Update, or It’s Time to Don the Oven Mitts

Heya, my innernets friends!  *wave*

I’ve been MIA for a bit, mostly due to 70-hour work weeks and a need for solitude.  But know that all is well, and I’ve come to terms with the shit I was going through a while back.  To sum it up, my ex and a friend of mine fell in love, and she moved to my former hometown to live with him and start a new life.  This news, coinciding with a MAJOR, MAJOR life change for me, basically ripped me apart.  Being thousands of miles from my support system and everything I’ve ever known and being sworn to silence about the whole thing coupled to turn my head into a nasty, self-destructive place.

Many have asked why I let this scenario bother me, given that I now live with the love of my life in what could be called paradise.  That’s a perfectly good question, one I asked myself many, many times in the midst of my emotional collapse.  The answer is not simple.  Many of you don’t know that I have a history of major depression with suicidal ideation and attempt.  After many years of hospitalization, therapy, and continuous self-examination, the trigger for my self-destruction was determined to be emotional rejection, primarily from a male.  The reasons behind this are countless and VERY deeply-rooted, and I’ve done my best over the past 32 years to come out victorious in my many battles with this issue.  Unfortunately, discovering that the circumstances behind my breakup last year were not at all what I thought they were sent me off the ledge once more.  Couple the demons with the facts that my rejector was now fully in love with a friend of mine, and that I was all the way across the country from everything I’d ever known, and that pretty much brings you up to date.

I have since dealt with this issue, and the other issues at the root of the problem.  I can’t say that I’ve beaten my demons for good, because it’s not a simple case of “the sads” with me.  But I have embraced my new life, and am working on bettering my situation on many levels.  I have accepted the unceasing love of my Mocha Man; I am amazed by his every facet on a daily basis.  I may never fully see myself as completely worthy of a man’s love, but I’m doing my best.

So, there ya go.  I won’t delete the previous posts, because they are a reminder to me of how easy it is for me to lose touch with reality in times of distress.  I need to remember, every day.  I need to see reality in its true light, and I need to be able to discern the veil of self-destruction when it comes to cover my eyes.

Thank you to those of you who helped me through this, my apologies to those of you who had to sit in the dark.  That matter wasn’t my choice, and I wish I could’ve let you in earlier.

Much love, and a blackberry pie in the works!

And now for something completely different.

Well, not really.  It’s completely related to all that shite I wrote last month, but I’m not ready to tackle it yet.  Or better yet, I don’t know if I’m allowed to discuss it publicly yet.

Yes, that was complete, unadulterated snark.  Deal with it. 

This post is a devotion to all the things I love about my Mocha Man, because I never, ever want to take him for granted.

I love his laugh, and the way his eyes twinkle.

I love his skin: the color, the softness, the warmth.

I love his twisted sense of humor.

I love his sense of adventure.

I love that he’ll eat ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING.  Especially absolutely anything that I cook.

I love that he cherishes the value of a good crap.

I love that he bought an orange couch.

I love that he adores red wine, the spicy, tannic, dry as sand kind.

I love that he trusts me completely.

I love that he loves my cats.

I love the way he lights up when I enter a room.

I love way he GETS me.

I love the way he smells.

I love the fullness of his lips.

I love his Sunday afternoon stubble.

I love the way he sees beauty in absolutely anything at all.

I love that he can express his love for me so openly.

I love his fearlessness.

I love his sense of integrity, and his insistence upon truth.

I love his sense of style.

I love his strength.

I love that he finds me beautiful no matter how fucked up my hair is when I wake up.

I love his goodness, and his respectfulness.

I love him, everything about him.

I am a very lucky woman.

And Now, I See.

I’ve been gone for a while. I didn’t want to write until I’d snapped out of the funk illustrated in my previous entry. As you can see, that took quite a bit of time, but I have a new epiphany to share with y’all.

I was watching, of all the damned things, America’s Next Top Model. A marathon of said show, to be precise. It wasn’t my fault; my best friend was glued to the set when I arrived for a sleepover at her house. (Don’t ask me why a Harvard grad would lower herself to such drivel, ’cause I got nothin’.) Soon enough, yours truly was sucked into the spectacle as well; it’s mind-boggling what transpires when skeletons and egos collide.

A memory skirted around the edges of my consciousness as I pondered which of these coatracks needed the biggest helping of my Paradise cookies, the memory of a phone call from a modeling agency about 13 years ago. Seems this gentleman saw my senior picture in my high school yearbook, and thought I’d be a good recruit. Suspended between befuddlement and horror, I semi-politely told the caller that I was not at all interested, and turned my attention back to the day’s installment of Pinky and The Brain.

I’ve recalled this moment only a few times in the years since, never quite able to fathom why I, of the dyed-black hair and alabaster skin, received this proposition. It wasn’t a mass-marketing thing; none of my other female friends were called. But as I watched these mophandles transform from hum-drum to heart-stopping I suddenly understood: It’s the canvas, not the paint, that makes these ladies able to become the perfect subject for the lens to capture.

I often look upon the blank canvas that is my unladen face with disdain. My lack of natural coloring, nearly invisible lashes and brows, and angular features make me neither dainty nor stunning. In my own opinion, they make me invisible, to the point that I consider myself a chameleon; people often tell me that I look like a completely different person from one day to the next. But lo and behold, the tawdry excuse to show skinny girls catfighting in next to nothing made me see that this ability to transform my blank canvas into whatever visage is necessary and fitting for the day is a huge, huge gift. It is the single most important quality the judges sought out in the show’s participants.

And it’s something I’ve taken for granted my entire life.

Until now.

A True Thanksgiving

This is not at all how I envisioned Thanksgiving 2007.

It was great, better than great, actually. I spent the day with my friends the As, eating delicacies far surpassing that of any Thanksgiving in years past: roast duck, cranberry-orange relish, wild and basmati rice pilaf with orange and green lentils, green bean salad with goat cheese and fennel with a dijon mustard vinaigrette, The World’s Best Stuffing, country ham, yeast rolls, duck fat gravy, and homemade apple pie for dessert, all accompanied by spectacular wines. It was beyond delicious, and I am so much more than satiated. I am so grateful for being taken in as family by these wonderful people whom I met a mere ten months ago.

So, why do this year’s festivities differ so greatly from my initial vision for late November of 2007?

Oh dear, where to begin.

This time last year, I was freaking the fuck out about a 25-year-old boy who seemed completey into me, but who cut and run before I could even use up the small block of Grana Pedano I bought the first time I cooked him dinner. My life circumstances, my job status, those people whom I call my friends… My god. I never, in a gabillion years, could have envisioned the drastic changes that would befall yours truly from Thanksgiving 2006 to the present day.

I’m not going to say that today was easy; it wasn’t. Last week at this time, I was looking at cute little bungalows in which J and I might possibly raise some kids; today, I constantly fought the tears and reminded myself that I made the right decision. (J, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry to shine a public light on our private matters, but it’s my blog, and I’ll say what I want; however, I AM glad that you’re reading it.) Last month at this time, I still had a full-time job in the city of my residence, at which I made a decent living; come Monday, I’ll make the 70-mile trek to a job that’s well beneath my intellectual mark, hoping beyond hope to make the rent money. Six months ago, I renewed the lease on this apartment that I adore, with the understanding that my budding relationship needed the chance to flourish in the light that close proximity would shine; now, I would give up the space and the city I love so dearly for a decent job and a social scene that’s slightly more conducive to the 30-something yes-I’m-still-single set.

God, what the hell happened?

But really, honestly, truly… my life is sooooo much better now than it was last Thanksgiving. I have a much more realistic grasp on life and love, I know so much better who I am and what I want, and above all: I have met some incredible, earth-shattering people who love me no matter what color my hair is, or how much I’ve been crying, or how long I borrow their KitchenAid.

I never could have envisioned a Thanksgiving like this.

It reiterates the fact that we just don’t know what lies ahead of us. Next year at this time, we could be riding the coattails of a Democratic president-elect who knows how to bring our troops home without enabling World War III. I could be typing this from the depths of the Alaskan wilderness, where my new husband has located a honeymoon cabin with WiFi. And it’s entirely possible that I might not even make it to see Thanksgiving 2008; any manner of catastrophes could end my sojourn on this planet prematurely.

My point is this: we, as a race of intelligent, insightful folk, get so wrapped up in what’s happening this very goddamned second that we lose sight of the big picture. We forget that we have one life. One frikkin’ life. ONE CHANCE. We get so pissed that we got a speeding ticket, or that the neighbor’s been smoking in the lobby again, or that our pork sandwich came out with mustard on it and we distinctly ordered it without mustard because we hate mustard, that we forget that at this time next year, we might not even be around to see Thanksgiving.

So, what am I thankful for, on this difficult Thanksgiving Day of 2007? I am thankful for my life, because I gave up living it in 2004 and am running on some incredible bonus miles. I am thankful for amazing friends, who love me because of who I am. I am thankful for every sunrise I witness, every purr of an adorable kitty who just wants my love and affection. I am thankful for every step that brought me where I am today, even the tear-sodden steps of late.

I am thankful for LIFE.

I hope all of you are, too.

Pain

For the past few days, I’ve thought I knew a little bit about pain.

Over the past few decades I have known a lot about pain. 

One thing I learned in this particular decade is that PAIN IS NOT A GOOD THING. 

Pain is not something I want.  And it’s definitely not something I want to inflict upon myself. 

Precisely where and when this enlightenment dawned on me, I can’t pinpoint. But I do know that I’ve been a different person since I came to understand that. 

LOVE IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN PAIN.

Can I get an amen, hollaback?