Tag Archives: Goals

January 10, 2011 · 16:46

Loquacious outlining…

My mother brought this up the other day.  She said, “Mary, you haven’t been writing lately.”  At first, the response was simple and to the point.  “You’re right.  I just haven’t had anything to say.”  Well, yes, that is the truth, albeit a heavily truncated version of the truth.  After dissecting that statement over the past few days, I believe I have a better, more thought out response to that: I had words to say (and correction: I have been writing…the ever-in-progress-novel).  I just didn’t know if they were relevant.

This brings me to the question of relevance and all that encompasses that.  I don’t know necessarily who is reading this (other than the president of my fan club, my mother) and sometimes, when wondering who your audience is (know your audience), you begin to question the validity of statements and tone.  Well, sorry folks, I’m done questioning.  I don’t know who you are but here we go…yippee.  Hi mom.

So while deconstructing that argument of validity, I began to outline what has been happening since the last post (I am too embarrassed to even check when the last post was, what I do know is that I have skipped every major holiday and avoided them in writing much as I did in ‘real life’).  A debriefing of sorts I suppose shall suffice:

  • I fell into my standard holiday depression.  I am beginning to wonder if depression is something that will continue to plague me as the years progress and hormones continue to spiral out of control.  Dear women on birth control, I commend you.  I almost wrote a piece about that but decided for the male subscribers, that would be a little too much information.  Also, that requires having a partner (even random) to have said ‘meetings’ with and well, BC hasn’t exactly been necessary when your life can easily be lumped into four things: Work.  Sleep.  Eat.  Dog.  If someone ever wanted to case my house, it would take a mere matter of days for them to figure out my schedule.  Moving on…
  • I am in a bit of a bickering match, or lack there of with my best friend right now.  We haven’t spoken in over a week and while we are two very stubborn individuals, my feelings are still gravely hurt and I don’t know how to piece the words together appropriately to tell her how I feel other than to say, you fucking pissed me off.  And never, I repeat NEVER put my dog in his crate again (that’s not what started the argument but it certainly did not help either).
  • I don’t believe in New Year Resolutions as I gather they are most often broken.  I am instead relying on what I now call my New Year Responsibility.  What is that? you ask.  Well, I have not mentioned this as it’s not a very proud conversation but here it is anyway.  I am in a wee bit of debt outside of my student loans.  Put it this way, I spent the early part of my 20s being irresponsible and behind a bottle.  I didn’t exactly pay some medical bills when they were due and well, I want to buy a house at some point in my life.  Insert 2011 and Operation Get Out of Debt (aside from the hellacious student loans).  I am determined, budgeted, and have even acquired a Tri-Met pass.  Farewell car and downtown parking fees.  Hello public transportation and a slowly rising credit score.  I thought getting old was supposed to be fun…
  • My life isn’t where I had expected it to be at 25-almost-26.  I didn’t expect to be married, kids, the white picket fence, but I figured I wouldn’t still be bartending my way through bartending.  I am tired…so tired.  I had to start seeing a chiropractor just to find walking comfortable again.  By the end of this year, I refuse to be bartending.  It’s time to make shit happen in more ways than just the credit score.  This year, I will find a job that doesn’t make we want to pull my hair out.  Hopefully one with a little piece of joy I refer to as health insurance.  Something that makes me come home at the end of the day NOT hating humanity.  I am sick of correcting grammar.  I am sick of booze.  And I don’t even drink the shit.  Maybe I should change the name of 2011 from Operation Get Out of Debt to Operation Make Life Count.  Yes.  That’s the spirit, Burger.
  • I am single.  I don’t know really where to go with that but yup, I still am.  I didn’t think that would change and I have been the last person to act on that.  Maybe that is why I ignore New Years Eve and the debacle that is Amateur Night.  I am almost afraid that I enjoy being alone too much such that I purchased a new TV (hello HD) and now have streaming NetFlix.  Maybe life as a cave woman (in high definition) is the way for me.  Or maybe I should start getting out more.  Please, just please, don’t talk to me on the bus.  I am still from a New England family, a wee bit snobby, and am well-versed in firearms and self-defense.

So there it is.  I’m sure somewhere hidden in that loquacious outline is a sense of relevance with all of you.  Or maybe a simple conversation starter.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that I have a tendency to be redundant.  You heard (or read) me whine for over a year about a broken heart.  I am kind of in that “now what?” section of life when that heart is no longer broken, doesn’t belong to anyone, and though I may suffer from bouts of depression and significant solitude, I am happy.  I don’t know how to write when I am happy.  And I don’t want to write on a consistent basis when all I am writing about is the same thing, just reworked and reworded.  So I guess, Happy New Year.  Skordo says woof and Olive, well, she says meow and just peed on my bathmat.  Great.  At least she is consistent.
Wow.  I missed this…

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December 2, 2010 · 10:22

A limited color wheel…

It took a break from words to begin to understand what happened.  That knowing where things went wrong – whether at my own hands or actions – well, was a lesson I needed to learn.  That every error in judgment did indeed lead up to something.  I am happy to finally understand what that something is now.

The world is seemingly changing colors again.  Though you and I may argue what those colors are, and yes, I still see the world as markedly black and white, those shades of gray that I had battled with are now fading or darkening into something that makes sense.  I simply spent too long trying to change it.  I tried to alter my world rather than let it be what it is.  And I must say, it is the heaviest sigh of relief to not try so hard anymore.

My quiet little life, what I had struggled so hard for and traveled thousands of miles to discover, is no longer at my fingertips but ever present.  I have exactly what I wanted and before I could even make brisk or meager attempts to harness that (again), it was here.  My morning cup of coffee, alone on my front porch overlooking the business people traveling their morning commute or buying their cup of coffee from a local vendor, is what I look forward to every day.  To have something to look forward to – whether it be that cup of coffee or a job that finds the slightest of fulfillment – is what I had been missing.  I had overlooked the simplest of things.  Go figure, I had to make a production out of life to find the pure joy of coffee.  It won’t be the last time I do it, but it will be the last time I cause a scene about it.

Over the holiday last weekend, I spent my time at Mr. Asshole’s house.  I was sitting outside one morning with that same cup of coffee, minus the city traffic and noise, and as I watched Skordo run a muck in the yard, I knew that with the exception of the ever-missing presence of my mother, this was what I had forgotten to prioritize in my life.  Those little things go overlooked, and suddenly, the great buttresses that are the structural base of your life begin to crumble until there is nothing left to hold dear and sturdy.  I wish I didn’t know why they were forgotten before but I know the answer to that.  You know the answer to that.  But we learn something from errors in judgment.  It’s just a matter of what you do with that information.

I sit here now, finishing that morning cup of coffee knowing that the remainder of the day, my phone may very well ring from only two people, my mother and Mr. Asshole, and I am OK with that.  I may have had a little pity party last night eating dinner alone at a restaurant while families enjoyed their meals and children sang along to the Christmas carols playing as background music, but I won’t let that get the best of me.  That is not a shade of gray to be argued with.  My solitude is as black and white as it may appear.  I fought for too long to alter the shades of the world.  Now it’s time to just let it be what it wants to be.  This time, I will welcome the element of surprise.

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October 19, 2010 · 13:55

7,000 somethings…

I have long since argued the ideas of change, religion, love, and that undying, unwavering question “what do I want?”.  I have spent years questioning my beliefs and trying to come up with some sense of clarity on these matters has become a burden in and of itself.  Not to say I am even remotely close to an answer or sense of understanding, but I have arrived at a place that parallels the idea of “it’s OK not to know”.

How the past shapes and molds your future has left me wondering where things took their turns.  What decisions were made, deaths, break-ups, and gestures in faith challenged my once steadfast belief system.  When did I become so cynical?  Who am I to necessarily call it cynicism when I believe it to be realistic?  But is my reality necessarily a truth to ponder?

The approach I have come to believe in is that I sense now why these things happen, why I am the way I am, and why I have made challenges to be simple and transparent, or callous and detrimental.  These decisions were mine.  In the end of it all, I had no one else to blame or argue with but the person inside of this body.  I turned every key, set the kitchen fire that would ultimately lead to my sobriety, was reckless in relationships, and like a coward, ran away thinking it would change me.  It took that to understand that change is not a concept I believe in.  Faith is not something I believe in.  What I can only believe in is what I have in front of me: me.  These acts are mine.  They will be what ultimately promotes and furthers my life.  I cannot pray for improvement for it will not be given – I have to make it happen on my own, with these two hands shaking with every sense of nervousness available.  And if I want someone, well, I dare you to stand in my way.

I remember waiting for the world to change – my little life to shift into the argument of perfection I had so desired.  When it didn’t happen, I wondered why.  The answer to that being simple: I didn’t make it happen.  So now.  What now?  What to do in order to secure the goals I have finally, after 25 years of faltering and questioning, set up for myself?  Granted, no one ever really knows what they want, but I have made the list of five things I know I do.  All independent.  All without outside resources or assistance.  And with a little push and courage of conviction, I will at last make these ideas my reality, not just a fable to close my eyes about.

I remember when I was little thinking the white picket fence wasn’t that appealing.  Well, five year old Mary, you were right.  It’s not right for me (or us, although those two are closely one in the same, just add two decades).  That same little girl thought this was going to be easy though.  She thought it was all going to fall and land in her lap one day without effort on a grandiose scale.  I remember thinking if I followed all of the necessary steps that it would happen.  Those necessary steps aren’t right for everyone though and aren’t consistently all-encompassing.  Well, in my backwards way, I walked the line and did the steps.  Some worked, some failed miserably and ended up with 7.000 additional miles on my car, dog, and cat.  But when this is all said and done, those 7,000 miles will be 7,000 things I did right.  Each mile marking something.  Albeit small, each step is a step in the right direction and if I remind myself enough on the days that I falter, just to look in the mirror and know there is one thing strong enough to believe in.  Me.

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September 17, 2010 · 14:37

The lost August…

If given the opportunity to look back and reconsider the moves, Berlin, random places of employment, and buying a dog, I wonder what I would have changed.  A conversation over lunch today with a dear friend of mine made me question if this has all been moving full circle, or have I spent the past two years waiting for light at the end of the tunnel.  That light is quickly approaching and finally, for the first time in two years, I know without any uncertainty of heart, I am doing the right thing.

Would I have moved to Florida if I had known I would turn around and drive right back in 11 months?  Probably not.  Was it worth it?  Well, the monetary aspect – not so much, but the benefit of moving far outweighed the financial clinch it slightly strangled me with.  Did I need to spend a year living in humidity to realize Oregon is perfect?  Nope.  Absolutely not.  But did I go because something here was hindering any sense of progress and sheepishly, like a child, did I run home to my mother?  Yes.  Yes I did.  Was that right?  Not for all 24-year-old women, but for this one it was necessary.

Then comes the question of Berlin.  It’s hard to give any fair assessment of what happened now as I am still living with a sense of confusion.  I know what happened, I know where things took a turn for an unreasonable amount of frustration and pain.  But if I could go back and change the one thing that set us into distance and strangers, would I?  Was that broken heart a risk worth taking?  Or was I simply a fragile heart traveling naively into territory that was not mine to walk in?  Albeit a brief moment of belonging, did that moment overshadow a year of my life?  To answer those questions sequentially, it probably looks something like this: no, yes, yes, and yes.  Maybe Berlin was strictly there to be my muse.  And I think that’s where I have kept him.

There was a month of absence from writing that I’m sure was noticed.  Over lunch, that absence was discussed, though the conversation had been had during that month, it furthered over gyros.  Why didn’t I write?  Here is your answer: I sunk into a depression that was so foreign to me, to even begin to explain it would only increase a level of frustration and make it even more real.  I tried to hide it, hide myself, and I am pretty sure I hardly left my apartment for four weeks.  Was it necessary?  Yes.  And finally when I came out of my coma, though into a brighter and louder world than I had remembered, it was better.  I was simply scared and I had nothing to be afraid of.  I was afraid of sharing it with anyone and kept it my own secret.  My world suddenly struck a daemon that was meant to be handled quietly and alone.  Mission accomplished.

Then comes the light at the end of the tunnel.  A month ago, I was miserable.  I knew what I wanted and it was a matter of finding that one thing, that one person willing to take a chance and give me the opportunity I had so desired.  Well, it happened.  Light is near.  Come January, my world will be a very different place.  However unusual and foreign it will be to me, I will remind myself of the lost August and what failed to happen then.  And if ever presented with a lost month again, I will not allow for it to stifle the one thing that keeps me.

We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares are set about
us, and there is nothing which should intimidate or worry us.
We are set down in life as in the element to which we best
correspond, and over and above this we have through thousands of
years of accommodation become so like this life, that when we
hold still we are, through a happy mimicry,scarcely to be
distinguished from all that surrounds us. We have no reason to
mistrust our world, for it is not against us. Has it terrors,
they are our terrors; has it abysses, those abuses belong to us;
are dangers at hand, we must try to love them. And if only we
arrange our life according to that principle which counsels us
that we must always hold to the difficult, then that which now
still seems to us the most alien will become what we most trust
and find most faithful. How should we be able to forget those
ancient myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into
princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses
who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps
everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless
that wants help from us.

Rainer Maria Rilke

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August 26, 2010 · 12:50

Fearless or fearful…

As a repeat victim of identity theft, I wonder how much we should make available of ourselves online.  If you read the last blog, you are probably wondering what I am not willing to put online.  Certain things I am not ashamed of, even more so if they raise a valid point.  Well, my friend challenged me.  She won.

Once you hit your mid-twenties, dating becomes a bit more challenging I have noticed.  My best friend (aptly titled the BFF from here on out as I am not that witty with monikers before 2pm) has some serious balls.  I have complained about this before (yes…whined, complained, bitched) that as we age, the market gets slimmer and slimmer and opportunities to meet new people are not as easy as being drunk in college, class, or walking down a campus street.  Yes, we live in Portland.  Yes, we both have jobs (though I refuse to date customers – won’t happen.  Ever.) that could open up a dating pool.  And yes, we live ‘active’ social lives.  Her social life is a bit more vibrant than mine as again, I am lacking her fearless set of balls of going to a bar alone to have dinner and BAM! – she meets someone new this week.  Love her.  Admire her.  And am often in fear of her.

So we (excuse me, she) decided to try online dating.  OK, let me be clear about my opinion of online dating: it scares the absolute shit out of me.  Yes, I have Facebook and a very dormant MySpace page.  I have a blog.  I online shop (though am fearful of it now due to the recent identity theft).  I google map my life pretty much.  At any given moment, I can find what I want online.  In conversation with customers a few weeks ago, we wanted to know how meth is made (not for personal consumption but to see exactly what the process is and why crack-heads are so nimble).  I grab my faulty Blackberry Storm and within a minute, the “recipe” was in hand.    I don’t want to put my height online, have to classify my weight as either slim/slender or athletic (I run, but I also eat?).  I don’t want someone to already know what I absolutely despise or love for that matter.  I want to have something to talk about over our first coffee together.  Dear gods of the internet, I love you, just not enough to try dating through you.  The BFF is again the woman in charge and she gives it a shot.  I sign up on the same website though avoid putting a picture up, don’t even fill out the ‘about me’ page or even the ‘looking for’ section as I know I am not even window shopping here.  This is research.  She on the other hand is shopping.  Go to town.  She has a couple of dates over the course of a few weeks and though skeptical of the realm of online dating, has proven so far to be victorious.

What did I find?  Well, as this was far from shopping, I just wanted to see what was out there.  If I were in the market for someone much older than I who enjoys long walks on the beach and taking the sailboat out on the weekends all the while discussing his markedly rising cholesterol level, then I would have absolutely scored.  The pickings are slim if you are picky, fearful, and cautious to the notion of online dating.  It made me wonder though, are we there yet?  Are we at the age when it is time to settle down and find someone rather than play the field, play hard to get?  Is the party over and we should resort of the fact that shit, we are adults now and maybe we should start dating them?  Or at least like them?

I look back before I could even drive and I remember what I thought life would be like.  I had always figured I would be married (Young Mary, you almost did it), have a child, and would never have spent a year living with your mother in South Florida amidst Yankee hell.  But I was naive, and I am probably better for it.  I know now that children will never be in the cards for me and I am content with that.  I recognize certain parts of the country are not designed for this Oregon blood, and when in picking a date, I should not approach it as I do shoe shopping.  Though beautiful and tall, they are going to seriously hurt and are not appropriate for dancing or long-term wear.

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July 1, 2010 · 21:30

Now what…

There are parts of this that I am still adjusting to.  It’s strange to be in this city again.  It’s shocking, cold, joyful, and more than often surreal.  I found my umbrella after unpacking one of the last boxes and have yet to use it (determined to maintain my Real Oregonians Don’t Use Umbrellas stance).  I continue to get in the wrong lane when crossing the ever confusing and terrifying bridges.  My sense of direction is still backwards as I am once again used to the ocean being on the opposite side of where it presently is.  Maybe someday I will stay in one place long enough to make sense of that…

It feels like home though.  I have one box left to unpack (surround sound speakers).  With the exception of that cord ridden box, I am home and settled.  And it’s strange.  A spoiled me.  This is the first time in over a year that I have spent time constructing a grocery list.  I can’t remember the last time I bought cleaning supplies (and actually cleaned…).  And true to my sheer luck with plumbing, I have already had to call a plumber twice.  On a totally unrelated side note, if your toilet is ever clogged to the point of desperation, I’m your girl.  I felt like Wonder Woman today.

I walked into my quirky apartment tonight and sighed a breath of relief.  Home. To be surrounded by my things again – the stuff I have now schlepped across this country twice and to the tune of a few thousand unnecessary dollars – is more welcoming than I ever remembered.  Maybe it was because the last time I used these dishes, organized and alphabetized the plethora of books, or slept in my sheets was when I was living with the ex.  These things are all mine again and no one else is telling me to move something, redecorate and accessorize with blue or a Go Ducks! poster (insert massive cringe), and if the shower decides it doesn’t want to turn off and after excessive turning of the handle, erupts into a fountain of steaming hot water all over a fully clothed Mary, well, it’s my problem now.  And yes, that happened.  Three weeks ago.  Someday I will tell you the story of an old apartment that one night decided to have a waterfall of laundry water.  Complete with steam.

Just to be still again is better than I ever remembered.  I remember the last time I lived here running around this city, constantly moving.  This has been quiet so far this time around and I would sooner unclog a toilet than disrupt that.  Before I moved to Florida, I remember being in this great search of simplicity and calm.  Turns out, I didn’t have to trek across the country (twice) to find that.  All I had to do was move above the nicest Egyptian family and their Mediterranean restaurant to find it.  My grandfather has never been more proud of my living situation as he is now.  Go figure…plant the Greek girl above Greek food, work for Greeks and boom!  She’s happy.  Shocking…

Now comes the hard part though.  No, I refuse to complicate my little existence with an unnecessary distraction (and all the implications there could be).  It’s trying to make sense and plan the next battle and step.  I started writing this blog to chronicle my move.  Turns out, that move quickly turned into a pluralized notion.  But now that I am here, what now?  Where do I go with this?  With all of it: me, life, partners (still a nauseating notion), and parking.  This is a strange shift in my identity and while I am welcoming the alteration, I feel I am proceeding with more caution than I ever have before.  Still though, I find myself asking the same question every night before I fall asleep:  what now?

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June 12, 2010 · 21:44

Static interference…

Home.  In Oregon.  Again.  Let’s see if I can start this over.

I could sit here and write the emotions of the drive, the feelings and tears I shed when my heavily caffeinated body crossed the Oregon border, and the cursing words out of my mouth when I arrived in Portland, smack in the middle of rush hour.  I won’t though.  Briefly, I will give you a recap of the last week and a half of my life:

Tuesday June 1:  Pulled over by a state trooper 20 miles into Oregon.  I am (and I quote) charming.  Arrived in Portland.  Flipped the bird to a few drivers then realized this is not South Florida.  Note to self: must be nice again.  I’M HOME!!!  It’s cold…

Wednesday:  I’M HOME!!!  It’s cold…

Thursday:  I’M HOME!!!  I’m still cold…

Friday:  I’M HOME!!!  It’s cold and raining…

Saturday:  I’M HOME!!!  Where are my movers?  I want my socks.

Sunday:  Moving company gets an earful.  I try and to no avail.  Must allocate a raincoat.

Monday:  Holy shit, I live here.  I need a job…

Tuesday:  This futon is killing my back.

Wednesday:  Must.  Find.  Employment.

Thursday:  Moving company finally makes contact (a further post will describe in great detail my contempt towards this company and the scathing complaint the South Florida Better Business Bureau will be receiving).  Saturday or Sunday.  No more camping with internet, electricity, and my (lifesaving) landlord’s microwave and dishes.

Friday:  Still raining in Oregon…packed wrong clothes.  I must have been more of a Floridian than I thought.  Employment?  Please?

So that’s it in a nutshell.  Here I am, writing on the floor of my apartment, Skordo asleep on the murderous futon (at least someone enjoys it), and Olive perched on the window sill behind me.  There is a lone lamp on the floor.  A bookshelf to my left with not a single book but a candle, Buddha statue, and my other laptop.  The walls are blank but they are mine.  Tomorrow, this place will be a nightmare of liquor boxes.  I will sleep on a bed again – my bed.  My books will make their way back to shelves that I will yet again put back together.  Lamps will be placed on tables and my savior – my landlord – will have his dishes, spare microwave, and blanket returned to him.  But Saturday?  Where did Saturday go?  Still in it, and I wanted more than a nutshell of Jack Frost description.

I went home today.  Yeah, I know…I am home, but not home home.  As I found myself wide awake at 5 this morning, walking Skordo against the brisk Oregon morning chill, I decided I needed to get out of town for a day.  I packed him in the car, locked the cat in the bathroom (even though I hate the futon, I still have to sleep on it tonight and sure don’t want to sleep on cat piss.  Again), and began to drive south.  As I crossed the bridge into Corvallis, a flood of old memories hit me like a force of bricks.  I didn’t cry, but I did choke back a lump.  I don’t know what this move or past year has done to me but for some reason, I will cry now.  The secret is out – I have a heart.

I drove the streets I learned to drive on, passed the school where I had my first kiss, had coffee with my surrogate family, and finally made my way to the house of the man that raised me.  I was in need of something familiar today.  He gave that to me.  Simply put, this is the best man in the world.

As we sat in his backyard, our dogs chasing each other until they were panting in the wading pool, I realized this was the right decision.  I knew the simplicity of excitement could overbear the clear and present path and maybe have interfered with the difference of right and wrong.  Not now though.  Not this move.  Not this time.  This was finally right.  At last.  As much static plagued my life in Portland the first time, it won’t be a cause of disruption or interference this time.  I’m home and this is mine.  I am alone for the first time in over two years and it is strange but this solitude is welcoming.  There is an air of simplicity right now in that I have nothing here other than this room of random stuff and my animals.  There is a vacancy in my heart where once love stood so proud.  It’s strange the reflection between heart and walls now.  I may very well miss these blank walls come tomorrow…but I won’t leave them blank.

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May 23, 2010 · 04:52

A smile a day…

I have been waking up early.  Maybe it is to sit on our lake at its calmest of moments.  Maybe it’s to spend the extra few minutes with my mother.  Maybe my body is truly adjusting to sleeping pills (yes, they’re back), or maybe I just want to hear Florida when she is still quiet; before the sounds, sirens, and freeways awaken in all their assaulting fury.  This is my favorite part of the day here.  And this, I will miss.

Yesterday was my mother’s birthday.  My dear mother and I spent a fantastic day together.  We are certainly trying to spend as much time together over this next week as we can as a week from today, I will be somewhere in the middle of the nation, crossing over timezones and driving further and further away from her.  It will be strange.

I’m sure it will all settle in quickly and it will make sense.  I have forgotten what it is like to be away from her.  We did this for years though.  Four years actually.  I grew accustomed to life in airports, shuttling my well-traveled luggage through security, making sure to wear flip-flops when flying, and reminding myself on the morning of flight days to not wear an under-wire bra (December 2001, Washington Dulles Airport, very awkward search involving heavily armed National Guardsmen…).  All in all, it is back to We Burger Women acquiring an unnecessary amount of frequent flier miles in order to see each other.  How did it get like this anyway?  Well, I will tell you the story of my remarkable mother…

Five year ago, my mother was living in Oregon.  I had been out of the house for a couple of years and my mother’s life began to resemble something of a lonely routine.  She was happy but would be the first person to tell you that something was missing.  On a moderately planned whim for a milestone birthday, my mother flew out here as a birthday gift to herself.  In joking conversation with the company she came to visit, they asked if she wanted a job and she said sure.  Mind you, this was all in good humor and smiles.  Sure enough though, less than six months later, that same conversation would turn into reality and employment and my mother would quit her job in Oregon, sell her house, and move here all in less than six weeks.  Let me tell you what a whirlwind feels like.  It was strange.  And she was gone to try something new in an unfamiliar place where she knew absolutely no one.  Sound familiar?

It was in that six week period that I began to look at my mother with different eyes.  Finally, we grew up and we let each other go.  She knew she needed to leave in order to further her life, and I knew I needed space (not necessarily a continent) to begin that process of self discovery and getting really drunk in college without seeing her everyday.  My mother became this ballsy woman to me, something she had never been before.  She flat out said when she quit her job in Oregon I am going to move to Florida, I am going to get that job, and I am going to be happy. I rolled my eyes to her at the time.  I knew my mother, or I thought I did.  I knew that she would change her mind and stay put.  But it came as no surprise on moving day when I was the only one choking on my own words, swallowing a fountain of tears.  And there she was, smiling with the brightest and most hopeful of (dry) eyes I have ever seen her wear.  She had a plan.

Five years later, I could not say with enough words how proud of her I am.  She took a leap and maybe with just the slightest bit of luck, did everything she wanted to do.  I have never seen this woman happier in my adult life.  I am going to miss that smile everyday.  I never thought I would thank her for moving here, but to be honest, I must do so.  Being the educator that she is, she gave me one last lesson – a challenge if you will.  You’re on, A.

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May 18, 2010 · 07:52

Great expectations…

The nightmares returned last night.  I don’t know how long I had been devoid of their presence as sleep over the past few weeks had been spotty at best.  But last night, they were there in their finest of gore and fullest of pretense.  In the middle of the night when I woke up, shaking in fear, I could have sworn to you that the towel hanging on the back of my bedroom door was a blood soaked man coming after me.  In my defense, and in defense of the blood soaked man, the towel is burgundy to begin with.  Clearly my 4AM eyes are starting to get the best of me.

In these dreams and nightmares, I had friends involved, past partners, odd acquaintances, and a random bartender from a previous life.  Normally my midnight hauntings do not involve those I know, but this mass murder occurring in my sleep involved I believe almost everyone I have ever known.  It was like The Five People You Meet in Heaven, only hell with groupings and chain saws.  But there was a point.  I think.

So removing the murders and gore, the end to this bizarre series of events made a very strange semblance of sense.  I was transplanted suddenly to the coast of Maine, into a house that I have long known.  The inside was different entirely.  It was as every ounce of color had been removed and exchanged with only the brightest of white.  Nothing was out of place.  All furnishings were new and white.   In these rooms of bright and ease, there were scattered photographs of memories outlining the best times.  Every room had a story.  The white made sense.  No, I was not dead and this was not heaven.  This was what I had chosen.  In fleeing the mass murder in the Home Depot gardening section (I can’t make sense of it either…I don’t possess even the slightest of green thumbs), I picked the safest place to be and that ended up being my vision of perfection in New England.  All memories of the murders were quickly erased.  I was left only with my house, my white walls marked with strategically placed photographs, and the Atlantic Ocean crashing against a seawall I still carry scars from falling on barnacles.  I looked outside, Skordo alert next to me on the deck, and the lobster men were gathering their treasures for the day.  I smiled.  Skordo barked.  And then I woke up.

It left me with strange hope.  No, not for a mass murder.  No, we can entirely remove that part from any future story of my life.  But that idea of perfection.  The lives I encountered along the way only furthering and giving that reassurance of strength to remind myself to say over and over again I’m not done yet.  To go into everything now with only the greatest of expectations I suppose, would be what I gathered.  I doubt I will ever look at the Home Depot gardening center the same way again, but I’m sure I can get over that, then someday, achieve the white walls.  Not yet, not this move.  But a future move, maybe decades removed.  So for now, just build it as I can.

Mary, this station is playing every sad song.
I remember like we were alive.
I heard it Sunday morn’ from inside of these walls.
In a prison cell, where we spent those nights.
And they burnt up the diner where I always used to find her.
Licking young boys blood from her claws.
And I learned about the blues from this kitten I knew.
Her hair was raven and her heart was like a tomb.
My heart’s like a wound.

I saw tail lights last night in a dream about my first wife.
Everybody leaves and I’d expect as much from you.
I saw tail lights last night in a dream about my old life.
Everybody leaves, so why, why wouldn’t you?

Mary, I worried and stalled every night of my life.
Better safe than making the party.
And I never had a good time, I sat by my bedside, with papers and poetry about Estella.
Great expectations, we had the greatest expectations.

I saw tail lights last night In a dream about my first wife.
Everybody leaves and I’d expect as much from you.
I saw tail lights last night in a dream about my old life.
Everybody leaves, so why, why wouldn’t you?

It’s funny how the night moves.
Humming a song from 1962.
We were always waiting… always waiting.
We were always waiting for something to happen.

I saw tail lights last night In a dream about my first wife.
Everybody leaves and I’d expect as much from you.
I saw tail lights last night in a dream about my whole life.
Everybody leaves, so why, why wouldn’t you?

The Gaslight Anthem – Great Expectations

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May 17, 2010 · 06:13

To write a life…

I remember when I was little, I had an idea.  My idea was that if I moved away everything would be perfect.  Everything would make sense.  Everything would be better.  All I had to do was leave Oregon.  Oh Little Mary, you were a silly girl.

I was six years old when I first moved away from Oregon.  It was right after my father had died and my mother and I moved to Washington D.C. to be closer to her family.  We spent two amazing years there before moving back to Oregon.  D.C. will always be considered some strange idea of home, as Oregon has always been.  Once we moved home though, I spent the next 16 years fighting to leave.  It took me 14, but I finally left Corvallis.  Once I left Corvallis, I felt right – like this was what I had been missing all along.  Then I left Portland for here.  You know that story though…you know why I left.  Now let’s get to the fun part of why I am going home…and it’s not what you think.

Every time I move away from somewhere, I know myself well enough to know I am running.  I do this, I get that.  I burn enough bridges to the point that I cannot fathom a day in that world anymore.  I haven’t done that here.  Aside from quitting my job in a fashion that I am in no sense of the word proud of, I am not leaving a stone here unturned and am leaving life exactly how it was when I arrived.  OK, only a bit more tan, with a few extra pounds on (A, we need to stop eating brownies), and a heart that isn’t clenching in despair.  I finally wrote a life out that I have been proud of.  I was honest.  I was fair.  I was oddly mature about men (maybe my cynicism is getting the best of me but quite frankly, nothing here was enough to impress me…or keep me here) and was able to walk away when I knew it time.

When the time came to move here, we all know that I moved because my heart was broken…blah, blah, blah.  Noted.  Got it.  But when it came down to the wire and I was forced to make a decision about the next great move, whether it be Key West, Oregon, Maine, or Washington D.C., I made the decision with a level head, an empty heart, and the clearest of mind.  It may have very well been the first time I have ever done that.  Never once has there not been a man pulling me somewhere – in heart, action, presence, or simply memory.  Nothing.  There is nothing there.  It is a strange void but that void was what I needed to finally, at long last, make a decision for myself.  So home it is.  Oregon home that is.  Portland – in all of its majestic beauty – you won.  I don’t know if I am much of a prize but you are getting me back.  I promise you, I will give you the best of me this time.  I won’t try to burn down the St. Johns bridge as I had so vehemently attempted our last time around.

So why Oregon?  Aside from instate tuition, the great mountains, Pacific, my friends, strange little family, and a streetcar that makes me happier than A’s brownies, it came down to this:  it made sense.  I have never been happier than when I was in Oregon.  I have never been more miserable either but let’s face it, that is bound to happen anywhere.  I didn’t try last time.  I lead a life that could make anyone take brownies for granted (hormones are getting the best of me today).  I could make a life for my animals and me anywhere and be happy now, I have figured out how to do that, but the only place I want to do that now is home.  My home.  My rainy, Christmas tree stamped home.  Palm trees, you aren’t cutting it just yet.  Maybe when I reach the age of enlightenment/retirement, I will come back here and die in this humidity ridden state, but I’m sure not there yet.

To Florida, thank you for allowing me in your state for the past 11 months.  You have been, well, interesting.  Thank you for furthering me, for pushing me to better myself, and for showing me who I really am, and what I really want.  Also, thanks for letting me win a bet.  I did not get plastic surgery.  My friend, you owe me $20.

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