Months ago I heard about a yoga class that takes place at one of my favorite stores (lululemon!) on Sunday mornings. I think a lot about it but have yet to go because of work or because I’ve chosen to spend the day with Charlie.
When I wake up, I make breakfast, and turn the computer on. I want to write today but when I have unlimited amounts of time to do so, I get a little squirrelly and avoid it. When I don’t have much time, well, I can compose all sorts of masterpieces. I’m not sure I’m entirely ready to let myself in and get to a place where I can write at the moment so for the time being, I email people, post an ad for models for class on Monday and lust after pretty things on etsy.com.
I feel myself getting antsy. I pull on a pair of jeans and my favorite hoodie and take a walk to Alliance for an Americano. I’ve been in Chicago a year now. Alliance was the spot I went to when I was feeling sad. Some of my favorite blogs were written here. I used to watch the snow fall letting my mind wander in and out of memories of Rob, Atlanta, Pete, and everything I wanted to get away from. Chicago has become the safest place in the world to me. A place where I can be myself and be free of any expectations, real or perceived. Everything has moved at the speed of light. I feel in a way, without Charlie now, I’m back where I started a year ago. I’m back to a place where I’m figuring things out again, and moving forward. This time though, it’s better. I feel better equipped. The feelings of heaviness I’m experiencing now are familiar and comforting in a way. I don’t question it or push it away too hard. I understand that for me, this is my normal reaction to loss. I already know the steps I’ll have to take, the things to do and not do to get through it.
The sky is gray and the air is quite chilly as I make my way down Division. I am reminded of the long walks I took even on the coldest days during the holidays last year. I just needed to get out and move, even if it meant having the wind tear the skin off my face. The cold sometimes felt better than whatever it was in my head.
While walking, my mind conducts all sorts of compositions and ideas of things to explore and write about. It’s coming at me so hard and fast that it’s exhilarating but frustrating because I know I’ll never be able to capture all of it. Even with keeping a notebook with me all the time I can’t possibly write everything that goes through my head. I sometimes have to just sit still, wait for all the thoughts to calm down before I can actually write. This frustrates me further because I’m afraid of forgetting. I try to remind myself that whatever ends up on the paper is supposed to be what’s there.
I order an Americano at Alliance and walk home. My head bounces back and forth between wanting to write and wanting to take this yoga class. I’m supposed to meet Christine later and go her parent’s house with her. I don’t have time to both write and do yoga.
Once I’m home I decide that writing will wait because I’ve put off this yoga class long enough. I want to see if I can mentally get to a calmer place and open some things up. I also feel my body deserves to be stretched and challenged differently than what I’m used to. I quickly get ready and run up to the store.
Once inside, I spread my mat out, take off my shoes and sit quietly. I am unaware of myself. Any residual self consciousness I’ve felt lately has left me completely. I feel I deserve to be taking up space here. I watch the people around me, stretching, sitting, breathing. My surveying is interrupted when the instructor comes up to me, introducing herself and asking if there’s any injuries I’m working on today. I smile and shake my head thinking there is nothing physical that I’m working on anyway.
The class begins with everyone sitting and facing forward. The instructor quietly explains that yoga is the practice of connecting the mind, and body, and is to help us become closer to our divine spirit through meditating and breathing. She reminds us that we’re striving for a connection, not perfection.
I don’t blink for what seems like forever, starring straight ahead, listing to this woman’s soft voice. When she says connection I feel tears spring to my eyes. That’s it… what I was missing with Charlie. I feel emotionally starved. Physically he was always there. I so wanted to connect with him emotionally, to dig deep into him, know him, share myself with him. Instead while trying to figure it out, I kept suppressing everything, kept waiting for a perfect time to bring whatever it was I wanted up. There is no perfect time, only what I choose to do and not do.
“You are not your body, or your thoughts.” the instructor goes on. “What I want you to do right now is to close your eyes and focus on something you want to get out of this class today. What are you needing in your life right now? Take a few deep breaths and focus on that for a few minutes.”
I inhale, exhale and think what is it do I want? Ah, to be vulnerable. I want to open up and feel whatever it is I need to feel. It’s too much work to keep it all in, but I’m not completely sure how to get to a place where I can accept any feelings of openness. If I open up, the hurt will pour in and I don’t know if I can take that rush just yet.
We’re instructed to lay on our backs and continue breathing. I feel my body sink into the ground. I let myself talk to Rob a little bit. I apologize for not talking to him much lately. I apologize for refusing to pay attention to obvious things. I ask for his help, for comfort. I tell him I want his hand to hold mine, I want his love, I remind him that I miss him terribly.
In admitting this I can see that I have so much grief left swimming around inside me. I haven’t allowed myself to properly acknowledge it. It’s like I feel I should be done already. In reality though, I’m not. It’s still there and it’s still needing attention. I no longer have Charlie to focus on and I’m somehow feeling something deeper than I ever thought possible. It’s a need to explore these feelings of loss, to connect once again with Rob as I now know him. As Nathan reminded me shortly after Rob’s funeral, “this is your new normal.” I didn’t really want to see that.
The instructor continues to have us gently move into pose after pose. I feel my body sink further into each one, not wanting the class to end. It feels so good to move, to breath and be calm, if only for an hour.
As the class comes to an end, we’re all laying on our backs again. The instructor gingerly walks around between our scattered mats and still bodies. I feel her stop behind my head. Her cool, soft hands, press into my shoulders, before reaching under my neck, picking up my head and gently pulling it, stretching my neck before placing it back down on the mat and walking away. This simple gesture brings tears to my eyes. I desperately want to be touched, want to feel connected and loved.
I breathe in an out, I let my mind briefly explore a memory I have of Charlie and me slow dancing in his living room. Except my face isn't inches from his as it should be. I'm sitting on his couch, watching him dance with a shell of a human that looks like me, sounds like me, but the actual person that is me? She's observing this memory, completely removed from the situation. This is how I've felt the whole time. Detached, watching my life wondering when I was going to step out of this fog.
The class ends. I walk home feeling refreshed and pleased with myself for finally doing something new.
Later, after a shower, my phone beeps with a text from Christine. “I’m here!” I run downstairs and hop in her car.
“Hiiiii!!!!” I squeal, hugging her. I don’t remember the last time I saw her. It’s been over a month for sure.
“Ok! Talk!” she instructs while putting the car in drive and pressing the gas.
I begin starting with my teachback. I talk some about Rob and she stops me.
“You do realize that it really hasn’t been that long since he died and it’s still ok for you to be sad.”
“I don’t like admitting that but I know you’re right.” I reply.
I talk and talk and talk until we’ve reached the grocery store where she’s needing to pick up some things for her parents. I am exhausted once I stop.
“Melissa, do you feel like your self esteem was broken?” she asked while picking up and apple and inspecting it.
I slowly, wordlessly nod, feeling completely ashamed of myself.
“I thought so.” she placed the apple in a plastic bag containing three other apples. “I was getting worried about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You stopped being you.” she turned to look at me. “You got really self conscious and indecisive and you weren’t your typical bubbly self.”
I look down and nod again. “I know. I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t like who I was but couldn’t seem to climb out. I know Charlie’s right and all of this is for the better for sure, but it still hurts.”
“And it will but you’ll be ok.”
“I know.” I smile.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Shampoo,Blowdry, Repeat...
At 4:45am, my eyes are open wide, blinking at the ceiling. Last night comes at me faster than lightning and I can’t breathe again. I lay there, thinking about getting up. It would be in my best interest to go back to sleep but I can’t. I roll out of bed, still wanting air. My hands reach for my running clothes and toss them aside as I peel off my pajamas then pull on my favorite pants, sports bra and sweatshirt. I push my feet into my shoes, walk into the kitchen, grab my iPOD and keys and go outside.
The air I was desperately looking for fills my lungs as my feet pound the pavement. I am nothing and nowhere as I run down Milwaukee Ave. My head has nothing to focus on except the music playing in my ears and the direction I have to go in. I make it to Grand Ave, turn around and head back. I should go home but my legs take me across Division and further up Milwaukee Ave. I go my usual route, turning on to Damen and going for a while before realizing that I do have to work, and if I don’t head back I’m going to be scrambling to get there.
I try to write in a Starbucks with a grande soy latte once I get over to the Lincoln Park area. My head is drowning in a sea of thoughts and craziness. An hour later I’m shampooing for a stylist, remembering work is my little island away from my thoughts, and the life I carry on outside of the building. For eight hours I can rest in this escape and simply do what I know best. Shampoo, blow dry, repeat…
“Melissa?” Seven’s voice has a sternness to it as she approaches me. I’m standing at the sink, washing the color bowls.
“Yes love?” I smile. She met me for coffee earlier and discussed last night’s recent developments. She asked if I’ve cried yet to which I replied no, unsure of whether I would or not. We’ve currently been so busy working that we’ve barely spoken since.
“Do you know where we keep the cotton?” she asks through clenched teeth.
I look over her shoulder to see a woman standing in front of the mirror, her face inches from it, rubbing at her skin around her hairline with a paper towel.
“Um, I don’t but I will find some. What’s going on?”
“She’s insane. She can’t use a towel to get the color off her hair because it’s “dirty”.”
“Does she not think we wash them?” I giggle.
“I dunno, but I want it to be over. She thinks she needs cotton to get the stuff off.”
“I’ll be back.”
I race downstairs to the stylist’s floor and dig through all the spaces I think might be holding the cotton. Finally I have to ask my manager Patrick where it is.
“C’mere.” he says, stepping away from his client. I follow him to the basement. “What’s going on?”
“Oh Seven’s client is being crazy. She needs cotton to get the color off her skin.” I say to Patrick’s back as he examines the shelves that hold our extra product.
“Huh. I thought it was here.” he turns around. “There it is. How much do you need?”
“Who knows.” I laugh. I take a handful and we head back upstairs.
“Patrick?” I say as his foot steps on the first step. He turns to face me. “Can I share something with you?”
“Of course.”
This feels so awkward but I can’t help it, I want to tell him.
“Charlie and I broke up.” I exhale.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. I just, I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you.”
“No problem. I’ll be around later if you want to talk.”
“I do.” I say before I can think.
“In a way I guess I should say congratulations. If it’s not working then well, it doesn’t do any good to stay in it.”
“You’re right.” I smile. We head upstairs and get back to our clients.
I race around the entire day, smile intact, eyes sparkly and slightly crazy, hands always in motion, with air being the elusive necessity. Nothing is worse than Rob dying. I remind myself. I can do loss. I’ve been doing loss. All of these feelings are familiar and nothing in comparison to what I’ve already been through.
Yet I still fear it. Still afraid of what might happen when the hurt catches my speedy little self, wraps it claws around my neck and squeezes.
No. I won’t be allowing that. I again, have to remind myself. It’s ok to be upset but I’m not sinking into it, it’s not going to steal my life. I will continue to move forward, and know there is something else to be learned, something else to be experienced and this is simply part of the process.
I find myself back in the basement again a little later. I’m not sure why. I glance at the computer and turn to go back up when suddenly I’m doubled over and tears are pouring out of my eyes. It hits hard and fast and I let it wash over me. I allow the tears to come knowing they won’t be back. Quickly, I let the thoughts pass through my mind. I won’t be going to Charlie’s after work, I won’t be making dinner with him again, no more mornings at Lovely with coffee and muffins. I’m no longer part of a “couple” but walking a new path all on my own. It’s ok. I’m ok.
I stand upright again once my crying has stopped. I wipe my face, inhale, exhale and head back upstairs.
“I know you’re not going to want to hear this right now but this breakup couldn’t have happened at a better time.” Patrick tells me after taking a sip of his beer. We’re seating across from each other at a little bar next to the salon. Work is done, and I’ll be heading home to get ready for Seven’s birthday action soon. “You’re going on the floor soon and will be able to focus all your energy into building your business.”
“You’re right.” I smile. I know I couldn’t handle Evanston if I were still in this relationship.
Rarely do I say anything but hello and goodbye to Patrick. Even when he’s cutting my hair I’m usually very quiet. I’ve gravitated toward him though since I started working at Art+Science. I’ve felt the need to share all sorts of things about Rob, work, and now Charlie with him but I haven’t let myself open up. The flood gates open up though and I vomit up all the insanity my head has been through these past nine months. I talk and talk and talk. He listens and allows me speak freely. I’m surprised at myself but so grateful for all of this. I’ve been silent for so long and now everything is pouring out of me faster than I can keep up with. I feel completely free…
At home, I’m dancing around my apartment, mascara wand in hand, haphazardly getting ready to meet up with everyone. Dressed in my favorite purple sleeveless top, and jeans, I’m searching for shoes, stopping to apply more make-up and contemplating what earrings I’m going to wear if any. I feel desperate to write, dance, sing express myself in any which way I can. I’ve contained all my thoughts and emotions for far too long and had no idea.
“Hi!” I squeal when I see Seven sitting among a group of people I’ve never met before.
“Hello love!” she stands, hugs me and introduces me to everyone. I sit next to her friend Kate and we start talking about work. She works for the salon I interviewed at before Art+Science. After hearing about her life there I am filled with gratitude once more to be right where I am.
“Melissa!!!” my co worker Candice yells upon approaching our table.
“Hi!” I exclaim, jumping up to hug her.
“You never come out!” she laughs.
“I know.” I lower my eyes knowing this will change and soon I’ll be more comfortable in social situations. I will no longer be preoccupied as to whether or not Charlie will want me. I want me and that’s enough. These people right here want to be with me and it’s more than enough.
“Let me buy you a drink!” she smiles.
Here we go…
I maintain a perfect buzz all night, never having too much but over the course of the night, yeah, it was more than I anticipated having. I talk and listen to everyone, meeting new people, hearing new stories. We go to another place where we’re dancing around and being silly. I’m still a little afraid to completely let go of myself and get really into dancing but I’m still happy.
Later I find myself in the car with Candice and another co-worker Gianna. We’re off to “Underdog” for veggie dogs and fries. This is one of those places you only go to after some drinks and after midnight. Of course the place is packed. Of course some wasted guy makes some lewd comment in our direction but we’re in and out fairly quickly with three veggie dogs and fries. Gianna takes me home where I sink into the unhealthy deliciousness and fall into bed.
The air I was desperately looking for fills my lungs as my feet pound the pavement. I am nothing and nowhere as I run down Milwaukee Ave. My head has nothing to focus on except the music playing in my ears and the direction I have to go in. I make it to Grand Ave, turn around and head back. I should go home but my legs take me across Division and further up Milwaukee Ave. I go my usual route, turning on to Damen and going for a while before realizing that I do have to work, and if I don’t head back I’m going to be scrambling to get there.
I try to write in a Starbucks with a grande soy latte once I get over to the Lincoln Park area. My head is drowning in a sea of thoughts and craziness. An hour later I’m shampooing for a stylist, remembering work is my little island away from my thoughts, and the life I carry on outside of the building. For eight hours I can rest in this escape and simply do what I know best. Shampoo, blow dry, repeat…
“Melissa?” Seven’s voice has a sternness to it as she approaches me. I’m standing at the sink, washing the color bowls.
“Yes love?” I smile. She met me for coffee earlier and discussed last night’s recent developments. She asked if I’ve cried yet to which I replied no, unsure of whether I would or not. We’ve currently been so busy working that we’ve barely spoken since.
“Do you know where we keep the cotton?” she asks through clenched teeth.
I look over her shoulder to see a woman standing in front of the mirror, her face inches from it, rubbing at her skin around her hairline with a paper towel.
“Um, I don’t but I will find some. What’s going on?”
“She’s insane. She can’t use a towel to get the color off her hair because it’s “dirty”.”
“Does she not think we wash them?” I giggle.
“I dunno, but I want it to be over. She thinks she needs cotton to get the stuff off.”
“I’ll be back.”
I race downstairs to the stylist’s floor and dig through all the spaces I think might be holding the cotton. Finally I have to ask my manager Patrick where it is.
“C’mere.” he says, stepping away from his client. I follow him to the basement. “What’s going on?”
“Oh Seven’s client is being crazy. She needs cotton to get the color off her skin.” I say to Patrick’s back as he examines the shelves that hold our extra product.
“Huh. I thought it was here.” he turns around. “There it is. How much do you need?”
“Who knows.” I laugh. I take a handful and we head back upstairs.
“Patrick?” I say as his foot steps on the first step. He turns to face me. “Can I share something with you?”
“Of course.”
This feels so awkward but I can’t help it, I want to tell him.
“Charlie and I broke up.” I exhale.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. I just, I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you.”
“No problem. I’ll be around later if you want to talk.”
“I do.” I say before I can think.
“In a way I guess I should say congratulations. If it’s not working then well, it doesn’t do any good to stay in it.”
“You’re right.” I smile. We head upstairs and get back to our clients.
I race around the entire day, smile intact, eyes sparkly and slightly crazy, hands always in motion, with air being the elusive necessity. Nothing is worse than Rob dying. I remind myself. I can do loss. I’ve been doing loss. All of these feelings are familiar and nothing in comparison to what I’ve already been through.
Yet I still fear it. Still afraid of what might happen when the hurt catches my speedy little self, wraps it claws around my neck and squeezes.
No. I won’t be allowing that. I again, have to remind myself. It’s ok to be upset but I’m not sinking into it, it’s not going to steal my life. I will continue to move forward, and know there is something else to be learned, something else to be experienced and this is simply part of the process.
I find myself back in the basement again a little later. I’m not sure why. I glance at the computer and turn to go back up when suddenly I’m doubled over and tears are pouring out of my eyes. It hits hard and fast and I let it wash over me. I allow the tears to come knowing they won’t be back. Quickly, I let the thoughts pass through my mind. I won’t be going to Charlie’s after work, I won’t be making dinner with him again, no more mornings at Lovely with coffee and muffins. I’m no longer part of a “couple” but walking a new path all on my own. It’s ok. I’m ok.
I stand upright again once my crying has stopped. I wipe my face, inhale, exhale and head back upstairs.
“I know you’re not going to want to hear this right now but this breakup couldn’t have happened at a better time.” Patrick tells me after taking a sip of his beer. We’re seating across from each other at a little bar next to the salon. Work is done, and I’ll be heading home to get ready for Seven’s birthday action soon. “You’re going on the floor soon and will be able to focus all your energy into building your business.”
“You’re right.” I smile. I know I couldn’t handle Evanston if I were still in this relationship.
Rarely do I say anything but hello and goodbye to Patrick. Even when he’s cutting my hair I’m usually very quiet. I’ve gravitated toward him though since I started working at Art+Science. I’ve felt the need to share all sorts of things about Rob, work, and now Charlie with him but I haven’t let myself open up. The flood gates open up though and I vomit up all the insanity my head has been through these past nine months. I talk and talk and talk. He listens and allows me speak freely. I’m surprised at myself but so grateful for all of this. I’ve been silent for so long and now everything is pouring out of me faster than I can keep up with. I feel completely free…
At home, I’m dancing around my apartment, mascara wand in hand, haphazardly getting ready to meet up with everyone. Dressed in my favorite purple sleeveless top, and jeans, I’m searching for shoes, stopping to apply more make-up and contemplating what earrings I’m going to wear if any. I feel desperate to write, dance, sing express myself in any which way I can. I’ve contained all my thoughts and emotions for far too long and had no idea.
“Hi!” I squeal when I see Seven sitting among a group of people I’ve never met before.
“Hello love!” she stands, hugs me and introduces me to everyone. I sit next to her friend Kate and we start talking about work. She works for the salon I interviewed at before Art+Science. After hearing about her life there I am filled with gratitude once more to be right where I am.
“Melissa!!!” my co worker Candice yells upon approaching our table.
“Hi!” I exclaim, jumping up to hug her.
“You never come out!” she laughs.
“I know.” I lower my eyes knowing this will change and soon I’ll be more comfortable in social situations. I will no longer be preoccupied as to whether or not Charlie will want me. I want me and that’s enough. These people right here want to be with me and it’s more than enough.
“Let me buy you a drink!” she smiles.
Here we go…
I maintain a perfect buzz all night, never having too much but over the course of the night, yeah, it was more than I anticipated having. I talk and listen to everyone, meeting new people, hearing new stories. We go to another place where we’re dancing around and being silly. I’m still a little afraid to completely let go of myself and get really into dancing but I’m still happy.
Later I find myself in the car with Candice and another co-worker Gianna. We’re off to “Underdog” for veggie dogs and fries. This is one of those places you only go to after some drinks and after midnight. Of course the place is packed. Of course some wasted guy makes some lewd comment in our direction but we’re in and out fairly quickly with three veggie dogs and fries. Gianna takes me home where I sink into the unhealthy deliciousness and fall into bed.
Monday, December 28, 2009
How It Ends...
I read, saw, heard somewhere a saying that went something like “when you meet someone you’ll know the reasons why you’ll leave them.” I knew on that very first date that this wouldn’t work because I couldn’t get underneath his surface and he didn’t seem to be trying to get under mine. I stayed though. I enjoyed his company, he made me laugh. I wanted to see what would happen. I almost wanted to prove myself wrong. I took the long road around this revelation with him by my side, trying to escape it, traveling in and out of each day to end up where I knew I would in the beginning complete with the same feelings but some experience, some happiness, and some hard stuff all wrapped in one package. This is how it ends…
Charlie was in Orlando this past week. He was coming home on Friday. I was working at Lincoln Park all week.
“Meliss, my birthday is Friday!” my fellow assistant Seven exclaims to me on Tuesday morning while we’re tearing foil for the colorists.
“Yeah? Whatcha gonna do?”
“I dunno. Prolly a bar and maybe some dancing.” she ripped her foil and placed it in a stack that we were both contributing to. “Wanna come?”
“Of course!” I heard myself reply. This took me by surprise. I hate going out on Saturdays. I avoid it at all costs. After a long day of work, I typically like to go home and do something quiet.
“Is Charlie in town?” she asks.
“No, but he will be this weekend.”
“Do you think he’ll come too?”
“I dunno. Regardless, I’m coming.” I reply, again, surprised at my words.
When I talked to Charlie later in the week he said he’d be in Wisconsin with his best friend on Saturday. I didn’t know if he was spending the night or not and didn’t think to ask at the time.
“I need to go to the gym on Sunday. Wanna come with me?” I ask him, determined to keep my promise to myself to lift weights three times a week.
“Yeah, if Scott doesn’t work me too hard.”
Somehow, when I imagined Sunday, I didn’t see myself in the gym, but in a yoga class I’ve wanted to take for some time now but haven’t made the time for it. I also couldn’t see Charlie in the picture on that day. This made me nervous. I felt like this when Rob died. I couldn’t imagine the rest of our day together when he left to go to Robby’s the day that he died.
I later emailed Charlie and asked him about coming with me to Seven’s outing. He didn’t respond but I figured we’d talk about it later. Again, the same feeling of him not being there on Saturday crept into my head. Despite my nervousness at not knowing what this was, I felt calm, like something was with me and somewhere, deep down, I knew that whatever it was, it had me and everything would be ok.
On Friday morning I woke up and did my usual morning routine of breakfast, email, gym, and writing. While getting ready for work, I kept hearing things around my apartment. It was as if small objects like my keys or something were shifting ever so slightly…just enough to make a barely audible noise, but definite enough to where I didn’t question what it was. I heard it. I didn’t feel scared, just a little crazy wondering if my mind was making it up or not. Flashes of shadows raced pasted my peripheral vision. Every time I turned to see what it was that was grabbing my attention, nothing was there. I feel insane even writing this, but I swear this stuff is happening and it’s Rob. I feel that something is shifting around in my mind today. There is something that is letting go, completely detaching, but I don’t know what it’s letting go of. It’s impossible to write about and fully explain, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that it’s real.
I get to work and race around like usual. Charlie is landing at 5:15pm. I’m closing alone and will be done at 8pm. The feelings of him not being with me this weekend are getting stronger but I don’t know why and don’t understand what’s sparking this. The only thing I can come up with is that he’ll choose to do what he wants while I choose to not tag along with him and finally do something for myself. It’s like I suddenly see that he’s there regardless of what I’m doing or not doing. If I don’t trust that I’m going to lose my mind in the long run. My reasoning for putting things off when he’s in town is to spend as much time as possible with him because he’ll be gone again and when he is, I can catch up on other things. It’s creating a lack of balance in my life though. That’s what my conscious mind has come up with. The subconscious knows I’m behaving this way because I’m waiting and waiting, hoping that he’ll suddenly wake up one of these days and realize that he wants me and I’d like to be present for that moment. It never occurred to me that I could leave. I could walk away. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid that if I walk away, it might be a mistake. I’ll never know though because I know me. I won’t. Some sick part of me loves the uphill battle of something that isn’t completely right but maybe not completely wrong…
Seven and I are working together again today and she has more details about her birthday. Definitely grabbing drinks at one place and moving to another to go dancing. Sounds good to me. I haven’t been dancing in so long.
At 6pm, I notice I haven’t heard from Charlie. I had texted him earlier saying I couldn’t wait to see him. I’m feeling agitated and negative. I’m wanting some sort of emotion from him. I want to know that he can’t wait to see me as well. Is it that he can wait, or is it that he’s not capable of saying such things? I text him and ask if he landed. He says yes and says that he’ll pick me up from work. I’m ecstatic. I think about texting him something sweet, but something stops me. I need to go to the grocery store. I text him and he doesn’t want to go so I decide I’ll go anyway and meet him when I’m done.
I wipe down the shampoo bowls in the color department, grab my lotion and gloves and walk down the stairs. I’m the only one up there. As I’m walking down, the lights flicker ever so slightly.
“Honey?” I feel myself saying to Rob.
I clean the stylist’s floor, grab my things and clock out. I walk to the store, inhaling the clean, crisp air. It feels good to walk. As I finish up at the store, I start to feel irritated, knowing that I’ll want to bounce off the walls when I get to Charlie’s and he…well, he won’t. This squashes my bounciness and pushes it down so far into some place I can’t identify and produces some nastiness that pours out of me like acid making me quiet and standoffish because I’m scared. Always damn scared of being too much for him and of being not enough all at the same time.
Nothing is normal right now. Nothing feels right. Charlie meets me on Division as I walk to his place. He’s in a bad mood. I’ve never seen him like this. He doesn’t explain until we walk in to his apartment and the door is closed.
I’m going to keep the contents of our conversation private. While talking though, I feel for a split second my mind racing toward him saying “No, no, no, don’t leave.” but then it stops because he’s already gone. I don’t even know if he was ever here to begin with.
There is intense heaviness sitting on my chest. The air is being sucked out of my lungs, but somewhere some tiny little window in my head is open now and letting out all the negative craziness I’ve carried with me all this time. I can almost feel my displaced self esteem returning.
It isn’t easy though. It isn’t easy to hear, say or admit. I can’t feel or show any emotion at the moment. I know that I need to cry, I need to tear the wall down but it feels impossible. The feeling is familiar though and I know it’ll pass. I don’t want to entirely compare this feeling to learning about Rob’s death but being my current relationship is ending and I’ll have to grieve it’s loss, it’s stressful, takes my breath away and all the feelings associated with loss, for me, are flooding back. There isn’t enough air in the universe to fill my lungs at the moment.
We’re staring at each other in between expressed thoughts. I soak up his expression and feel it’s reflecting more emotion in this moment than I’ve seen from him in nearly nine months. The lights of the city outside his window are still sparkling, the cars are still racing by, but I’m unable to move.
“Get up.” I tell myself. There isn’t anything left to say.
I stand and push my feet back into my shoes. I remind him that I left one of my jackets in his room. He goes to get it while I pull my coat on. I stare out of the window again, remembering him walking up behind me one night while I was standing there and asking, “are you watching the city?”
I nodded and continued, mesmerized by the combined stillness and movement.
I remember I left my contact solution and a necklace in the bathroom. I go to get it, glancing at my reflection in the mirror, before quickly turning and walking out.
Charlie is in the living room and hands me my jacket. He moves forward and hugs me. I feel my arms squeeze him back but I feel nothing. I am completely, totally, and utterly numb.
“Can I walk you home?” he asks.
I nod.
I think about the time he walked me home the night of our first date. We stopped at my gate, he kissed me and said he had a good time and that he’d call me later.
We’re again, at my gate. He hugs me, tells me he still cares very much for me and he’s still… here.
“Me too.” I reply and he walks away.
The reality of the situation rushes at me faster than lightning as I push my key into the door. I woke up this morning in a relationship and I’m going to sleep single. I don’t want to stop moving. I don’t want to sit still, afraid the hurt will catch me. If I don’t stop I know I’m only prolonging the inevitable. I can’t out run it that’s for sure.
In bed I listen to my heart pound and watch images in my head race passed until I don’t remember anything else…
Charlie was in Orlando this past week. He was coming home on Friday. I was working at Lincoln Park all week.
“Meliss, my birthday is Friday!” my fellow assistant Seven exclaims to me on Tuesday morning while we’re tearing foil for the colorists.
“Yeah? Whatcha gonna do?”
“I dunno. Prolly a bar and maybe some dancing.” she ripped her foil and placed it in a stack that we were both contributing to. “Wanna come?”
“Of course!” I heard myself reply. This took me by surprise. I hate going out on Saturdays. I avoid it at all costs. After a long day of work, I typically like to go home and do something quiet.
“Is Charlie in town?” she asks.
“No, but he will be this weekend.”
“Do you think he’ll come too?”
“I dunno. Regardless, I’m coming.” I reply, again, surprised at my words.
When I talked to Charlie later in the week he said he’d be in Wisconsin with his best friend on Saturday. I didn’t know if he was spending the night or not and didn’t think to ask at the time.
“I need to go to the gym on Sunday. Wanna come with me?” I ask him, determined to keep my promise to myself to lift weights three times a week.
“Yeah, if Scott doesn’t work me too hard.”
Somehow, when I imagined Sunday, I didn’t see myself in the gym, but in a yoga class I’ve wanted to take for some time now but haven’t made the time for it. I also couldn’t see Charlie in the picture on that day. This made me nervous. I felt like this when Rob died. I couldn’t imagine the rest of our day together when he left to go to Robby’s the day that he died.
I later emailed Charlie and asked him about coming with me to Seven’s outing. He didn’t respond but I figured we’d talk about it later. Again, the same feeling of him not being there on Saturday crept into my head. Despite my nervousness at not knowing what this was, I felt calm, like something was with me and somewhere, deep down, I knew that whatever it was, it had me and everything would be ok.
On Friday morning I woke up and did my usual morning routine of breakfast, email, gym, and writing. While getting ready for work, I kept hearing things around my apartment. It was as if small objects like my keys or something were shifting ever so slightly…just enough to make a barely audible noise, but definite enough to where I didn’t question what it was. I heard it. I didn’t feel scared, just a little crazy wondering if my mind was making it up or not. Flashes of shadows raced pasted my peripheral vision. Every time I turned to see what it was that was grabbing my attention, nothing was there. I feel insane even writing this, but I swear this stuff is happening and it’s Rob. I feel that something is shifting around in my mind today. There is something that is letting go, completely detaching, but I don’t know what it’s letting go of. It’s impossible to write about and fully explain, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that it’s real.
I get to work and race around like usual. Charlie is landing at 5:15pm. I’m closing alone and will be done at 8pm. The feelings of him not being with me this weekend are getting stronger but I don’t know why and don’t understand what’s sparking this. The only thing I can come up with is that he’ll choose to do what he wants while I choose to not tag along with him and finally do something for myself. It’s like I suddenly see that he’s there regardless of what I’m doing or not doing. If I don’t trust that I’m going to lose my mind in the long run. My reasoning for putting things off when he’s in town is to spend as much time as possible with him because he’ll be gone again and when he is, I can catch up on other things. It’s creating a lack of balance in my life though. That’s what my conscious mind has come up with. The subconscious knows I’m behaving this way because I’m waiting and waiting, hoping that he’ll suddenly wake up one of these days and realize that he wants me and I’d like to be present for that moment. It never occurred to me that I could leave. I could walk away. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid that if I walk away, it might be a mistake. I’ll never know though because I know me. I won’t. Some sick part of me loves the uphill battle of something that isn’t completely right but maybe not completely wrong…
Seven and I are working together again today and she has more details about her birthday. Definitely grabbing drinks at one place and moving to another to go dancing. Sounds good to me. I haven’t been dancing in so long.
At 6pm, I notice I haven’t heard from Charlie. I had texted him earlier saying I couldn’t wait to see him. I’m feeling agitated and negative. I’m wanting some sort of emotion from him. I want to know that he can’t wait to see me as well. Is it that he can wait, or is it that he’s not capable of saying such things? I text him and ask if he landed. He says yes and says that he’ll pick me up from work. I’m ecstatic. I think about texting him something sweet, but something stops me. I need to go to the grocery store. I text him and he doesn’t want to go so I decide I’ll go anyway and meet him when I’m done.
I wipe down the shampoo bowls in the color department, grab my lotion and gloves and walk down the stairs. I’m the only one up there. As I’m walking down, the lights flicker ever so slightly.
“Honey?” I feel myself saying to Rob.
I clean the stylist’s floor, grab my things and clock out. I walk to the store, inhaling the clean, crisp air. It feels good to walk. As I finish up at the store, I start to feel irritated, knowing that I’ll want to bounce off the walls when I get to Charlie’s and he…well, he won’t. This squashes my bounciness and pushes it down so far into some place I can’t identify and produces some nastiness that pours out of me like acid making me quiet and standoffish because I’m scared. Always damn scared of being too much for him and of being not enough all at the same time.
Nothing is normal right now. Nothing feels right. Charlie meets me on Division as I walk to his place. He’s in a bad mood. I’ve never seen him like this. He doesn’t explain until we walk in to his apartment and the door is closed.
I’m going to keep the contents of our conversation private. While talking though, I feel for a split second my mind racing toward him saying “No, no, no, don’t leave.” but then it stops because he’s already gone. I don’t even know if he was ever here to begin with.
There is intense heaviness sitting on my chest. The air is being sucked out of my lungs, but somewhere some tiny little window in my head is open now and letting out all the negative craziness I’ve carried with me all this time. I can almost feel my displaced self esteem returning.
It isn’t easy though. It isn’t easy to hear, say or admit. I can’t feel or show any emotion at the moment. I know that I need to cry, I need to tear the wall down but it feels impossible. The feeling is familiar though and I know it’ll pass. I don’t want to entirely compare this feeling to learning about Rob’s death but being my current relationship is ending and I’ll have to grieve it’s loss, it’s stressful, takes my breath away and all the feelings associated with loss, for me, are flooding back. There isn’t enough air in the universe to fill my lungs at the moment.
We’re staring at each other in between expressed thoughts. I soak up his expression and feel it’s reflecting more emotion in this moment than I’ve seen from him in nearly nine months. The lights of the city outside his window are still sparkling, the cars are still racing by, but I’m unable to move.
“Get up.” I tell myself. There isn’t anything left to say.
I stand and push my feet back into my shoes. I remind him that I left one of my jackets in his room. He goes to get it while I pull my coat on. I stare out of the window again, remembering him walking up behind me one night while I was standing there and asking, “are you watching the city?”
I nodded and continued, mesmerized by the combined stillness and movement.
I remember I left my contact solution and a necklace in the bathroom. I go to get it, glancing at my reflection in the mirror, before quickly turning and walking out.
Charlie is in the living room and hands me my jacket. He moves forward and hugs me. I feel my arms squeeze him back but I feel nothing. I am completely, totally, and utterly numb.
“Can I walk you home?” he asks.
I nod.
I think about the time he walked me home the night of our first date. We stopped at my gate, he kissed me and said he had a good time and that he’d call me later.
We’re again, at my gate. He hugs me, tells me he still cares very much for me and he’s still… here.
“Me too.” I reply and he walks away.
The reality of the situation rushes at me faster than lightning as I push my key into the door. I woke up this morning in a relationship and I’m going to sleep single. I don’t want to stop moving. I don’t want to sit still, afraid the hurt will catch me. If I don’t stop I know I’m only prolonging the inevitable. I can’t out run it that’s for sure.
In bed I listen to my heart pound and watch images in my head race passed until I don’t remember anything else…
Connection...
Each time I think about writing this entry, I get stuck. I end up staring at the screen and hope something comes into my head as to where to start. I thought about scratching the whole thing completely and writing about something else but the idea won’t leave me alone. Bear with me please as I stumble around trying to figure it out. I’ll start with what I know for sure and see what happens from there.
Lately, or maybe it’s been for a long time and I’ve chosen not to see it, I’ve been craving a connection with another human being. Not only do I crave it, but I’m somehow pushing it away at the same time because I’ve gotten lost in a forest of craziness unable to accept the help that’s being offered. On some level I want to believe that I don’t need anyone else. It’s uncomfortable for me to ask for help, to ask to be pulled out of the forest and see the light. Maybe I’m not ready to face the light. It’s quite possible that keeping my eyes closed to everything I’ve wandered into is way easier than cracking open my swollen, busted, painful eyelids and let some light in, let it heal my corneas so I can see straight again. I don’t want to do the work. This darkness I’ve settled into is delicious is the best way.
The assistant schedule comes out one week and I see that I’m working Evanston and on Wednesday, I’m off early. The idea of OA works it’s way to the forefront of my mind and when I get home from work that night I pull up the weekly meeting schedule. There is a 7pm meeting in the Lincoln Park area on Wednesdays. I figure out public transit from Evanston and see that I can make it.
I’m excited about this opportunity. I know that no matter what, I’ll be able to connect in ways I normally don’t with other people. I’m hoping that once I’m there I’ll be able to talk, to share and find some sort of relief.
Wednesday comes and I’m out of work on time. I catch the train and head south. I’m getting nervous once I get off the train and start walking. I hope I’m going in the right direction. Despite my nervousness at doing something new there is absolutely nothing that would keep me from going and having this experience tonight. Even if it were raining sideways or I got insanely lost, I would find my way. Where is this determination in other areas of my life? Imagine what could be accomplished if I put forth effort and drive like this into all areas of my life.
I find a non-descript building possessing the address I’m looking for. I push the buzzer and hear the door unlock. I pull it open and walk gingerly up the stairs and down a hallway. I find the room number and walk through the door.
I’m met with smiles by a group of twenty or so people. I smile back, sit down and exhale. I want to know every person in the room. I want to hear all their stories and share mine. For the first time in I don’t know how long my lungs are filled with much needed air. I didn’t know I was lacking oxygen.
As the meeting begins and the minutes pass I absorb everyone’s thoughts, fears and stories. I relate to every single one on some level or another. Relief washes over me and I don’t feel so scared or self conscious.
When it ends I do get a little shy though and quietly walk out the door without saying anything. “I have to come back.” I think to myself. I’m not sure how to make it happen with my erratic schedule but it has to happen.
On the train I see that I’ve missed a call from Charlie. I get off at a stop close to home and call him back.
“Are you coming over?” he asks.
“I can.” I reply.
“I mean, I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone or not.”
Part of me wants to be, part of me wants to see him simply because it’s comfortable, it’s what I normally do now, and yes some company would be nice despite my sudden agitation.
“I’m walking up Milwaukee and will be passing Lovely soon.”
“Ok, I’ll come out and meet you.” he says before we hang up.
A smile inevitably spreads across my face when I see him at the door. Nervous energy floods my system.
“Hey. How are you?”
I shrug. “How are you?”
“Good.”
In his apartment I want to tell him about the meeting but it somehow doesn’t feel important. He’s explained to me many times that he’s here for me, that he needs me to talk and I’m desperate to do so but there’s this huge wall I keep running into. Over and over when I try to speak, try to share, I hit my head on the wall. I’ve done it so many times that the mere idea of talking hurts and so I remain quiet.
Remaining quiet only results in further aggravation. It boils underneath my surface. I try to keep a lid on it, try to sit on the lid to keep it from bubbling over but sometimes the weight of my intent is too light to keep the lid shut and irritation oozes out beneath it infecting anything it comes into contact with.
Charlie doesn’t ask about the meeting but I feel he doesn’t because he’s waiting for me to volunteer it. I do so, a little, simply saying that I enjoyed it and I wanted to find a way to make it every week.
End of discussion.
Time keeps moving. I feel something stirring in my head. I don’t know how to describe it but whatever it is it’s trying to save me from whatever hole I’ve fallen into. It’s starting to gently pull at my limbs, tugging at me, coaxing me out. I’m only mildly resistant and mostly curious as to what this is. This energy pushes itself into my fingers, making them construct a note to my assistant manager in Evanston asking her for the Wednesday schedule adjustment so I can make it to OA. I stop what I’m doing to write this note, afraid that if I don’t do it right this minute I’ll regret it. I place it next to our assistant schedule and continue on with my day.
The next step this feeling has me taking is to promise myself that I’ll make it to the gym three times a week. It doesn’t matter which three days, I just need to get there. No more excuses, no more “maybe next week”, it’s now or never, do it.
So it begins. I go and go hard. Nothing gets in my way, not even the rain. I notice that I stay longer and work harder. The pressure is off to go five or six times a week. Three is enough for now and I know that if I want more, I can go more. Having this knowledge and accepting it has made all the difference in the world. Where was this serenity when I needed it last year or even the year before? How did I achieve this all the sudden?
In no time I find myself online and posting a thread on couchsurfing.com, looking for fellow writers to get together and bounce ideas off of. I’m looking for support and understanding. I’ve let this thought marinate in my mind for the longest time now. Taking a step to reach out means putting myself out there, further solidifying my attempt at writing a novel and increasing my risk of failure if I don’t do it.
Taking all this action feels like preparing for something. For what I don’t know. Maybe I don’t need to know right now but just need to sit back, follow it and enjoy the process…
Lately, or maybe it’s been for a long time and I’ve chosen not to see it, I’ve been craving a connection with another human being. Not only do I crave it, but I’m somehow pushing it away at the same time because I’ve gotten lost in a forest of craziness unable to accept the help that’s being offered. On some level I want to believe that I don’t need anyone else. It’s uncomfortable for me to ask for help, to ask to be pulled out of the forest and see the light. Maybe I’m not ready to face the light. It’s quite possible that keeping my eyes closed to everything I’ve wandered into is way easier than cracking open my swollen, busted, painful eyelids and let some light in, let it heal my corneas so I can see straight again. I don’t want to do the work. This darkness I’ve settled into is delicious is the best way.
The assistant schedule comes out one week and I see that I’m working Evanston and on Wednesday, I’m off early. The idea of OA works it’s way to the forefront of my mind and when I get home from work that night I pull up the weekly meeting schedule. There is a 7pm meeting in the Lincoln Park area on Wednesdays. I figure out public transit from Evanston and see that I can make it.
I’m excited about this opportunity. I know that no matter what, I’ll be able to connect in ways I normally don’t with other people. I’m hoping that once I’m there I’ll be able to talk, to share and find some sort of relief.
Wednesday comes and I’m out of work on time. I catch the train and head south. I’m getting nervous once I get off the train and start walking. I hope I’m going in the right direction. Despite my nervousness at doing something new there is absolutely nothing that would keep me from going and having this experience tonight. Even if it were raining sideways or I got insanely lost, I would find my way. Where is this determination in other areas of my life? Imagine what could be accomplished if I put forth effort and drive like this into all areas of my life.
I find a non-descript building possessing the address I’m looking for. I push the buzzer and hear the door unlock. I pull it open and walk gingerly up the stairs and down a hallway. I find the room number and walk through the door.
I’m met with smiles by a group of twenty or so people. I smile back, sit down and exhale. I want to know every person in the room. I want to hear all their stories and share mine. For the first time in I don’t know how long my lungs are filled with much needed air. I didn’t know I was lacking oxygen.
As the meeting begins and the minutes pass I absorb everyone’s thoughts, fears and stories. I relate to every single one on some level or another. Relief washes over me and I don’t feel so scared or self conscious.
When it ends I do get a little shy though and quietly walk out the door without saying anything. “I have to come back.” I think to myself. I’m not sure how to make it happen with my erratic schedule but it has to happen.
On the train I see that I’ve missed a call from Charlie. I get off at a stop close to home and call him back.
“Are you coming over?” he asks.
“I can.” I reply.
“I mean, I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone or not.”
Part of me wants to be, part of me wants to see him simply because it’s comfortable, it’s what I normally do now, and yes some company would be nice despite my sudden agitation.
“I’m walking up Milwaukee and will be passing Lovely soon.”
“Ok, I’ll come out and meet you.” he says before we hang up.
A smile inevitably spreads across my face when I see him at the door. Nervous energy floods my system.
“Hey. How are you?”
I shrug. “How are you?”
“Good.”
In his apartment I want to tell him about the meeting but it somehow doesn’t feel important. He’s explained to me many times that he’s here for me, that he needs me to talk and I’m desperate to do so but there’s this huge wall I keep running into. Over and over when I try to speak, try to share, I hit my head on the wall. I’ve done it so many times that the mere idea of talking hurts and so I remain quiet.
Remaining quiet only results in further aggravation. It boils underneath my surface. I try to keep a lid on it, try to sit on the lid to keep it from bubbling over but sometimes the weight of my intent is too light to keep the lid shut and irritation oozes out beneath it infecting anything it comes into contact with.
Charlie doesn’t ask about the meeting but I feel he doesn’t because he’s waiting for me to volunteer it. I do so, a little, simply saying that I enjoyed it and I wanted to find a way to make it every week.
End of discussion.
Time keeps moving. I feel something stirring in my head. I don’t know how to describe it but whatever it is it’s trying to save me from whatever hole I’ve fallen into. It’s starting to gently pull at my limbs, tugging at me, coaxing me out. I’m only mildly resistant and mostly curious as to what this is. This energy pushes itself into my fingers, making them construct a note to my assistant manager in Evanston asking her for the Wednesday schedule adjustment so I can make it to OA. I stop what I’m doing to write this note, afraid that if I don’t do it right this minute I’ll regret it. I place it next to our assistant schedule and continue on with my day.
The next step this feeling has me taking is to promise myself that I’ll make it to the gym three times a week. It doesn’t matter which three days, I just need to get there. No more excuses, no more “maybe next week”, it’s now or never, do it.
So it begins. I go and go hard. Nothing gets in my way, not even the rain. I notice that I stay longer and work harder. The pressure is off to go five or six times a week. Three is enough for now and I know that if I want more, I can go more. Having this knowledge and accepting it has made all the difference in the world. Where was this serenity when I needed it last year or even the year before? How did I achieve this all the sudden?
In no time I find myself online and posting a thread on couchsurfing.com, looking for fellow writers to get together and bounce ideas off of. I’m looking for support and understanding. I’ve let this thought marinate in my mind for the longest time now. Taking a step to reach out means putting myself out there, further solidifying my attempt at writing a novel and increasing my risk of failure if I don’t do it.
Taking all this action feels like preparing for something. For what I don’t know. Maybe I don’t need to know right now but just need to sit back, follow it and enjoy the process…
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Novel...
It bounces around my head, scratches at the inside of my brain, conjures up stories, and ideas on how to put it together. It’ll keep me up at night, tap me on the shoulder in the mornings, consume my thoughts while doing mindless activities during the day. I want to write a novel.
My dream is to sign a book deal ahead of time, and take a stack of notebooks, pens and my laptop to Stockholm where I’ll sit in cafes all day drinking coffee, eating unidentifiable chocolate objects while getting the project done. I want to explore the depths of my memories, thoughts, feelings and share them with the world. I feel that if I accomplish this, I will be able to put a lot of residual feelings about work in Atlanta behind me. I’ll also be able to better understand my feelings about Rob, and about life. I want this. I want it so badly, to accomplish this feat. Starting is the problem. How do I start something this huge? How do I tell the story? How do I get to a place where nothing else matters but what I’m trying to get out. How do I find a place where I’m comfortable enough to “go there”? Where I’m not someone’s daughter, employee, friend, etc…
I’m scared of where my head might go, what might come up and how I’ll feel about it. I also fear failure and judgment so much that I keep the idea as that. Only an idea.
Charlie replaces my battery for my computer on my birthday telling me it’s to start my novel.
“You can now take the computer with you to Lovely and write.” he smiles. (Lovely is the the coffee shop where we met and is my favorite.) The electrical outlets don’t work there so I only bring things I’m hand writing, or I use his computer for the internet if we’re there together. “I want two chapters!” he exclaims.
I laugh and tell him that will take an eternity at the rate I’m going.
“Does it bother you that I bug you about it?” he asks.
“Not at all. I need it apparently.”
I do begin. It’s excruciating. That first sentence is agonizing. I peck out two pages instead of two chapters. I can’t quite figure out how to start. What I wrote doesn’t feel right. It has it’s place just not at the beginning. I keep waiting for the perfect idea to come along forgetting that it’s simply going to take starting and some trial and error before I figure it out. I keep going though, hoping it’ll resemble something soon.
Weeks later I start looking for people to meet with and bounce ideas off of on couchsurfing.com. A guy sends me an amazing article about the process famous writers go through to get to a place where they can begin and write their novels. Receiving this electronic, orgasmic treat is just what I needed to get up off my ass. I so enjoyed reading about the obscure things people do to go to their “happy place” to write. From creating storyboards, to sitting on the edge of the bathtub, to dressing up in character to get the story out, reading about other people’s process helped me to stop judging my own, accepting it as the way I do things and be ok with that.
“What is my process?” I ask myself. This is what I know for sure. I’m controlling. I want it to go the way I want it to go, often being resistant to the story taking on a mind of it’s own. I love writing in the mornings. I don’t do so well at night. With my blogs, I write them in the morning, “sleep on it”, wake up the next morning, revise it, making sure it’s something I want to post, then post it. I know my journals must be handwritten and my blogs must be typed to effectively get my point across. I sometimes write in fragments when I’m upset. I’m easily overwhelmed at times with emotion while writing and other times, there is nothing that comes to mind when I feel I should write. I’ve learned that patience is something I need to work on and trust that whatever it is I need to say, it’ll come out on it’s own, in it’s own time.
I read that this one author writes only what she knows and eventually puts it all together. She has a huge bulletin board in her room where she tacks up stories, thoughts and ideas she scribbles on various pieces of paper and torn out notebook pages. This lights me up and I start to explore this idea. I know that I’m haphazard in a lot of areas in my life. I’ve noticed, or recently acknowledged that when I close the salons alone, there is no rhyme or reason as to how it gets done it just does. If I approach my writing this way, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to get this done.
At Borders I buy a huge notebook. I start pouring over past journals, trying to pick out something to start with. I begin writing random thoughts and ideas in the notebook. Some of those thoughts become full sentences that grow into paragraphs. When one paragraph gets stuck I move to another story. When I can’t think of how to start it, I begin writing the ending. When that gets tough to piece together I write about something that happened that I wanted to explore with words, stringing them together as if I were painting a picture. I move the words around, crossing them out putting new ones in the old ones places, I fill the pages that were once blank and while it doesn’t look like much I am on top of the world. I’m learning so much about how to get this done in a way I can accept. I feel in control of something finally. Starting this has helped me see that a lot of areas in my life are out of control and I’ve been acting out in a lot of ways and need to get my act together.
I write while riding trains, in coffee shops, restaurants, and even at home briefly. I type thoughts into my phone, and scribble them on scratch pieces of paper as I move through each day, knowing that whatever I come up with will have it’s own place just as soon as I figure out where that place is.
I start walking more, working through things in my head, start taking the gym more seriously, and feel something in my head is shifting, changing and opening up. I’m letting go of something I can’t identify yet but it feels good so I go with it. I love how in this little corner of my world I can be myself, I can tell or omit anything I choose to. The paper has no opinion. It doesn’t pass any judgment. I can take any direction I want with this project. That knowledge is both daunting and exhilarating at the same time. The process is different than blogging or journaling. I seriously feel I’m constructing a work of art at the moment.
“Where are my two chapters?” Charlie asks over the phone one evening.
“I’m working on it!” I exclaim. I tell him about the email I got about the process of writing various authors use and how excited it’s made me. “I started writing and it doesn’t look like much now but I’m really happy with what I came up with. I’ll show it to you when you get home.”
Charlie’s been in Orlando for a little bit. I hear the words exit my mouth but feel that I won’t be sharing this with him for some reason. I honestly don’t know how to first of all, but something doesn’t feel totally right. I dismiss the thought. Of course I’ll show it to him. Of course. Right?
I my mind there is suddenly no reason in the world I can’t have this and reach my goal of being published. I don’t have all the answers yet. I don’t know where I’m going to find an agent to represent me, but I feel that person is out there. If not, I will self publish and go from there. For now, I’ll keep working and trust that the answers to my questions will find their way to me in their own time.
My dream is to sign a book deal ahead of time, and take a stack of notebooks, pens and my laptop to Stockholm where I’ll sit in cafes all day drinking coffee, eating unidentifiable chocolate objects while getting the project done. I want to explore the depths of my memories, thoughts, feelings and share them with the world. I feel that if I accomplish this, I will be able to put a lot of residual feelings about work in Atlanta behind me. I’ll also be able to better understand my feelings about Rob, and about life. I want this. I want it so badly, to accomplish this feat. Starting is the problem. How do I start something this huge? How do I tell the story? How do I get to a place where nothing else matters but what I’m trying to get out. How do I find a place where I’m comfortable enough to “go there”? Where I’m not someone’s daughter, employee, friend, etc…
I’m scared of where my head might go, what might come up and how I’ll feel about it. I also fear failure and judgment so much that I keep the idea as that. Only an idea.
Charlie replaces my battery for my computer on my birthday telling me it’s to start my novel.
“You can now take the computer with you to Lovely and write.” he smiles. (Lovely is the the coffee shop where we met and is my favorite.) The electrical outlets don’t work there so I only bring things I’m hand writing, or I use his computer for the internet if we’re there together. “I want two chapters!” he exclaims.
I laugh and tell him that will take an eternity at the rate I’m going.
“Does it bother you that I bug you about it?” he asks.
“Not at all. I need it apparently.”
I do begin. It’s excruciating. That first sentence is agonizing. I peck out two pages instead of two chapters. I can’t quite figure out how to start. What I wrote doesn’t feel right. It has it’s place just not at the beginning. I keep waiting for the perfect idea to come along forgetting that it’s simply going to take starting and some trial and error before I figure it out. I keep going though, hoping it’ll resemble something soon.
Weeks later I start looking for people to meet with and bounce ideas off of on couchsurfing.com. A guy sends me an amazing article about the process famous writers go through to get to a place where they can begin and write their novels. Receiving this electronic, orgasmic treat is just what I needed to get up off my ass. I so enjoyed reading about the obscure things people do to go to their “happy place” to write. From creating storyboards, to sitting on the edge of the bathtub, to dressing up in character to get the story out, reading about other people’s process helped me to stop judging my own, accepting it as the way I do things and be ok with that.
“What is my process?” I ask myself. This is what I know for sure. I’m controlling. I want it to go the way I want it to go, often being resistant to the story taking on a mind of it’s own. I love writing in the mornings. I don’t do so well at night. With my blogs, I write them in the morning, “sleep on it”, wake up the next morning, revise it, making sure it’s something I want to post, then post it. I know my journals must be handwritten and my blogs must be typed to effectively get my point across. I sometimes write in fragments when I’m upset. I’m easily overwhelmed at times with emotion while writing and other times, there is nothing that comes to mind when I feel I should write. I’ve learned that patience is something I need to work on and trust that whatever it is I need to say, it’ll come out on it’s own, in it’s own time.
I read that this one author writes only what she knows and eventually puts it all together. She has a huge bulletin board in her room where she tacks up stories, thoughts and ideas she scribbles on various pieces of paper and torn out notebook pages. This lights me up and I start to explore this idea. I know that I’m haphazard in a lot of areas in my life. I’ve noticed, or recently acknowledged that when I close the salons alone, there is no rhyme or reason as to how it gets done it just does. If I approach my writing this way, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to get this done.
At Borders I buy a huge notebook. I start pouring over past journals, trying to pick out something to start with. I begin writing random thoughts and ideas in the notebook. Some of those thoughts become full sentences that grow into paragraphs. When one paragraph gets stuck I move to another story. When I can’t think of how to start it, I begin writing the ending. When that gets tough to piece together I write about something that happened that I wanted to explore with words, stringing them together as if I were painting a picture. I move the words around, crossing them out putting new ones in the old ones places, I fill the pages that were once blank and while it doesn’t look like much I am on top of the world. I’m learning so much about how to get this done in a way I can accept. I feel in control of something finally. Starting this has helped me see that a lot of areas in my life are out of control and I’ve been acting out in a lot of ways and need to get my act together.
I write while riding trains, in coffee shops, restaurants, and even at home briefly. I type thoughts into my phone, and scribble them on scratch pieces of paper as I move through each day, knowing that whatever I come up with will have it’s own place just as soon as I figure out where that place is.
I start walking more, working through things in my head, start taking the gym more seriously, and feel something in my head is shifting, changing and opening up. I’m letting go of something I can’t identify yet but it feels good so I go with it. I love how in this little corner of my world I can be myself, I can tell or omit anything I choose to. The paper has no opinion. It doesn’t pass any judgment. I can take any direction I want with this project. That knowledge is both daunting and exhilarating at the same time. The process is different than blogging or journaling. I seriously feel I’m constructing a work of art at the moment.
“Where are my two chapters?” Charlie asks over the phone one evening.
“I’m working on it!” I exclaim. I tell him about the email I got about the process of writing various authors use and how excited it’s made me. “I started writing and it doesn’t look like much now but I’m really happy with what I came up with. I’ll show it to you when you get home.”
Charlie’s been in Orlando for a little bit. I hear the words exit my mouth but feel that I won’t be sharing this with him for some reason. I honestly don’t know how to first of all, but something doesn’t feel totally right. I dismiss the thought. Of course I’ll show it to him. Of course. Right?
I my mind there is suddenly no reason in the world I can’t have this and reach my goal of being published. I don’t have all the answers yet. I don’t know where I’m going to find an agent to represent me, but I feel that person is out there. If not, I will self publish and go from there. For now, I’ll keep working and trust that the answers to my questions will find their way to me in their own time.
Teachback...
I’m awake before the alarm on my phone goes off. I pull myself out of bed, pack my things and head out Charlie’s door and into mine. I thought I’d want to go for a run being I was desperate to do so yesterday but I’m awfully sleepy and don’t feel like it.
I make breakfast, and check email, trying to identify my feelings. I’m nervous. Yup. I think that’s all I can come up with right now.
Instead of running I decide to walk to Alliance and get an Americano. I don’t want to be jacked for this presentation but I can’t imagine not having my usual cup of crazy.
The walk to Alliance is chilly but nice. The sky is beginning to lighten. I love this time in the morning. Everything is quiet and beautiful before the insanity of everyone’s day begins. I’m listening to my iPOD and letting my mind wander as I cross the streets and walk into the little shop. I order my Americano and head back out, almost sad there is no time to write. Once I’m home, I jump in the shower.
While wrapped in a towel, waiting for the lotion I just put on to sink further into my skin, I turn on the tape I have of Rob’s funeral while pulling out the clothes I want to wear today. I listen to his sister Kate speak, smiling at her voice telling a story about Rob and her when they were younger. Tears sting my eyes. I then hear my own voice begin to speak on the tape. I feel like I hear something different each time I listen to the tape. It isn’t often that I turn it on but when I do, I barely recognize the tone of my own. I listen to myself speak about Rob’s love and all that he did for me in such a short time. I didn’t realize I was on the verge of tears. I don’t remember hearing that or feeling it when I was up there.
I pull on black tights an slide on my favorite black dress that Nathan gave me in high school. It’s seen all sorts of occasions from sports banquets in school, fancy dinners, job interviews, Rob’s funeral and now my teachback. Once dressed, I paint my face in the bathroom, finishing with a new cranberry lipstick I bought for the occasion.
While pulling my things together I listen to Rob’s favorite CD. Once I have my gear packed I head to the train.
The Wicker Park salon is only one train stop away from where I live but it’s raining outside and I refuse to walk today. Plus, I’m wearing knee high, 3 inch heel boots. I bought these for work and wore them on my first day. I was practically in tears by the end of that day. My feet felt bruised for three days. I used to be able to rock out the heels in Atlanta, but Chicago? Not so much.
The salon is locked when I arrive. I reach into my bag for my phone and realize I’ve left it at Charlie’s. Dammit. Minutes later Annie and Blair walk up.
“Hey!” I exclaim.
“Mama!” Annie beams, hugging me. “How you doin’?
“Good! Crazy. You?”
“I’m not nervous yet, but will be when everyone starts to get here.”
Blair and I nod in agreement.
“So, I think Paul is going to be late meeting us here to open the doors.” Blair tells me. “I’m going to Starbucks at 9:30 to pick up the coffee.”
I nod.
We talk and laugh about our night last night. Annie and Blair were up with headsheets, a brand new printer Blair ended up buying to print out our booklets, with some Taco Bell and Kentucky Fried Chicken. I laugh with them before telling them I enjoyed my quiet evening with Shannon and Charlie. We decide while standing there to run through what we’re going to say.
Annie starts, then Blair then me. I’m stumbling trying to breathe and talk at the same time. Once I’m finished, Paul is there opening the doors, hugging all of us and helping us set up. Alyx arrives a little later and once we’re set we decide to run through this thing all together.
While Alyx is talking Charlie walks in looking delicious in all black. I motion for him to come over and sit in front of where I’m standing. He does, handing me the “before” pictures he took of Jamie and himself yesterday.
“Thank you so much!” I whisper. He hands me my phone also and I smile. I want to touch him, want to feel calm.
Alyx finishes up and I begin talking. I’m nervous, and going at a hundred miles per hour. I’m focused on not saying “um” and “like”. It’s interfering with the information I’m trying to give. Paul is standing by watching us, commending us on our preparation. The four of us are practically sparkling up there, pleased with ourselves.
Charlie turns to face me. “You’re talking way too fast.”
“I know! I always do that when I’m nervous.”
“Just pump the brakes…”
I just want him to feel proud of me. It’s hard right now to remember everything. I’ve never done this before. I feel proud of myself but want it from him too.
It’s hard and easy all at the same time. I know what I want to say but knowing someone is listening, makes me jittery and I start fumbling.
“Just dumb it down Melissa. You’re thinking too much over there.” Annie reminds me. Inhale, exhale, smile and nod. Ok.
Models start filing in. The four of us begin seating and prepping them. I entertain thoughts of running out for more coffee and a snack but stop myself, knowing I’m just starting to freak out a little and it’s ok.
Once everyone is seated, Paul introduces us. I notice most of our educators are sitting up front. I don’t remember this happening before. I’m so happy they’re experiencing this with us.
He turns it over to Blair who begins by thanking everyone for coming. She introduces and explains her pre-dones before turning it over to Annie. She presents her models and turns it over to Alyx who moves to me when she’s finished.
While standing in front of all these wonderful people who have been there this whole time supporting and helping me through this process, personally and professionally I feel completely, totally and utterly…loved. I find the energy I was looking for, beam and say “Goodmorning!” I’m met with smiles and a delicious calm washes over me.
“It has been an honor and a privilege to work with these ladies.” I smiles, catching Annie’s smiling face. “We’ve definitely had a good time putting all of this together.” I laugh.
I introduce Jamie, calmly explaining how I cut her hair, presenting the products I used and why all while maintaining as much eye contact with everyone as possible.
“My second pre-done is the light of my life! This is my Charlie!” Everyone laughs. Tears spring to my eyes unexpectedly. I blink them back as fast as I can and begin speaking before my voice has a chance to crack, explaining his haircut and turning everything back over to Blair.
“Are there any questions?” she asks everyone. The sound that followed the question was one of the best I’ve heard. It was complete silence. Usually, questions float all over the place but after passing out the booklets we made and explaining exactly what each of us did, there was no room for questions.
“Alright, well, we’re going to dismiss our pre-dones and ask our live models to come over and have a seat.” I hear Blair smile without having to look at her.
There is shuffling around and lots of goodbyes as our models exit.
“See you tonight?” Charlie whispers.
I smile and nod.
The four of us work on our live models, explaining in between telling stories what we’re doing at that moment with the various cuts an color. I feel so comfortable, pushing the razor through Shannon’s hair. I even enjoyed the experience on the spot.
As we’re finishing up Paul and Susan tell us this is exactly what they were looking for when they created the teachback agenda. We’re all smiling. I’m bursting I’m so happy. I feel I accomplished what I wanted to. I got out of this whole thing more than I anticipated. I learned that hard work and taking it all one step at a time led to something amazing. It’s not like I didn’t already know this, it’s just that I wanted everything yesterday without willingness to put forth the work and effort it would take to get what I wanted. I suddenly feel like I can do whatever it is I want. I can accomplish and achieve anything I set my heart on. Why did it take so long to “get it”? Why did I treat this project with love, patience and diligence but not anything else I’ve ever done? I’m always in such a hurry but what am I racing against?
Everyone claps when we’re done. We’re met with praise and love as all of us scatter to set up our stations, getting ready for the rest of class. It’s going to be hard to focus on the rest of the day. I’m exhausted.
I have all my models and everyone is wonderful, I’m just brain-dead. Charlie meets us at Rodan, a fabulous little bar down the street from the salon. We all talk, laugh, and drink. While I’m having a good time, I’m desperate to share the rest of my day with him, desperate to tell him about all these feelings that are ranging from Rob to all the wonderful things our educators said to us.
On the walk back, I try. I try to open up, get to that place where I feel safe to speak. Problem is, I’ve never found that place with him. I try. I do. I try a lot. I can feel he’s getting agitated as I’m talking. I eventually stop.
Maybe I need to be enough for me. I think to myself. Maybe I know somewhere in my head that I am but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to share my thoughts with my boyfriend. I need to talk, I need to not bottle things up. I don’t know why I need to talk. I don’t even know what it is I want to say but it’s something, it’s heavy, I’m tired of carrying it, and I want to know he’s ok with hearing it.
I fall asleep feeling lonely. There is a warm body next to me. I want to wrap my arm around his torso and press my face to his chest. Why can’t I just reach out to him? He’s right there…nope. Too scary. I close my eyes and fall asleep.
I make breakfast, and check email, trying to identify my feelings. I’m nervous. Yup. I think that’s all I can come up with right now.
Instead of running I decide to walk to Alliance and get an Americano. I don’t want to be jacked for this presentation but I can’t imagine not having my usual cup of crazy.
The walk to Alliance is chilly but nice. The sky is beginning to lighten. I love this time in the morning. Everything is quiet and beautiful before the insanity of everyone’s day begins. I’m listening to my iPOD and letting my mind wander as I cross the streets and walk into the little shop. I order my Americano and head back out, almost sad there is no time to write. Once I’m home, I jump in the shower.
While wrapped in a towel, waiting for the lotion I just put on to sink further into my skin, I turn on the tape I have of Rob’s funeral while pulling out the clothes I want to wear today. I listen to his sister Kate speak, smiling at her voice telling a story about Rob and her when they were younger. Tears sting my eyes. I then hear my own voice begin to speak on the tape. I feel like I hear something different each time I listen to the tape. It isn’t often that I turn it on but when I do, I barely recognize the tone of my own. I listen to myself speak about Rob’s love and all that he did for me in such a short time. I didn’t realize I was on the verge of tears. I don’t remember hearing that or feeling it when I was up there.
I pull on black tights an slide on my favorite black dress that Nathan gave me in high school. It’s seen all sorts of occasions from sports banquets in school, fancy dinners, job interviews, Rob’s funeral and now my teachback. Once dressed, I paint my face in the bathroom, finishing with a new cranberry lipstick I bought for the occasion.
While pulling my things together I listen to Rob’s favorite CD. Once I have my gear packed I head to the train.
The Wicker Park salon is only one train stop away from where I live but it’s raining outside and I refuse to walk today. Plus, I’m wearing knee high, 3 inch heel boots. I bought these for work and wore them on my first day. I was practically in tears by the end of that day. My feet felt bruised for three days. I used to be able to rock out the heels in Atlanta, but Chicago? Not so much.
The salon is locked when I arrive. I reach into my bag for my phone and realize I’ve left it at Charlie’s. Dammit. Minutes later Annie and Blair walk up.
“Hey!” I exclaim.
“Mama!” Annie beams, hugging me. “How you doin’?
“Good! Crazy. You?”
“I’m not nervous yet, but will be when everyone starts to get here.”
Blair and I nod in agreement.
“So, I think Paul is going to be late meeting us here to open the doors.” Blair tells me. “I’m going to Starbucks at 9:30 to pick up the coffee.”
I nod.
We talk and laugh about our night last night. Annie and Blair were up with headsheets, a brand new printer Blair ended up buying to print out our booklets, with some Taco Bell and Kentucky Fried Chicken. I laugh with them before telling them I enjoyed my quiet evening with Shannon and Charlie. We decide while standing there to run through what we’re going to say.
Annie starts, then Blair then me. I’m stumbling trying to breathe and talk at the same time. Once I’m finished, Paul is there opening the doors, hugging all of us and helping us set up. Alyx arrives a little later and once we’re set we decide to run through this thing all together.
While Alyx is talking Charlie walks in looking delicious in all black. I motion for him to come over and sit in front of where I’m standing. He does, handing me the “before” pictures he took of Jamie and himself yesterday.
“Thank you so much!” I whisper. He hands me my phone also and I smile. I want to touch him, want to feel calm.
Alyx finishes up and I begin talking. I’m nervous, and going at a hundred miles per hour. I’m focused on not saying “um” and “like”. It’s interfering with the information I’m trying to give. Paul is standing by watching us, commending us on our preparation. The four of us are practically sparkling up there, pleased with ourselves.
Charlie turns to face me. “You’re talking way too fast.”
“I know! I always do that when I’m nervous.”
“Just pump the brakes…”
I just want him to feel proud of me. It’s hard right now to remember everything. I’ve never done this before. I feel proud of myself but want it from him too.
It’s hard and easy all at the same time. I know what I want to say but knowing someone is listening, makes me jittery and I start fumbling.
“Just dumb it down Melissa. You’re thinking too much over there.” Annie reminds me. Inhale, exhale, smile and nod. Ok.
Models start filing in. The four of us begin seating and prepping them. I entertain thoughts of running out for more coffee and a snack but stop myself, knowing I’m just starting to freak out a little and it’s ok.
Once everyone is seated, Paul introduces us. I notice most of our educators are sitting up front. I don’t remember this happening before. I’m so happy they’re experiencing this with us.
He turns it over to Blair who begins by thanking everyone for coming. She introduces and explains her pre-dones before turning it over to Annie. She presents her models and turns it over to Alyx who moves to me when she’s finished.
While standing in front of all these wonderful people who have been there this whole time supporting and helping me through this process, personally and professionally I feel completely, totally and utterly…loved. I find the energy I was looking for, beam and say “Goodmorning!” I’m met with smiles and a delicious calm washes over me.
“It has been an honor and a privilege to work with these ladies.” I smiles, catching Annie’s smiling face. “We’ve definitely had a good time putting all of this together.” I laugh.
I introduce Jamie, calmly explaining how I cut her hair, presenting the products I used and why all while maintaining as much eye contact with everyone as possible.
“My second pre-done is the light of my life! This is my Charlie!” Everyone laughs. Tears spring to my eyes unexpectedly. I blink them back as fast as I can and begin speaking before my voice has a chance to crack, explaining his haircut and turning everything back over to Blair.
“Are there any questions?” she asks everyone. The sound that followed the question was one of the best I’ve heard. It was complete silence. Usually, questions float all over the place but after passing out the booklets we made and explaining exactly what each of us did, there was no room for questions.
“Alright, well, we’re going to dismiss our pre-dones and ask our live models to come over and have a seat.” I hear Blair smile without having to look at her.
There is shuffling around and lots of goodbyes as our models exit.
“See you tonight?” Charlie whispers.
I smile and nod.
The four of us work on our live models, explaining in between telling stories what we’re doing at that moment with the various cuts an color. I feel so comfortable, pushing the razor through Shannon’s hair. I even enjoyed the experience on the spot.
As we’re finishing up Paul and Susan tell us this is exactly what they were looking for when they created the teachback agenda. We’re all smiling. I’m bursting I’m so happy. I feel I accomplished what I wanted to. I got out of this whole thing more than I anticipated. I learned that hard work and taking it all one step at a time led to something amazing. It’s not like I didn’t already know this, it’s just that I wanted everything yesterday without willingness to put forth the work and effort it would take to get what I wanted. I suddenly feel like I can do whatever it is I want. I can accomplish and achieve anything I set my heart on. Why did it take so long to “get it”? Why did I treat this project with love, patience and diligence but not anything else I’ve ever done? I’m always in such a hurry but what am I racing against?
Everyone claps when we’re done. We’re met with praise and love as all of us scatter to set up our stations, getting ready for the rest of class. It’s going to be hard to focus on the rest of the day. I’m exhausted.
I have all my models and everyone is wonderful, I’m just brain-dead. Charlie meets us at Rodan, a fabulous little bar down the street from the salon. We all talk, laugh, and drink. While I’m having a good time, I’m desperate to share the rest of my day with him, desperate to tell him about all these feelings that are ranging from Rob to all the wonderful things our educators said to us.
On the walk back, I try. I try to open up, get to that place where I feel safe to speak. Problem is, I’ve never found that place with him. I try. I do. I try a lot. I can feel he’s getting agitated as I’m talking. I eventually stop.
Maybe I need to be enough for me. I think to myself. Maybe I know somewhere in my head that I am but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to share my thoughts with my boyfriend. I need to talk, I need to not bottle things up. I don’t know why I need to talk. I don’t even know what it is I want to say but it’s something, it’s heavy, I’m tired of carrying it, and I want to know he’s ok with hearing it.
I fall asleep feeling lonely. There is a warm body next to me. I want to wrap my arm around his torso and press my face to his chest. Why can’t I just reach out to him? He’s right there…nope. Too scary. I close my eyes and fall asleep.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Teachback Prep...
“So is there anything else you’re interested in doing besides behind the chair work? Are you interested in management or education at all?” Cyndi asks me after briefing me on what Art+Science is all about. It’s my first interview and I’m in Evanston sitting on a couch practically exploding because I have a feeling finally that this is it. This is what I want.
“I want to teach.” I beam.
“Really!” she lights up. “Well, at the end of your time in class, we have you do a teachback where you cut hair in front of the class, so that will be some good practice.”
Teachback? I think to myself. This sounds scary. I decide not to worry about it until that day arrived. Maybe by then I’ll know what I’m doing well enough to do a good job and it won’t be so intimidating…
Over the course of eleven months I’ve seen a few teachbacks. I’ve watched then intently, mentally taking notes on what I wanted to do differently, what else could I bring to the table to be thorough, and prepared, all while seeming perfectly comfortable standing in front of my co-workers and managers as if I did this sort of thing all the time.
I would daydream about who my models would be, what would I say, what cut would I do, and when this would happen. When I met Charlie I had already decided I wanted him there. Part of me was slightly insecure about this idea. I’m not sure I wanted him to see me speak in front of my co-workers. I didn’t know how nervous I would be, and if having him there would exacerbate that nervousness or calm me, because I knew him. He wouldn’t be some random person I pulled off the street.
My co-workers, Annie, Blair and Alyx were doing this with me. In class, I was a little behind them but ahead of a couple other girls. I felt my options were to ask to do mine right now, or wait. I asked, wanting this to be over with. Paul said yes and it was done.
The plan for the stylists is to find two models that we have pre-done to present, and one live that we cut in front of the class. The colorists need the same. Charlie agreed to be a pre-done, my friend Shannon agreed to come in from Atlanta to be my live model and a friend of a co-worker could be my other pre-done. I’m set, so why am I freaking out?
Personally, I want this to be perfect. I want to be so organized and put together that our audience is blown away. I want to appear polished, calm, and comfortable no matter what.
Then there’s the technical aspect of it. I’m not strong in men’s work right now and will need guidance with Charlie’s hair. I haven’t met my other pre-done, Jamie, but I know what I’d like to do on her, I just don’t know how to execute it, and Shannon? Her haircut works out in my head but how do I cut her in front of an audience? What if my idea doesn’t work? I take a mannequin head home to practice.
Days go by. The four of us meet up for coffee before class one Monday and toss around ideas. We agree on putting together booklets that explain each model, and add a little bio about ourselves. We want to put together a slide show to play while people are coming in that morning, and decide to bring in donuts and coffee. We also decide to meet at the Wicker Park salon the day before and get all of our pre-done models completed.
I ask Patrick, our Lincoln Park manager, to come in and help Annie and me with our models. Despite the Vikings game being on, and the fact that it’s his day off as well as the rest of us, he agrees.
Meanwhile, life is still happening. The four of us are still following our usual assistant schedules on top of prepping for this thing while maintaining something that could resemble a social life.
The day after Rob’s birthday I call Annie. I’m a hot mess. It’s freezing outside and I’m choosing to walk home from work, trying to feel better.
“Let it out mama. What is it?” she asks.
“Girl, I don’t know. I’m looping my feelings about Rob and him being gone into this teachback. The last time I spoke in front of people it was his funeral. When I think about who I was at that moment, standing up there talking, it makes me so happy. I want to be that girl again when this whole thing happens. I can’t explain it really. I don’t completely understand it.”
She quietly listens. For whatever reason my brain has chosen her to lay all my grief on. I don’t share much else with her but this. I don’t share much about Rob at all to anyone since moving. It’s created this island that I swim to sometimes when I get sad. I go out there and sit on this island alone. I walk around, look around, kick through the sand, scream, stare at the sun, and the stars. I wonder what if, then when I’ve had enough I go back to the world again. Only problem is, the world doesn’t know I’ve gone. It wants me to go to work, and pay the bills. It wants me to talk to it, clean it, go out in it, experience it. It doesn’t understand the grief any more than I do and now it wants me to give a presentation? What? Now?
The subject moves to what we’ve done to get ready before going in and doing our pre-done models.
“Have you done your headsheets yet?” she asks. The headsheets are diagrams of how we cut each model.
“Hell no. I tried the other day. I read over my notes and tried to come up with something but then I thought, if I wanted to change something then I’d have to change the headsheet.”
“I know! Ok. Let’s just do all of this on Sunday after everyone is finished.” she suggests.
“Deal.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“Will do. Same to you.” I smile.
We get off the phone and I walk the rest of the way home.
Sunday arrived with fluffy white clouds and sunshine. Charlie and I got up and went to Alliance bakery for coffee and breakfast. I went here every day shortly after moving to Chicago. I now can’t remember the last time I went.
The silence is deafening as Charlie surfs the internet and I eat a bagel waiting for his mini laptop to load the yahoo web page. I feel my heart begin to speed up and I desperately want to run a marathon right now. I could run straight to California and not feel a thing. I can’t sit still another minute. I glance at the time after finishing the bagel. I need to leave in a few minutes but can’t sit still another second.
“I have to go.” I whisper to Charlie.
“Ok. What time are you walking up to the salon?”
“Ten thirty.”
“Meet at Division and Milwaukee?” he asks.
“Yup.” I reach for my purse.
“Can you hang on for five minutes? I’ll walk with you.” he says and shuts down his computer.
I nod and minutes later we’re out the door headed for our apartments.
I quickly shower, get dressed and pull together all my work things. Charlie meets me at my place because I’m running a little late.
“Ready?” I exhale grabbing my bag when I think there is nothing left for me to do or bring along.
“Yup.” he stands from the couch and we’re off.
I haven’t told Charlie all my feelings that are cropping up about this whole thing. It crosses my mind to say something on our walk to the salon but I don’t. My conscious self is anxious about the unknown parts of this situation. It’s worried I‘ll cut Charlie‘s hair too short, that I’ll slip up and get my words jumbled while talking tomorrow about him, that Jamie won’t be into the idea I have for her hair and I’ll be back at square one, that I won’t be able to answer a question that could be thrown at me, the list goes on.
There’s this other side though that is extinguishing all those negative thoughts. It feels like it’s something bigger than me. It’s calming warmth is reminding me that I’ll find the words I need, I have the help I asked for, and I need to relax because Monday isn’t here yet but when it comes, I’ll know what to say and do. For now, it reminds me, I have to do today.
“I owe you my life for doing this for me.” I grin at Charlie. We’re halfway into his haircut. The dermatitis on my left hand is screaming and my brain feels a little scrambled but other than that, everything is good.
He’s quiet as I steal Annie’s clippers and get Patrick.
“This clipper action isn’t a strong point for me.” I tell him.
“It’s ok. Just make sure you….” he goes on to explain how I should hold the device. “Just go in like this.’ he demonstrates on the right side of Charlie’s head. “Here.” he hands the clippers to me.
I gingerly take them, turn them on and press them to Charlie’s skin. I try to mimic what he did but pulled away too fast causing a line to appear just below Charlie’s occipital bone. I move to the next section and end up doing the same thing.
“Patrick!” I exclaim, feeling my skin heat up.
“What’s up?” he walks over.
“Look at this. This is what continues to happen.” I point to the trouble.
“That’s nothing. We’re not even worried about that yet. I need you to only pay attention to this part.” he takes the clippers from me and shows me again what I’m to do. I do it and this time I cut it too short.
“I hate this.” I growl to Charlie.
“You’re doing fine.” he says.
“I continue to have the same problem. I hear what I’m being told, I’m just unable to make my hands do what I need them to.”
“You are fine.” he says again.
I shake my head, still feeling my skin radiate heat.
“Patrick?” I call over to him.
He walks over and stands next to me, both of us surveying Charlie’s head.
“What’s this?” I point to right behind Charlie’s left ear.
“Ok, that’s a little shorter but it’s not big deal. Use your shears to even it out and detail this section.” he tells me pointing to the middle of Charlie’s head.
Shannon arrived and so did Jamie as I was working on the top of Charlie’s head. It took me two hours to finish him. It took another hour and a half to finish Jamie. I carefully listened to Patrick’s instructions and carefully followed them as I worked quietly on Jamie’s pretty, curly hair. Once I was done and satisfied, I brought Shannon over to discuss with Patrick how I was going to do this. In the end, I’m still not entirely clear on it but the feeling that everything will be fine has enveloped me and I’m ok with it.
Shannon leaves and I go into the office with Blair, Annie, Alyx to continue discussing and outlining how we’re going to execute this, who is going to say what and when, and what we need to wear, bring and set up. This takes an hour.
When I’m finally done, packed up and walking out the door my head is spinning. I’m trying to calm down as I make my way downtown to meet Shannon for dinner. It feels good to sit down and breathe for a moment.
After saying goodbye at her hotel, I take a walk in search of the train. I’m only vaguely familiar with the area and eventually find the red line and go to Charlie’s. My stress about this situation has manifested itself in the spreading my dermatitis from my hands to my arms and the feeling I need to snap at everything he says.
“Stop it.” I tell myself. “He’s done nothing. It’s not his fault you can’t speak. It’s not his fault you’re stressed…”
He wants to watch a movie but it’s already 10:30. I want to be up early to go for a run in the morning. It isn’t long before we’ve climbed into bed, the idea of a movie set aside for now and quietly gone to sleep.
“I want to teach.” I beam.
“Really!” she lights up. “Well, at the end of your time in class, we have you do a teachback where you cut hair in front of the class, so that will be some good practice.”
Teachback? I think to myself. This sounds scary. I decide not to worry about it until that day arrived. Maybe by then I’ll know what I’m doing well enough to do a good job and it won’t be so intimidating…
Over the course of eleven months I’ve seen a few teachbacks. I’ve watched then intently, mentally taking notes on what I wanted to do differently, what else could I bring to the table to be thorough, and prepared, all while seeming perfectly comfortable standing in front of my co-workers and managers as if I did this sort of thing all the time.
I would daydream about who my models would be, what would I say, what cut would I do, and when this would happen. When I met Charlie I had already decided I wanted him there. Part of me was slightly insecure about this idea. I’m not sure I wanted him to see me speak in front of my co-workers. I didn’t know how nervous I would be, and if having him there would exacerbate that nervousness or calm me, because I knew him. He wouldn’t be some random person I pulled off the street.
My co-workers, Annie, Blair and Alyx were doing this with me. In class, I was a little behind them but ahead of a couple other girls. I felt my options were to ask to do mine right now, or wait. I asked, wanting this to be over with. Paul said yes and it was done.
The plan for the stylists is to find two models that we have pre-done to present, and one live that we cut in front of the class. The colorists need the same. Charlie agreed to be a pre-done, my friend Shannon agreed to come in from Atlanta to be my live model and a friend of a co-worker could be my other pre-done. I’m set, so why am I freaking out?
Personally, I want this to be perfect. I want to be so organized and put together that our audience is blown away. I want to appear polished, calm, and comfortable no matter what.
Then there’s the technical aspect of it. I’m not strong in men’s work right now and will need guidance with Charlie’s hair. I haven’t met my other pre-done, Jamie, but I know what I’d like to do on her, I just don’t know how to execute it, and Shannon? Her haircut works out in my head but how do I cut her in front of an audience? What if my idea doesn’t work? I take a mannequin head home to practice.
Days go by. The four of us meet up for coffee before class one Monday and toss around ideas. We agree on putting together booklets that explain each model, and add a little bio about ourselves. We want to put together a slide show to play while people are coming in that morning, and decide to bring in donuts and coffee. We also decide to meet at the Wicker Park salon the day before and get all of our pre-done models completed.
I ask Patrick, our Lincoln Park manager, to come in and help Annie and me with our models. Despite the Vikings game being on, and the fact that it’s his day off as well as the rest of us, he agrees.
Meanwhile, life is still happening. The four of us are still following our usual assistant schedules on top of prepping for this thing while maintaining something that could resemble a social life.
The day after Rob’s birthday I call Annie. I’m a hot mess. It’s freezing outside and I’m choosing to walk home from work, trying to feel better.
“Let it out mama. What is it?” she asks.
“Girl, I don’t know. I’m looping my feelings about Rob and him being gone into this teachback. The last time I spoke in front of people it was his funeral. When I think about who I was at that moment, standing up there talking, it makes me so happy. I want to be that girl again when this whole thing happens. I can’t explain it really. I don’t completely understand it.”
She quietly listens. For whatever reason my brain has chosen her to lay all my grief on. I don’t share much else with her but this. I don’t share much about Rob at all to anyone since moving. It’s created this island that I swim to sometimes when I get sad. I go out there and sit on this island alone. I walk around, look around, kick through the sand, scream, stare at the sun, and the stars. I wonder what if, then when I’ve had enough I go back to the world again. Only problem is, the world doesn’t know I’ve gone. It wants me to go to work, and pay the bills. It wants me to talk to it, clean it, go out in it, experience it. It doesn’t understand the grief any more than I do and now it wants me to give a presentation? What? Now?
The subject moves to what we’ve done to get ready before going in and doing our pre-done models.
“Have you done your headsheets yet?” she asks. The headsheets are diagrams of how we cut each model.
“Hell no. I tried the other day. I read over my notes and tried to come up with something but then I thought, if I wanted to change something then I’d have to change the headsheet.”
“I know! Ok. Let’s just do all of this on Sunday after everyone is finished.” she suggests.
“Deal.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“Will do. Same to you.” I smile.
We get off the phone and I walk the rest of the way home.
Sunday arrived with fluffy white clouds and sunshine. Charlie and I got up and went to Alliance bakery for coffee and breakfast. I went here every day shortly after moving to Chicago. I now can’t remember the last time I went.
The silence is deafening as Charlie surfs the internet and I eat a bagel waiting for his mini laptop to load the yahoo web page. I feel my heart begin to speed up and I desperately want to run a marathon right now. I could run straight to California and not feel a thing. I can’t sit still another minute. I glance at the time after finishing the bagel. I need to leave in a few minutes but can’t sit still another second.
“I have to go.” I whisper to Charlie.
“Ok. What time are you walking up to the salon?”
“Ten thirty.”
“Meet at Division and Milwaukee?” he asks.
“Yup.” I reach for my purse.
“Can you hang on for five minutes? I’ll walk with you.” he says and shuts down his computer.
I nod and minutes later we’re out the door headed for our apartments.
I quickly shower, get dressed and pull together all my work things. Charlie meets me at my place because I’m running a little late.
“Ready?” I exhale grabbing my bag when I think there is nothing left for me to do or bring along.
“Yup.” he stands from the couch and we’re off.
I haven’t told Charlie all my feelings that are cropping up about this whole thing. It crosses my mind to say something on our walk to the salon but I don’t. My conscious self is anxious about the unknown parts of this situation. It’s worried I‘ll cut Charlie‘s hair too short, that I’ll slip up and get my words jumbled while talking tomorrow about him, that Jamie won’t be into the idea I have for her hair and I’ll be back at square one, that I won’t be able to answer a question that could be thrown at me, the list goes on.
There’s this other side though that is extinguishing all those negative thoughts. It feels like it’s something bigger than me. It’s calming warmth is reminding me that I’ll find the words I need, I have the help I asked for, and I need to relax because Monday isn’t here yet but when it comes, I’ll know what to say and do. For now, it reminds me, I have to do today.
“I owe you my life for doing this for me.” I grin at Charlie. We’re halfway into his haircut. The dermatitis on my left hand is screaming and my brain feels a little scrambled but other than that, everything is good.
He’s quiet as I steal Annie’s clippers and get Patrick.
“This clipper action isn’t a strong point for me.” I tell him.
“It’s ok. Just make sure you….” he goes on to explain how I should hold the device. “Just go in like this.’ he demonstrates on the right side of Charlie’s head. “Here.” he hands the clippers to me.
I gingerly take them, turn them on and press them to Charlie’s skin. I try to mimic what he did but pulled away too fast causing a line to appear just below Charlie’s occipital bone. I move to the next section and end up doing the same thing.
“Patrick!” I exclaim, feeling my skin heat up.
“What’s up?” he walks over.
“Look at this. This is what continues to happen.” I point to the trouble.
“That’s nothing. We’re not even worried about that yet. I need you to only pay attention to this part.” he takes the clippers from me and shows me again what I’m to do. I do it and this time I cut it too short.
“I hate this.” I growl to Charlie.
“You’re doing fine.” he says.
“I continue to have the same problem. I hear what I’m being told, I’m just unable to make my hands do what I need them to.”
“You are fine.” he says again.
I shake my head, still feeling my skin radiate heat.
“Patrick?” I call over to him.
He walks over and stands next to me, both of us surveying Charlie’s head.
“What’s this?” I point to right behind Charlie’s left ear.
“Ok, that’s a little shorter but it’s not big deal. Use your shears to even it out and detail this section.” he tells me pointing to the middle of Charlie’s head.
Shannon arrived and so did Jamie as I was working on the top of Charlie’s head. It took me two hours to finish him. It took another hour and a half to finish Jamie. I carefully listened to Patrick’s instructions and carefully followed them as I worked quietly on Jamie’s pretty, curly hair. Once I was done and satisfied, I brought Shannon over to discuss with Patrick how I was going to do this. In the end, I’m still not entirely clear on it but the feeling that everything will be fine has enveloped me and I’m ok with it.
Shannon leaves and I go into the office with Blair, Annie, Alyx to continue discussing and outlining how we’re going to execute this, who is going to say what and when, and what we need to wear, bring and set up. This takes an hour.
When I’m finally done, packed up and walking out the door my head is spinning. I’m trying to calm down as I make my way downtown to meet Shannon for dinner. It feels good to sit down and breathe for a moment.
After saying goodbye at her hotel, I take a walk in search of the train. I’m only vaguely familiar with the area and eventually find the red line and go to Charlie’s. My stress about this situation has manifested itself in the spreading my dermatitis from my hands to my arms and the feeling I need to snap at everything he says.
“Stop it.” I tell myself. “He’s done nothing. It’s not his fault you can’t speak. It’s not his fault you’re stressed…”
He wants to watch a movie but it’s already 10:30. I want to be up early to go for a run in the morning. It isn’t long before we’ve climbed into bed, the idea of a movie set aside for now and quietly gone to sleep.
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