I'm exchanging my paint-by-numbers approach to life for a grab-bag full of the great unknown.
I'm tired of choking down a plate of predictability each day.
From now on, I'll gobble up the grey area and serve up a side of spontaneity, seasoned to taste.
Sex sells. Syntax spells!
♥ JANE DOE
After two and a half months docked at bay, I’ve decided to reclaim my anchor and resume my journey alone. I feel the mourning period I’ve granted myself has been excessively generous, and it’s time to shake it off and set sail. No looking back; no second-guessing. My conscience is taking a walk down the plank and I’m tossing my moral compass into the restless, provacative sea.
Who has time to burn bridges when there are new waters to explore?
Hardy har har har!
I miss my robot.
Today was my favorite.
So! I’m nearly a bartender!
I’m madly in love?
I heart my city!
Art school in 1 week!
Driiiiiiiink,
It’s my first night without the company of my mother in my new place, and while my evening was indeed a jovial one, my late-night emotions have my tummy tied in knots. I wouldn’t have awoken at such an hour had my cat not tossed her cookies all over my bedspread half an hour ago. So here I lie, sans comforter, with a stressed out kitty and a wandering mind. That, combined with my minimal cell phone service and rare 3G network access, has me feeling disconnected and so very alone. Solitude usually leads to trace feelings of broken heartedness, or at least it does for me. (Edit: I just re-read all of that. Jesus, how emo do I sound? Not to worry, I’m not plotting a late-night jump off the Golden Gate or anything. I’m just scanning all 200 square feet of my apartment for a box of Kleenex.)
The truth is, it’s not the idea of being alone in a gigantic city that has me singing the blues. What I’m experiencing is self-inflicted solitude, and I’m okay with that. It’s the idea of saying goodbye — truly bidding adieu —to the dynamic duo lifestyle I’d grown to adore. As I’ve come to acknowledge, nothing in terms of separation is truly set in stone until one party makes the first move in the other direction. But what about motive? Such a move in the name of self-betterment surely cannot nullify the opportunity for renewal later down the road, can it?
The old habit I find myself most often slipping back into is self-sabotage during times of smooth sailing. As it was once relayed to me, “Calm waters? Cannon ball.” I want to be happy, but somewhere along the line I’ve come to consider happiness and monotony synonymous. Thus, the theatrics; a tendency for unsound moral boundaries and occasional societal slip-ups. I’ve test-driven a number of alternatives, but the fact remains the same: I’m undeniably happiest when the water’s calm enough to hold hands and skip rocks. I could forgive each and every cannon ball from the other party if the favor was returned.
Where does that leave us? A venture down a long, winding and relentless road, with nothing but a skewed moral compass, a fear of commitment, and an undeniable sense of love to guide us. Indeed, we’ve now reached the fork where the path splits in two, but the true question remains: after traveling separately in search of adventure, will the paths ultimately reconnect and all barriers along the way be forever dismissed? If not, there’s no question that the journey will have been a successful one, as the attainment of independence and discovery of the self are invaluable assets. But if life so calls for the re-merging of said separate sideroads; if each traveler stops seeking that which he or she has already found, each must be willing to stop referencing earlier chapters and focus instead on the paragraphs to come.
To be concise and still remain metaphorically ambiguous: the last revision is the hardest; time and separation lead us to reevaluate without bias, and only then can the final draft be unflawed.
Who could possibly know what tomorrow will unveil for us? Until that final showing, however, I have to bear in mind that it is my side journey that is of primary concern.
After all, one cannot truly open one’s heart to another until one has discovered what it means to first love oneself.
I forgot how ridiculously girly, sappy, and emotional I tend to get in circumstances like this one.
Hold it together, J.D.
I have five days left in the No-Town, and I realize that I’m far from prepared for what lies ahead.
Yes, a three-day romp around the city with my best friend last week did familiarize me with my surroundings, but not with the imminent loneliness that is sure to accompany me for at least my first week or so. It’s strange; I’ve always prided myself on my sense of independence and ability to embrace my introverted side. That is, until now. I’m getting everything I ever wanted on a silver platter, but rather than serve a huge helping of tomorrow, I’d rather just sit back and nibble on yesterday for just a little bit longer. I’m scared. Really scared.
As I sit back and watch my best friends choose to spend time with their significant others versus spending the last few days I have in town with me, I’ve seen myself become bitter and self-righteous about the situation. When I brought the issue to light last night, my best friend replied, “boyfriends are time consuming.” <Insert snort and head shake from my end here.> The worst part, of course, is that I was equally jaded and inconsiderate of my friends when my relationship status was on a different setting. So here I sit, irritated, but even more upset about the hypocrisy of the whole thing. It’s been wonderful to have my best friend from L.A. in town. She’s fun, carefree, and more importantly - single. That is to say that as I’m moping about due to my inability to fully recover from my breakup, she listens to me and offers consoling words without looking down at her phone every five minutes to see if she has a text from her love. Friends in relationships are just about the worst people to run to when the spark of a relationship cools down, and I vow to make an effort not to suck the next time I swap roles with the less attentive.
I’m looking very much forward to the 45-minute, $7 Cal Train ride to Santa Clara which I plan to take the day after I move in. I’ve got a couple of pals down there who will calm my nerves; the first with wise words and the second with a bottle of Jose Cuervo. I need them.
I hope I’m PMSing, because I can’t bear to stand the thought that I’m truly dreading my move.
:o\
It never fails. True to form, I quit working for Washoe County Parks about an hour after I clocked in today. Mostly, I’m convinced that some punkass co-worker of mine pocketed the $600 in cash I had in my wallet - a stupid thing to have lying around, granted, but Jesus Christ! That was my hard-earned apartment deposit which I haven’t thought about for a year! (It was also about $300 less than I originally forked over; a deduction I accredit to the raspberry jello-shot regurgitation that permanently stained the floor) The cash alone would have paid nearly half of my rent for August. Because I can’t pinpoint the culprit, I’ve decided to punish all of them: without me, they will be understaffed, overworked, and incapable of calling in sick. Ha! Suckers. (Disclaimer: I love you, Bill.)
Two weeks ‘til take-off, and my sense of focus and ethics are both askew. I’ve gone from one extreme to another, and I don’t know which I like better. I can say this: I miss what I had and anticipate what’s to come. Mostly though, I think I just miss what I had.
Hmph & sigh. :o\
