Post-breakup some women go out and get haircuts or a new pair of strappy sandals. Girls like Shan and I buy new cars and real estate.
Scrolling through the listings for condos it's hard to determine which one will feel like home so you need to visit. Gawd. I've seen a bachelor pad with painfully painted orange kitchen cabinets - occurred to me he may have been high at the time. Another with a fuse box above the bed - wonder what that controlled. A cemetery next door - at least the neighbors won't be learning to play an electric guitar at midnight. And of course, the frat boy house that had a very tangible hangover odor left over from a Thursday night fuck-we're-out-of-tequila-party. Tough to choose just one, I know.
The search went on... and then I found it. I set my heart on something that was currently unavailable and kind of in my area. Typical.
It's soo beautiful. Walking in I felt it was already my space. Crown mouldings, long hallway, ceramic tile, wood floors, big balconies... wow. I dreamily placed my furniture, hung drapes and picture frames, invited friends for bbq's, took long baths (which I rarely do but in that huge tub who could resist), curled up on the couch, made dinners, unpacked everything and woke up stretching in the morning sun in my brand new bedroom. Oh, how I want this.
Now that I have the best friends a girl could ever ask for, a family that isn't quite right but is alright, a passion for doing all things passionate, and a true desire to live as authentically as possible, isn't it about time my availability-luck changes? Yeah, I thought so too.
*** UPDATE ***
So I didn't get this condo... I got one that is far more me, a beautiful space that I can't wait to stretch out in knowing it is mine. All mine.
Sometimes we need to sit back and realize things aren't meant to be because we are meant for something better.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Friday, April 06, 2007
Starting over, again, but this time in Egyptian cotton sheets.
Since I started this blog with 'sans hot pink sheets' and ended it in 600 thread count Egyptian cotton ones, one would think I got out unscathed or even better off. Not exactly, on both counts.
There it is, the numb feeling that accompanies a break up. The bizarre and somehow programmed headshake as you're suddenly jolted into thinking "What the fuck happened?" The breath that threatens to hold itself in until your lungs start to shake with primal need. The relentless questions that flood the mind of; what was my fault, what was his, will it always be this way, will I always hurt, will I forever be alone, am I, can I forgive, can I go back, if I go back will it be different... it is never different. Ever. It's the nightmare that keeps you alert midday, it's in the sideways look he gives you and you wonder yet again, is this it? This is it, isn't it. It's happening. And there we are, single again.
The end of a relationship always brings the necessary autopsy and leaves you wondering, what exactly was my part in all of this? I could play the blame-game and say it was all his fault, but the fact is there are three sides to every story - mine, his, and the Truth.
Here's how the report would read.
Visible signs of injury? Not to the naked or even most scientifically trained eye
Forced entry? Nope. A completely willing participant
Toxicology report? Plenty, though none induced from food, drink, or chemical sources
Cause of death? Under investigation
So again, what was my part in all of this anyway? I approach new love with reckless abandon accepting that I can get hurt at any time. I am a true believer in Happily Ever After and know that it comes with hard work, dedication, compassion and trust. Though it's not so easy to trust someone with your heart is it? To trust it won't be obliterated it in actions or with words. To believe that you can believe, safely. Like bike riding, I think I need a love-helmet.
There are millions of reasons for breakups none of which make perfect sense when your heart is trying to heal. You rationalize, beg, crave, miss, despise, romanticize, resent, and hope against hope that someone will change, grow, mature, love the way you love, and want the same things. You remember all the times you spooned, cooked, forked, and giggled. You seem to keep an entire Encyclopedia Britannica on the things you loved and wished you could go back and live in just those moments. The moments that were just 'us.' Life doesn't go that way.
There is victory in pain, in knowing we can and will move on. In seeing the Truth for what it was with all your warts and scars. All your baggage you hope to unpack with someone else one day. One day but not today. For now, I will revel here among my baggage, loving it because it is mine, going through it and keeping what serves me and leaving the rest. Living one day at a time in my Egyptian cotton sheets.
There it is, the numb feeling that accompanies a break up. The bizarre and somehow programmed headshake as you're suddenly jolted into thinking "What the fuck happened?" The breath that threatens to hold itself in until your lungs start to shake with primal need. The relentless questions that flood the mind of; what was my fault, what was his, will it always be this way, will I always hurt, will I forever be alone, am I, can I forgive, can I go back, if I go back will it be different... it is never different. Ever. It's the nightmare that keeps you alert midday, it's in the sideways look he gives you and you wonder yet again, is this it? This is it, isn't it. It's happening. And there we are, single again.
The end of a relationship always brings the necessary autopsy and leaves you wondering, what exactly was my part in all of this? I could play the blame-game and say it was all his fault, but the fact is there are three sides to every story - mine, his, and the Truth.
Here's how the report would read.
Visible signs of injury? Not to the naked or even most scientifically trained eye
Forced entry? Nope. A completely willing participant
Toxicology report? Plenty, though none induced from food, drink, or chemical sources
Cause of death? Under investigation
So again, what was my part in all of this anyway? I approach new love with reckless abandon accepting that I can get hurt at any time. I am a true believer in Happily Ever After and know that it comes with hard work, dedication, compassion and trust. Though it's not so easy to trust someone with your heart is it? To trust it won't be obliterated it in actions or with words. To believe that you can believe, safely. Like bike riding, I think I need a love-helmet.
There are millions of reasons for breakups none of which make perfect sense when your heart is trying to heal. You rationalize, beg, crave, miss, despise, romanticize, resent, and hope against hope that someone will change, grow, mature, love the way you love, and want the same things. You remember all the times you spooned, cooked, forked, and giggled. You seem to keep an entire Encyclopedia Britannica on the things you loved and wished you could go back and live in just those moments. The moments that were just 'us.' Life doesn't go that way.
There is victory in pain, in knowing we can and will move on. In seeing the Truth for what it was with all your warts and scars. All your baggage you hope to unpack with someone else one day. One day but not today. For now, I will revel here among my baggage, loving it because it is mine, going through it and keeping what serves me and leaving the rest. Living one day at a time in my Egyptian cotton sheets.
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