Love and Obsession. Or Something Else?

I have been a bad blogger the last couple months.  Truth is, I haven't had much to write.  As I stated in my last post, things with The Writer have been difficult lately.  Because of that, my life has not been as exciting as one would hope.  And... we are through.  At risk of sounding like a callus bitch, I'm not one bit sad to see him go.  That's not because The Writer is a bad person or he screwed me over in some grandiose way. But more that I regret spending the first three months of my last year in my Twenties, trying to make it work. I feel that my time with him was wasted time.  All of that energy and time I invested could have proved to be more worthwhile put into other places.  The concerts, parties, hiking trips and activities I missed out on with my friends.  The poker nights at Sister's that I didn't go to.  The nights I could have been experiencing LIFE and have something to write about in this blog.  All the nights my poor ailing dog spent alone because The Writer refused to come to my apartment.  I shudder.  Why? 

I can say that for me, it was over when I realized The Writer wasn't bringing much of anything into my life.  I staunchly believe the best part of a relationship is immersing yourself in one another's passions (while keeping individuality, of course.)  It started out that way.  I brought him to concerts of bands he'd never heard of and introduced him to the creativity of vegetarian cooking.  He brought me along to industry events with his writing and let me be the first to read some of his drafts.  Eventually though, he decided he didn't like doing "my things" and also started making less of an effort to share his with me.  Our relationship literally came down to me putting off my desires and responsibilities to watch him work.  A little too late, I came to the conclusion that he added little more than the physical presence of another human being.

It has been a good while since I have felt connected or bonded to him.  I picked up on this right away.  My first thought about this was "Uh-oh."  I thought for sure, he had just worn out his welcome and my interest was waning.  Then, through my misguided attempts of amateur self-therapy, I got to thinking that maybe that's what healthy love is supposed to feel like.  Maybe the fact that he wasn't on my mind all day, every day was actually a good thing.  Sitting around obsessing and willing the phone to ring certainly isn't healthy.  So when I'm relieved to not hear the phone ringing, that's healthy right?

I now know these feeling that I had were a sense of growing up and maturing. For the very first time in my life, love is not a priority.  I simply do not have the time or the will to deal with anything or anyone getting in the way of meeting my goals.  I feel smart and proud of myself for finally getting what everyone has fucking tried to tell me all along.  So in every sense of the word, I am relieved.  I cannot even express the amount of weight that I feel has been lifted off me.  Reading back on all of my previous, whining posts, I see that giving so much of myself in the last Twenty Nice years, hasn't gotten me very far.  I am looking forward to being selfish for a while. I hope that one day, a handsome and bearded gentleman who is passionate about his passions and supportive of mine, will come my way.  Until then, I am a bitch with a mission and need a clear path, free of obstacles.  Thankfully, The Writer is one demon I don't need an exorcism to be free from.

Lonely Girl

It has taken me a long time to write this post.  Over and over, I keep coming back to it because I find it hard to not only articulate everything into fluid sentences, but also just understanding for myself, what the hell in going on in my own head.  And every time I think I am about ready to publish, something else evolves that changes the story a bit.  Mentally, I am in a very weird position.  Spring has shown her pretty face. It is easy to be optimistic and positive.  And dare I say, downright fucking cheery with the warmth of the sunshine and smell of fresh life.

I'm also terrified.  Here is a little secret: I am afraid of being alone.  Which is interesting, as I am a person who very much values my solo time.  As I get older, it becomes much more important to get a good night's sleep and run a functioning 1-person household.  Just this week, I turned down a handful of social invitations because I truly wanted to do laundry.  It's the thought of being forced to be alone that scares the shit out of me.  In the event of a zombie apocalypse, I would probably just off myself.  Those big screen movies, where the protagonist  searches for other living humans the first forty minutes?  Yeah, that would never happen for me.  Upon learning that my comfort of companionship was gone, I would lose all "survival" instinct and find the quickest and easiest way to end it.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see how this fear formed.  Growing up, my mom wasn't really around in the way one would expect a mother to be.  Sister and I basically felt "abandoned".  Given the shit she put us through as vulnerable and impressionable kids, abandonment issues is the best we could hope for.  Sometime in high school, Sister went off to boarding school and Dad traveled for work.  My last two years in the nest were pretty much just me in a huge house on a mountain top amidst forty-five acres of wooded property.  As soon as I could get out and live on my own, I moved in with eight of my friends, where it was impossible to be lonely.  In my late teens and early twenties, I did everything I could to make sure I had a posse.  I hardly ever came home from work to spend an entire night to myself.  Eventually, I got a dog.  Surely I can't be lonely with a K9 partner with me at all times.  Somewhere along the way, I decided to be a functioning adult and embraced my alone time to take care of responsibilities.  I started finding the importance of enjoying the simple act of chilling the fuck out with a cup of tea in silence.  For years, I have lived alone.

Three days ago, my little apartment became a nursing home.  Perhaps "hospice" is the better word.  My sweet dog has been getting old for quite some time and it now seems our time together is slipping by at a rapid rate.  A quick trip to the vet to check up on some bladder control issues sent us home with five prescriptions, two of which she will need to be on the for the short remainder of her life.  In my experience, vets are not necessarily in the business to save you money.  Nor, do they ever advocate not vaccinating your pets.  So when he responds to my inquiry about renewing her shots with "I don't think you should worry about the vaccinations.  It would probably just be a waste of money.", that leaves me to believe even the vet doesn't think the dog is going to live much longer.

The last few weeks with The Writer have been very tense.  He has landed some new gigs that have significantly increased his work load, while I have been trying to really aim my focus on my own professional and personal goals.  This combination has left us with little time to spend with one another, and when we do get the chance, it becomes a battle of who goes to who's:  His place so he can keep catching up on work and we can rage it in the city?  Or my place so I can properly take care of the dying dog and we can play outside in the mountains.  This predicament has unfortunately, led to some bickering and resentment.  Things came to an ugly head last weekend but for now, we are working through the fragile state and trying to tough it out.

I am so proud that Sister is about to graduate college, and she is applying for jobs in her field.  One potential employer seems to be very interested in her.  In a far away city.  I would never for anything in the world, desire Sister to not pursue her dreams.  But the thought of her moving far away, and only getting to see her and my nephew a couple times a year, is heart-wrenching for me.  She may be a mom and a little more behaved than me, but she is still my baby sister.  And I still feel a need to fiercely protect her from all the evil things in this world.  I have also come to lean on Sister, particularly this last year.  She has been with me through every bit of heartache and turmoil.  The thought of her not being here when shit hits the fan again, terrifies the hell out of me.

Though they (for the most part) live less than twenty miles away, I rarely see or have much contact with my parents these days.  Our weekly phone chats and / or dinners have dwindled to more of a monthly occurrence.  My dad busted his ass all his adult life to provide for Sister and I.  My stepmother has graciously and lovingly risen to the challenge of being Mom and Grandma to a family she probably never expected to have.  Together they deserve nothing less than the chance to travel, renovate their vacation home, and relax with friends.  But in many ways, I miss them.  I still don't feel completely independent from them, at least in the emotional sense.  I'm not sure that grown children ever do.  With all their exciting adventures, enjoying the fruits of their labor, and getting Sister's future going, I guess one could say I feel a little "forgotten."   

As my anxiety about turning thirty builds, I cannot help but feel lonely and a little left-behind.  Many of my friends are getting engaged and married, or living with a significant other.  At the very least, working on long-term, healthy relationships.  I can't seem to outlast a relationship longer than a year.  Some of my peers are having children, and while dogs may be more my speed, these friends are welcoming new life while I'm saying goodbye to life of my "baby". I am rational enough to know that we will likely always outlive our precious pets, not every relationship is built to last, and loved ones often relocate for wonderful opportunities.  It is all just part of life and learning to cope with these realities is simply part of being an adult.

But what happens when the dog dies and Sister moves away for work?  What happens if The Writer and I decide to go our separate ways?  I fear that I will be alone, in my little apartment, waiting for the phone to ring, with some familiarity on the other line.  I hate the very thought of it.  I feel like I'm once again the blonde little girl who's Mommy doesn't want her and who cries when Daddy calls home from his business trip.

Now that I'm grown up, what happens to the Dog Lady with no dog?

Please do not poke the bear

It has been 2 whole weeks since my last post.  In fact, this is the longest I have gone without posting since beginning this blog.  And for that, I feel like crap.  I really do.

The fact is, I have been in a completely miserable and pathetic excuse for a human being since I got sick.  The scary part of Pneumonia was short lived, thanks to my Dr. and the amazing pills she prescribed.  But it's been quite some time since I have been able to NOT hack out a lung while inhaling the cold winter air of this climate.

I have not been able to attend yoga class. Sniffles aside, I actually feel well enough now, but reaching a yogic state while enduring the dirty looks of paranoid germaphobes in their Lululemon pants does not appeal to me.  I have only once joined my BFF Bodhi for a beer at our favorite spot.  I have (though gratefully) had an ass-load of work that has rendered me and my immune system exhausted.  Oh, and just when I thought I might actually try to hike this fluid out of my lungs, winter finally fucking decided to show up and covered all my favorite trails with two feet of snow.

Needless to say, I have been unable to do the things I love most.  The things that make me...me.  The one thing in my life that I have been able to stay somewhat consistent with is The Writer.  Aw...  Go ahead and vomit. He continues to show himself to be a very generous and kind man who just wants to see me smile and for that, I feel blessed.  However, I only said somewhat consistent.  In that I have been a royal bitch and pain in his ass.  I was all whiny, mopey, and demanding while I was sick. In turn, he was forgiving and even told me it was "kinda cute". Now that I'm not bedridden, I am restless.  Yet, snowstorms, sniffles and lung snot are beyond his control so he does his best by watching movies with me and calling AAA when my car gets stuck on the ice outside his apartment.

Through my struggles with the past demons, I readily recognize this pattern.  When I am stripped of my personal pleasures, I tend to sabotage the only thing going right for me.  Whether that be a relationship, my work, or something else entirely.  In reality, I know I am just pissed off at the lack of my pleasurable activities.  A lack that leaves me less able to cope with other imperfect yet unimportant-ly imperfect things in life.  Without my anchors, something as uncontrollable as a snowstorm will toss me into a fit.  I am to the point that if I do not get to yoga class or finish a hike with a hoppy fermented beverage, I may be writing this blog from a padded room. I suppose I just feel a little down that I started this year with such high ambitions, vowing to not repeat old negative habits from my 20's, such as hating life below 40 degrees.  And here I am.  Cold, Vitamin D deficient, tired, and grumpy.

Just wanted to check in.  Perhaps the doom and gloom tone of this post will motivate me to come back at ya with something good.

The Mother Load

Last night, after my weekly happy hour with my usual buds at our usual place and time, The Writer came over for dinner and a sleep over.  Upon his arrival, I made it clear that the usual beers had hit me exceptionally hard - I blame it on my new diet.  When I get a bit tipsy I tend to talk.  A lot.  And I'm all over the place talking about completely random subjects.  And many times, the conversation turns a little dark and I verbally vomit about my childhood.  Which is precisely what subjected The Writer to while I burnt our dinner.

As I presume most people did, Sister and I had a difficult childhood to say the least.  Our parents divorced when I was 4 and she was less than a year old.  We went back and forth, living between our mom's and dad's houses.  Eventually, we settled in at Dad's and came to call that "home".  We are to this day very much Daddy's Girls.  I love our mom and we have a unique, albeit complicated relationship.  But that relationship is without a doubt the root of many of the issues that usually lie dormant in my brain.

I'd say it started sometime in high school.  Sister and I were pretty much settled at Dad's.  Mom lived on the other side of the city.  Once I got my own car, I would visit her about once a month.  Our youngest sibling (our half brother) would have been about 5, a young and demanding age.  Slowly, Mom's attention drifted away from Sister and I as she understandably had to make the little one her priority.  Yet it still seemed that Mom only did the bare minimum when it came to being a mom. At one point, Sister went to boarding school in another state.  Even with his busy schedule of work travel, Dad made it a point to be highly involved in her school and visited her at every opportunity.  While still making sure I had plenty of time with him as well.  Mom visited Sister once and I'm not sure she ever made the 20 mile drive to hang out with me.

At my high school, we had the traditional "walk with your class" graduation ceremony.  But there was another, more important and more special ceremony.  It was a private meeting with my adviser, my closest friends and my family.  It was at this meeting, that I was actually presented with my diploma.  Screw the "graduation"; this little meeting was the big deal.  The morning of, Mom called to tell me she had a doctor's appointment and would be unable to attend.  (After-hours at 5pm?)  When I cried and begged her reschedule, she said the only other day the Dr. had available would conflict with my little brother's school recital.  She threw in the little-brother-guilt-trump card.  Still, who chooses a kindergarten recital over their firstborn's high school fucking graduation?  I cried and cried and cried some more.  She finally gave me an ultimatum and said "Okay, I will go to this but if I do, I will just call your grandparents and the rest of my side of the family and tell them to not bother with the big graduation on Saturday."  That stuck with me forever.  I will never forget the cruelty of her voice on the other end of the phone.  I gave up and dropped it.  The mood during that meeting was somber.  And everyone in the room could see the sadness and feeling of abandonment in my face.  She came to the big school-wide graduation ceremony.  She did the bare minimum.

In the last decade, Mom has moved out of town to a little farm community a few hours away.  I rarely go to visit, but why would I?  She maybe comes to visit Sister and I once a year.  The rest of the year is filled with empty hopes when she says she "might come down this weekend."  She rarely calls and when she does, it is conveniently during my work hours or Sister's school hours.  The next week is spent trying in vain to return her call.  These phone calls are the bare minimum.

She is coming to visit today.  She called me two days ago to say she "might come down this weekend."  As even grown children do, Sister and I have been hoping and getting excited for her visit.  Mom called Sister four hours ago to say she is definitely coming to town today.  She wants to do a lunch with us but it has to be in the heart of the city as she doesn't want to go out of her way.  Her and our brother are getting a hotel 40 minutes from where Sister and I live. Screeching brakes.  So Mom is coming, but it must not be to see us.  A quick lunch is the bare minimum.

It is times like this I am ever thankful that I have met The Writer. He luckily, doesn't think I'm completely bat-shit crazy.  Yet.  And later tonight, I can run my abandoned self into his big arms.  And forget about this shit until a year from now when Mom comes to visit again.

The Final Countdown

Here it is, folks.  The first day of the last year in my 20's.  That's right.  It's my birthday!  Last night, I lacquered my nails with a few layers of glitter nail polish.  This morning, I woke up at 5am craving a quesadilla.  Weird.

My birthday has indeed been quite the event so far. Bodhi's birthday was on Friday so we had a joint celebration at our favorite stomping ground over the weekend.  I also spent the weekend with The Writer, which was quite nice.  Although today is the actual day, I am sort of already birthday-ed out.  Likely, I will get a beer with friends after work and with any luck, later find myself in a snuggle sandwich between my dog and The Writer.

I recently experienced a surprisingly pleasant moment with regard to work.  Last week, a favorite client caught me off guard by begging me to volunteer on a committee (for the year) with a professional organization I am part of.  I don't know what came over me and why I couldn't say "no."  But I agreed to it.  Yesterday was the first meeting; a 5 hour long meeting.  I was absolutely dreading it.  After a weekend of intense debauchery, all my mind or body felt capable of doing was sitting at my desk in my office, doing busy work and surfing the net.  I even at one point whined to a coworker, "I don't wanna go.  I don't wanna go.  I don't wanna go.  What excuse can I come up with to not go?"  I was feeling the anxiety and nerves boil to the top of my head.  Both of which actually made me physically ill.

But I sucked it up.  I pulled up those big girl panties, headed into the fiery hell that is downtown and pulled my car into the valet.  As the attendant handed over my valet ticket, I said goodbye to my freedom for the afternoon.  I felt like I had just turned myself into jail.  As I entered the space, I spotted one familiar colleague and took my seat before the lunch and program began.  By the time lunch and "welcomes" were done, I felt at ease and glad to be out of the office and doing something new for the day.  We even had a team building exercise involving public speaking and I did not blush.  Not once.  *Public speaking is single handedly the most terrifying experience in the world.

The meeting was informative and productive.  I felt I had something to offer to my committee.  It then occurred to me I should feel flattered my client begged for my presence.  It occurred to me that I am respected as a professional in my field and among my peers. By the time we were set free, I felt a confidence and clarity about myself professionally that I have never felt before. It is a nice reminder that we allow ourselves to grow only when we take the risk to step outside our comfort zones, even for just an afternoon.

The Gloves Come Off

So as you know by now, I think The Writer is pretty swell. 

He is also my boyfriend. Really.  Honestly.  The other night, we discussed exclusivity and that is what we are.  He asked if I preferred him to refer to me as his "girlfriend" or "concubine."  I expressed that I prefer the former.  We have been dating (and calling, texting, IMing like a couple of teenagers) for the past month or so.  It may perhaps be a little quick for us to take ourselves off the market.  But what the hell; why not?  

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I proudly stood my ground while humbling myself to vulnerability and actually spoke up.  I did not wait for him to bring it up.  I did not just assume the best or the worst when he didn't bring it up.  I took charge of my well being and did it myself.  Remember my promise to myself to not hit the sack with him until after we became exclusive?  Being a little old fashioned isn't so bad.  We actually learned to like each other for reasons beyond the physical.  Whodathunkit?  Holy shit.  I'm a big girl now!

That has a boyfriend.

Night Cap Re Cap

Whew!  Now that I have had a little cheese to go with my wine, I will let you in on a little recap of some happier occurrences. 

The last week of work before Christmas was a breeze and bountiful on the gluttonous holiday office eating.  Biggest news of all: I recieved a HUGE end-of-year bonus.  It is no exaggeration to say it was ten-fold what I have ever recieved before.  Though the money is gratefully accepted, this is huge for reasons beyond the cash.  My company means the world to me and this is testament that we are finally succeeding in our fourth official year.  Furthermore, I am finally feeling compensated for my work.  This certainly helps to partly ease the almost-thirty-freak-the-fuck-out.  Though I promise; I'm still bat shit crazy enough to keep you entertained.

That bonus?  It was given to me about an hour before I left for an eleven day vacation.  Yep, hate me now.  This is the most consecutive days off I have taken in almost three years, so much needed, and deserved if I do say so myself.  I am currently sitting on a couch in my family's beautiful mountain cabin.  Yes, I know, I was just bitching about them.  But damn, do I love these people.  The last few days have been all about playing cards with my cousins. Frolicing in the snow with our dogs.  Cooking and eating insanely delicious meals.  Sleeping in next to a cozy fireplace.  If there is an afterlife, I sure as hell hope it looks something like this.

Last but most certainly not least, there is The Writer.  Oh boy.  This man may have me in for a doozy.  Last I time I gushed, I shared with you the events of Date #3.  Since then, we were able to spend a little more time together before we each left town to celebrate Christmas with our families.  Our most recent "date" was really more of a movie night at his aparment.  Of course, neither of us wanted the night to end so I stayed way past my bedtime.  At one point, he looked me dead in the eye and said "I really like you" then proceeded to rattle off ten reasons why.  Really?  This kind of romantic shit does not happen to me.  It's like my own real life version of Love Actually. We have continued the tooth-rottingly-sweet converstaion cross country via text messages and phone calls.  Thank god for my unlimited everything plan.  He is also my confirmed date for New Year's Eve.  Christ on a fucking stick.  I think I might be falling for him.  And yes, I have kept my panties on.  Yay, willpower!

Date #3 with The Writer

Happy Monday everyone!  May you have a wonderful start to your week!

The Writer and I shared Date #3 on Saturday.  He came to my town where we had dinner and stopped by a Holiday party / Charity benefit / Concert some friends of mine were hosting. That also means I ended up introducing him to a handful of my social circle.  Normally, it is no big deal for me to introduce a date to my friends.  In fact, that often happens on the first or second meet ups.  For some reason though, I feel the need to keep my time with The Writer personal.  I want to keep him all to myself.  My friends are great and welcoming people so I certainly do not feel worried about him getting to know them.  More that I just want to fully devote my attention to him when we are together. 

Upon leaving the gathering, we came back to my house where we shared pictures and our favorite funny videos with one another.  Naturally, we also made out like teenagers until 3:00 a.m.  Though it has not become a subject of conversation between us yet, I have decided to keep my knickers on until we are an exclusive item and have had a mutual conversation explicitly naming us as so.  I foresee this becoming a challenge as firstly, I am not great at expressing my emotional desires to men.  Rather than having an adult conversation and leave myself vulnerable to potential rejection, I seem to withhold my feelings while only hoping (but never knowing) he feels the same way.  Secondly, I find him insanely charming and handsome and my willpower to resist a man like him could be fairly weak.  Damn it all; I will put my heart before my libido this time.  Dare I say, I am beginning to really like The Writer do not want to risk falling into casual sex with him.

We are going out again tonight for a film screening in the city.  Our courtship makes me feel special.  His writing seems to provide him with perks and invitations to fun events.  The idea of him asking moi to be his date, is quite flattering. 

Introducing The Writer

So I left out one minor detail when I said today (or yesterday, at this hour) was uneventful. That was intentional as The Writer (or future-demon) deserves his own post away from those demons.  
I got a text from The Writer this afternoon, inviting me out.  I had to decline as I already had plans - that were later canceled, of course.
A text from The Writer is a bit of an event.  Enough to put a smile on my face, at least.
We met via OKCupid and mutual friends.  So far I find him smart, funny, sarcastic, polite, well educated and handsome. 

• 1st date  - Quick cup of coffee.  Enjoyable conversation.
• 2nd date - Movie and a beer.  More enjoyable conversation.  First kiss.
• 3rd date - Happening this Saturday.  We'll see.  Too early to determine his intentions with me.  Exciting anyway.