four

I have never in my life missed something as much as I miss Italy. And it’s not just the big, life-changing things; it’s everything. It’s the little restaurant we’d stop into between classes, with the waiter whose name we knew and the paninis with cheese and marinara and slimy spinach (okay, we removed that part). It’s the coffee shop near our school building, the one that has now been completely redone but sold Twix bars at the cash register and doled out packets of Dietor in place of the Splenda I use in the US. It’s the nights in Trastevere (too few of them) and the Cheap Bar. It’s French fries (!) at the Irish pub, it’s old ladies getting angry on the bus, it’s the exhaustion after a good weekend trip. It’s our amazing apartment with the crazy landlady and the switch that “turned off the hot water.”

There were bad sides, like the time I almost flew home early because I just could not take it anymore. There was the day I skipped the trip to the Pantheon to sit on the laundry room floor, phone attached to the only outlet that worked, and fight with my (then) boyfriend. There was the disastrous final class trip, where a few of us holed ourselves up in a closet-sized room, chugging boxed wine because we probably would just have cried otherwise. The end, where A and I brought our (then) boyfriends on our spring break to Paris and Barcelona and the four of us had group fights late at night in bars, over fries.

I miss walking through the streets and running into Roman ruins. I miss staring into the cat sanctuary. I fell in love with the Forum and with the Palatine Hill. I fell in love with everything.

Nothing in my life, not a person, not a piece of literature, not a song, nothing, has ever made me feel the way I do about that city, that country. And maybe it’s silly; I get teased sometimes for being the perfect example of this. But the experience? The friendships we forged while we lived together, drank together, almost fell out of gondolas together? Even if it fades, it isn’t ever going to go away. The people who watched me cry, listened to me stress out, ran away from pigeons with me, and removed my facepaint when I nearly killed myself with absinthe (gag) are such an important part of my existence.

In a few months, it’ll be three years since I embarked on that journey. I had no idea that, this many years later, I’d miss it this much. In fact, I cried through the whole trip because it wasn’t “the quintissential study-abroad experience” and it wasn’t completely life altering.

Turns out it was. It was completely, absolutely life-changing, and one of the best things I could’ve done for myself. And one of the only things I know I want for the rest of my life is to have more experiences like this. I can’t imagine a world without them. I just have so much love for all of it.

three

It’s hard to write a blog post every day when all you do is work and come home, too tired to move, let alone form a coherant thought.

two

I absolutely despise the fact that it now gets dark by 5:00. I hate leaving work in the dark. I hate feeling like it’s time for bed when it’s only 6 p.m.

It’s 8 right now and I keep thinking about how late it must be, how I’d better get to bed.

How many days until summer comes back?

one

Hello, November.

Today would have been my grandpa’s eighty-fourth birthday.

Today, I am insured again because the insurance from my new job has finally kicked in.

Today I gained an hour of sleep and began the horror of watching the sky darken at 4:00 in the afternoon.

And of course, today is also the first day of my little blogging-for-a-month-straight challenge.

Here we go!

When I was seventeen, I wrote a novel. It was tentatively titled Flashbulb, in reference to flashbulb memories, a term I learned from my twenty-five-year-old hipster philosophy professor at the community college. (Did I mention I was one of the only students to get a 4.0 in that class, even with my extreme lack of class participation?) I would come home every day – from school, from my job making and selling pretzels at the mall – and write. It was one of the best things I could’ve done for myself that year, and the sense of accomplishment at actually creating 50,000+ words worth of writing was amazing. I still haven’t gone back and read through the entire thing; that is beside the point.

The next year, and maybe the year after that, I started and stopped. The fact is that, the year I was seventeen, I had nothing else. I had school, but barely, and I had work, but only part-time. I had no friends to speak of, at least not ones I could spend time with, and I was more single than I’ve ever been. Nowadays, there is almost a physical ache in my body due to the lack of creativity in my life. Now that I am loving music again, the lack of creativity is even more pronounced. I am always writing in my head, but nothing ever gets put on paper or onto a screen.

I just don’t have time to do something like NaNoWriMo again. Working 45-50+ hours a week, having a social life, having a love life, wanting time to sleep and read and relax and someday catch up on my DVR – none of that is conducive to writing a 50,000 novel, the plot of which I still can’t even come up with.

So I’ve made a decision. I’m doing the whole blog-post-every-day-for-a-month thing. NaBloPoMo, if you feel the need for silly names. Every day in November, I’ll post something – even if it’s just one picture or a few words.

Maybe this will get me back into the creative world again? Maybe I’ll even keep it up after November ends.

one of the more fantastic things i’ve seen lately

three months

Today is officially three months since The Breakup. When it happened, three months was the goal. I kept telling myself if I can get to three months, things will be okay. Things will be okay by then. I think I was right, although, for the most part, things have been okay for a little longer than that. As a marker of this momentous occasion, I’d like to share my Ten Rules for Surviving a Breakup. I’m no relationship guru, but these are things I learned that absolutely changed my life.

1. Distract, disctract, distract. I just recently gave this advice to a friend, and I laughed at myself a little. Distraction, as a general rule, doesn’t work for me. However, this time, it was one of the only things that did. Not all distractions are equal. Work was difficult because of the slow periods, and because part of my job was conducting interviews, which I could barely do through the knot in my stomach and lump in my throat. Spending time with friends did help, watching crappy TV (I got caught up on the recent seasons of Degrassi) was amazing, and just generally keeping busy. It’s hard as hell, but it can help.

2. Lean on people. This was difficult for me, as I dislike being a burden, and I dislike taking the initiative to reach out for help when I need it. The Breakup was a wakeup call for me. Had I not reached out, had I not surrounded myself with people who love me, I never would’ve gotten through it. It’s important to have people who can talk – or just listen. For the first few weeks, I was never completely alone; if I was driving, I called a friend. If I was going to bed, I called a friend. I asked coworkers to have lunch with me. I made dinner plans with friends. I even had to ask my manager to take over some interviews for me, because I was afraid I would start crying if I opened my mouth. I talked about G. and The Breakup with everyone, to the point that I felt it was the only thing I could talk about – but that is what helped me heal. It’s especially helpful if there is someone who understands; I spent a lot of time talking with a friend who had gone through a brutal breakup the previous summer, as well as my aunt, who had gone through something similar a few months before.

3. Put yourself out there… as much as you’re ready. I mean this in two ways – “out there” into the world of (single) people, but also out there as in, get your ass off the couch and out of the house. I won’t claim to be normal when it comes to dating – I’m very much a serial monogamist and I tend to always find myself involved with one guy or another. However, I will also say that knowing there are other people out there is extremely beneficial when it comes to ending a relationship. I signed up for a couple online dating sites within a couple weeks of The Breakup. I never met anybody this way, but it was great being able to see who was out there, exchange emails with new boys, and know that I would meet somebody someday. I also had a few people I spent some time with casually, which helped a lot – but I knew I wasn’t ready for anything beyond that, and I made sure not to get myself in over my head. And as much as I wanted to hole up in my parents’ guest bedroom and sleep away the rest of my life, I forced myself to get out of the house as much as I could. Even the day after, when I couldn’t even get off the couch to go to work, I dragged myself to Target with my mom. The next night, I went to happy hour with a coworker after work. The night after, I drank wine with my parents and their friends. I did, however, know my limits: a good friend wanted me to drive across the state to visit her, and I just could not do it. I knew that the three-hour drives there and back would crush me. I knew I would just cry to the point of being unable to drive, so I passed up the invitation in favor of finding my new apartment.

4. Get away from the memories. For me, it took an entirely new apartment. After being broken up with on my bed in my studio apartment, I couldn’t set foot in the place without crying. Luckily, my lease was up and I was able to start over. From The Breakup to my new apartment was ready, I stayed with my parents. At first I thought I would stay for a few days, maybe through the weekend, but I just couldn’t leave. It was exactly the right thing, because not only did I have people around to distract/support me, I also could stay somewhere the memories weren’t. Get away from anything that reminds you of this person. Put it in a box, throw it away (but not anything you’ll regret later), move away, whatever. It helps. Immensely.

5.Stop all contact with him/her… when you’re ready. This is a hard one for me. I can never cut off all contact right away; I have delusions of friendships, of getting back together, or saving whatever can be salvaged. And I don’t fault myself for that. It’s like training wheels: you need something to hold you up for awhile until you’re ready to go it alone. It’s a pretty huge shock to go from someone being your world to nothing – not many people can do it in one fell swoop. So do whatever feels right. G. and I talked regularly – but briefly – for quite awhile after The Breakup. I was careful to avoid initiating contact (because if someone doesn’t want to be with me, I don’t need to be reminded, you know?), but he reached out, and we did talk. Finally – and recently – I had to ask for space. I know that time needs to pass without each other before we can be friends (and I believe this is almost always the case, judging from my own past relationships). If you need an extra boost, go listen to this song. You’re welcome.

6. Draw from the past – and the future. When I felt like I would never get over G., I had to look at others’ past experiences. People told me they’d felt the same, but look at them now! I also paid attention to my own past; it took me a year to fully recover from the breakup (and the fallout from the breakup) with my first college boyfriend. But now? We’re friends, we’re both okay, and that year is a distant – although still slightly painful – memory. I also spent a lot of time imagining the future – maybe there would be a point that we’d get back together five years down the line and be happy. Maybe this was happening so I could meet “The One” instead. A good friend recently became single and said, “But I miss the stability! Now I don’t know what’s going to happen!” And that’s scary – but it’s also a good thing. It’s possibility. It’s exciting!

7. Find something tangible to relate to. Music helped. For the first few weeks, I couldn’t listen to anything but Ani DiFranco, particularly songs like Independence Day and Dilate. Even now, in the aftermath, I find certain songs really help (this hit me particularly hard). A friend sent me this poem, which absolutely changed everything. Find songs, poems, quotes, novels, movies, anything that captures what you’re feeling – it helps to know you’re not alone, and maybe it’ll be inspiration to channel everything into something creative (um, I can’t say that really happened for me, but I’m not creative to begin with).

8. Know and accept that you may always miss him/her… but that being together may not have been the best thing. People kept telling me that the pain would heal, I would be okay again, but that I may never stop missing him. That killed every part of my soul, but the fact is? It’s pretty much the truth. I will always miss him and there may always be aspects of our relationship that I miss. But does that mean we should’ve stayed together and gotten married? Probably not. Soon after The Breakup, I was able to see the problems with our relationship, and although I did at first want to try and fix them, I see now that sometimes, two people may not be right for each other. It doesn’t make them bad people. It doesn’t make them failures. It’s just life, it sucks, and most of the time, it’s for the best.

9. Focus on anything good. After The Breakup, I ended up with an amazing new apartment, a giant raise (and eventually a brand new job), and a new appreciation of the people in my life. I ended up with a stronger sense of self, a better idea of who and what I wanted, and the knowledge that I had just gone through an amazing learning experience. No, I wasn’t looking at it like this whatsoever – but now I am.

10. Know that you don’t have to listen to anyone’s advice or do things anyone else’s way. Do what works. I couldn’t stop talking to G. right away. I could not and will not ever tell him to screw off and get out of my life. I couldn’t pretend everything was okay (sorry, “fake it til you make it” doesn’t work with me). I couldn’t stop feeling the way I was feeling. And by letting myself feel how I felt, do what I needed to do, think what I needed to think, I was able to get through it intact. So maybe it would’ve been better if I’d faced my life rather than hiding out in my parents’ house for three weeks. Maybe I shouldn’t have begged G. to take me back in an email. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to move on as quickly as I tried to at first. But everything brought me to the place I am now, and I feel like I did everything right – for myself.

So I don’t know. I leaned hard on people who had been through this before, because while I had been through brutal breakups, they’d never quite been this painful. I had never before thought I’d found It, only to be proven wrong, out of nowhere, on a random Wednesday night that left me curled up on my parents’ couch clutching my childhood stuffed dog, trying to stop crying and focus on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air through swollen eyes. But you know what? I’ve gotten my three months, and I’m kicking ass. I’m in a better place than I ever thought I would or could be. I can say that I am (for the most part) happy. Maybe it’ll take a year to deal with all the fallout, but I can safely say that the absolute worst is over. And yes, everyone was right, I was absolutely strong enough to get through it, even though on June 24th of this year, I was convinced the sky was falling in.

the competition

I wrote this in August 2007, during an extremely depressing, unpleasant period in my life. On one hand, I am so, so happy I’m not in that place anymore. I am – at least, comparitively – much happier and more well-adjusted.

However, as I repeatedly realize over and over again, I think I will always feel some element of this. I think it’s something I will never quite get away from. You can only be told, “You’re too messed up,” so many times before you start to believe it. You can only be told, “You’re not messed up enough,” so many times before you start to believe that, too, and wonder how that makes any sense, where the hell you’re ever really going to fit, how you can ever stop trying so damn hard.

these are the girls i compete with.

on one hand, there are the perky, happy, blonde girls. they do not know what it’s like to want nothing but sleep. they cry over death and arguments with their boyfriends, but not because it’s raining or because they are hit with a memory from five years ago and a feeling they can’t shake. they wear designer jeans and stilettos, carry expensive purses and wear pricey makeup. they want to be marketing executives, public relations people, and mothers. they took french in high school and read dan brown and sophie kinsella, if they read at all. they are the r&b and hip hop to my indie rock and their favorite movies are how to lose a guy in ten days and action movies with attractive leading men. they are perky and smiley and happy and will have a fairytale wedding. they are the girls i feel like i should be.

on the other hand, there are the broken girls. they spent high school swilling scotch, smoking pot, and cutting themselves. they have attempted suicide but not succeeded. they are small and adorable, with short dark hair and black eyeliner, if any makeup at all. they carry messenger bags and wear beat-up old shoes, drink european beer and read kurt vonnegut. they listen to hardcore and work dead-end jobs, even with a college degree. money is nothing; being is everything. they are gorgeous, if sad, and the kind of girls who drag men down with them, the kind you just can’t seem to forget. and they are the girls i always wish i could be, although i never understand why.

and somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, there are girls like me. i am some strange mixture of the two, too crazy for the typical guy, and too normal for the guys on the other side. it is hard to believe that anything will ever quite fit.

I can’t stop listening to this song, which I discovered thanks to the lovely Laurie of Your Ill-Fitting Overcoat.

It makes me wish (again) that I could sing.

how’ve you been, have you been hiding out?
when i saw you last you didn’t belong to anyone
its better now, we both got our hearts
sitting in the right place, all the time

i’ve waited such a long, long time
to hear your voice again

spitting songs has never been so hard,
i get confused all the time
i always mess things up

you’re half mine, so when you comin’ back?
did you forget how brave you make me?

truer words were never spoken

Wait

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen:
music of hair,
music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.

–Galway Kinnell