the pure and simple truth

I've been reading the Between Boyfriends Book, which is a collection of essays by a woman who writes about dating. (By "been reading", I mean I started it yesterday while I got a pedicure, and thats as far as I've gotten. Just to be honest.) 

Regardless of my reading habits, the author made a really brilliant point on page 4- right up in the beginning of this book. She had me. Here's the revelation: 

Men (some) put off breakups and approach them in idiotic ways because 'they don't want to make you cry'. Thing is "we're not crying because of them, we're crying because now we have to get naked in front of someone else. It's enough already." 

Can I get an Amen? 

As a recent breakup survivor, I feel qualified to talk about the art of surviving post-breakup. (If you require more credentials, I'll send you my Vita.) At first, there are tears. You cry because the relationship has ended, because an important chapter of your life has screeched to a halt, because you are faced with a big hole in your previously blissfully whole world.

But right after that, literally right after- an almost seamless transition you may not even notice, you cry because you have to do it ALL OVER AGAIN. That reality is possibly more daunting than getting over 'him'. 

And so the post-breakup hustle begins. You go to the gym more often (which could mean once a month, but you're still going). You start master cleansing diets (lemon juice, cayenne pepper, and syrup, anyone? Slim quick? Detox tea?). You counteract all the ice cream and wine with nothing but water during the day.  You cover yourself in lotion after every shower and self tanner after every exfoliation. (Yes, you exfoliate now. On a bi-weekly basis.) You try to become your pre-relationship self because she could be naked and proud. She was hot. 

Reality check.

Unfortunately, you aren't her. And the person you are now STILL has to get naked in front of someone else someday. And that, my friends, is the truth. 

The ugly truth. 

L 

just bend the pieces till they fit

Maybe a new take on an old lyric is in order. This seems the right place to discuss it. 

Dashboard Confessional's 'Ghost of a Good Thing' 

The lyric is as follows: 

"Just bend the pieces till they fit 

Like they were made for it 

But they weren't meant for this."

Usually, I think this is horribly sad song about a love that just doesn't fit anymore, that just doesn't work the way it should. You cannot jam a puzzle piece into a hole it isn't made for. (You can, but your puzzle won't look right, and you'll have a hole somewhere else. Just a bad idea, really.) 

Now, lets look with new eyes. To do this, I need to ignore the entire rest of the song. (Doable, cos I'm a on a mission.) Is it possible that maybe these are 3 lines about making the upside seem right? Make believe that the missing piece of the puzzle is happiness. You have a piece, it isn't happiness, but if you smash it into the hole, you can have happiness, you can fill that hole**! Kind of a "fake it till you feel it" approach to the living on the sunny side.

While I can see that I'm being a tiny TINY bit irrational, and maybe also a tiny bit illogical, rewriting the meanings of sad songs to make happy songs seems like a completely acceptable practice. I challenge everyone in the world to make sad songs happy- at least one a day- for the rest of the week. If I can do it in my unstable mental state, you sure as hell can as well! 

Get to it, minions. 

L 

(**So much thats what she said. I apologize.) 

without you

It has been a few days, and life has gone on. I've made some silly choices, had some fun with friends, and done a little sleeping. All in all, it hasn't been a bad weekend, but I have begun to notice just how big a part J plays in my life. 

He was my boyfriend, my roommate, my love, but he was also my best friend. It may not have seemed like it toward the end, but when I get home from a long day what I want most is to tell J about it. I want to hold hands while he watches his show and I fall asleep. I want to know that even though I made some dumb decisions, he is still going to be there to walk me through the aftermath. I miss that safety. 

True, I need to be strong for myself. He has said that he feels like he is shielding me from the world, and in a way that's true, I suppose, but I never asked him to. All I want him to do is shield me for a couple minutes a day while recuperate from the last 12 hours. I need that. Or, maybe I don't need it, but I don't know how to operate without it. Where do I hide? Where can I go to be shielded? Where can I turn to protect myself from.. well.. myself? 

J was a voice of reason, a guiding light when I lost my way. I know this seems vague, but thats really what he was to me. He was an amazing other half. 

And tonight, I just miss being whole. 

L 

my rainbow

in 24 hours it will have been a month. 

i've been through a myriad of emotion. i've cried, i've laughed, i've screamed, i've stared, i've hyperventilated, i've gone without sleep, and i've lived. 

in the past month i have made closer connections with the people i work with than i have in the past year i've known them. i have become more dedicated to my goals. i have invested more time in my students. i have thought more about my life than i have since i graduated high school. 

i have also cried more than i have since high school, felt sicker to my stomach than i have since high school, and been more vulnerable to the sound of a man's voice than i have since high school. 

in all reality, high school sucked, but this past month hasn't been all that bad. 

i have people to call when i can't handle my feelings by myself. i have a place to call home at the end of the day. i have a plan for the next year of my life... and i feel good about all of this. i'm not the glowing, happy, shiny version of me, but i'm not quite as tarnished and wrecked as i was 4 weeks ago. 

so, although some of this may feel like high school (or like dealing with the emotions  brought on by a 17-year-old's relationship), this is much better than high school. there is a light at the end of this tunnel. there is some bright side. i will not be alone forever. someday, i am sure, i'll get to be in love again. i'm not destined to be singing 'desperado' forever. 

i made it one month. here's to one more. :) 

L

 

don't call it a comeback

there is a list of "B" words that can brighten my mood. usually, it includes baseball and beer. (and usually, thats all it needs to include.) 

however, i have found an addition: britney. 

Britney Spears came to Sacramento this past weekend, and being the loyal listener that I am, I showed up Saturday night with bells on. She gave a lackluster performance. It was obvious from any seat in the arena that she was tired after about 3 songs and stopped giving it her all. But, she showed up, which is more than I can say for the last time I had tickets to see her (Onyx Hotel Tour, anyone?). Quite a few songs were off the Blackout album, one I own but don't frequently listen to. 

But, don't get me wrong. The concert was wonderful. The song list flowed, not too many slow songs, good entertainment on costume changes. One reason Brit gets to make the "B"-word list is because the concert was pretty fabulous, and I had an awesome time. 

A second reason Britney makes the cut: her life sucks. Or does it? I'm pretty sure she doesn't know the answer to that either. And that is #2. 

Famous at 17, in rehab at 25, back in sequins at 27. This girl has done it ALL, and she's done it all with helicopters overhead trying to photograph her at her most vulnerable moments. She's been through phases where she couldn't admit she needed help, and she's come to realize that she needs it and she lets- well, as much as a court order can be considered voluntary- her Dad help her. And now, with a little help from the important people, the legendary Miss Britney Spears has proven that she can take back her title as pop princess. She can screw up a nationally televised performance, lose custody of her kids, shave her head, and make a comeback. She can still own a chart, and she can still pull a massive audience. 

The point here is that if Miss Brit can do it, I certainly can, too. (Perhaps all but the selling albums and filling an arena...) But, I am not quite as crazy as she was at her worst, I'm not as volatile, I don't have children to worry about, and I don't have paparazzi chasing me, most of the time. :) 

So here is to Britney. She may not have always been the best role model, but I'll be damned if she isn't some kind of an example of something. Every woman in Sacramento was in that arena this weekend. Britney must be doing something right. And without going insane first, I'll be filling my own metaphorical arenas soon. 

no need for a comeback, i'll be here for years. 

and the world is gonna love it. 

L

just like a 5 year old

It seems I got cocky. I thought I was getting stronger, I thought I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. No way I could get to the other side of this tunnel that quickly! I cannot finish a thesis in a month, and I cannot let go of 4 years of love in 3 weeks. That is just how things go, and I was stupid to imagine otherwise. 

The pain is coming in waves. Sometimes the wave has to do with a song, sometimes a smell, sometimes silence, and sometimes he brings it. The e-mails make my heart skip a beat. I get nervous every time the phone plays "Sweet Pea". And for hours after I inevitably read that e-mail and answer that phone call, I have an ache in my stomach. An ache, a physical ache, threatening my ability to function aside from crying and contemplating what ifs, imaginary scenarios. (For the record, what ifs don't get any work done.) 

And just when I think I'm strong enough to get over the e-mails, the phone rings. And maybe I feel strong when the exchange is finished, but 5 minutes later the wave hits again and I get knocked back down. 

I cannot keep falling over. I want to stand strong. I want to be a vision of power. I want to talk to him and feel good about myself afterward. I want to make decisions without looking ahead to the consequences. I want to be me again. 

But it is just not going to happen if I can't remember the basics. Eat your veggies, brush your teeth before bed, drink lots of water, take your vitamins, don't run with scissors, look both ways before you cross the street, wear sunscreen,  tell the truth, don't be a tattle tale, respect your elders, don't talk to strangers, and, probably the most important: 

never turn your back on the ocean. 

L

fairy tales

Those who are unlucky in love have told me that fairy tales don't come true. In fact, those who seem to have enjoyed love at one point and have become more cynical have told me that fairy tales don't come true. I've been told to stop believing in a happy ending. No love story. 

No fun. 

Oddly enough, though my heart is still shattered into a million pieces, one song that is pulling me through the difficult mornings is (don't laugh...) Taylor Swift's 'Love Song'. [The song is about a girl and a boy and their rather fairy tale romance, including a love conquers all theme with a happy ending.] 

I completely understand why I've been told to give up on the fairy tale. It is imaginary. No prince is going to ride his white horse up to my office and carry me away as soon as I finish grading these quizzes. No talking squirrels or mice are going to help me out if I'm in a bad position. But who's to say that there will be no happy ending? 

Most love songs right now make sick. Literally sick. But this song is not nauseating, it is a reminder that I don't have to give in to this disenchantment! Why keep going if there is no chance at a happily ever after? Why bother ever trying again? What would be the point of anything? 

So today I am shouting from the rooftops- or out my 2nd floor office window- Do Not Give Up On Fairy Tales. They may not really come right in the nick of time, they may not be Disney-caliber, and they may never live up to your expectations, but does anything? Don't take out your cynicism on stories about happier people. They are imaginary people, and they are truly sorry if they've bummed you out. But let them be happy, and do your darnedest to share in their joy- not because you feel it too, but because you know that the other option is to be miserable. (And I've been miserable, so trust me on this. Believing in mice who can sew is a much better option.) 

If you still don't want to believe, then keep it to yourself. Let me be delusional. Let me pretend there is a happier place out there. 

I'll believe enough for the both of us. 

L