. There’s nothing I can do to win.

A few weeks ago, almost two weeks into my life as an unemployed student during their summer break, I took on a project that tested my patience as well as my shoulder strength. You see, my parents have had this primary-blue colored bookcase in their possession since, well, before I was even a consideration. Only recently did I get a bit more of the story behind how they came to own it and why-oh-why was it painted this color? Short story: it was part of a set (it and a tv-stand) they purchased at a “nude” furniture store and decided to paint the patriotic colors of red, white and blue.

My negligence in keeping my “diary” here online should come as no surprise to anyone who happens across this blog. However, I do believe this is the longest I’ve gone to date without a post. That said, this is me: Ms. Lazyass.

But, that’s not to say that my brain hasn’t come up with some truly interesting – at least to me – items to jot down. I just don’t get to jotting them down, much. Posting? That’s another thing altogether. This all brings me to the title of choice on this post: just too many to consider; so much has happened in the last several months that I’ve wanted to write about that for this post, I can only muster enough brain-to-finger energy to give the highlights.

At the end of April, during some seriously stormy weather, I completed a move that would make many shudder: back in with my parents. My lease was up April 30 and I didn’t want to sign a contract to stay longer than I was certain I could, nor did I want to pay out the nose for month-to-month rent.

In June I spent three weeks out of town on a trip consisting of two weeks in Ireland, Scotland, and Iceland (still working on posting the pics), and one week consisting of a couple days in NYC and other travel time. In total, I took: eight flights, six trains, four cabs, two busses, and one boat. Unfortunately, no bicycles got ridden – but not for lack of wanting. And, did I mention I drove clear around the entire Emerald Isle in 5 days? On the “other” side of the road? Myself? Oh, and a good lot of Scotland as well. If I had a pilot’s license, I suppose I could’ve flow once or twice. Hey, I can’t do it all.

Having stewed on a plan for several months, part of which included moving in with my parents, I gave notice at my job by mid-July. By August 3, I was a free woman.

The stew, thus far consisting of moving in with my parents and quitting work, as of Monday, August 27 will also contain a shot of full-time student when I start classes towards a Bachelor’s Degree in Oral Communications. I’m registered for some intriguing sounding courses this semester: Small Group Communication, Public Address, Communication Graphics (um, easy?), Communication for Educators, and College Algebra (ugh!). That last one makes me think of that old Sesame Street – or was it The Electric Company? – game, “One of these things is not like the other…” Turns out, though I satisfied the university core math requirement, the College of Arts and Sciences requires a double-dose of math. Good thing I used to ACE algebra; good thing I’m living with a man with a Ph.D. in Physics (who is also helping my brother with his Calculus course!)

Earlier, I called myself a lazyass but I will say that’s a bit rough an assessment of myself. Though lazy in the writing/posting department, I’ve managed to use my “off” time rather well – amazingly (really, I normally *am* a lazyass). Yes, I’ve spent several hours (or more?) playing games, but in the last two weeks I’ve started a sewing project, refinished an old bookshelf (pics to come), and taken a brief and much needed respite to San Antonio. I’ve done a lot of laundry and vacuuming; I’ve begun scrubbing my mom’s nasty bathroom (soap-scum dirty – layers and layers and layers…. UGH); and I took some tennis lessons for a few Saturdays!

About a week ago I had a wonderful realization: this has been the absolute best vacation I’ve ever, in my life, had. It took about a week of decompressing by being a complete and utter lazyass after my last day on the job, then I kicked it into gear – getting things done on *my* schedule. It’s like I had time to let myself realize that I had other things to work on that could keep my content. And now? Well, I’m actually ready for school.

As you can see, I’ve been right busy for a few months. I only wish, the same could’ve been said for my days at my job before I left (it was really numbing), but everything now tells me it was the right thing to do – I never could feel as I do now had I stayed and tried to go to school part-time.

I’ll do my best to keep up on here. I have this bold notion that I will document my experiences as a returning full-time adult student. That notion is kept alive by the hope that it may be a nice break from my studies to sort of ‘vent’ here. But, knowing my tendencies, don’t expect much!

Ok, harsh title maybe, but I’m not one to mince politically incorrect words. There is a new television ad for the Disney Mobile phone plan that is bothering me. I’d put a link to it but I can’t find a post of it anywhere.

The ad opens focused on four kids, apparently at a movie theatre, one of them describing and showing off his new phone that his mom got him. The other three kids hang over the one’s shoulders in awe, and when the show and tell is over, they gasp, “you must have the coolest mom ever.” The ad then turns to the mom at her workplace doing the same thing.

So what’s wrong? I’m sure the title of this post gives the mystery away just a tad, but…

All 4 kids are overtly overweight – not just a little baby-fat around the cheeks – I mean, they are ready for some serious exercise, put that freshly buttered popcorn down and grab a protein shake action.

This totally disturbs me! It’s not that I’ve not been aware of the childhood obesity epidemic, but now it’s become part of a sales ploy? I thought there were attempts to address it in the media, not embrace it. I guess what bothers me the most about the ad isn’t that there’s an overweight kid in it… it’s that all four of them are overweight.

UGH! /Rant.

Bear with me if you see typos as you read this. Two of my fingers on my right hand have their tips tightly bandaged due to a minor incident I brought upon myself this evening as I began preparations for waht looks like will someday be a delicions quiche.