Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Model Days!!!
EEEKKK!!! It’s finally happening!!! I’m actually going to cut hair!!! How it works when we’re assisting at Art+Science is once we reach a certain place in class and do our teachback, we cut (or color) on the floor at the location we’ll be placed at for a discounted price. We do this once a week for four weeks. If all the numbers look good and all the people come in we earn our first day on the floor charging the actual salon prices. This happens once a week for four weeks and again, if the numbers are on the up and up we earn another day and another etc…until we’re no longer assistants. I see the light… shining ever so brightly up in Evanston, but first, I gotta get some folks in. My first day is Tuesday December 1st. I post ads all over craigslist, put flyers up all over the surrounding area near the salon, ask former models that have come in for class with me in the past to come in, ask friends and friends of friends. I ask the receptionists to send their friends, ask other people how they did it and…pray. Charlie is coming in and bringing his friend Brian. They are my only two and I’m freaking out all week. Not only am I scrambling trying to find people, I’m also still assisting. I still need models for class on Monday. I am constantly reminding myself every time I want to kill some food, that everything is happening the way it’s supposed to. I don’t have to eat like it’s the last day of my life over something I can’t control. I can sit with it. Easier said than done. On the morning of the first I am in Evanston psychotically early and drinking coffee at the Unicorn café and contemplating a chocolate chip cookie. (Nope, nope and nope.) I’m wearing a dark purple dress and black tights instead of my assistant color scheme of all black or gray and have so many thoughts running through my head that I can’t keep it all straight. I desperately wish I could share this moment with Rob. I’m doing this. It’s actually going to happen. I’m going to cut hair here and I’m so sad that all this time has gone by and I haven’t been able to call him and tell him any of it. It’s not like he doesn’t know. I believe he’s with me always but it’s not the same as physically looking across a table at him while he drinks his soy caramel latte explaining all my nervous jitters and hearing him say “Don’t worry. I’m right here.” I won’t go home and have dinner with him after my day, tellinghim how it went. It’ll just be me and that’s ok. I plan to take myself out for sushi tonight and let the fabulousness of being able to cut hair for today sink in. I just miss him. When I walk in, I see one of the receptionists, LaRae across the salon and we both start screaming and running towards each other, slamming into a huge hug. “I’m so happy you’re here!” she exclaims. “Me too!” I squeal. “It’s gonna be a good day!” she smiles. “Yup!” I’m going to work next to my men’s work educator, George. It feels so surreal to see my name on the books, to have a day sheet that has clients on it, and a place to put my things. My head is swimming as I see I’m booked today with the exception of one opening. My day moves smoothly, wonderfully and happily. I enjoy the company of all my clients. I can’t even believe the girl behind the chair is me. She is the person she wanted to be in Atlanta but never made it. She’s talkative, animated, decisive, confident, and actually believes what she’s saying. She is utterly grateful for a “second chance”. The skin on my hands is practically normal by the end of the day. I absolutely cannot believe it. Even after touching wet hair all day, the swelling and redness is almost gone. They don’t itch as much and there isn’t any blistering. I remind myself to google dermatitis and see if its stress related even though I already know more than likely, yes it is and more than likely, when I stop assisting, it’ll go away almost entirely even though the cold climate will keep the skin dry. Charlie joins me for sushi after work. I’m happy for his company. We stay up late watching Californication until our eyes are too heavy to stay open…
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Changes...
I'm overwhelmed with the amount of stories, experiences, changes, moments, and feelings that have come and gone since posting my last blog. I was even behind posting the past two or three when I actually got around to doing it. Charlie and I broke up in November if that gives an idea of how much I've been slackin'.
When I think about writing I start getting prickly under my skin and the task of writing out all the things I want to share with you becomes a little much. This is what I'll go with for now...
The next day at work after the class I had where Annie said I was an author I was tearing foil for the colorists when I suddenly had a feeling that Charlie was moving. I've known that he hasn't been happy in Chicago for quite some time and has wanted to live in northern WI. I have no evidence to support this feeling, it just popped in my head. I keep tearing foil.
Later that same day I remember that I emptied my camera's memory card onto his computer back in September. Three hundred of my pictures are residing on his laptop. He's out of town but a week later I'm sitting in the passenger seat of his car while the rain pounds the pavement beneath us as he picks me up from work in Lincoln Park. He tells me he hasn't burned the pictures to the disk yet and wants to know if I want to get sushi. I know this is trouble yet I find myself agreeing.
In the week that we've been apart the swelling and craziness my dermatitis has wrecked through on my hands has gone down considerably. I feel like I've been asleep for nine months and living in a dream world. It's like something has been there all along patiently and quietly trying to wake me up, trying to make me see that I can't "lay in bed" and "sleep" all day. It was wanting me to see that this relationship wasn't working. I chose to turn away from this though. It felt so warm and nice in my "bed" that I shooed away the nagging feeling until it's only choice was to step away from my stubbornness, get Charlie and make him do it. I settled into the comfortable loveliness of our routine together, not wanting to see anything else. Now that I'm "awake" I can see that I've made a mess of everything. I've let my little spirit become overgrown with nasty, negative thoughts that intertwine themselves all over my "body", squeezing it, cutting off it's air supply. Quickly I begin to struggle within this entrapment, tearing away at these thoughts, cutting them apart, scrambling to undo the damage.
Dinner of course is wonderful. It's everything it should have been the whole time we were together. We talk, laugh and share the details of our past week. He listens, and is so attentive that while I enjoy it, I know this whole thing isn't real. He can't keep it up and well, neither can I but for right now, I want to enjoy the facade.
I spend the night. We spend the morning together. He tells me he's moving to WI. He's got three more weeks to pack and settle everything up in Chicago before leaving. The only thought that comes to mind is "thought so." I don't feel anything and find that scary.
After we've gone our separate ways for the day, I go for a run and start to fear what might happen once he's gone. I'm reminded of when my former roommate Kaci left and how much that hurt. I wasn't prepared to feel any of that. She was my "home base" so to speak. The person I depended on to be there when I came home. When she left, Charlie became that person. Since we've broken up I've been investigating both of those situations, recognizing the unhealthy attachment I've formed to both people. I've seen that I have behaved this way my whole life. I bounce from one person to the next,never learning to build my own foundation to stand on but hitching a ride on others. When they move on I freak out, feel abandoned and begin the search again. This time, while out of habit I've got one eye out in the open looking around, the other is looking inside. It's searching for my likes and dislikes, for my opinions, for my thoughts, for what it is I want to do with myself, for now and for later. It's searching for what makes me, well, me. I lost that person somewhere in life, covered her up with the garbage from everyone else's expectations. Really though, even under all of that, ultimately, I'm simply looking for love. It's what I've been on the hunt for all my life. I've just now gotten around to seeing that the type of love I'm wanting is the type I can't get from another human. I have to find it within myself.
Folks talk about that all the time. We're consistently told that in order to love someone else you have to love yourself first, but seriously? What does that look like? As children we're praised for pleasing other's. Who doesn't love praise? For me, as I've gotten older, I've become almost addicted to that praise. I'll do whatever it takes to receive it. I've never been ok with saying "no" or creating some sort of conflict in the name of my own desires. It's so easy for me to hear about you and what you want to do and adopt your thoughts and opinions. It's too much work to find my own. Plus, I won't be able to "stand it" if you don't like my beliefs, thoughts and opinions.
Well, fuck that. It's too much work to keep this up. For the first time in my life, I'm going to step out in another direction and try going down a different path. I just want to see what could happen if I try something new. Sure, I'm scared. I fear what you'll think of me. I fear I won't be able to keep it up. I fear I'll get stuck in something again that looked a lot like this past situation, but there's a part of me that knows better. Somewhere while I was "sleeping" and moving through my dreamworld, I got stronger. I began developing a spine. Why it took being with Charlie for this to happen I don't think I'll ever know. What I do know is that he's the last person that I, as I've known myself to be, will ever be again. From this moment forward, I want so badly to be different that I believe I'm willing to work for it, put in the effort and just see what happens. Lord knows I can't go back to where I was...
When I think about writing I start getting prickly under my skin and the task of writing out all the things I want to share with you becomes a little much. This is what I'll go with for now...
The next day at work after the class I had where Annie said I was an author I was tearing foil for the colorists when I suddenly had a feeling that Charlie was moving. I've known that he hasn't been happy in Chicago for quite some time and has wanted to live in northern WI. I have no evidence to support this feeling, it just popped in my head. I keep tearing foil.
Later that same day I remember that I emptied my camera's memory card onto his computer back in September. Three hundred of my pictures are residing on his laptop. He's out of town but a week later I'm sitting in the passenger seat of his car while the rain pounds the pavement beneath us as he picks me up from work in Lincoln Park. He tells me he hasn't burned the pictures to the disk yet and wants to know if I want to get sushi. I know this is trouble yet I find myself agreeing.
In the week that we've been apart the swelling and craziness my dermatitis has wrecked through on my hands has gone down considerably. I feel like I've been asleep for nine months and living in a dream world. It's like something has been there all along patiently and quietly trying to wake me up, trying to make me see that I can't "lay in bed" and "sleep" all day. It was wanting me to see that this relationship wasn't working. I chose to turn away from this though. It felt so warm and nice in my "bed" that I shooed away the nagging feeling until it's only choice was to step away from my stubbornness, get Charlie and make him do it. I settled into the comfortable loveliness of our routine together, not wanting to see anything else. Now that I'm "awake" I can see that I've made a mess of everything. I've let my little spirit become overgrown with nasty, negative thoughts that intertwine themselves all over my "body", squeezing it, cutting off it's air supply. Quickly I begin to struggle within this entrapment, tearing away at these thoughts, cutting them apart, scrambling to undo the damage.
Dinner of course is wonderful. It's everything it should have been the whole time we were together. We talk, laugh and share the details of our past week. He listens, and is so attentive that while I enjoy it, I know this whole thing isn't real. He can't keep it up and well, neither can I but for right now, I want to enjoy the facade.
I spend the night. We spend the morning together. He tells me he's moving to WI. He's got three more weeks to pack and settle everything up in Chicago before leaving. The only thought that comes to mind is "thought so." I don't feel anything and find that scary.
After we've gone our separate ways for the day, I go for a run and start to fear what might happen once he's gone. I'm reminded of when my former roommate Kaci left and how much that hurt. I wasn't prepared to feel any of that. She was my "home base" so to speak. The person I depended on to be there when I came home. When she left, Charlie became that person. Since we've broken up I've been investigating both of those situations, recognizing the unhealthy attachment I've formed to both people. I've seen that I have behaved this way my whole life. I bounce from one person to the next,never learning to build my own foundation to stand on but hitching a ride on others. When they move on I freak out, feel abandoned and begin the search again. This time, while out of habit I've got one eye out in the open looking around, the other is looking inside. It's searching for my likes and dislikes, for my opinions, for my thoughts, for what it is I want to do with myself, for now and for later. It's searching for what makes me, well, me. I lost that person somewhere in life, covered her up with the garbage from everyone else's expectations. Really though, even under all of that, ultimately, I'm simply looking for love. It's what I've been on the hunt for all my life. I've just now gotten around to seeing that the type of love I'm wanting is the type I can't get from another human. I have to find it within myself.
Folks talk about that all the time. We're consistently told that in order to love someone else you have to love yourself first, but seriously? What does that look like? As children we're praised for pleasing other's. Who doesn't love praise? For me, as I've gotten older, I've become almost addicted to that praise. I'll do whatever it takes to receive it. I've never been ok with saying "no" or creating some sort of conflict in the name of my own desires. It's so easy for me to hear about you and what you want to do and adopt your thoughts and opinions. It's too much work to find my own. Plus, I won't be able to "stand it" if you don't like my beliefs, thoughts and opinions.
Well, fuck that. It's too much work to keep this up. For the first time in my life, I'm going to step out in another direction and try going down a different path. I just want to see what could happen if I try something new. Sure, I'm scared. I fear what you'll think of me. I fear I won't be able to keep it up. I fear I'll get stuck in something again that looked a lot like this past situation, but there's a part of me that knows better. Somewhere while I was "sleeping" and moving through my dreamworld, I got stronger. I began developing a spine. Why it took being with Charlie for this to happen I don't think I'll ever know. What I do know is that he's the last person that I, as I've known myself to be, will ever be again. From this moment forward, I want so badly to be different that I believe I'm willing to work for it, put in the effort and just see what happens. Lord knows I can't go back to where I was...
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Author...
I sit at Lovely, drink a huge Americano and write. I thought it would feel weird without Charlie here but it’s ok. It’s like he’s out of town for a while. I do still look up every time I hear the door through, half expecting him to enter. I did this even when he really was out of town, always hoping that whoever was entering was him.
I fill the pages of my journal with all the insanity that’s been waiting to be unleashed. I don’t hold back, I let my head run free through the swamp of all the nastiness and then when I’m finished (for now) I “clean” myself off and get on with my day.
I run and run and run. It’s amazing. I remember that sixteen mile run I went for after Rob died and how it hurt and was rather long but completely amazing. One day, I want to try it again.
I get cleaned up and head up to Wicker Park for class. I’m walking at the speed of light. I can’t wait to see Annie, to be with everyone and to happily sink my fingers and shears into wet hair.
I pull open the heavy door and Annie’s the first face I see.
“Mama!” she beams walking toward me, arms open wide.
“Hi!” I run toward her like I used to do with all my friends when I was in elementary and middle school.
We plow into each other and I feel the tears start to fall. Not because I’m sad, but because I feel so much relief and love and have missed it so much.
“C’mere.” she pulls away, smiling at my wet face.
Again, in the break room, everything spills out of me. When I’m done talking she examines my face again.
“You’re different. Like, more open.”
I laugh. “I totally feel that way! It’s incredible! I don’t feel scared of everything all the sudden and I’m actually ok being myself simply because I deserve to be. I don’t know what happened.”
She hugs me again and we walk back out the floor and set up for class.
“Ok you guys!” Mel exclaims. She and Tara, another educator are standing up at the front of the salon with a chair positioned to face all of us who are now seated in a semi circle in front of it. “Theory today is going to be on consultations. We’re going to do a little role playing to strengthen your consultation skills and help you with any issues you might run into.”
Minutes later I’m standing with my co-worker Yeefah in the chair trying to not only remember all the “right” questions to ask but come up with something for her hair. I’m feeling completely incapable of this task right now. I stumble a little and once we’re through it Mel says to me, “Melissa, I need you to be more confident.”
I need me to be more confident too. I want to tell her to hang on a second, I’ll get better, it’s going to happen, I’m just now getting around to standing up again and dusting myself off.
“Ok, you guys switch.” Mel instructs.
It’s my turn to sit in the chair. Yeefah begins asking me questions. I’m supposed to be a “wishy-washy client, never giving a straight answer.
“So tell me, what do you do for a living?” she asks me.
“I…work from home.” I reply, thinking about writing my book. An image of Charlie in his chair by his living room window pops in my head.
“Oh! What do you do?”
I glance at Annie. She’s beaming and answers for me “She’s an author.”
My heart fills as I swear she just read my mind. I want it. There is nothing stopping me. I can have it. I don’t know how yet but I’m going to keep at it…
Later Mel hugs me and says “I didn’t mean to pick on you earlier.”
I laugh. “You’re not picking on me! It’s true!” I hug her again and go to my station. What I don’t say is all the crap that happened at Van Michael in Atlanta and how I was never taught to have any sort of confidence behind the chair. I let my clients run the show because somehow I believed everyone knew better than me. How this happened when I’m the one that trained for all of this I don’t know. Art+Science has helped rebuild or actually I should say they’ve given me the confidence I currently posses to perform better behind my chair, to take control, make decisions and not be afraid.
I also refrain from telling her that I lost myself completely in my relationship and am now trying to get back to figuring out who I am.
“Melissa, you’re first one is here.” Nyssa, the receptionist tells me as I’m finishing some oatmeal in the break room.
“Thanks lady!” I reply. I quickly wash my bowl and head out to the floor to get this day started.
A couple of hours later a fellow couch surfer Darrick is in my chair. Immediately we have an insane, intense conversation. He’s way younger than me but has had so many experiences and shares his feelings so openly and honestly that it overwhelms me in the best way.
He’s a musician, writing his own songs. I talk about my blog, about Rob and about the novel I’ve been pecking at. He listens intently, without judgment and shares his own story. Talking to him is like applying a soothing balm to an open, aggravated wound. We agree to get coffee sometime soon.
After packing up my things, I meet Seven and several other co-workers around the corner at a fabulous little pizza place. It’s packed but I don’t mind like I usually do. I’m happy to be with everyone and am wondering where this is coming from. I actually want to be out? Who is this girl?
We all talk and laugh and eat deliciousness. One of my educators gives me a ride home. I stay up and write until midnight, unable to sleep. I need to get back to writing my novel but my journal is begging for attention right now. One of these days everything will be balanced again…
I fill the pages of my journal with all the insanity that’s been waiting to be unleashed. I don’t hold back, I let my head run free through the swamp of all the nastiness and then when I’m finished (for now) I “clean” myself off and get on with my day.
I run and run and run. It’s amazing. I remember that sixteen mile run I went for after Rob died and how it hurt and was rather long but completely amazing. One day, I want to try it again.
I get cleaned up and head up to Wicker Park for class. I’m walking at the speed of light. I can’t wait to see Annie, to be with everyone and to happily sink my fingers and shears into wet hair.
I pull open the heavy door and Annie’s the first face I see.
“Mama!” she beams walking toward me, arms open wide.
“Hi!” I run toward her like I used to do with all my friends when I was in elementary and middle school.
We plow into each other and I feel the tears start to fall. Not because I’m sad, but because I feel so much relief and love and have missed it so much.
“C’mere.” she pulls away, smiling at my wet face.
Again, in the break room, everything spills out of me. When I’m done talking she examines my face again.
“You’re different. Like, more open.”
I laugh. “I totally feel that way! It’s incredible! I don’t feel scared of everything all the sudden and I’m actually ok being myself simply because I deserve to be. I don’t know what happened.”
She hugs me again and we walk back out the floor and set up for class.
“Ok you guys!” Mel exclaims. She and Tara, another educator are standing up at the front of the salon with a chair positioned to face all of us who are now seated in a semi circle in front of it. “Theory today is going to be on consultations. We’re going to do a little role playing to strengthen your consultation skills and help you with any issues you might run into.”
Minutes later I’m standing with my co-worker Yeefah in the chair trying to not only remember all the “right” questions to ask but come up with something for her hair. I’m feeling completely incapable of this task right now. I stumble a little and once we’re through it Mel says to me, “Melissa, I need you to be more confident.”
I need me to be more confident too. I want to tell her to hang on a second, I’ll get better, it’s going to happen, I’m just now getting around to standing up again and dusting myself off.
“Ok, you guys switch.” Mel instructs.
It’s my turn to sit in the chair. Yeefah begins asking me questions. I’m supposed to be a “wishy-washy client, never giving a straight answer.
“So tell me, what do you do for a living?” she asks me.
“I…work from home.” I reply, thinking about writing my book. An image of Charlie in his chair by his living room window pops in my head.
“Oh! What do you do?”
I glance at Annie. She’s beaming and answers for me “She’s an author.”
My heart fills as I swear she just read my mind. I want it. There is nothing stopping me. I can have it. I don’t know how yet but I’m going to keep at it…
Later Mel hugs me and says “I didn’t mean to pick on you earlier.”
I laugh. “You’re not picking on me! It’s true!” I hug her again and go to my station. What I don’t say is all the crap that happened at Van Michael in Atlanta and how I was never taught to have any sort of confidence behind the chair. I let my clients run the show because somehow I believed everyone knew better than me. How this happened when I’m the one that trained for all of this I don’t know. Art+Science has helped rebuild or actually I should say they’ve given me the confidence I currently posses to perform better behind my chair, to take control, make decisions and not be afraid.
I also refrain from telling her that I lost myself completely in my relationship and am now trying to get back to figuring out who I am.
“Melissa, you’re first one is here.” Nyssa, the receptionist tells me as I’m finishing some oatmeal in the break room.
“Thanks lady!” I reply. I quickly wash my bowl and head out to the floor to get this day started.
A couple of hours later a fellow couch surfer Darrick is in my chair. Immediately we have an insane, intense conversation. He’s way younger than me but has had so many experiences and shares his feelings so openly and honestly that it overwhelms me in the best way.
He’s a musician, writing his own songs. I talk about my blog, about Rob and about the novel I’ve been pecking at. He listens intently, without judgment and shares his own story. Talking to him is like applying a soothing balm to an open, aggravated wound. We agree to get coffee sometime soon.
After packing up my things, I meet Seven and several other co-workers around the corner at a fabulous little pizza place. It’s packed but I don’t mind like I usually do. I’m happy to be with everyone and am wondering where this is coming from. I actually want to be out? Who is this girl?
We all talk and laugh and eat deliciousness. One of my educators gives me a ride home. I stay up and write until midnight, unable to sleep. I need to get back to writing my novel but my journal is begging for attention right now. One of these days everything will be balanced again…
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Yoga...
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.
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.
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…
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