Thursday, May 26, 2005

I realize that perhaps there has been a bit too much of the overheard on this blog recently. I am unable to tell any coherent stories about my own life, which seems to daily become confoundingly more unlinear and strange.

So, overheard:

"This bandaid tastes like the month of June." (My boss' 5-year-old daughter.)

posted by m at 11:11 PM

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

From Steve Lopez's LAT column:

"Were you in love?" Ragins asked.

"I think that's what they call it," David said, and they both laughed. "I was stupid."

"Maybe being stupid and being in love are the same thing," Ragins said.

posted by m at 1:30 PM

Monday, May 23, 2005

irony, it abounds.

i just received spam offering discounts on software... to fight spam.

posted by m at 2:19 PM

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Feeling guilty about leaving a two-hour evening meeting on organic gardening and connecting to earth and food sources to speed over to the nearest McDonalds and snarf down a cheeseburger. Because I was starving, yo.

posted by m at 1:21 PM

Monday, May 16, 2005

the nicest thing.

The nicest thing I've heard in a while:

I skipped the ice cream and puppies and dreamed of boats and awoke thinking about you.

posted by m at 3:57 PM

I was looking through some old correspondence and found this old missive to Beave about her purchase of a couch (her first):

yay yay for snarky new couch! hmmm. buying a couch. such an adult thing to do. i think have not yet purchased any piece of furniture larger than an end table. i am afraid that if i buy anything too big, i won't be able to go anywhere anymore. i'm not sure why i think this is true. odd.

And it struck me how in these terms being in a committed relationship was almost exactly like buying a couch. Only bigger. So instead of a failed long-term relationship, I could have had furniture. Hrmph.

posted by m at 3:39 PM

Thursday, May 12, 2005

This decision, it has been made. The boy and I will not be friends, after all.

I knew it was (b). Sometimes we deny the knowing in our hearts with the hopes in our heads.

Mostly I'm relieved to have the question answered. The not knowing, the twisted around hoping, has been exhausting. I feel wrung out. Ready. For. Nap.

posted by m at 11:31 PM

Sunday, May 08, 2005

the upside of alone-ness.

I find that single life is not without perks. Among the joys: watching the entire first season of the West Wing over the course of hours, without interruption--no complaining, no snarky commentary, no whining. This is the upside of alone-ness.

posted by m at 8:06 PM

Friday, May 06, 2005

More tea, please.

Mme. Grape Leaf, my roommate, is also now trying for a post-breakup friendship, with her boy. They have many things to disagree about, but the list of things on which they can nod heads is longer than perhaps they know. Among them: That driving wears on the soul, and that what weary souls really require is more green tea.


"I'm not feeling well today," said the boy.
"Why is that?" asked Mme. Grape Leaf.
"I've been doing too much driving around lately," he said. Thoughtful pause. "It's bad, you know, for the soul."
Mme. Grape Leaf nodded. "You should drink more green tea," she said gravely.
"Yeah, I should," he agreed.

posted by m at 3:45 PM

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Next, the inevitable question: do we stay friends?

Now, the boy and I weren't friends before he became my boy. In fact, we met on a camping trip with mutual friends, and by the second night of the camp out, were making out. Furiously. Kissing first, romance later.

I think I do want to be friends with the boy. But does he want to be friends with me? He says he does, but I feel unsure about his motivation. He's been saying the right things, and doing all the wrong things. In fact, based on his behavior, he's been a downright jerk. But, as my amazing brother (whom I certainly do not give enough credit) said: people behave like jerks for all kinds of reasons. Out of hurt, or confusion, or to avoid being vulnerable, etc.

But how do I know?

Here are what I see as the possiblities:
(a) He does sincerely want to be friends, but is acting jerky to cover hurt, and to deal.
(b) He kind of wants to be friends, but mostly sees me as someone to hang out with, until he finds the next girl.

I hope it's (a), but I suspect it's (b).

posted by m at 11:16 PM

Sunday, May 01, 2005

Reading back through some of the archives on this space, I realized that somewhere along the line, I sort of stopped getting personal. Stopped, in favor of light and quippy. Complaining about tall people and saran wrap is much easier than trying to really speak.

So here's a personal bit, internet. I broke up with my boy.


I think the boy and I wondered that, too. Like we were both waiting for some lightning bolt reason that it wasn't going to work out. But some times things don't work out, just because they don't. Because of a hundred different flaws, a hundred small fissures, a tiny error in the initial equation, and things fall apart, it doesn't solve.

There is grace in each of us. My grace this week is to have had a boy who loved me the way this one did. Who melted my heart in a dozen different ways, and whose smile on the other side of an open door meant comfort and a place to rest. For this girl, who has been moving and reaching and wanting from the day she could tie her shoes, this boy was the boy who had her stop. Stop, and look. And see that it isn't just about what's next, it's about what there is in front of you. The people you love, and who love you--now, in this moment--the things you are doing, the place you are. This moment is what you have. And it is in what you have that happines lies.

When things aren't right, and you make them right, you think the rightness will be a relief, a valve released. But you turn the knob, and sorrow floods in. Not regretful sorrow, but the sorrow of the hopes you had, the way you were before you knew that there would be an end. You say the words, "It's over," and there you are, on the other side of the end, looking back on the warm and light place that was.

You want to walk back. You ache. But instead you turn around, and walk towards the yet unseen but still hoped-for places ahead.

posted by m at 10:41 PM

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