Lovin'...

I woke up on Monday trying to mentally prepare for a twelve hour day in class. Charlie and I shared coffee and breakfast, then I was off. Everything that was happening today was going to be fun and interesting, it was just going to be long.
I don’t know if it was the caffeine or what but I was losing my mind in the middle of everything. Mel was showing me how to do a particular haircut and I was concentrating so hard I thought I might explode. I’m trying to absorb her every word, to do this as perfectly as possible while paying attention to not making the mistakes she tells me are common. When she’s done explaining, I’m on my own and am happy with what I did, but it still needs work.
Switching gears a couple of hours later, my male model cancels for men’s class and I go out to find another. When that doesn’t happen, I watch a demo on the haircut I’m working on, ask questions and try to again, absorb everything. I feel I’m going at a hundred miles an hour with no sign of slowing down. It’s like I’m afraid to because I’m running from something at the moment and work is giving me something else to focus on.
After men’s class we’re all heading to our Lincoln Park salon for a hairshow that some graduating assistants are putting on. I walk with my co-worker Alyx down North Ave in search of the bus. She asks how everything is going and I tell her how class is going well, I’m happy with Charlie but grief is sneaking up on me again and I don’t know how to talk about it or what to do with it.
“I keep having these random memories pop up outta no where.” I tell her. “They’re happening at the most inappropriate times and I don’t know what to do with them or where they’re coming from.”
“What sort of memories?” she asks.
“Hmm… like an image of Rob and me at dinner will pop up, or I’ll remember something he said, or an expression on his face I liked will come up. Sometimes images of his funeral will appear, I never know what it’ll be. It’s all these tiny little things. I don’t know what sparks them.”
“I think that’s normal I also think it’s because you still need him in some way or another.” she says without looking at me.
I nod, trying to wrap my mind around it. Of course I do. He left me here but in a way, I believe he’s still around. He’s the one that makes me get up in the morning when I don’t want to. He’s the one that moves my pen across the paper, that fuels my legs to make them run. He puts the smile on my face when I’d rather cry. He pushes me to take better care of myself, to say what’s in my head, to be decisive, and his former presence here and elsewhere has opened my heart to receive the love of another person.
Alyx and I are quiet after that and minutes later the bus is behind us. We get to Lincoln Park early and sit in the break room laughing with our other co-workers so hard my stomach hurt. I’m reminded again of how happy I am to be here not only at Art+Science but in Chicago as well.
The show the girls put on was fabulous and had me wondering how much time went into it and how they got everything to come together so perfectly. At the end of our training program, we’ll all be doing the same thing. For me, that’s too much to think about right now.
When everything is over Alyx and I head to a bar next door. Charlie is on his way to pick me up and Alyx’s boyfriend is also on his way. We’re there a few minutes when my phone beeps with a text from Charlie saying he’s out front. I hug her goodbye and race outside to jump in his car, so happy to see him I can barely form words. I just want to calm down.
“Thanks for coming to get me.” I smile at him.
“Of course.” he nods.
In my head I had gone back and forth between wanting to ask him to go out for drinks and just staying home. At this point I was fine either way. As I was about to ask he piped up and said “ I want a martini. Do you mind if we stop at the store?”
“Not at all. I was going to ask you if you wanted to get drinks tonight.” I smile.
We both admit that neither of us are in great moods and get to the store rather quickly.
“I was thinking about making some muffins for breakfast tomorrow.” he says as we’re wandering.
“That would be fabulous.”
We find the muffin mix, alcohol and a few other things before checking out and heading home.
Once settled in the kitchen he makes the martinis, carefully garnishing my sweet one with fruit and his “dirty” one with olives after turning off the light and lighting a candle. For the first time all day I sit back and exhale.
It doesn’t take long for martini number one to be consumed. I’m on the edge of wanting another and saying no because I’m interested in functioning tomorrow. When he asks I find myself saying yes though thinking I’m fine an will be fine.
As I float into comfortable drunkenness I talk his ear off. Wine appears on the table and is consumed by both of us. I watch him get up and put together the batter for the muffins and bake them. I have no concept of time, or what it is I’m saying at this point. When he sits down with me again, I look at his eyes and notice that everything around me is spinning. Oops. Too. Much. Alcohol. Why did I do this? It always sounds like a good idea at the time.
“Darlin’. The room is spinning.” I grin.
“Uh oh. Hang on.” he gets up and pours a glass of water. “Drink this.”
I do and he looks at my hands. “We need to get your lotion on.”
I went to the doctor for my dermatitis a few weeks ago. If it weren’t for Charlie applying the medicated cream to my busted skin I’d have no fingers left. I’m embarrassed to admit that sometimes, on some level or another I almost enjoy the pain in my hands because it gives me something else to focus on rather than deal with what’s in my head. I’d like to deal with my head but I don’t know how so until then, I’m going to let my hands crack and bleed and maybe eat a cookie or several until I can figure it out. Of course doing these things pulls me farther away from figuring it out but I’ll get tired of this game eventually…
I’m trying to breathe while watching Charlie’s warm hands spread the thin cream over my fingers. The room is still spinning. I hate this feeling. I drink more water while he works on the other hand.
“Ok. You’re all set. Lets get you to bed.” he says, screwing the top back on the cream.
I nod, carefully stand, walk into his room, and fall into bed.
The next morning I’m so deeply saddened I don’t want to move. My head doesn’t hurt but I’m moving slowly. This is why I don’t drink. There is always a chance that I’m going to be eaten up with grief the next morning. There is no pinpointing what it is or what it feels like but really deep sadness that I don’t know what to do with and can’t explain which eventually makes me angry.
Charlie makes coffee and breakfast. I don’t have to be at work until one. He’s on and off the computer, washing dishes etc…while I’m still immobile at the table. He’s talking and walks into the living room where I can’t hear him. I stand up and follow him as he adjusts the music that’s playing. He walks toward me, heading for the kitchen again and I wrap my arms around him and hug him. His arms wrap around me and pull me further into him. I breathe him in, listening to his heart beat and press my palms into his back. Neither of us say a word as we rub each other’s backs. My eyes fill up with tears and before I can stop them, they’re overflowing and I’m shaking.
“Hey.” Charlie’s quiet voice vibrates against my ear. “ Hey, what’s going on?” he asks gently.
I don’t know. I can’t speak, just keep crying. His hand finds the back of my head and rubs it while I hang on tighter to him.
“C’mere. Let me rub your back.” he says leading me to his room. I lay down on my stomach while he rubs the tightened muscles. My tears stop and start and stop again.
After a while he stops and tells me to run home, get ready for work and come back for lunch. “Kay.” I smile, get my things and go home where I stand under a scalding spray of water for an eternity before realizing that I need to get moving. I get dressed, put on make-up, get my work things in order and walk back to Charlie’s feeling somewhat human again.
Lunch is ready when I get there and he kisses me hello. We’re quiet when we sit down and I watch him for a minute trying to speak without crying again.
“I am…” I start, still struggling to get this out. “…the luckiest person on this planet to have you.”
He smiled and said, “I’m glad to have you too.”

April 1...

"What is that noise?" I think to myself as I'm being jolted out of sleep by what seems to be a phone. My phone. Ringing. Probably should pick it up. I can't move though and close my eyes again. Curiosity gets the best of me and I can't get back to sleep. I pick up the phone and see it's Rob's dad. I press the voicemail prompt and listen to the message. He's calling to say hello and asking how things are up here. "I'm not going to call you on the twentieth. That's your day and mine too. It's going to suck but we have to do it our own way." I continue listening until the end of the message and hang up. I sit up, put the phone back on the table and explode. Rage fills every inch of me when I suddenly see where I am, alone in my room in Chicago. It's like there's a teeny little part of me that doesn't believe Rob is gone. Then something happens that reminds me of it and it sends me into a fit that needs to be restrained by a straight jacket. Tears fell so hard and fast I couldn't see. It's April first. I can't help but to think what I was doing this time last year. It was a Tuesday, so I was probably at work, later talking on the phone to Rob until one of us fell asleep I assume. I'd be leaving for Chicago for interview number two with Art+Science two days later. He'd be gone two weeks after that.
I stand up and go to the kitchen, making my oatmeal like always. I have no interest in it, the tears starting again. Everything is quiet. I'm trying to keep still and not make too much noise. I eat without tasting anything, get dressed, put my laptop in it's bag and head to the coffee shop I like to go to when I don't want to be social. I set up in a room in the back of the place and try to write but that turns into mostly staring out the window, thinking, remembering, and crying.
My phone beeps next to me with a text message alert. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It's Charlie saying that after a shower he's ready to go whenever I am. I text him back, telling him where I am and say that I too need a shower. We're going out to Shaumberg to the mall up there. I finish typing a sentence and shut the computer down. I'm still operating slower than molasses while walking home and taking that much needed shower. Still crying, still feeling...I don't know. Confused maybe? How is it that I care so much for both Charlie and Rob all at the same time when Rob's not here anymore? How do I even convey that message?
I get dressed and text Charlie. Twenty minutes later he's at my door and off we go. I'm completely exhausted and surprisingly enough, haven't felt the effects of the super strong coffee I just consumed. I feel my brain is split in two at the moment. On one side, I'm walking down N. Highland to get bagels with Rob on a Sunday morning and on the other side I'm right here next to yet another incredible human listening to his sweet voice tell me about his work wondering how did I get here? I'm scared of falling for Charlie because where does that leave Rob? Is this even fair? I can't imagine what it's like to be on the receiving end of my grief.
We get to IKEA first. Charlie's circling the parking lot looking for a spot. It looks as if the economy hasn't affected this place at all. It's a Wednesday morning and packed. He pulls into a spot next to a black Honda Accord with a shiny South Carolina plate on the back. Upon seeing it, I exhale and get out of the car, almost feeling the effects of this morning melt away. It's like Rob's little reminder that he's still here just not like he was. It still doesn't make it any easier to understand.
Charlie and I wander the store, stopping every so often to investigate something. He takes my hand as we express our opinions on various pieces of furniture and room designs. Once we've seen all we wanted to see we head to the mall. We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering into and out of stores. I feel perfectly content waching his decision making process over various articles of clothing.
"I think I'm done." he tells me after buying shoes.
"Kay." I nod.
I run my fingers through his hair while he drives us back to his place. Once there I'm laying on my stomach across his bed watching him carefully remove the tags from the pants he just bought.
"I know there's a faster way of doing this." he says while snipping away at the tiny threads that bind the tags to the garment.
Yup. I think to myself. I usually rip them off. I smile though, and don't say anything.
"But I want to do it right." he carefully investigates the fabric.
I smile and think Rob would do the same. My eyes move from watching Charlie's fingers to his face. His eyes catch mine and he smiles before going back to the tags. I continue to watch him trying to contain the giggling that is trying to erupt out of me. He looks at me again, moves the pants to the side, along with the scissors and already cut tags, and kisses me. I wrap my arms around him, completely, totally, and utterly grateful for his presence.

Show...

I step out of the cab a few blocks from my house and race home. I couldn't sit at the traffic light any longer. I'm already late and anxious.
At home I fly down the hall and into my room where I throw my things down and jump under a hot spray of water, taking a shower that felt like thirty seconds.
After drying off, I glance at the clock. I still have forty five minutes before I have to be ready. I exhale for the first time all day. Work was a constant adrenaline rush ending late and having me nervous I would still be running late when Charlie arrived. I had looked forward to this all week. Before leaving on a business trip last week he asked if I'd be interested in going to dinner and a show on Saturday. "Of course!"
I met Charlie a couple of weeks ago at a coffee shop. I was writing in my journal and after refilling his coffee he stopped by my table and said, "Are you writing a book over there?"
His voice caught me by surprise. I looked up at him and smiled. "Somethin' like that." My what sparkly eyes you have I think to myself. Stop it. "It's just my journal."
"What happens when you fill it up?" he nods towards my hands resting on the thick journal.
"I buy a new one."
"Are you serious?" his eyebrows raise.
I nod as if this is the most normal thing in the world, suddenly wondering "doesn't everybody?"
"How long have you been doing that for?" he's firing questions at me fast than I can think and it reminds me of something I do when I like someone.
"About eight years."
"Eight years?! How many of those do you have?" he exclaims.
"Um.. I'm not sure really. Thirty? Forty?"
"You go back and read them?"
"Sometimes." I laugh.
He nods. "I'll let you get back to it."
I return to my writing trying not to giggle. A little while later he's back, after refilling his coffee again asking more questions. I notice he's been in front of a laptop the whole time he's been here.
"Whatcha doin' behind that computer screen?" I smile.
"Procrastinating mostly. Working a little."
I nod.
"Hey, do you mind if I join you?" he asks.
"Not at all."
He sets his coffee down and brings his computer over and closes it.
"I'm Charlie by the way."
...I'm standing inches from my mirror applying my 17th coat of mascara. When I'm satisfied I stand back and think "Lipstick. Where is it?" I go into my room and start looking for a purse to carry. "Umbrella. Hmm... Where did I last see it?"
This is how my brain operates before a date. It's a wonder anything gets done. "Earrings..."
Charlie called me three days after asking for my number at the coffee shop and asked me if I wanted to go to the aquarium with him on Sunday. I had to work so we agreed on dinner after I was finished.
He met me at the salon and we walked across the street to a quiet little sushi place. Dinner turned into drinks by a fireplace at one of my favorite bars. We entertained each other with stories about our life, family, school, and work. It was getting late and I had to be in class the next morning. He walked me home, stopping at my gate and carefully kissing me goodnight.
"I had fun tonight." he smiled at me.
"Me too. Thank you."
"I'll give you a call."
"Ok." I smiled and walked inside.
..."Hairspray. I walk into the bathroom again and spray my carefully styled hair until it no longer moves in pieces but as an entire unit. I'm back to looking for lipstick when I glance at my phone. I have fifteen minutes. I start rummaging a little faster through my make-up drawer.
After dinner with Charlie that Sunday he called a few days later and we decided to go to the aquarium on Thursday. We met at the coffee shop we originally met at and set out to watch the fishes.
While wandering around his hand slowly finds it's way into mine and I suddenly feel like I'm in high school again. The aquarium turns into lunch, which turns into a movie which turns into a brief trip to the suburbs. While driving back I felt we were on I-85 and would soon be under Spaghetti Junction but no, the image in front of us is wide open interstate, and the Chicago skyline. It sometimes doesn't feel real that I'm here. It's like I'm living someone else's life and eventually I'll wake up in my bed under Kat's roof, smile at Rob and and start the day.
"Will you cut my hair?" Charlie asks.
"Of course! I was going to ask you if I could."
"Really?"
"Yup. I miss cutting boy hair." I laugh.
"Does Sunday work for you? I have to fly to Colorado but we could do it before."
"Perfect."
..."found the umbrella, what about the shoes? High heels or low heels?"I pull out the sheer black tights I bought earlier in the week and carefully pulled them on, trying not to forget that I am stil not wearing lipstick. "Hmm... low heels."
Sunday arrives and I let Charlie in to my place. "Sorry about the mess. Kaci's moving out and we haven't been doing much."
He smiled and followed me to my room. I'm pulling out my cutting things and he's bent down looking at my picture on my bookshelf. Three are of Rob, three are of my travels and one is of my family and me on the day Patrick graduated from college. I can see Charlie looking back and forth from picture to picture trying to make a connection somehow.
"Was your brother in the military?"
"Nope. That's Rob..." I look at the picture he's looking at of Rob dressed in his Citadel uniform on the day he graduated. "...my deceased boyfriend." I wasn't hoping to have this discussion just yet but didn't want to remove the pictures before he came over either.
"Oh. I'm sorry." Charlie's eyes don't meet mine.
"Thank you."
I cut his hair, so happy to feel the blades of my shears move over his head. We don't talk much. He watches me in the mirror and I watch his hair take shape, stopping to smile at him every so often.
"So how do you feel about getting dressed up on Saturday and going out for dinner and a show downtown?" he asks.
"Are you serious? That would be amazing!"
"I haven't done that here yet."
"Me either." I smile.
I go to O'hare with him when I'm done with his hair. We say goodbye at security and I take the train home.
...I don't find the damn lipstick I was hoping to wear, so I settle for lipgloss and decide it's good enough. I pick up a bottle of lotion and apply it. It was Rob's favorite. I wore it on our first date and he didn't stop talking about it. I didn't wear anything else until after he died. I move the creamy substance over my arms and look over at the pictures of him on my bookshelf. I smile at the one of him in the car looking at me. For a brief moment I wish so hard that it was him I was going out with tonight. I remember racing home after work on Fridays and getting all fancy for him before he came over, anxiously awaiting his knock on my door so I could sink into him. I barely let him in before squeezing him and melting into his kisses. Guilt fills me up and I stop thinking about anything but getting dressed. I step into a black and magenta dress and zip it up the back. My phone beeps with a text message. I snatch it up and smile when I read a message from Charlie. "I'm at your door." I race down the hall passed Kaci.
"Well look at you." she says to my back.
I turn and grin at her, hand on the doorknob. "I'm so excited!" I fling the door open and run downstairs, opening the front door and exhaling.
"Hi!" I beam.
"Hey." Charlie smiles at me. "You look nice."
"So do you."
He's dressed in a suit, holding his phone. "You ready?"
"Almost. Come up. I need to get my coat."
Minutes later we're out the door, my arm looped through his.
"So I wanted to surprise you and pick you up from work. I went to Evanston thinking you were there, but you weren't and I was almost late getting back." he tells me.
"Seriously?!" I squeal at the sweetness of this gesture.
He nods.
"Thank you though. I appreciate the thought."
"I wouldn't make a good stalker apparantly." he smiles.
He hails us a cab and opens the door for me. A few minutes later we're downtown, pulling over to the curb. He gets out and offers his hand. I smile and take it, sliding out of the cab and onto the pavement underneath the glittering lights of the theater. We're going to see the Broadway musical "Chicago."
"Wow." My eyes are about to pop out of my head. He grins and we walk in.
Once seated we quietly chat about our week until the show starts. "This is my life!" I'm squealing to myself. "I'm really here, really doing this and it's so fun I can hardly breathe!"
The show is one of the best I've seen. We both talk about how this is what we thought our lives would be like once moving here. (he moved from Madison three years ago) I wonder how many people make a habit of going to the theater...
We have dinner at a cute Italian place around the corner. I'm telling him about Atlanta, Kat and how I met her.
"She's coming to Chicago in April!" I exclaim.
"When? Don't say the weekend of the eighteenth."
I laugh. "Yup, that's when she'll be here."
"Damn. I'm going to be in Wisconsin. I want to meet her."
"You'd like her. I'm trying to decide if I'm going to fly back with her. Um. Rob..died on April twentieth. I can't figure out if I want to be home then or not. I took the day off work. It's weird. I don't know how I'm going to feel...if I'll want to be in Atlanta, or in Chicago with friends or completely alone wandering around aimlessly..." I trail off trying to take in air. His hand reaches across the table and takes mine. I smile and look away.
"Don't do it." he says.
"Do what?" I almost snap. "Cry? I'm not. Why is everyone so afraid of a crying person? I can talk about him and not lose it. Sometimes it catches me off guard though, but I'm ok with that. I don't think a lot of people are though."
Charlie watches my face as if he's waiting for me to say something else. The subject begins to change until we realize we're the only two people in the restaurant and decide we should probably go.
It isn't until the next day that I find myself crying for no reason. I wonder if I'm going to cry after every date I have with someone. It's like something else is stirring itself up in me and it's only way out is through my tears but I can't put words to it. I enjoy the company of another person but find myself scared to give anything to them. I'm terrified of getting hurt, terrified of getting too far away from my feelings for Rob, terrified of my own tears, of seeming unstable.
Despite all these feelings, it still doesn't keep me from exploring this path I seem to be on at the moment...

Pause...

...life is coming at me faster than I can keep up with at the moment. It's been unbelievable but overwhelming at the same time. It's hindering my writing process currently. Everytime I go to write, I get introduced to another experience or another person that shows me something worth writing about and it all get's jumbled in my head. I'm trying to keep up, make sense of it, and eventually come up with something else to put here in all this space, but for the time being... I have to go and figure it all out.

February...

I knew something was wrong when I found myself on the train home from work wanting to scream at a homeless guy who was asking an uninterested audience for money for the billionth time. For a week now I could feel something bubbling under my skin but I couldn't quite figure it out. Whatever it was it was trying to escape me by unleashing a verbal attack on an unsuspecting victim.

It isn't until the next day, while writing in a coffee shop before work that I realize what I've been suppressing. It's February. I met Rob on the 10th, my parent's wedding anniversary. It was my dad's sister that set them up and also Rob and me. I loved telling that story when people asked how I met him. Never did I ever imagine that a year after I met him, I'd be sitting alone in a coffee shop 800 miles from home, trying to rebuild my life without him.

I don't want to feel hurt so that gets transformed into anger and it sits there until it builds and builds into something most unattractive and before I know it I want to scream at the slightest irritation.

It doesn't help that I haven't heard from Pete either. I've been through all this before though. People floating in and out of my life. Not that it hurts any less when it happens but this time it's combined with my insatiable wanting for Rob, making it harder to handle. I didn't want a new person, I wanted the one I had. I didn't want to give everything I had left to Pete at such an odd time in my life but still found myself doing it anyway, thinking I'd deal with it later.

I'm dealing with it alright...

February 10th came and went. I work at Lincoln Park, enjoyed my day, and ultimately felt nothing. I think my brain was tired from all it's raging it did the previous week.

On the 14th, after an insane day at Wicker Park I joined my friend Christine and a bunch of her friends at her (beautiful!) apartment for a pot luck dinner, wine, and good story telling. I had been looking forward to it all week.

The next day I was back at Christine's eating leftovers for lunch. While sitting on her couch the subject of Rob came up. I haven't shared much about him with many people since moving. Sometimes the floodgates open with certain people and random things pour out of me. This is one of those times...

She asked how his accident happened. I explained it as best I could although I'll probably never fully understand it. I include the most random details, like what the weather was life that day, what time I sent him the text message asking when could I expect him in Atlanta, and what time it was when my dad called.

Normally I stop there. For whatever reason, I continue, talking about the following day, driving with my cousin Shevis, and Rob's sisters, Kate and Laura to South Carolina to move him out. I tell her about walking in the door, about the dishes in the sink, his toothbrush on the counter, along with his shaving cream,and hair products. I told her about folding his clothes with Laura, about meeting his friends, about how packed the church was at his funeral, how months later while at church I asked the man who dealt with Rob's body what he looked like when we was brought in and how afterwards I sat motionless on my couch for an eternity staring at the wall until I picked up the phone and called a friend to explain what I had been told.

I don't really look Christine in the eye when I tell her all this. She's so easy to be with. She listens, holds my hand when I cry and maybe that's why it's so easy to open up to her. Lots of people have listened though but I find myself only sharing the most intimate details of my memories with a tiny handful of people. I don't know how my mind selects them, how they just seem to feel "safe" and others don't but I try not to question it or think too much about it.

I finally stop talking. I feel exhausted. Christine has to get some studying in. I leave and take my time walking to the bus, despite the chilly air. Fat snowflakes drift gently down from the sky and I wonder if more is to come and if it'll stick.

Once I'm home, the snow has stopped. I make dinner and feel a bit guilty for unloading like that on Christine. It's as if I've asked her to carry my rather heavy load because I can't seem to take another step. I'm afraid of stopping to rest because everything I'm scared of, all the hurt and uncomfortable feelings will paralyze me and I'll never be able to move again.

None of this is actually true and I know it. I've been putting one foot in front of the other for a while now. Some steps are just harder to take.

I put a movie in and half way through it for no reason I find myself crying. A song I love is playing. The chorus goes, "Come pick me up, take me out, fuck me up..." Maybe that's what I want and I'm not finding it. I want someone to take care of my crazy ass for a moment because it's so hard right now, or at least it feels hard and I need a break but don't know how to actually take a break so...I want someone to do it for me.

Impossible. Tomorrow will come, no matter what and I'll have to get up and face it whether I like it or not. By myself.

Security Blanket...

"Melissa, you hold on so tightly and you don't let go." the therapist said to my fifteen year old self, curling her fingers into tight fists. I remember looking back at her thinking she just opened a door that I didn't know existed and I'm walking through it, unsure of where to go. I do hang on too tightly. To everything, and no, I don't know how to let go.

Fast forward twelve years later and I'm still bumbling around trying to find the answer. I never asked her for it. I remember just nodding, feeling paralyzed.

I'm currently sitting on board a non-stop flight to Atlanta that left Chicago an hour ago. I stare out the window at the clouds beneath me and suddenly I'm filled with an intense desire to jump out and run all the way back to Chicago. What the hell am I doing on this plane? Chasing after something that doesn't exist anymore? Yup, that's it and I'm angry with myself for doing it.

The plane lands and I contemplate staying at Hartsfield and boarding the next flight out to Chicago. I talk myself out of it and take MARTA into the city. All I wanted was to wrap myself up in the sparkly security blanket I left behind when I moved.

Weeks before leaving for Chicago I stumbled upon the blanket and carried it everywhere with me. It eased my anxiety of moving, listened to all my confessions, kept me warm while I slept, and like a narcotic, it coated my brain with a wonderful illusion that everything was flawless and free of any sort of hurt or anger. It was this sort of safe place I found myself turning to every chance I got.

When it came time to move I had no room left for the blanket. I carefully placed it in a safe place, promising to be back as soon as I could and then I left.

I missed it terribly and upon returning I hoped to find it in the same condition as to when I left. Sure enough, it was and my worry dissipated leaving me feeling elated and calm once I left again. I went back again and again and everything was still the same until this time.

This time is different. Something must have happened along the way because when I went back for the blanket, it was merely a collection of string. There was nothing warm about it. I pick up the strings and lace them around my fingers, squeezing them, trying to get that warmth back but there's nothing. "No, no, no." I tell it. "Not yet. Don't go away. I'm not ready." Very slowly the strands begin to disintegrate in my hands.

Anger boils underneath the surface of my skin and I snatch a pair of scissors and begin to cut furiously away at the strings, slicing my skin in the process. I keep cutting until there is one left. I can't bring myself to sever this one despite the fact that it's threatening to slip away. I keep it around my fingers, fall asleep, carry it with me on the plane back to Chicago, waiting to wake up one day without it. In the meantime, I'm still struggling to find the answer to the question "how do I learn to let go?"

Catch up...

It's been an eternity since I've written because my computer has decided to go on an die. Very poor timing on it's part I must say. I've since discovered the public library but of course, it's busy and there's a time limit on the use of the computers. It's not always conducive to my meandering daydreaming that usually happens when I write.
That being said, I'm trying to figure out how to start. How do I sum up the past several weeks? It's part of the reason I've been dragging my feet on writing. So much has happened and I'm bursting at the seams to share it with you but figuring how to begin has been debilitating.
Moving here to Chicago is the best thing I could have done for myself. I'm thrilled beyond explanation to finally be living the life I've wanted for so long. I often wonder why it took an eternity to actually do it. I feel completely free here to be myself 100%, in my furry, heeled, impractical (but SO cute!) snow boots and a tank top underneath my heavy winter coat as the wind whips itself around me, threatening to take the skin off my face as I walk to work.
I couldn't ask for a better job. Assisting isn't necessarily my most favorite part of the hair industry but simply a stepping stone to the next phase in my career. I've been bouncing from Evanston to Wicker Park to Lincoln Park each week for about two months now. I am always surounded by respectful, talented, kind and helpful people. Not only have my co-workers been incredible, so have the clients.
After being a stylist for so long, it's tough going back to the bottom of the totem pole again. My hands bleed from getting dried out after being in so much water, I'm in a constant state of freaking out over obtaining models for class on Mondays when I don't know many people here, and keeping the likes and dislikes of the stylists and colorists of each location straight takes getting used to but I would not trade it for the world. I'm happy to do it because very slowly, I'm erasing my past experience as an assistant and all it's negativity and replacing it with something sparkly and uplifting.
Of course I wouldn't know what good was unless there were some unsavory moments thrown in the mix. I've gotten on the wrong bus one too many times. I've stood on a street corner looking both ways under a blast of wet, cold snow wondering where the hell I am, and I've been caught running to the train like an Olympian trying to win a gold medal only to watch the damn thing leave without me.
While work distracts me in the best way possible leaving no room for anything but the 17 things I have to do right that minute, grief still manages to find a way into my head. It reminds me that it's still here even though I moved and there is no escape. If anything it's tightened it's grip now that I'm free from my usual routine I had established in Atlanta. Everything is completely different now in Chicago. I don't just get in my car and go somewhere anymore. I map my day out according to where I'm going to be working that day and whatever gets done, gets done. Otherwise it'll have to wait.
Trains are still very novel to me. I enjoy the fact that I don't experience my psychotic road rage anymore and can sit and read or stare out the window until it's time to get off.
Walking everywhere has also been nice. Sometimes, it's a pain in the ass but there is something wonderful about replying on my own two feet to get me where I need to go.
The holidays were certainly different this year. I spent Thanksgiving in the suburbs of Chicago with one of my clients from Atlanta. On Christmas Eve, dad left me a voice mail that said all the flights to Atlanta the next day looked so bad it wouldn't be worth the effort to try and get home. I had just had an emotionally hellish week and his message was icing on that cake. I was reduced to tears as I trekked home from work in the frozen snow.
Kaci, one of my roommates was on vacation in Texas and Stacey, my other roommate had just missed her train to Michigan and was home when I walked through the door. Her sisters drove down to see her on Christmas morning and we hung out all day, went to dinner and to the movies, then to the bar that Stacey works at and had some drinks with her friends. It was the first Christmas Stacey and I had without our families. I was grateful for the company.
The week before and the week after Christmas, despite all the fun that was had were two of the darkest emotional weeks I've had since Rob died. I did everything I could think of to snap out of it. I made some sparklies, tried to write, started another creative outlet, talked on the phone, ate too much, drank too much, went out and danced, stayed up all night, slept all day, allowed myself time to cry when needed, aimlessly wandered the streets of downtown and tried desperately to get a hold of myself.
By New Years I was barely keeping it together. Kaci invited some friends over and shortly after exclaiming "Happy New Year!" I was asleep. The next morning we had more people over, made brunch and watched the first season of Friday Night Lights. Slowly people left until it was just me and Kaci on the couch, glued to the television. I was thinking about how happy I was for this moment of calm, fabulousness but at the same time, was on the verge of tears. I glanced over at herin between episodes and said, "How's you do it? How'd you move here?"
"It wasn't easy." she said and told me her story and all the ups and downs she experienced. "Why do you ask?"
"I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm truly happy here. I have everything I could ever want but underneath all the good stuff I feel I could shatter into a million peices all at once. How is it that I'm ecstatic and so upset all at once."
"Leaving is hard. You didn't move at the best time of year either. Winter is very isolating." she reminds me. "Plus, you've have a hard year."
"I know. Part of me wanted to be here in winter to get it over with It can only get better from here. I'm just trying to figure this out. I'm having feelings I've never had before and I don't know what to do with them.
"You're going to be fine. I don't worry about you at all. My door is always open if you need to cry, talk, or whatever."
"Thank you." I inhaled sharply to keep from crying right then. We went back to watching Friday Night Lights.
I believe her. It all will be ok, it's just in the meantime, I'm sorting through things and trying to figure out what to do and where to go next.