killer bees are gonna get you

I spent yesterday afternoon at the Fall of America, Halloween costume shopping with A. We made mad dashes around the Fall looking for 30 small plastic snakes, a black dress, green hair dye and a tiara. If you’ve ever been to the Fall, you know that a few mad dashes around it will suck the life force out of you -or- just make you tired and cranky. Add in the billion people and their offspring dressed up for the season and you have a recipe for making haiku_girl something something.

Our first stop was the food court. DUH, we’re GIRLS. On the way to lukewarm pizza Utopia, I walked past a boy who was so absolutely beautiful my heart stopped for a second. Seriously. Our eyes met. I blushed. He crossed his legs to the right, kicking one of his many Banana Republic shopping bags over. Apparently, my GAYDAR was on a momentary hiatus. Maybe I should have given him my number anyway. He could’ve joined the Hot Gay Boy Army of One (well, then Two) who freely and frequently tell me my ass looks good in these jeans.

In route from the small plastic snake store to the tiara shoppe, I think I heard the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. The culprit: a woman pushing a stroller and chatting with her friend. We rounded a corner and she said, and I quote, “OH, that smell is CINNABON, it’s cinnamon roll smell!” She said this in a surprised manner.

Has she never been in a MALL before?

Has she never smelled a CINNAMON ROLL before?

There are a few smells in this world that are undeniably recognizable. Poop, Thanksgiving and Cinnabon. Has this woman been living under a rock? The sheer amount of cinnamon roll scent that this place pumps out in an hour is mind-numbing. Yet, this woman was surprised by her discovery. WOW, that’s cinnamon roll smell!?! Go figure.

The afternoon left me thinking a little too much about the event that is Halloween. Specifically, Halloween for grown-ups. Along with the many costumed tots at the Fall, were the token handful of childless, costumed adults. Please keep in mind that this was Saturday afternoon, people. A wee bit creepy. We saw a particularly bad batch, a trio, of poorly costumed grown-ups. The worst of the three was a woman dressed up as a bee. A bee that would so kick your ass if you looked at her boyfriend the wrong way at the 3.2 bar. Her potentially festive yellow and black stripes were smudged on like war paint. She had little fairy wings attached to her been washed with the darks a few too many times yellow sweatshirt. She didn’t seem to be having a very good time, unless her angry expression was part of the outfit. A and I came up with the idea that she might be dressed as a killer bee – hence the war paint and the sour puss – but we weren’t so sure. Didn’t seem the type. Missing a machete or something. Some blood maybe. Something.

I shouldn’t make fun. AWWW, ok, maybe just a little.

If I were smart, the afternoon shoulda ended my DAY. I shoulda just come home, put on my jammies and went straight to bed. But nooooo, M came over and we got stinkin’ drunk. Drowning our sorrows, we said. Finding the answers to our problems at the bottom of a bottle, we said. Working our way to killer hangovers, we did. OH, it was fun for about 45 minutes, then the initial tingle gave way to bad judgment and more booze. No good! It’s almost 24 hours later and I’m still not feeling so hot. M isn’t either. Double no good! We’re idiots.

Tomorrow is Monday. Back to the grind. Ha ha. Get it? Coffee shop… grind… yeah.

lists. everyone's doing it.

Here are the top ten things you should all know about me, in no order of course, because that would be too hard:

10. I believe that the spirit of my dead grandmother lives in my Magic 8-Ball.
9. I like to tap dance. What’s worse, I think I’m quite good at it.
8. I think the Arby’s oven mitt is kinda funny.
7. I am a vegetarian leather wearing walking contradiction.
6. I wish the world was safer for squirrels.
5. There is a mammoth laundry pile in my basement that I’ve had conversations with on many occasions. No worries, it comes in peace.
4. I’ve never been to an IHOP, but BOY, do I wanna.
3. The cutest thing that’s ever been said to me: that I reminded M’s grandma of the little girl in Monster’s Inc.
2. I think I could live on donuts and multivitamins.
1. I have a soft spot in my heart for cheap ass, white trash, chilled, frooty red wine. Anyone wanna split a bottle or two...enty?

Your turn.

it rolls down stairs, alone or in pairs

When we moved into our house about a year ago, the previous owner, a persnickety friend of ours, left us a little house warming present: a case of Crackling Hearth Loggs. Never having had a fireplace before, I was kinda unsure what to do with them. Were they for building forts? Were they really an unassembled coffee table from IKEA? Did they float? Could I use them as weighty log shaped throw pillows? Could I slice ‘em and serve them with mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy?

Holding out one curiously, I asked M what they were. He replied: They’re firewood for people like Alfred. Alfred = yuppie. Me = got it.

After using up the case, we kinda started making fun of them. We immediately switched to real wood and for the first time realized that fires could be both warm and nice smelling. Who knew?! But this autumn, Logg has made a come back.

Fall in Minnesota is all about being fucking COLD. Once the splendor of the season wears off (about a week) it changes to a season of freezing rain, gusty winds and no sun ever. Which is why it’s so odd that there is no firewood to be had in a five mile radius of the house.

You know what there is to be had at the grocery store just up the street though?? Yup, you guessed it: Logg.

I have come to love Logg. My new favorite thing is to curl up on the couch with M, hold hands, drink trailer trash wine and make fun of Logg.

Logg is good for the one liners! Here are the things we tease Logg about:

To ignite Logg, you start it’s package on fire. The package is where all the directions are! Not only directions for how to start Logg (i.e. ignite package) but for the care and maintenance of Logg as you watch it burn. Important things such as “Do not poke Logg,” “Do not look at Logg in an aggressive manner,” and “Do not feed Logg people food.”

Logg comes in Color Change Logg and Regular Logg. Why even make Regular Logg anymore? Why would anyone pick Regular Logg over Fucking Awesome Color Change Logg? Plain Ol’ Fire Color Logg vs. Uber Cool Logg With Color Changing Fire Crystals… no contest! Yet they keep making Regular Logg. Go figure.

You are to only burn one Logg at a time. OH, THE TEMPTATION. Each time I pick up some Logg at the grocery store, I always pick up two. I only ever burn one though, apparently, I'm a chicken. I wish the flammable package would go into more detail as to why one Logg equals three hours of fun for the whole family and two Loggs equal burning inferno, but it does not. Still I toy with the idea and swear as each individual Logg burns down to just glowing embers, that next time, I’m putting in two.

Logg claims to be firewood yet it does not smell or cast off any heat. M and I think Logg is really torn up and compressed Dr. Phil books. That makes more sense.

Logg is more than just fun to look at it, it’s fun to say as well! Logg! Logg! Logg! It’s especially fun after a bottle of cheap wine! Try it some time! You’ll see!

To recap: Logg = Awesome! Logg With Color Changing Fire Crystals = SUPER Awesome! Real Firewood = smelly and hot.

Now go get your very own Logg and if you don’t have a fireplace, just make sure to burn it in your bath tub.

Enjoy!!!

with lots of frosting, too

Excuse me, but could you please scoot that soap box over my way? Thanks.

A-hem.

Trust. What the fuck?

I’m a REALLY trusting person. I call it a character trait. Other’s call it a character flaw. Toe-mato, toe-mah-toe. Fuck you.

I would also claim to be very trustworthy. Ironic, considering that I am involved in a number of really big lies as I type this. Three to be exact. In two of the lies, I have no one to lie to, but am the one lied about. The wanna-be lawyer in me wants to jump to my defense and make some kind of argument about how my responsibility in these situations is negligent since I have no allegiance to the parties being lied to, blah blah blah. But I can’t make that argument. Mainly because it’s a fucking weak argument. I have no excuses. I shouldn’t be doing these things. I suck. I also have no plans to stop doing these things either. Further, I have no plans of ever telling the one who is being lied to about the things I’m doing. See - I really do suck!

The third lie is a lie I’m keeping. I haven’t been asked about it directly. I haven’t even been asked about it indirectly, but I am NOT saying something that might be of interest to someone important to me. AH-HA! Let all who read this and know me suffer in the cruel grasp of paranoia!

Now that my confession is out there, I am free to say this: WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING TO EACH OTHER?!?

Seriously.

All these lies are hurtful to the people we love. LOVE. People we would donate kidneys to. People we would bust outta jail. People we would organize search parties to find if they ever went missing. And we lie to them? What the fuck?

How do we sleep at night? I know! We sleep at night because we have convinced ourselves that these lies are better than the truth. We are protecting feelings! We are keeping the peace! We are noble in carrying this burden around by ourselves!

We are wrong!

That’s all total and utter crap to make us feel better. We want our cake and to eat it, too. And we want ice ceam on the side as well. And a clean fork. And maybe some more ice cream. Especially if it’s chocolate. And some milk. Skim. Ice cold. In a goblet. Is there any more cake left?

It’s all self preservation bullshit. We are trading the very foundation that our relationships are built on for some seriously silly shit. We do it because we think we can get away with it. It’s a calculated risk. If it works, we get what’s behind door number one AND doors two and three.

What could be better than that?

I don’t know for sure, because like I said earlier, I suck and am involved in three big lies right now – but I think what might be better than walking away with the new car, the donkey and the cutlery set is NOT lying. Maybe instead of lying or doing things we’d want to lie about, we could be honest with our feelings and talk to these people. Remember… we love them. We’d drop the phone and rush to the hospital if we ever got news they were hurt. We’d go to Walgreen’s at 3am in a blizzard to get them cold medicine or Puffs with lotion. We’d trade seats with them on an airplane if they wanted to look out the window.

But like I said, I don’t know for sure.

Yup.

Well.

Back to my cake and goblet of ice cold skim milk!

my favorite haiku

polka dotted lawn
let's pick a dandelion
to keep by the sink

down Tim, down!

Dinner last night was like Meet The Press. It’s nice that no one wants me to leave. And even nicer that one by one they seem to be coming around to the idea. Apparently, I’m pretty good at pulling shit out of my ass. My confusion on the matter comes and goes. Their confusion on the matter was laid to rest, New Orleans style, over loud music, fried food and much alcohol.

The Canadian puts it best: I’m trying to find a way to stop being unhappy.

Hence the move. Athens, Georgia. Peaches, peanuts and rock stars. Woo-hoo!

I have a little thing for the south. A crush of sorts. Southern accents make my knees weak. I love how green and warm it is. How the summer air is like breathing underwater. I love the kitsch of it all, too. Waffle houses, absurd metaphors, sweet tea. I want to take a million pictures. I want to come back one day with a slight twang in my speech and the relaxed glow of a southern bell dressed down in blue jeans and a rock n roll t-shirt.

One of my favorite quotes is this: Sometimes you just have to take the leap, and build your wings on the way down.

Here I go!

It’s been like a roller coaster with M again this week. Fun! The ups were way up. The lows, a little easier somehow.

The best up was a rousing game of late night truth or dare. We were both tipsy on beer drinks, laying in bed, holding hands. Talking. We were asking each other questions about things we’ve done, things we’d like to do, our favorite things about each other. Mostly naughty. Mostly x-rated. Lots of giggling and coy whispers. Daring each other for kisses and more. The anticipation was wonderfully excruciating. It was all butterflies and tingles once we gave in to it. Ended the night drifting in and out of sleep, sweaty, still holding hands.

You know how in movies, they’ll have the film montage of all the happy moments. Like in Annie Hall. The lobster incident, her nutty outfits, the snappy one-liners. All the good times, boiled down to a mutual laugh or a certain look or a knowing smile. Carefully crafted fifteen second snippets to tug at your heart strings and make you root for love over circumstance. Yeah. You know the ones. Our little game of truth or dare woulda made it into our montage. It was that nice.

The low. A tantrum. I AM A TWO YEAR OLD. I was mad, I refused to budge from his truck. We sat there in near silence for over half an hour. Haven’t talked since. We work together tomorrow. I assume the first I’ll see of him will be when he walks past the front store windows. His grandpa’s jean jacket on, backpack over his shoulder. Looking straight ahead, probably nervous to see me. Just like I’ll be nervous to see him. Dunno if we’ll be friends by the end of the day. Dunno if we’ll be anything by the end of the day. All I know is that I’ll see him walk past the front windows tomorrow and my heart will race.

My mom started speaking to me again today. Well… speaking might be too kind a term. It was more like yelling. But it’s better than nothing. So that’s cool.

I’m drinking lots of tea today. My stomach is queasy. I have no appetite. Stress, most likely. Bad cheese puff, less likely.

Here is the only tea that I like hot: Good Earth Original.

Here is why that’s surprising to all who know me: I’m not such a big fan of the cinnamon.

I hung out with A this afternoon. Another convert to the Athens cause! Yee-haw!

I think I am having a moment of sanity! OH, no worries, it will be fleeting. Here is what I can see right this second: I need space, too. For as stubborn as M is with wanting time to sort this out, I am as stubborn in not wanting it. I push, he pushes back. Here is the interesting thing though – my pushing doesn’t do anything to further what I want. Yet I do it anyway. I don’t want him back unless he is ready to come back. I need to trust that he’s had time to sort himself out and that if he comes to the conclusion that he wants to be with me that it’s real and honest and backed by a big commitment on his part to do his best. The only way I’ll ever believe that is if he has the time and space he says he needs. I know that he loves me. I know that we have something special and unique between us. I just need to put that in my pocket and go.

Building

my

wings

on

the

way

down.

OH YES, soup for me

I made soup.

This may not sound like a big deal. But it is. It marks only the 3rd time in over 5 months that I have chopped anything. My diet, if you can call it that, has consisted of cheese puffs, take out and Newcastle. It’s a medical miracle that I don’t have scurvy.

Search as I would, I couldn’t find a soup recipe calling only for marshmallows, ketchup and lentils. Apparently, the internet has it’s flaws.

M’s sister has no flaws though and she was kind enough to give me her super world famous fantastico recipe for wild rice soup. Perfect for autumn. Perfect for crackers. Perfect for eating while watching Letterman.

I needed ingredients. Lund’s has ingredients. It was a date.

The grocery store was really bright. And there were all these people there buying things. Pushing around carts. Squeezing fruit. They kept talking to each other and looking at these slips of paper they all seemed to be holding. I was carrying around a little green shopping basket. Always kinda makes me feel like Dorothy sans the dog and the cool shoes. $24.81 later and I had a buncha stuff that when combined in the right order would yield soup! SOUP! Cool.

Got home. Chopped things. Boiled things. Stirred things. Added secret magic herbs and spices. Stirred some more. Simmered. Chanted. Cast a spell on. Added some cream. Taste tested. Added some pepper. And VOILA, soup! I am proud. It is delicious. The house smells like someone actually lives here for once.

Here is the recipe if you dare to try this at home:

L’s Souper Douper Wild Rice Soup Extraordinaire!
3 T butter
3 stalks celery, chopped
3 carrots, chopped
1 good sized onion, yup, you guessed it, chopped
1 t of garlic
1 can of corn
4 ½ T flour
½ t pepper
½ t poultry seasoning
1 bay leaf
2 ½ cups cooked wild rice
1 ½ cups water
2 cans of vegetable broth
1 spell
1 ½ cups of half and half
½ cup parsley, chopped
½ cup slivered almonds

Melt the butter in a really big pan. Add the celery, carrots, garlic and onion. Sautee until tender. Add corn, pepper and poultry seasoning. Cook a little bit more. Add the flour one T at a time. This will turn it into a thick paste kind of mess. DO NOT PANIC. That’s what it’s supposed to do. Add water and vegetable broth. Toss in bay leaf, preferably over your right shoulder. Add cooked wild rice. Cast your spell. Add parsley. Stir. Simmer until you can’t wait any longer. Turn off the heat. Let it sit for about 5 minutes and then add the half and half. Stir. Taste test. Add more of what you like. Taste again. Top with almonds. Feel the soup happiness wash over you. Call your friends over. Receive their many compliments with a humble smile. Pat yourself on the back for a soup well made.

i'm fixin' to wax on, wax off

I am two weeks away from hoop skirts and parasols.

My plan to get out of dodge has taken a southern turn. House. Maybe a newspaper job. Bike riding weather all year round. It sounds pretty nice. Good scenery nice. Change of pace nice. And the best part, my would-be roommate doesn’t seem the type to have heads in his freezer. So it’s all good.

My mother, however, isn’t speaking to me.

Here is what I think of that: she’ll get over it. Right? Really. I mean, she will, right?

M is back from Heaveland! He almost got punched today by a shifty quick change artist! He got hollered at by a guy wanting a phone book! I told him I was moving to Georgia with a stranger! WELCOME HOME!

The dead squirrel that has been the object of a mild obsession of mine is missing. Missing in inaction. I assume some lucky dog came upon him and is now burring him in their back yard. I was really hoping to follow his decomposing process all the way through to dirt, but no such luck. Last I saw him, he was pretty much like furry jerky.

I am gearing up for what promises to be a very tumultuous couple of weeks. I have stock piled family-sized boxes of Puffs with lotion. I have switched to tear-proof mascara. I have enough sleeping pills and cheese puffs to make it through an entire weekend without leaving the house. I have stashed away enough beer money to last me two weeks, three if I can hit at least part of happy hour each time. In the words of our verbally challenged el presidenté, bring it on.

Athens, Georgia day dream #345: Me and Pete Buck sitting on a porch swing and drinking mint juleps.

Here is how A asked me to hang out this weekend: Do you have planimals on Friday or Sunday Night?

The Canadian asked me if I was secretly hoping M would come fetch me from Athens, Georgia. I told him no. I was openly hoping to be fetched from Athens, Georgia. I guess that makes some kind of difference. I don’t fashion M a fetcher. He’s too laid back for that. While in the kitchen, in between making out and yelling at each other, I asked him if he had ever fetched anyone. He proceeded to list off all his crazy ex-girlfriends, each followed by a resounding “No.” I asked, “Never, not even when you liked them did you go fetch them when they stormed out of a room?” He replied, “If I did, it was only to argue some more.”

No good!!



Here is where I get all Karate Kid. We had fetching lessons today! I left. M came and got me. I said, “See, that wasn’t so hard. We’ll keep doing this every day and each day I’ll be a little farther away until I’m in Georgia.”

Here is what I know: one day soon, I’ll tell him I don’t want him to fetch me.

Here is the biggest surprise of all: I’ll mean it.

Here is my biggest worry about this journal entry: fetching has become some kind of kinky code word for some kind of kinky sexual act and suddenly my weblog is gonna be A LOT more popular.

Tomorrow is supposed to be the day we closed the deal on the store, instead it’s the day I sign an extension on closing the deal on the store. I guess that’s better than nothing. Wish me luck all the same.

suede vests with tassels are cool

Another rousing game of Grover’s Near and Far as it relates to matters of the heart… well, MY heart anyway. Near. Far. Near. Far. Oh? You want to see near again? I, Grover, will run up and show you near! Now far? OK. I’ll show you far, I will run way back here. Near again? OH BOY. GROVER TIRED. Pant. Pant.

Here is what I’m having trouble remembering: did Grover have his cape on for that demonstration?

Here is what I think of hot apple cider: YUM!

Yesterday afternoon was spent watching M try on ill fitting sweaters, red suede vests with tassels and the occasional Christmas plaid blazer with gold buttons. M and his sneaky siblings are on their way to pulling off a holiday caper! While in The Mistake On The Lake this weekend, they are making what is sure to become a historic trip to the local Wal-Mart for some holiday photos as gifts for their parents this Christmas. The caper part: they are dressing up like uber-nerds in holiday flair with greased down hair and creepy smiles. We struck out at the thrift stores and at the mall and as the time clock ticked down, the responsibility of dressing M rested on me, and me alone. You can’t imagine the pressure!

THE CRUSHING PRESSURE!!

I came through though. It’s glorious! Imagine this: pine green polyester pants circa 1976, a bright green John Deer button up with bright yellow stitching and an embroidered logo on the collar, and the topper, I made him a t-shirt that has a big red felt bow hot glued to the front so he looks like a little present. OH and there are red and white wrist bands and a matching headband to finish it off too. AWWWW. It’s fucking perfect and he loves it. Hooray for M! Hooray for me! Hooray for Ragstock! And hooray for silly ideas that involve felt and hot glue!

My reaction to seeing M in his uber-nerd Christmas photo outfit: SUPER FANTASTICO!

Other names for Cleveland that are funny: Heaveland and The Armpit Of The United States.

You wanna hear something HORRIBLE? I had a fucking panic attack! Two Thursday nights ago. Icky! Super icky!! Super duper icky!!!

Here was my first thought upon commencement of the panic attack: OH MY GOD, I’VE TURNED INTO A GIRL WHO HAS PANIC ATTACKS.

I am not happy about it. I use to be all low maintenance and mellow. I use to be able to roll with the punches and not sweat the small stuff and any other laid back metaphor you’d care to insert here. USE TO BE. Now, I have panic attacks. E-gads. What’s next? A hysterical pregnancy? I’ll faint at the supermarket? I need to start using more hair spray? Lord help me.

This might help! I made a magic wand with the 4 year old wanna-be superhero I baby-sit for. It is a stick with colored paper stars strung on ribbon and tied to one end, the supposed magic end, obviously. So far, it hasn’t worked. But I’ll keep trying.

I bought a cool t-shirt yesterday. It was a bit of a splurge. Here is what it says: You say tomato… I say fuck you. I have it on, under a cowgirl shirt with snazzy snaps and stitched up western pockets. My new favorite outfit. And no. You can’t see the fuck you part, but I like knowing it’s there. Tee hee.

It’s gonna be weird not having M around for FOUR WHOLE DAYS! A little preview of my possible life in a few weeks, except instead of four days it’ll be for-fucking-ever. Not sure how I feel about that and when I say that it means I know exactly how I feel about it and I don’t like it one little bit.

I would ask my 8-ball what's going to happen, but it’s too scary. I WILL ask it if my golden fried tofu in delicious pink sauce will be here soon, though.

All signs point to YES.

180 degrees in 150 days

When my little ant farm was tipped upside down back in May, I bought this CD: Modest Mouse, Good News For People Who Love Bad News.

I came home, put it in my discman, pressed play and heard a song that would come to sum up my summer. I remember thinking that this was how M felt and I needed to find a way to make it how I felt. That was May. This is October, and I figured it out. I finally figured it out. Sold the store. Told M he had to decide what he wanted from me. Planning on leaving for a while. Looked for jobs in cities I've always wanted to live in. Learned that to do a professional style jazz hands, you need to slap your ass first to get the proper cup shape for your fingers or they'll be washed out by the stage lights. OH MAN, it's been a good week.

Here is the little song. Let's hear it for Isaac Brock. He's worth his weight in gold for the line about the moths alone. Brilliant boy.

World At Large

Ice-age heat wave, can't complain
If the world's at large, why should I remain?
Walked away to another plan.
Gonna find another place, maybe one I can stand
I move on to another day, to a whole new town with a whole new way

Went to the porch to have a thought
Got to the door again, I couldn't stop
You don't know where and you don't know when
But you still got your words and you got your friends
Walk along to another day

Work a little harder, work another way
Well uh-uh baby I ain't got no plan
We'll float on maybe would you understand?

The days get shorter and the nights get cold
I like the autumn but this place is getting old
I pack up my belongings and head for the coast
It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most

The days get longer and the nights smell green
I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave
I like songs about drifters-books about the same
They both seem to make me feel a little less insane

Walked off onto another spot
I still haven't got anywhere that I want
Did I want love? Did I need to know?
Why does it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow?

The moths beat themselves to death against the lights
Adding their breeze to the summer nights
Outside, water like air was grey
I didn't know what I had that day

Walk a little farther to another plan
You said that you did, but you didn't understand
I know that starting over is not what life's about
But my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth
My thoughts were so loud.

$100 to cry for a 50 minute hour

Therapy again today. This time with M.

M went to see Dr. J yesterday. Alone. The getting to know you, getting to know all about you appointment. She told him, after he surely expressed his desire for a break from us, that a break would be our first order of business. A break-up. A done for now. An over.

No surprise. I had imagined her, quite vividly, saying things like: “H, leave M alone for god’s sake.” or “H, are you BLIND?” or my personal favorite, “H, enough with the crying already.”

Forewarned from my imaginary Dr. J, I suggested that we have a Last Hurrah! on Wednesday. A final night of getting high, eating cheese puffs and laughing at silly things. It would be fun! It would be cute! It would be a little something to keep in our pockets as we navigated what came next! “OK!” he said. “Cool!” I said. It was a date.

Wednesday night. After band practice. Quick phone call. He’s on his way. I’m starving when he gets here. We opt for pizza and beer instead of pot and cheese puffs. Fine with me! We get to our little neighborhood hang out, M looks sad and distant and lost and afraid.

He confesses he doesn’t want the break. Declares that she isn’t the boss of him. Proclaims that we can still hang out. Exclaims that he doesn’t even want to GO today because he doesn’t want to hear that we can’t see each other anymore.

What? Huh?

In a complete role reversal, I say no, no. No and no. We have to do what she says, we are stuck in a rut. We can’t keep doing this over and over. I can’t keep doing this over and over.

But.

Inside, I puff up with a little hope. Maybe this break seems more real than our other attempts. Maybe he is afraid to lose me. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of our being apart. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

We go. In the car, on the way there, we laugh and make jokes about it. I say it’s like going to the airport for an unwanted goodbye. I call make-believe shot gun and declare that I want to the be one leaving on the imaginary journey to a far and distant land. He says OK. I sneak in a few hand squeezes. An arm pet. I tear up. He looks sullen.

“I’m ready for you two now.”

We go into her office, lit in afternoon sun, clean, cozy.

“M, what do you want to get out of this process.” Dr. J. says.

“A break.”

Did I miss something? I laugh, in a guffaw sort of way. I get looked at. He goes on. The session goes on. Conflict resolution tips. Rules for us to live by in the upcoming week. M says some things that hurt. I maybe say things that hurt M. At the end, I say the “but.” But he said this today, but he said that last night, but he didn’t even want to come today because of the break, but he didn’t want the break. But, but, but.

I start to cry. Hard for a second. Disappointed. Hurt. Confused. I hide my face behind my hands feeling forever gullible, forever blind, forever a hopeful 5 year old trapped in my 33 year old body.

“M! What?” Dr. J spins her chair toward him. “Is that true?”

He nods yes.

“Look what you are doing to her.” she points at me. I feel like I’m just over 2 feet tall, my feet dangling off the edge of the couch cushions, wearing a blue jean jumper with an apple embroidered on the pocket, my Mrs. Beasley doll by my side.

“It’s my can’t say no thing.” M says.

“H didn’t ask you anything. She didn’t ask you to hang out, didn’t ask you to not want the break. You initiated it. You said those things. She was the one saying no. That is crazy-making. You can’t say that kind of stuff to her anymore.”

She ends the session by dishing out our homework. We leave.

I am speechless. I am never speechless. Right away in the car, M says that he doesn’t want the break but needs it. Like a dentist appointment. Everything he says is exactly the kind of everything that he has just been forbidden to say. I look out the window the whole way home. When I do finally mutter something it’s cold and operational. A work detail. I get out, he drives away.

And here I am. Feeling slightly bigger, maybe 8 years old now. In bubblegum pink polyester pants and a flowerily blousy top that my grandma got me. I carry a red haired Barbie in my tiny little hand.

Hence, begins the break.

Now we are officially just uneasy co-workers. Small talk. Weird silences. Eagerly looking to the door for customers to break the quiet. We are to schedule appointments in neutral places to talk about store or money problems that arise using methods and tips that as of yesterday were foreign to us. I am to not bring up the past. He is to not say anything that I would want to hear. We are to work together as little as possible. We are to not be friends. We have therapy again next Thursday.

I will use this week. I will sleep finally. I will talk to the dozen or so ladybugs that have decided to call my house their home. I will hang out with a boy I think is cute. I will talk to and see my friends. I will finish my paint by number! I will find the perfect coolest blue tie for L to rivet to my Holly Hobby lunch box, turning it into the bestest purse ever! I will do lots of laundry. I will look this financial mess in the eye for the first time in a long time. I will scream along with Le Tigre and let it make me feel better. I will write in my journal. I will drink some beer! I will maybe see if some tea will help. I’ll stay playfully busy. I’ll start to fill the whole that is shaped just like M. I will do my best to cry as little as possible. I’ll hope someone sends me flowers. I’ll be nice to customers. I’ll look for a job. I’ll be ok.

i'd want to run my hands through sheets of suspended raindrops

I’m angry again and I really hate it.

I don’t want to have to process all this. I don’t want to come to the conclusions about M that I’m coming to. I don’t want to cast a cloud over memories that had only ever been clear sky. I don’t want to watch the boy I trusted wholly become the boy I can’t trust at all. I don’t want to look at M and not see good, not see kind, not see honest.

I want to yell “Stop!”

I want the world to slow its rotation. I want things to fly off tables and crash against the wall as the inertia that they are accustomed to dissipates. And stops. And all is calm. And clear. And I can breath again. I want to hear only quiet. And to know that everything was still for now. No more lies could be told. No more cold stares. No. More.

I would not yell “go” for quite some time.

I would lay in parks on wet grass that will never dry and look up at the unmoving sun. I would sleep for hours and hours to clear my head, to rest. I would drive to my home town and visit all the places I remember from my childhood. I would poke around in memories and circumstance and try to find some answers. Try to find myself in all the clutter.

I think only guilt could ever make me start the world up again. Seeing people, everywhere, in suspended animation with places to be and lives to lead would wear on me. Make me feel indulgent. I would realize that I was keeping them in places they might not want to be kept in. In hospitals and cemeteries and accident scenes.

I would wonder how many times I had been halted. Stuck, unknowingly, in the same spot for days or months or years. I’d wonder who else had the power to yell stop. Wonder if everyone did or if it was just me. Wonder if I was, if we all were, constantly bouncing back and forth between moving forward and not moving at all. Forward. Stopped. Forward. Stopped.

So one day, I’d yell go. Maybe I could hold out for so long that I’d be ok. I’d have come to terms with all this confusion and disappointment and could play out the final days of M and I with the emotional detachment and secret smile I long for.

But no.

That’s not how the world is. Not how it works. We are forever moving forward through the muck and the joy. Always toward some end. And I have to stay in the car for the whole ride. Seat belted in place. Waiting and wondering where I’m going and when I’ll get there.

We all have to do that.

Maybe there is peace in the commonality. I am not the only one who has had a broken heart. I am not the only one who has wondered who I am and why I’m here and where I’m going. We all have.

Maybe this commonality is the stopped world I’m looking for - this moving forward with everyone else, many in worse boats than mine, many with more reasons to yell stop. Lost children, dying parents, illnesses.

We’ve all had broken hearts. All felt powerless. All felt small. It’s part of this breathing thing. How quickly we forget that the person on the other side of the counter is more like us than different. Sharing this same time. This same space.

There is much to be thankful for, even when you wish that everything were different. I am still healthy. I have a good head on my shoulders. Good friends. A mom willing to listen to me whine most of the time. A far away boy who says cool stuff like this to me: you have a heart so big it’s hard to hear you speak over the thumpty thump. I have a nice place to live. I can still pull off pigtails at age 33. The world is full of people I don’t know yet and in that lot is someone I will think is crazy wonderful sexy cool and feel lucky for having run into.

Hmmmm, maybe this post will help me end my whining for a bit.

OH, WHO AM I KIDDING.

I’ll whine more, but this is still alright. I feel kinda good right now. Maybe a little hopeful again.

Nice.

old dog, new trick

http://www.latteier.com/calculator/

This is SUPER cool!

i'd like a kitten, please

I started therapy today. 4pm. Crazy rush hour traffic to get there. I was late. She was gracious. I have another appointment next week. The surprise: I actually felt hopeful on the drive home.

Here is the thing she said that made me like her right away: where did you get the idea that law school was supposed to be pleasant?

I have homework from her! An excuse to write about myself some more!! Yay! I am to make a list of all the things I want and of all the things I don’t like. The catch: they have to be the same length. Gulp!

I’ll take y’all along for my therapy ride if you wanna come! Hope on in! The Canadian already called shot gun.

Here goes.

Things I want: to feel comfortable with my new and evolving body, calm, to be cared for when I need it, to feel heard, to write and be read, to flirt, donuts, for it to be simple and good between M and me, to share Asian food with friends, to laugh at silly things, happy daydreams, to get high and drunk and have teenaged fun, to take good care of myself, to trust my kick ass intuition, sunny days, freedom, attention, music, art, poems, to write haiku, to go out and see bands or hang with friends, financial stability, a kitten, to still believe in things like life is fair and people are good, to feel more and more whole, to be trusted and to be able to trust, good friends, close family, carefree-ness, kindness, to have balance, to be alright no matter what,

Things I don’t like: accounting, money woes, the coffee shop, limbo, waking up early, being with M when it’s bad, the mess at the house, being talked about by my neighbors, lying, being lied to, sour cream, feeling invisible, being stuck, feeling trapped, worry, rage, not knowing what’s best for me all the time, still believing in things like life is fair and people are good, cloudy days, decisions that are between icky and ickier, going in circles, how close to the surface my emotions are lately, not being able to give M a break, M needing a break in the first place, gossip, mean girls, being in the dark, feeling lonely, not understanding things I want so badly to understand, having regrets, being pinched by bullies, jelly beans,

Surprise number two: the list I thought would be the harder to write, was the easier one. Go figure.