Our Lives Will Never Be The Same

“Where there is love there is life.” – Mahatma Ghandi

I had a genuinely amazing weekend. It started the morning I finally got matching his and hers pendants in the mail. I was supposed to save them for Valentine’s, but I couldn’t help myself – because The One was there and I also really wanted to sport around a new sparkly thing that would remind me of him. Happy Valentine’s Day!  . . . . To me!

Pretty, aren't they? I 

I hadn’t been feeling particularly well for a couple of weeks, so my appetite was nonexistent. I made a green smoothie for him for breakfast, we took the dogs on a walk, and ran errands that must be done on the weekend when one is an adult. Then we got to my favorite part . . . tango!

Look at those cute little buggars . . . in a dog bed on a mattress I haven't tossed because the hound likes the set up so much. 

We only visited briefly. I had sent an email prior asking if I could pick up some cards to distribute among coworkers and friends because I do get a good deal of people that ask me about dancing and a card just seems more efficient than me scribbling the name of the dance studio on a piece of paper. And, if you’re wondering, the name of the studio is Dance With Joy. The owner is ray of sunshine and the environment is encouraging and welcoming.

We've been talking about taking lessons in a few months.

I nearly burst into tears when the instructor came out and hugged me. I was genuinely happy to see her. She did ask if we wanted to join in, but I opted not to because I had been feeling so poorly. My symptoms were what I assumed to be a severe case of PMS. In fact, I was growing increasingly suspicious that I might have PMDD.

A hug that was something like this, but also tearful. 

The One wasn’t convinced. At his urging, I picked up a pregnancy test that morning on one of our planned stops. He’d seen my mood swings, incessant exhaustion and constant trips to the bathroom. And, that morning he’d witnessed me gag nearly to the point of puking when I picked up dog poo and came pretty damn close to crying like the baby at the sight of someone I love and miss.

I was a bit nervous even taking the test out when I closed the bathroom door behind me. I followed the instructions and watched the line grow more and more prominent as it sat there on my bathroom sink.

It was definitely positive.

The proof is in the lines. And also the urine. 

I didn’t know what to say to The One. I literally had no words when I walked out of the bathroom. I had the test clutched in my hand. I looked at him nervously and nodded my head. He asked me if it was mine and told me to take another test. Silly man. HCG didn’t get into my system on its own. To be on the safe side, I took another test yesterday.

I'm still pregnant

He told me a while ago that I should work on our soundtrack: songs that would tell our love story. Our journey definitely does have the makings of a movie, and I don’t say that braggingly. I don’t say it to brag because it has been an epic and heart wrenching experience – and that was only from my end of working through my own issues before I could be whole enough to love another person.

I have indeed been working on a soundtrack. I’ve been working on the order before I make some finalized version. Basically it would start off with love songs of having just met and being happy, and then breaking up, and then getting back together, and then breaking up and missing the other person and being envious of whomever they’re with, and then getting back together again. Ha!

Maybe someday I'll write it. Maybe someday I'll make a music video. Maybe someday I'll write my own song. 

 But I need to add a new element to it. We’re going to be f*cking parents! I’m somewhere between 5-6 weeks. My emotions sway from being elated, to terrified, to talking to the wee being growing inside me and saying, “Grow baby, grow! I can’t wait to meet you.” I can’t wait to see this beautiful thing that he and I have created together.

September 2016

The terrified part comes when I worry if I know what I’m doing, how the increasingly grumpy hound is going to respond, and how money is going to pan out. We’re moving in together, which will make saving a bit easier. I won’t bore you with logistics of FMLA or what disability insurance will work to my benefit.

The One is elated. I wanted to wait until at least the first doctor’s visit to say anything, but ended up calling my folks over the weekend – because he’s so excited to tell people I was worried about something getting back to them without me having said a word to them first. I’m glad he’s so happy. We’d planned on this eventually, we just didn’t expect it to happen right away without any planning. The best things in life happen sporadically and without warning.

So, we’re kicking it into high gear right now. I need to get moved to his place in a little over 2 months. I’m not elated about the location, which will significantly increase my commute time, but it makes sense for now. He just moved in and his master bedroom is pretty much the size of my tiny little apartment. Before I knew we had a baby on board, I was super stoked to have my lengthy bike ride back – but I’m now realizing that’s probably not going to happen. I won’t forfeit entirely until I get final word from the doctor.

I’m taking this one stride at a time. And I know he and I will look back on that Saturday together and I’ll ask him, “Remember when we were younger and I gave you a matching necklace and then we found out we were having a baby?” 

Our first photo in October 2008. Who would have thought this is where we'd be today? 

Secrets

“I thought about how there are two types of secrets: the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don’t dare to let out.” – Alley Carter, Don’t Judge a Girl by Her Cover

There other day my therapist looked at me in astonishment. She said, “I’ve been working with you for 6 years and I’m still learning new things about you.” I suddenly realized I’ve lived a very colorful life – and colorful within all shades of the spectrum.

A fascinating colorful life, actually.

I’ve had secrets that have weighed me down to depths I thought unreachable. I’ve had secrets that are so dark I thought I’d never speak of them . . . . and I’ve also had secrets that were filled with happiness that I kept to myself to shine light through the darker moments of life. These amazing ups and downs of my life are becoming more apparent to me as I continue writing about them and realizing just how much I survived.

This is a story of another man in my life. I first met him when I was 17 and working at UC Merced. I had recently graduated from high school, and didn’t have plans to stay at the university long because I had plans to do missionary work somewhere overseas. I wound up in Namibia, Africa. The experience changed my life and gave me a very different outlook of the followers of the religion I knew and their intolerance to other people and cultures. In many ways, Namibia was when my life began.

Beautiful Namibia . . . . I miss you.

When I returned to the states I again went back to work at UC Merced. I was nearly 19 then. I hadn’t paid much attention to him before, but when I returned back to the states I suddenly saw him entirely differently . . . .  and I found him to be quite attractive. I remember the day he walked in with blue jeans and a white t-shirt. My jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

I genuinely don't know what it was about his look that day . . . but he really caught my eye. 

I should mention that there was a considerable age difference between us. I acknowledge this has been a recurring thing in my life. I was not quite 19 and he was 40. Some say it’s my preference. Some say I have ‘daddy issues’. To anyone who ever thinks I have daddy issues: F*ck you. Seriously. It’s not your place to judge my decisions.

I can’t quite remember how it started. We went on a few outings and due to the fact that I was living with my aunt who also happened to be his boss, we kept it a secret. I think the secrecy added another level of excitement to the whole thing. We exchanged stolen glances at work, smiling because the secret remained between us.

This story is perhaps one of my best kept secrets . . . until now. 

We became an item shortly after he bought his house. I was with him at his house warming party and our night after everyone had left was nothing short of mind blowing . . . all of the pent up energy from hours being within at arm’s length of one another and not being able to do anything about it – we didn’t even look at each other long for fear of being discovered.

We had many of those moments: secret, fun, gentle and loving. For many things in my life, he was my first.

I have a confession of my own. That's me to the left in the green bikini. Even during times it's been too small for me, I have never been able to part with it. Now that I've given it some thought, I think it's because it reminded me of him. That's what I wore to his housewarming party.

The issues started when he became increasingly uncomfortable with our age difference. I never gave it a second thought. I think everything started to fall apart when he was with me at a Starbucks. A young man walked up to us and asked him if he was my father. Considering that Mr. UC Merced and I look nothing alike, the question was ridiculous. I could tell he was troubled by it and he started to push me away.

I began to feel that he was ashamed of me and wanted to keep me as some dirty little secret; no one should ever know about me. I felt him pushing me away. Eventually I walked away. He broke my young heart. Considering the age difference between us, it wasn’t a fair fight and it wasn’t a level playing field.

He might as well have taken a hammer to me. 

He still wanted to be involved in my life. It took some time, and gradually over the years we began talking as if nothing had ever happened. In his own way, he showed me that I truly was special to him. He had old letters I’d written to him while I was in Montana, before I went to Namibia and he and I were anything more than co-workers and friends. He kept a card I’d signed for his housewarming party. It’s been over a decade and he’s still held onto these things. 

We didn’t have a song. We had an entire album: Nora Jones’ Come Away with Me. I stopped listening to her music altogether because it only reminded me of the man who’d made me the happiest and saddest at the same time.

He’s checked in on me over the years. He’s moved on for UC Merced and is now onto bigger and better things. His gestures of kindness seemed to always come at the right time. He knew I was struggling after I made a frenzied move to the other side of the city and that I had estranged myself from my family because I could no longer bring myself to keep up the charade. He also knew that I was hiding out at Christmas just so I didn’t have to see them. He asked for my address to send me one of his photos. He’s quite talented. What I received in the mail was a Christmas card containing $60 and a note that said someone was thinking about me.

I had a fridge issue and was struggling to get my landlord to fix it. I was at my wit’s end. That damn mini fridge that came with the apartment had ruined a good deal of my food because it kept freezing and defrosting things. I don’t even want to think about the money wasted on that fiasco. Eventually I win the battle with my landlord. I went grocery shopping and Mr. UC Merced asked if I needed any help. The honest truth is that I could, but I declined. A gal’s got to at least try to stand on her own sometimes. It’s just comforting to know that someone thinks about your small struggles in life and is willing to help.

Lately we’ve been talking a lot. He’s thinking about coming to visit. And, if I haven’t misinterpreted, hinted at me moving back to California. My immediate thought was that there was absolutely nothing for me in California. What was I going to do? Let Mr. UC Merced support me? I think not!

I've leveled with him about how he made me feel so long ago. He's tried to talk to me about it before; I was either unwilling to listen or not ready to hear his words. In our recent conversation, he said he never regretted loving me, he only regrets how he handled things. For anyone who's ever been broken up about unrequited love, I think those are the exact words we want/need to hear. 

I was telling this tale of secrets, love and loss to my therapist. When I got to the part about how much Lindsay dislikes this man because she doesn’t agree with the age difference my therapist nearly died of laughter . . . .  because if I were to actually leave and move back to California for this guy, it would be a double whammy. I’d be out of a city that drives me mad sometimes and would royally piss Lindsay off.

Mostly irate, though.

The thought is amusing and would be a great ending to what has been a very colorful life thus far. However, feeding into my spiteful ego to have the last laugh in regards to my adopted mother is a piss poor reason to be in a relationship. While I’m tempted to dismiss the idea of a life with him at all, I’ve been told to not jump to conclusions, wait it out and see where things go. Perhaps there are more pages yet to be written between us.

 . . . or perhaps a cautionary tale of epic stupidity. 

"I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone." - Rainer Maria Rilke 

Cheats, Liars and Anger

“Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.” – Maya Angelou

I have a sense that this will be a rage fueled rant of epic proportion.

I am royally pissed off. My closest friend and mentor has been telling me for years that there is always an ulterior motive with men. That message is starting to sink in now and I’m feeling resentful, embittered and enraged at the vast majority of males that I have encountered in my lifetime.

One of the things in the world I hate the most is liars and those trying to gain my trust through false pretenses. It’s dishonest and only makes me angry at the offender. I met someone a little over a year ago at a company function and asked his name. I remembered him at this year’s gathering. It’s part of my job to remember people and also a personality trait. I’m curious. I want to know what people are about. That said, I try not to be invasive and let another person share with me at their own pace.

So, upon seeing the aforementioned person again, he suggested we meet up sometime, as friends and also to discuss psychology because that’s his current area of study, he’s new to the area, etc. In hindsight, there are things that should have been red flags to me much earlier on, but I’m not going to ruminate on what I overlooked. We exchanged a few e-mails and he wanted my number because it was his preferred method of contact. I’m rolling my eyes as I type these words because I’ve heard that line a million times. Like an idiot, I eventually gave it to him.

why? Why? WHY??????

He sent me a text on New Year’s after wrapping up at the event he had worked saying he needed an ‘Irish Lass’ hug. The fact that I didn’t call him out right then and there makes my blood boil a little bit. That was the first indicator that this guy was after something more than his false pretense of friendship. I should also note that he is twice my age and has children older than me. Something is very wrong here. Granted, I do have older friends – but now that I think about it those older friends come in couples, not some prowling male hoping to make it with a gal half his age.

This past Sunday he said he wanted to get together – a kind gesture to pull me out of the state of sadness I’ve managed to wallow in for some time now. I had no idea what we were doing and he didn’t say where we were going when he came to pick me up. I was startled because I thought we would do something downtown and he was driving towards Washington. I asked him where we were going. He told me we were headed to a vineyard in Ridgefield. I have no idea where Ridgefield is, panicked a little and told him that I carry weapons.

There is no point to this photo. Just the intense level of cutenss. 

During the drive, he kept probing me about my life, asking for more details on what I shared with him. This is another behavior I hate. Something is wrong here. If you barely know me, you have no right to ask such personal information about me – you wretched pretentious prick. What bothers me the most about this is that I am a horrible liar and my answers are always honest. I don’t know how to respond any differently. It’s clear to me now that I either need to work on building up my psychological walls or learn to spew untruths with a poker face. I am royally pissed off. Don't examine every detail of my life through a microscope unless you are prepared to be ripped to shreds by my words. 

Can you feel that rage? It's a very real thing right now.

Wine tasting at a vineyard . . .  it was nice. He had packed a picnic saying he wasn’t sure how the weather was going to turn out. Now that I think about it, his explanation makes no sense whatsoever: it was pissing rain all day long. I thought his gesture was kind for going through the trouble of preparing something. As we got in the car I suggested we go back to my apartment, watch a movie and eat his ‘picnic’ meal when he expressed disappointment in the bad weather.

I'll set them on fire myself! He knew what the weather was like. Pretentious bastard.

There had been a nagging question in the back of my mind the entire time I was with him. What is this guy’s angle? What the hell does he want from me? I ask him as much and his response starts with, “I’m a hot blooded male . . . “ and he went on to say that he’d never force himself on me. Holy fucking hell! I should have fled from the moving car right then and there. I don’t know why I didn’t. I wasn’t quite processing his true intentions at the time, I only knew that something didn’t feel quite right: That small voice in the back of your head that tells you to run away. That small voice in my head that told me I should cancel on Sunday until I learned more about this guy. I ignored it. I’m currently angry at myself for ignoring it, but acknowledging that at long last I’m finally starting to pay attention to it, even if it doesn’t have my full attention yet.

Hot blooded male?! I am grinding my teeth in anger!!

I put on a movie and he puts food onto plates. He continuously grazed my knee with his hand, put his arm around my shoulder, asking me to sit closer to him. I was rigid. Any person within their right state of mind could probably pick up that I was tense because I was uncomfortable. He hugged me as he left and attempted to kiss me. I physically recoiled. He didn’t back off and instead said, “Just a small one?” I barely let my lips touch his because I wanted to be far removed from him and, at that time, seemed to be the only way that I would be able to manage to get him out.

Underneath her barley there smile is a woman who desperately wants to punch him in the face. I feel like doing a lot of punching right now. I physically resisted. He is clearly an asshat and he disgusts me.

I decided the next day that I’m ghosting his sorry ass. He’s blocked from e-mail and my phone. I have nothing to say to him. Idiot! I’m past explaining myself and I’m past making excuses for others. That pathetic piece of shit; men like him are the reason I have trust issues. If he was trying to groom me into some form of dependence on him by being so invasive on my life experiences he failed miserably.

I’ve been turning the actions of a former friend over in my mind – the one who demanded to know what was on my heart. When I expressed anger at what I felt was a cross of my personal and emotional boundaries, he became offensive. He told me that it didn’t come as a surprise. If that’s the case, why did he have to hear me say it? The only thing that makes any form of sense to me is that his ego needed that from me. Fuck him and his ego right up the ass.  Apparently my efforts to build him up emotionally weren’t enough, so he had to take it one step further. He sickens me; and I think my anger here isn’t just his disregard for my emotional boundaries, but also when he asked how I was doing and I gave an honest answer he pretty much faded himself out. I guess it was fine for me to listen to his problems but that action couldn’t be reciprocated.

Unfortunately, I think this is the driving force in most of us. 

I’ve been walking around with a consistent form of bitch face – I’m that angry. This is a stark contrast from someone who smiles warmly at the world around her. Lately, I have people who see me on a regular basis ask me if I’m okay . . . . the bitch face is that strong in this one. I also feel like punching things and am avoiding the male population as much as possible to save myself from exploding on some poor, unsuspecting soul who had nothing to do with anything I’m feeling right now.

Yesterday I went through a wide range of emotions as I hashed it all out in therapy. My anger over the actions of these self-proclaimed ‘friends’ who are now dead to me. My anger over the recent antics of the Dirty Faerie Creature (DF) in the office, and the recent news of my adoptive father’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

I’ll start with DF. She involved herself with a man who was sexually coercive and manipulative. It’s now a huge thing in the anarchist vegan feminist biking community. On a tangent, when a vegan and a cyclist are mixed into one person it can only mean bad news. It’s a form of smug self-righteousness from opposite sides of the spectrum that meet somewhere in the middle to create a form of evil spawn that can only be described as the love child of Satan and Hades. Sprinkle in anarchy and feminism with shouts of ‘Fascist!’ and ‘Misogyny!’ and Portland now has a whirlwind of smug self-righteousness that’s sure to drag every last one of us to hell.

Funny, right? Now imagine the love child of those two assholes. 

I know about DF’s experience because she has made a point of telling me about her experience – as well as everyone else in the office. I felt bad for her the first day she talked about it and then that all went down the drain fairly quickly as she started writing posts about her hickeys from a new year’s celebration. It wasn’t just that, but her need to talk about it to me and my office mate that didn’t sit well with me. She said his actions triggered her long subdued PTSD and it was because of this state of mind that she had sex with this guy in the first place. I am by no means an expert of PTSD, but I have dealt with it for many years and I know of not one person with a history of sexual abuse who, upon being triggered, would willingly have sex with someone who has just upset them by inappropriate behavior. Her continual discussions about this topic in the workplace have triggered my PTSD – and that royally pisses me off. I go to therapy once a week. I have put in many hours, a hell of a lot of work, and have paid a significant amount of money to make progress. Perhaps DF should consider going to see a professional instead of using her co-workers as therapists. I discussed this topic at length with my therapist yesterday, wondering if I was a horrible person, a calloused human being because I could not give DF any support. My therapist doesn’t see me in that light, but pointed out how the unchecked behavior of DF that never experiences a form of consequence is frustrating and her topics of discussion are almost always unsettling to me.

I don't think I could have described her better . . . .Misogyny!

For the first time in a while, I visited my adopted family over the weekend. I offered to make dinner in exchange for the use of an iron and ironing board . . . . and I was also dying to try out my new spiralizer. It was during this time that my adoptive mother, Morgan, told me of my beloved Jefe’s illness. I watched how she interacted with him. I’m sure she means well – she just has a way of infantizing others, rendering them to the level of a 5-year-old that is utterly helpless and can do nothing for himself/herself. I listened as she told him, “Look at what I’m doing. I’m writing your hike on your calendar for tomorrow. Tomorrow is Sunday.” I saw the expression of frustration on his face. I know that feeling, I truly do. The problem with a diagnosis is that people do start to treat you differently, despite their protests that it’s just not so. Whether they realize it or not, the label of a diagnosis causes most people to look at the diagnosed in a different light. I’ve been where he’s been in that regard. My adoptive father, Jefe, has every ounce of empathy I have to give.

Over the course of that day, I got the impression that Jefe had simply given up. He’s accepted the label and he’s mirroring the symptoms that others are projecting on him – levels of forgetfulness that have always been a part of his personality, but now ascribed to a disease. Witnessing his surrender, his refusal to keep fighting may be one of the most disheartening things I’ve ever seen.

Don't let anyone tell you who you are. 

My adoptive father and brother gave me a ride home from therapy yesterday. I was in tears when they picked me up. I am past the point of shoving anything down because I don’t think there’s any room. I’m feeling a wide range of intense emotions and it won’t let up. I hate crying in front of anyone and I couldn’t keep it at bay. The traffic was piling up as they drove me home, and I don’t know why, but I wanted to jump out of the car and run until my feet were blistered and bleeding and broken. I don’t know what or where I wanted to run towards, only that I felt suffocated and devastated. 

Today, I feel both anger and suffocation. I don't know how to bring this one to an end and I can't remember the last time I've felt such intense anger and mixed emotions. Maybe I'll delete this entry, maybe I'll print it out and burn it to give me some form of symbolism for burning bridges . . . and liar's pants . . .

Warfare

My experience with dating so far has led me to this conclusion: It really all boils down to psychological warfare. Also, people in general are idiots. On any online dating site it’s commonplace to see things written such as “Be real” and “Not into mind games” and “No drama”. Those lines tell me the following: 1. You are probably the biggest phony that ever lived. 2. You are psychologically flawed and must be in control at all times. 3. You obviously have drama in your life or you wouldn’t have mentioned it. You have unresolved issues and are projecting your nonsense into cyber world. And then there’s my all-time personal favorite message I get from time to time, “R u real?” No, dumbass. I actually put effort into a profile for your own amusement and gawking pleasure! (Side note: I do NOT upload revealing photos). There was also that one guy that said something along the lines of, “You’re hot, but I’m not sure about you.” Umm . . . . Thanks. Blocked!!!

There was also an inebriated text sent in the wee hours of the morning. Lord help me. 

Of the few I actually have let into my life at least to some small degree I’ve found myself wondering why he hasn’t called or messaged me in several days. What did I do to irritate him? Was I not forthcoming enough in who I truly am? OMG?! Do I lack the level of self-awareness to truly know myself?! And then I remember that I’m one of the most awesome people ever, go cuddle with the hound and get on with life.

I'd choose this guy any day. 

I think I have a far different take on what a guy is actually saying than what he really means. I didn’t really realize this until I was telling my landlord last night how extremely bored I am by most of these guys. If they can’t match me intellectually or emotionally and are unable to carry a semi-intelligent conversation, why do they bother wasting my time?! My latest irritation came when I met a guy in person who seemed interesting enough. The entire time he talked about his connections with local big names of which I know nothing of because that really doesn’t matter to me and also about all of the money he’s made. Nice enough – it just struck me as full of himself and materialistic. From my landlord’s perspective, this was merely a guy’s way of saying he could take care of me.

Then there's the guy who just can't tear himself away from his phone. When in doubt, spill your drink and run. 

There’s a Huffington Post article that resonates with my own thoughts about how ridiculous this entire process really is. Here are a few of my favorite highlights: 1. Thou shalt never maketh plans to hang out in advance, for thou are casual and disinterested. 2. Thou shalt never compliment thy lover. Speaketh only in condescending words. 3. Thou shalt covet many, many lovers, preferably in the same neighborhood. Thou shalt speak of them often. 4. Thou shalt remember, above all: The lover who cares the least wins: One sentimental ‘thinking of you’ could derail all the progress you’ve made! Go into Code Red Aloof mode. Ignore your babe’s texts for hours-long gaps and reply with one-word answers. In no time, you’ll prove your lack of investment and thus restore the balance of power.

Because winning is more important than anything else, right? 

It’s just insanity – our own struggle for power and to always have the upper hand. Every single time I feel the urge to want to blow someone off I’m starting to question why. Did I feel slighted by him and am turning this into a vendetta to protect my own ego? Why did his failure to contact me irritate me so much and how does this tie into my own issues of abandonment? Why does dating feel like one of the hardest games of tug-of-war I’ve ever played?

What I can say is this: I’m paying close attention to not just how he treats me and those close to him, but also how he treats the average person that might cross his path. If he can’t be kind to a stranger it’s highly unlikely he’ll be kind to me when I need him to be.

This loving of a heart. That's what matters. 

Something else that really gets me is that everyone has advice to give me. Everyone. Seriously. The attitude seems to be that because these people are married and I am not, clearly I have flawed logic and that’s why I’m still single so they have hoards of knowledge to bestow upon me! My personal favorite is the concept of a soul mate. I believed in that once upon a time – now I’m a firm believer that what you put into a relationship is exactly what you’ll get out of it. The idea that there’s one perfect guy out there for me and I only just have to find him for my life to feel complete and make myself whole is nonsense.

I love old and new friends - I just don't need the dating advice. Thanks. 

I’ve had very old friends reconnect with me lately. I love them, I do. The problem with their logic is that they still think they know me as the young teenager who hoped someone would rescue her from her nightmarish life. People change. I learned to save myself. I’ve been told that I come across as guarded. That’s probably true and I don’t see that as a bad thing. Being naïve and trusting didn’t do me any favors. I can still be open to the world without living my life like a bumbling idiot thinking that no one could possibly ever want to harm me or take advantage of me.

My dating woes are the least of my problems lately. My radiator blew on me last week, forcing me to take out whatever funds I had left in my account to fix it. I am officially in pauper status again. The silver lining to this is that while my car is now fixed, it forced me to ride my bike to work like I said I would. I’ve been doing 22 miles a day and royally kicking butt. I’m rather proud of myself for that – and also noted a few truths about myself that I had to admit. 1. I’m extremely competitive. How dare that guy pass me on the road?! I’m going to smoke him! 2. I get road rage on the bike, too. This isn’t just from other cyclists acting like total assholes, but also from cat calls and inappropriate stares. There are times I want to dismount my bike and bash in someone’s car window . . . . But then I remind myself of my awesomeness and carry on. 

I have been described as such . . . .But my main point is this: I am not out there for your personal viewing pleasure. I don't care how marvelous my breasts are. 

Spaniard

“Alice came to a fork in the road. ‘Which road do I take?’ she asked.

‘Where do you want to go?’ responded the Cheshire Cat.

‘I don’t know,’ Alice answered.

‘Then, said the Cat, ‘it doesn’t matter.’ “– Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

So many changes have been taking place. I know it’s all mostly for the best, but it has certainly pushed me out of my comfort zone a good deal. I’m managing to stay grounded and persevere to keep myself that way when I catch my thoughts racing to every possibility that could go wrong. Even though I’m stressed out and stretched too thin, I’m doing okay.

I’m about 99% moved. I still have a few odds and ends in my former house – but nothing that I desperately need. Ideally, I would have had the time to sort through things and donate accordingly. That’s exactly what didn’t happen and the other day I found myself not even wanted to sort things, but throw random boxes the f*ck out! Not because they aren’t things I don’t care about, but because I’m not sure I have the room for them, and, in the end, they really are just things. For the most part, I’m cleaning . . . . a lot. The previous tenant was a smoker and I’m not sure the place has been given a good scrubbing in several years. I’ve had to force myself to take a break this week because my wrists and carpels are literally knotted from overuse. However, I only have so much time to get this done and use borrowed resources while I have access to them (i.e., washer and dryer during house sit stay). I’ll more than likely be back at it next week even if I feel like I’m dying in the process.

I don't know who this 'Rob' is . . . . but someone needs to help me! 

I reconnected with an old friend recently. I still haven’t decided if this is a good or bad event in my life. He has been and can be both what builds me up and what unravels me.  He is a complicated scenario. He’s a friend, a mentor and so much more on many facets of my life. Since first learning of his heritage, I’ve never addressed him by his first name; I’ve always called him ‘Spaniard’. It suits him.

The Spaniard and I hadn’t spoken in a couple of years. There was a point in my life when I felt things between he and I were too complicated, and ‘complicated’ wasn’t something I could emotionally handle in my life. He came over to help me clean my new place. Instead of cleaning, he and I spent several hours catching up and talking over coffee. I mostly told him about this last year of my life: loving, losing, grieving and finally reaching a breaking point that was a huge red flag that it was time to move on. I know deep in the back of my mind he’s always wanted the best for me. As I gave my account of my actions after pushing someone away I cared so deeply for, Spaniard listened emphatically and responded, ‘So – you’ve forgotten how a man should treat you? Back to the School of Spaniard with you!’

This is someone who tells me I’m beautiful and forces me to look him in the eyes and respond with , “Yes, I am.” Spaniard won’t let me take myself for granted. Perhaps in another lifetime he and I could be something else, but not this time around. He has his life, I have mine. That’s all there is to it. For now, I have the comfort of knowing I have someone in my corner and a patient teacher when it comes to weaving in and out of life. Where I tend to be scatter brained and emotionally ebbing and flowing, Spaniard has an amazing ability to compartmentalize his life. I envy that, but he doesn’t think it would suit me. If I didn’t know better, I would think he envies my ability to feel as much as I do.

As he says to me often, "Don't disparage yourself. Ever!" Also, "Look me in the eyes when you say you're lovely!"

He has seen the worst sides of me and has never judged me for it. I think he understands because the same kind of fury exists within him as well. He has seen where my demons hide, and he’s lived there as well. Considering everything that’s occurring simultaneously right now, it’s a comfort to have the presence of someone like him back in my life. Spaniard challenges me to be a better person and to dream bigger. I know he and I are destined to part ways eventually, but I’ll just simply take it for what it is right now. Sure, I never intended to be involved with anyone on any level whatsoever for a while longer – but I guess sometimes life knocks on our door and we can’t hide away from it forever. He’s has his own life and I have mine. That’s where it can stay and that’s probably what I need right now.

In all honesty, I have no idea where I’m headed. Spaniard asked me if I have a plan in place. Tentatively I do, but nothing is set in stone. I’d like to go back to school; however, I don’t think that would be fair to the hound right now. He needs me and I would feel awful about leaving him for hours on end. Merlin is getting older and I want to be with him as much as possible.

Who wouldn't want to spend every waking moment with this guy?!

I also have some loans to pay off. My friends loaned me money to pay for Cassie’s substantial pet hospital bill an a little extra to help me move out. I’m grateful to them, and I always will be. On the same note, I’ve gotten the impression lately that they think I’m trying to take advantage of them. My agreement was to both work for and pay them at a rate of 10 percent a month until the loan is paid off. I didn’t plan on everything coinciding all at once and me having a mess to clean up in my new place in addition to a long commute, an extra dog, and simultaneously moving while working full time. I had to ask her for a couple of months off, but kept hoping I’d find the energy somewhere to clean a little bit for my friend and her husband. Eventually, I had to send her an e-mail asking for leniency. She responded with, “For the sake of our friendship, we have to agree that this is the last time.” Wow. So . . . for the sake of our friendship I asked her not to count one of the jobs I did for her towards my loan and consider it a gift. That’s all I can give her right now. In the meantime, I might start looking for a weekend job so I can pay her off faster. I don’t want something like this looming over my head. I don’t need something like this looming over my head.

Probably a bad move on my part. I'll live and learn as well as honor my word. 

It’s not just the exhaustion from a long commute and constant cleaning, but also money that I’ve needed to put into the cost of moving and things I need for my new place like a dog door, dishes, a bike for commuting (I still need a helmet and a few other things for it). So, I’m next to broke and had to remind myself that I really do have the essentials for now and other things can wait.

Not perfect by any means . . . but it's coming along. 

I haven’t had a chance to dance much tango lately. I miss it and I’m hoping yet again to make it out tonight. I pondered to Spaniard the other day how his presence will affect my dancing. How am I going to channel my passion on the dance floor?! He thinks it will only improve. If I make it out tonight I can put his theory to the test.  

So . . . . I'll be dancing like this in no time, right? 

On the topic of tango, I signed up for the first Portland Tango Marathon. I’m now wondering if that will prove to be a huge mistake because I haven’t had the time or funds for practice lately. While the Irish Lass is growing rusty and simultaneously missing tango, I’m noting that a number of very advanced dancers are signing up. It would be a pity of my last tango splurge involved me sitting in the corner for the most part because no one wants to dance with the one on the black list. Truth be told, I’m not sure if there is a black list, I just take note of how people look at me . . . and I still keep smiling . . . and dancing like an ungraceful amateur. 

I'd love to boast that no one denies my cabeceo . . . . but they do. Damn it! 

"Please do make your decisions in life and feel confident that they are right. However, if fate is involved, feel just as confident even if they aren't." - C. Elizabeth, Absolute Obsession

Patterns and Reality

“The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don’t know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is a reality, and it really happened. “ – James Arthur Baldwin

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning today. I had been dreaming of the Beloved . . . . again. I don’t know why. I haven’t figured out what exactly it is that he represents to me or if there is some part of my subconscious, heart, soul or any combination of those things that keeps trying to hold on to some small piece of him. I threw my head back on the pillow trying to get back to that moment. It was gone. While I dream of him, I’m not seeing reminders of him everywhere I turn. Truth be told, I’d rather not spend too much time reading into it so this doesn’t turn into Haunting Part II or some other bizarre form of obsession along those lines.

I locked him away somewhere inside my memory. It's not that I want to forget - I just want to let go. 

I finally saw my therapist after a six month break with the exception of one visit after Cassie died. I didn’t have health insurance. I was working as a temp. I just couldn’t afford to see her. I only made a point of seeing her after I lost my wee little lass after my co-worker insisted. For the record, she was right. It did make me feel better; it also helped me put all of that pain and longing into words. I can smile about her now. I can speak of her fondly without crying. I do still miss her, but it no longer feels like my soul was split in two by the world’s dullest knife.

What I’ve managed to hash out through therapy are some blatantly obvious things and some aspects of my life that I still don’t quite understand. Psychologist, sociologists, attachment theories and others tell us that the bonds (or lack thereof) that we form in childhood determine our relationships in our adult lives. History repeats itself and this is one of the reasons we see women returning to abusive relationships. No one can quite explain this phenomenon. There are many ideas – but for now we just know that it’s a relationship of causality.

This is one tiny little piece of the puzzle.

I used to think life was too short to not take a risk. I think the key is knowing what risks are really worth it. For now, I’ll take the mundane. Mundane is good.

Simplicity. Nostalgia. Predictability. This is what I want right now. 

The good news is that it’s not set in stone. We’re not doomed to a life of misery if we were unable to form meaningful relationships with caregivers as children and infants or were neglected, or abandoned. What frustrates me is that I know I have a tendency to fall into the same pattern. It’s like I’m stuck in a repeating orbit. I know this about me, yet find myself in the same situational pattern over and over again. Relationship wise this has manifested in forms of toxicity such as possessiveness, jealously, abuse, negligence, and sometimes even bullying. I eventually recognize I’m in a bad situation and quickly get myself out – I just fail to see the early warning signs. They do exist; I’ve just been oblivious to them. This is my current therapy project. I’ve been in this same cycle for my entire life. I’d think I would have learned to hit the eject button by now. I guess I’m on the lower end of the learning curve.

I've been told by more than one person that I should read this book. Not sure if I want to - even if it is for my own good. 

While I educate myself on recognizing early warning factors, I’ll be focusing on the good people in my life and the non-threatening males that allow me to be myself, most of which I've met through tango. Those are the types of people I want to surround myself with; there is no judgment; there are no expectations; they value my friendship and that’s all there is to it. I recognize I need to be cautious with this as well. I would never want to ruin a friendship by giving the wrong impression. Tango has social rules. It’s assumed that something is going on between two people when ‘x’ amount of sets are danced with one another.

If only tango were so simple . . . . If only life were so simple. I think I'd be set. 

On days that I just want to be comforted by friends that make me feel at ease, I have to be careful. I would never knowingly hurt someone I care about - or anyone for that matter.There’s a balance somewhere. I’ll find it eventually.

“Let go of your expectations. The Universe will do what it will. Sometimes your dreams will come true. Sometimes they won’t. Sometimes when you let go of a broken dream, another one gently takes its place. Be aware of what is, not what you would like to be, taking place.” – Melody Beattie