Chronicles of Madness

I'm tired. I'm hopeful. I'm too busy to be introspective, but I'm also taking stock of my life. Mapping out the future.

Dear Nana, I miss you. I miss you I miss you I miss you. I dreamt you were alive and then weren't. Your home was a rocking chair on the front porch of a house that didn't exist surrounded by the largest most beautiful garden I had ever seen. I looked around wondering if it were real and when I looked back you were gone. It felt right that you were gone even though I missed you. I kissed you goodbye before they came to take you away. You weren't the same later so I'm glad I was there to hold your hand. Touch your skin.

The other night I dreamt the sky was clear when the air turned evil and a hazy rain shattered the blue sky, I huddled inside afraid the windows would break. It felt like an omen. I woke knowing you would know what I meant. That my mother would know what I meant because it's you we inherited it from. Will my grandchildren know what I mean?

And I'm feeling good...

I feel bad for the person I chatted with tonight. But in a totally selfish way I don't care either. You see, they asked those questions, the ones you're not supposed to ask, i.e, why did you break up? And how's your mother's cancer?

And there were a lot of similar questions I was avoiding asking them, but although I tried to avoid answering them, I knew knowing me, pfft, what's the point?

run on sentence long enough for you?

The point is, years ago I had a conversation with a friend of mine and while he was talking about his ex I suddenly had this epiphany about my whole life. The next day I woke up with a completely different attitude and nothing was ever the same again. In addition I'd like to say that nothing in the universe was ever as bad as it had been again. I've often written here about unclenching your fists, letting go of your anger, and it's because it's something I had to do. Learn to let go.

Recently I've asked myself if I need to learn that lesson again, and I don't think so. What I'm doing is mourning. Mourning the person I loved, the relationship I loved and enjoyed in so many ways, and yes. I'm scared of the future. So tonight I realized something new. Time to stop contemplating the past. Time to look forward without regrets. One thing I know is that no matter what rock life has thrown me, no matter how much it may have hurt at the time, I've always been given something bigger and better.

Always.

Here I am worrying that my hands are going to remain outstretched and never filled again. What a silly worry. What a good day. In so many ways. This recipe's tricky but I'm starting to taste the sweet once more through the bitter.

I can't wait for tomorrow.

I like the fact that no one's looking here. I get to be me and not worry that I'm whiny, or boring, or too sappy. It's like that abandoned playground my cousin and I found when we were little. Okay. It wasn't abandoned and we had to jump a fence to get in, but it was still awesome.

Today I'm running around my abandoned playground playing with this thought, I don't pray. I mean, I have faith, I am thankful for all of the many blessings I have, but I still don't pray. When my cousin was on life support I prayed that she not be sad that she was leaving us behind. Not that she wouldn't die. And when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I thanked God for all of the good years we've had. I wasn't accepting that she would die, I just don't feel that there's anything I could ever say or do that would change fate.

Bad people live every day and good people die. Who am I to say that my mother's better or deserves to live more than someone else? In addition, if prayer really does work, I don't think there's a God that would strike my mother down simply because her daughter has questionable self esteem.

That said, I'm tired of living alone. No one in my family lives alone, and after all these years I'm wondering if I was bred to be single and coming back with, "Hell no!". But I can't shake my nonsensical approach to life which tells me people attract a certain aspect into their lives over and over again and whatever comes their way is what they're willing towards them.

I've never been engaged. I've never had an engagement ring purchased for me. I've never been crazy in love with someone that was crazy in love with me. There's all these good things in my life. More good than many people can ever hope for, let alone have. Who am I to think that with my history that things will change, or even that I deserve to have them change? And if I do eventually get married who's to say it will be any different from my past relationships? Except this time with a ring.

I'm not trying to convince myself that my life is destined to stay single because I would guess the odds are against that. But just in case... I'd like to be prepared. At the same time I'm hoping to be proved wrong, every minute of every day, and because of this completely stupid hope, every second that I'm not proved wrong? Just hurts like hell.

But then today I had a beer and feel strangely over it.

There are things that sit up and slap you in the face after a break up. The first is celibacy. Oh how I hate thee let me count the ways. The other ones are, hey, remember when he did that asshole thing? And what the fuck he's already dating again? And talking about marriage? Like seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him? And you say you're going to seek revenge but really you just go home and cry and call friends and complain that you're going to die alone with no one but your landlord noticing, and only then because he's pissed your rent's late.

They protest.

They say, "No, we love you! We would notice if your were moldy and smelly and dead on the ground somewhere!"

But you know they're lying and secretly miming to their spouse that they need to change their phone number. Pronto.

The other things that hit you are, some days? Some days are really bad. Some days are lonely and when you move everything hurts in a place that's undefinable. It makes your eye's feel dry and paper thin and your throat feel tight like a door that's too swollen to open anymore. You move and it hurts and you want to lay down so it stops hurting, except then the hurt just knows where to find you faster and easier. But then you have a beer and you go out with friends and nothing hurts anymore, so what was it you were missing again?

Yeah.

Slap.

If we're going to break up with you telling me everything is pretty much my fault, and me naively and stupidly believing that, then fine. But could you get all the hurtful things out at once? Today I felt just fine until I realized you removed that cute picture of us from facebook.

What the hell? I was a part of your life for years and you just need to throw me out like I never existed? Like I spat on you or ran over your cat? Seriously, what did I ever do that was so horrible you need to continue to annihilate the memory of me? I know that what you did wasn't even that bad. I totally understand it in fact, especially since I long ago deleted all photos of you from my facebook. There's the key though, long ago. It's the waiting to do it that brings up the wound as fresh.

signed,

why oh why have I been so understanding through all of this?

I will not:

• not wear the shoes he bought me. They're cute and that's that.
• be sad when I see that dress hanging in the closet. The one I thought he'd like. I will forget the look of 'WHOA' on his face when he first saw it. This dress will cease being a memory and return to serving it's purpose. Clothing me.
• be mad at myself for being sad.
• pretend to be angry or bitter just to make other people happy.
• sleep in late just to avoid waking up. That kind of stuff is for defeatists, and I'm too awesome for that.
• forget to be thankful.

I lost my words. All the big shiny slippery words that would slide in and out of my head and mouth as easily as one hits the snooze button every morning and then proceeds to roll over and shove their head underneath the pillow.

The other night I woke up and reached for someone but my hand fell into empty space. I should have easily fallen back into a restless slumber but instead I lay there as if splashed with a bucket of water.

For a long time I wondered if I had traded my words in for some kind of stability. The traditional roles of domesticity. And I don't really know if I can answer that with any type of accuracy except to say this, I only missed who I used to be a very tiny bit. I stepped into those new bigger shoes knowing full well that I didn't understand the jargon or what exactly my role was, but okay with the learning curve. I was a traitor to my alter ego, but my alter ego didn't seem to mind.

I'm not the only blogger to have experienced this.

I can't blame it all on the status of relationship of course. There was this job and it was huge and it was draining and their was this crazy gestapo looking lady with bright red lipstick and a slash of a haircut who printed out reports every single week with a report of every site you had visited on the net and she liked to stalk back and forth in front of my cubicle with her clickety clackety heels on the carpet. She was scary and there was more than one morning when I wondered if that job would be the end of me. I went home and melted. I also learned something. People with fancy degrees who went to boarding schools with famous celebrities and own yachts can be just as not nice as all us have nots would lead you to believe.

Last year I had this big feeling inside that this was my year. MY YEAR. I don't know if I had any outlines of what I expected, I just knew it was coming and it was going to be fan fucking tabulous. Since then not much seems to have gone right. Disaster one hit and I said, okay, well surviving this is part of the fantastic part. Disaster two and I tried to ignore it. But this third one? It's not that I believe now that this is a bad year. Not at all. Just a tough one. I'm going to put one foot in front of the other and you know what's going to happen? It will be next year. No biggie.

I once met up with a blogger who told me, 'you know what you do when something doesn't go right? You scream real loud, 'FUCK THOSE GUYS!!', and it makes you feel better'.

I tried it the other day and it still totally works.

I may have lost my words but this can still be a chronicle of madness.