Hobbesian.

Today, I hate everything.  And I’m thinking of dieing my hair magenta.  But I won’t, because I never take chances.  Ever.

Fuck my life.

Lost in a Funky Cloud

No LSD, just a mental mess.

I love the sly, flirtatious looks with strangers in elevators without guilt.

I hate to sleep alone.

I love the sense of endless possibility, the freedom, the lack of belonging to others.

I miss having someone to talk to right before I go to bed.

I’m happy that my life goes back to being entirely my own, and that I won’t have to face hard decisions in five months.

I miss the promise of potential.

I hate myself for being so confused, and potentially enveloping someone else in my confusion. My numbness and depression shouldn’t be someone else’s to bear, nor should I let my loneliness overtake my reason.

I hate him for not being there for me – for being so selfish and self-interested and unconcerned about my needs.

Most of all, I hate myself for being so completely naive.

What doesn’t kill you really fucking hurts.

“Don’t go, Tom! You’re still my best friend!”
Summer, “(500) Days of Summer.”

Sometimes the ways you’ve changed just aren’t enough.

He wants me in his life still.  He told me things that made me feel better and worse.

But I don’t know if I can handle it.  It’s not fair.  I know life often isn’t, but isn’t part of trying to make the world better a belief that life should be, even though it’s not?

I needed to give it a second chance.  He was my first love.  I don’t fall so hard so terribly easily.  But he makes me weak in the knees.

If only that weakness didn’t transcend to other parts of my body, too.  Sometimes, he reminds me of how fallible I am – because of how much I am willing to put up with.  But I can’t.  I can’t do this to myself again.  At least, not with him.  He’s had a shot a few shots to make this work.  He’s still not willing to compromise, or prioritize my needs over his.  Ever.

We’re through. One thing is for certain: I will never attempt it again.  Ever. We’re really over.  Perhaps that’s the hardest thing to believe of all.  I know it’s for the best.

That didn’t stop it from breaking my heart, all over again.

And that didn’t stop me from spending most of the day at work, crying occasionally and feeling unable to move.

But I have wonderful friends.

L, who spent her lunchbreak listening to me sob at Starbuck’s over the phone, and mentally holding my hand.

Totally Platonic Guy Friend, who had crepes with me for lunch for an hour and a half, and let me cry and talk it out.

Indie IT Guy, who’s become a really good friend of mine, who went to Logan Tavern with me and treated me to delicious beer (yum, Allagash White) and their incredible Crab & Shrimp Mac & Cheese, spent the evening making me laugh and cheering me up.  Who asked me, at my door, if I wanted him to stay or go, and then spent the night talking and cuddling with me.

And, finally, the ever awesome Artemis, my friend at UVA Law, who is hosting me for the weekend, and finding me a ride down to Charlottesville to visit with her, her cats, and some old friends from high school.

I am so thankful to have such great people in my life.

Should

I should be at home.

I should be more inclined to eat vegetables.

I should go straight to the gym instead of procrastinating.

I should not come to work after having my heart broken, yet again, by the only one who ever was really able to.

I should be able to be happy when in love, and not paranoid.

I should be willing to trust people.

I should know how to grieve without overeating, or trying to have meaningless unsatisfying sex.

Should.

God damn it. I can’t do this again.

The Retail Industry is trying to destroy my self-esteem

Not that we haven’t known this for eons, but still.

Sunday night, I thought about thigh highs after watching the trailer for “Nine,” an upcoming movie musical loosely based on the life of Fellini.  I’m not particularly bisexual, but Penelope Cruz may be one of the most beautiful women alive, and there was a lot of lingerie in the trailer.

So, yesterday, I ran to catch the bus to Columbia Heights in an attempt to procure some thigh highs for myself.  I’ve always thought that they were beautiful and very sexy, and I have a corset to wear with them, and I’d like to use the garters.  Plus, they occupy a space in my sexual imagination that I would like to play with in real life, and not just in my head.

Considering that they’re the natural component of most expensive lingerie, one would think that they would be easy to find.

Alas, apparently that is not so.  Target had them, but you had to be in a fit weight to fit into them.  And given that the size of my thighs is rather rotund (and probably always will be), I knew better than to attempt to squeeze into them.  My Greek, pear-shaped body would just get angry with me.  This annoyed me on several levels – namely because they had every other type of stocking available for women of any size.  It wasn’t an issue of brand, either – they had a size chart on the back of them indicating that ones in my size were manufactured – they were just not available at Target.

Next, I stopped at Lane Bryant, home of all things beautiful for fuller-figured women, and carrier of beautiful corsets and lingerie.  Sadly, they don’t have them there, either.  Nor do they have them online (though I really do want this now – it would be an excellent color for me).

Full disclaimer:  It is not impossible to find them on the internet.  But I didn’t want to pay for shipping, and I like the instant gratification that in person shopping provides.  And damn it, I should be able to get that instant gratification, especially since the market demand for them is rather high.  It amazes me that the retail industry believes that larger women do not want to feel sexy.

Ugh.  To the internet, I go.

On an unrelated note, I got the “Your Blog is Fabulous” award from Lucy, who is one awesome woman herself.  Check her out!

Five Obsesssions

The lovely Lucy tagged me, so here I go!

 

1.  Sex.

Let’s be honest – anyone who knows me knows this.  I don’t mean this an a slutty way, either.  I just find it interesting on several levels – both academic and experiential.  Right now, it’s also interesting because I’m not really having any.  That needs to change soon. Silly Ex-Boyfriend and his (attractive) desire to wait to get tested (I approve of this), but his lack of impulse for action (it’s not THAT hard to plan).  I’m so going to torture him until he gives in and makes an appointment.  It will be better for me and for our relationship.

2. Medical Dramas.

The more melodramatic the better.  Seriously, “Grey’s Anatomy” was always about drama.  I LOVED “Scrubs” and would watch reruns non-stop when I had cable.  And now, I’m following “Mercy,” which, as the New York Times Review put it, is like “Grey’s Anatomy as conceived by Michael Moore.” In other words, absolutely amazing.

3.  Travel Plans.

Period.  I want to go everywhere, but especially places where people don’t speak English predominantly (it makes for more interesting stories).  I buy guidebooks and I daydream.  Now if only I had a way to finance it.  Occasionally, I also dream up different career ideas that would facilitate this and keep me financed (this is easier said than done).

4. Cupcake shop cupcakes.

Shameful, but true.  It’s a total yuppie indulgence, but they are culinary ecstasy.  The frosting makes me want to die and go to heaven.  Now if only I could eat them without feeling guilty or without propelling myself into diabetes.  But seriously?  Dulce de leche cupcakes are the most amazing food in this world.  Second only to the peanut butter cup and the death by chocolate one.  So damn good. I’m not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing that I don’t know how many calories are in them.

5. BBC’s “Day in Pictures.”

It’s always beautiful, educational and inspirational.

Atlas and the Sketch of a Family Portrait

The Ancient Greeks had a much more forgiving conception of the divine.  Their gods and goddesses fell in love, played practical jokes, and went into violent rampages – not that different from human beings themselves, except with superpowers.  Atlas, the Greek God, picked the wrong side in some war.  As punishment, he was supposed to stand at the edge of the earth and to hold up the heavens upon his shoulders, and prevent chaos from occurring as it could if the sky were to touch the earth.

Sometimes, as children, we are wired with a sense of guilt or responsibility beyond any that is caused by our natural surroundings.  I have two younger sisters.  One is one year younger, and the other is seven years younger.  As a child, my mother expected me to take care of my siblings, and to protect them, but not necessarily beyond the normal scope of parental expectation.   She just wanted me to help them in areas that were easier for me (making friends and not pissing people off).

But I was always my father’s daughter.  I felt a need to take care of everyone.  My father worked 60 hour work-weeks while in graduate school, attempting to provide for his (new) burgeoning family.  And as an eight year old, I attempted to take care of the people in my life in the ways that I knew how, as limited as my knowledge was.

When my parents fought, in lieu of hiding in my room or crying, like a normal child does, I attempted to broker the piece.  I would calmly explain to my father how he fucked up, or how my mother felt by what he said, and I would explain to my mother what my father actually meant, versus what she interpreted. My father was a lot more rational, but my father’s emotional intelligence was never the best.  They were also exact opposite personality types (ISTJ and ENFP) – not complementary, OPPOSITE.  Personality wise, I had more in common with my father growing up, in some ways – particularly in the desire to lead and take everyone around me, and my independent nature.

I wanted to be above needing things.  I wanted to be above flaws and pettiness, and shallowness.  Most of all, I wanted to be above needing other people.  I wanted to be the one everyone looked to, rather than the person that couldn’t take care of themselves or anything around them.  I wanted to solve the world’s problems and stand apart from it all.

It has taken me years to accept myself – to accept the fact that I am not perfect.  I have.  I work on my flaws, and I try to make myself a better person.  But I have accepted that it’s alright for me to have flaws.

I still have a hard time admitting to people that I need things.  It is REALLY hard for me to rely on other people.  I have this inherent distrust of people around me to believe that I am too needy, or too difficult to be worth it.

The terrible thing about this is that I have wonderful people in my life.  The people I have chosen to be a part of my life are amazing.  But it’s hard people to know what I need when I don’t tell them.

It’s hard for me to abandon my Atlas stance.

My grandfather is dying.

Our relationship is complicated.  We’re not super close.  Like so many from his generation, it was hard to know him as a person, and not just as my grandfather – something I’ve managed to do to at least a degree with all of my other grandparents.  I feel sad that I was never able to crack through to him, especially since I’m so gifted at doing this with so many individuals.  I don’t think he ever really approved me; I’m far from what his ideal woman is supposed to be, being a non-docile, argumentative, opinionated, fiercely intelligent woman. I believe he loves me nonetheless, though.  It’s just hard for family to accept one another as they are.

In many ways, this is no great tragedy.  He’s lived a long, full life.  He’s been in a lot of pain for years, which is what Parkinson’s does.

It’s hard for me to know what I need here.   I’ve never lost a grandparent.

All of them are the same age.  All of them are going to start dying.

I don’t know how to face death.  I only know how to live – and I only learned how to embrace that in the last few years. I don’t know what to say.  I’m not sure what I need.  I don’t know how to be there for my family when this happens.

And I have no idea how to let others be there for me.

Inner Demons

My inner demons are without a doubt, the hardest ones to face.

There are some secrets I can never reveal.  Even when they threaten to crush me to the bone.

It’s so hard for me to trust him, but I really am trying.

But I hope he realizes that there are certain things that I absolutely cannot forgive.

I doubt I really need to worry.  I don’t want to make accusations.  Not when he’s going through a period like this, that’s so stressful and difficult.  I want happiness – for him, for me, for us.  I’m just trying to crush my paranoia.

It’s just really difficult to do that without emotionally withdrawing in the process.

No, actually Obama’s going to make the world end by stabbing a unicorn (alternatively titled: The Ultimate Face-palm)

My much-loved best friend L is back in Utah at the moment, taking a break from being a goddess of the sky, and working a customer service job which has not (unfortunately) provided much respite.

Her biggest complaint?  The people she works with.

Now before you judge, you have to hear this conversation…she doesn’t blog, but someone needed to put this out there:

Ignorant Coworker 1:  “Obama’s going to get rid of freedom in America this year in December.”

L: “Where exactly did you hear this information?”

IC1: “It was on a youtube video.”

L: “Yes, because those are always so accurate.”

Ignorant Coworker 2: “No, she’s basically right, it’s just she got one detail wrong…it’s not THIS year, it’s in 2012 when this is happening, and he’s going to do stuff that’s going to make the world end.”

L: “Are you honestly saying that Obama is the anti-christ?”

IC2: “What’s that?”

L: “Do you seriously not know?  Really, you should go back and read your gospels more carefully; I find it rather sad that I know your religion better than you do when I don’t believe in it.”

L then decided to walk away. I mean, really, can you correct ignorance that ridiculous?  It’s kind of hard.

THEN, Ignorant Coworker 3 came up to her: “You really shouldn’t be so hard on them.  That was really rude of you.”

L: “Look, I just have a really hard time dealing with that much ignorance.  And before you say anything, I mean that in the strictest definition possible – it’s not that I think they’re necessarily stupid, they just literally DON’T KNOW.  I mean, I grew up in this area, and it depresses me that the average person here is part of that statistic of Americans who can’t identify where Washington, DC is.”

IC3: “I know where Washington, DC is.”

L: “Where’s that?”

IC3: “It’s in Maryland.”

And then, L, without flinching and without laughing simply said, “Yes. Yes it is.”

IC3 walked away with a look of triumph on her face.

I have to give it to L; I probably would’ve cracked and mocked her to her face.  But at least she got the region of the country correct?

Still, it makes you want to face-palm.

Sadly, these people are pretty AVERAGE for Utah.  L and I lived in a highly educated, more wealthy area, too.  Stories like this remind me why those pricey loans made my college experience worth it – you would have to leave this, too, right?

Honestly, when it’s that bad, there really is only so much you can do to change it.  Really, I could cry about this, but I choose to laugh.  To a large extent, people will be as ignorant as they want to be.  And while I find willful ignorance abhorrent, I realize that even when you throw the truth in people’s faces, some people will simply choose to ignore it.

We could cry about this – or we could just laugh our asses off.  People who laugh more live longer, right?

On Empathy

Last night, I had a dream.  It presented itself in a strange format, though unfortunately, I cannot recall it in vivid detail anymore.  I do, however, remember some of it.

It was about PTSD, and scuba diving through dangerous waters to find a haiku recipe.

The haiku recipe fear, at first glance, seemed to be my own internalization of the fear of domesticity, something that is a more reasonable fear to have now than it was a few months ago.  A good friend and I were discussing the search for meaning in work.  I’m afraid of not finding it.

But then, I remembered another part of our conversation from the night before.  That my friend is thinking of joining the Marines, who do things like scuba dive and jump out of planes, and are very much Those Who Do The Toughest Job.

And I realized I’m scared for him.  Scared by the prospect of him having to fight a war that begins without merit or purpose (think deep sea diving for a haiku recipe) and scared by the prospect of him coming back with PTSD, something that’s almost inevitable given the way that war is fought in the twenty-first century.

Don’t get me wrong – there’s a lot to be said for it.  It would help him with a lot things – his finances, his organizational skills, his self-confidence.  Not to mention the bad-ass effect, and the honorable nature of choosing to do work so others aren’t forced into it.  There are so many ways that I think it would be great for him – and that he would be great for them.

But the part of me that is scared of losing control of my mind  and of being forced to do something for reasons I can’t agree with – that part of me that realizes that a lot of what we have in common is our empathy for others, and our very analytical brains – that part of me worries for him a great deal.

So…

Dear, wonderful, completely platonic guy friend: If you go, please don’t die.  And if you have PTSD, your ass BETTER admit it and get treatment, or I will kill you.  OK?  Love, Vie.