It has been a bizarre, harrowing, and long semester. My life was hijacked by a geek in Skull Candy headphones at the term’s start, and on this, the last day of my first semester of college, I am taking a stand. I am taking my life back.
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Tell me something.
Is it terribly wrong to fall for a guy who runs in your ex’s circle… less than a month after you broke up with said ex? ‘Cause from this side of an abusive relationship, I’m not really sure. I am at a crossroads.
At some point in your life, several points probably, you will face a situation that forces you to leave behind everything you know, everything that has ever held meaning to you. Or as Tracy Chapman put it, “We gotta make a decision. Leave tonight or live and die this way.” This is where I find myself tonight, looking down one well worn path paved with familial discord, hurt, and bad memories, and a second path, paved with the unknown. Both are dark, but one shines with at least a little brightness at the path’s end. Everything is pointing toward leaving my life and family behind me in the dust. I am typing this essay from notes scribbled upon a paper boat, smudged with pencil marks, that was folded ever so gracefully by a dear friend of mine over lunch today. She has been listening to me drone on and on and on and on and on about my love life for the last couple months, and with all of her usual grace she sat, endured again, and then proceeded to give me the biggest 'you jackass' look in history.
Our last conversation left us in a state of mutual understanding, that I was irrevocably out of love with my ex, that I wished him a barefooted eternity spent walking across Lego strewn floors. I was just going to ignore him forever, I told her. It's over. Sayonara. Yesterday afternoon I consulted her for math help (because math gives me hives) and in the midst of logarithmic functions and other things I do not understand, my ex walked up and I greeted him like a happy puppy, and produced from my bag a gallon of his favorite iced tea. He was equally happy to accept it and walked me to class, just like old times. Meanwhile, my friend is hovering over my math homework, looking like she was hit with a brick. Upon my return I had to explain to her the unexplainable. My ex boyfriend and I.... are friends. It sounds as twisted and bizarre as peanut butter on a tuna fish sandwich, or Kanye West at a KKK convention. The two just should NOT go together. It should not be. And somehow, in our case, it is. Watching myself navigate the dating world is sort of like watching myself navigate a circus hall of mirrors. For each new person that I step before, a new distorted version of myself appears.
For example, I fell severely for a coworker in my mid to late teens who was a hard core outdoorsman. He worked at an outdoor supply store, and enjoyed activities such as hiking, biking, frolicking in the forest, making friends with singing birds and woodland creatures, etc. My fascination with him was so deep that I began to adopt his mannerisms and suddenly I was an overnight hiker, health food freak, and environmentalist. I even found myself listening to the funky acoustic jams he played in the office, and uttering uncharacteristic phrases such as “Holy smokes!”. It took me many, many months to snap out of this but eventually I came to my senses. This clearly was not who I was inside. What did I care about going green? Or acoustic My Morning Jacket playlists? Or twelve speed mountain bikes? This is a pattern with me, it seems. Any time that I become fascinated with anyone, I ultimately become said person. I have never been so confused in my life.
See, I am an orderly person. I like to plan ahead, keep organized, and do everything exactly right. There is something supremely satisfying to me, in knowing that I am fully in control of my own life. This week I have forgotten two papers, been late to class three times, and I completely fucked up half of the professional work I actually managed to get done. I have gotten lost twice in buildings I have traveled through frequently for the last two months, and I cannot focus on freaking anything. There is something legitimately wrong here. Is this early onset Alzheimer’s? Did I fall and suffer a concussion? Have I completely lost my mind? Close. I think that, for the first time in my two decades of life, I might be in love. I’m very pleased with what I went to bed in tonight. I slipped under the covers in a lacy black razor back bra and even lacier black undies. For some reason, I feel more composed, and honest, and more me in this get up. It should be noted that I am sleeping in my parents’ house like this, and it is Christmas Eve. Yeah, I know. I’m going to hell. Dear Jess,
I was just wondering if it would be weird to call you. It has been nearly a decade since our friendship washed away like strawberry ice cream on a rainy sidewalk, but it seems that I have stumbled across your Facebook profile, and holy mother of god I am losing my mind over here. Dear Hotel,
I slept in your pull out bed once again last night. It was an adventure. Sincerely, Walking Around Like I've Been Pummeled by a Shovel. Today, after several cups of free coffee, I head down to the pool with my little sister, who is clearly ecstatic about this. She is waddling out of the elevator in her striped swim suit with her water toys in tow. Ok, so that paradise thing? I could have been wrong about that. For one, the pull out couch-bed was like sleeping on tree bark. Secondly, no-see-ums? They’re seriously nasty little buggers and they’re everywhere.
On the other hand, it’s sunny and eighty five. The palm trees sway in the slight sweet salty breeze that plays off the ocean, and there’s complimentary coffee downstairs twenty four-seven. So I grab a cup (or three), sit on the balcony with my G-2 and notepad, and contentedly wait for my herd to get up. |
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