Confession...

I am and old snob

I think I may be the only one of all my friends, not currently having a blast at my dear Trinity's keg party tonight.  Because I wanted to have dinner and play cards with my parents.  And I feel like an awful friend for it.  With the difficult times I have faced lately, Trinity has made a great effort to be present for me and to be a good friend.  I feel horribly guilty for not supporting her by being present at her party.

Now don't get me wrong.  If this party were for a birthday, graduation, house-warming, or otherwise monumental life milestone, I would be there.  But this is a theme party for the sake of having one.  And for me, that would turn into drinking for the sake of having hilarious stories to tell. Which is fine; it actually sounds like a lot of fun, and their theme is a beyond-great idea.  I just seem to be gaining different priorities these days.

I will be first to admit that I frequent my favorite beer establishment more than I should.  And I sometimes have more pints than I should, more often than I should.  One thing I have realized in this reinvention of myself is that evolving as a person, isn't about becoming Amish and never drinking or letting lose again.  It's more about finding a balance among health, responsibility, luxury and happiness.  Within that balance, I can't always do everything I want to do.  I can't go balls to the wall from 6pm on Friday to 11pm on Sunday anymore.  I have to be selective with when I allow myself to imbibe or have some "fun".  And when forced to make a choice with when I'm going to allow myself a little irresponsibility, damn straight, what I want to do, is going to be what I choose.

I guess this goes back to wanting to be a little selfish while insisting on doing activities that reflect me and my identity.  I am starting to discover that after years of neglecting my truest needs, it is time to to hone in on what is important to me and what makes me happy.  Tonight, what makes me happy is playing cards with the parents, coming home to read The Hunger Games, while knowing I will wake up tomorrow, without a hangover and capable of spending the day as a functional adult. It seems the older I get, the higher my family is on the priority totem pole.  I have felt fragile and vulnerable with life's recent events.  I desperately needed some time to hear the wisdom from my parents minds.  And feel the unconditional love of their hearts.

So it may be, that I have to be a shitty friend once in a while to keep myself on the road to where I want to be.  Does this personal evolution mean I am any better a person than my friends who are having a ball right now?  No.  Absolutely not.  But it does mean that I am a person than I used to be.

A Painful Pride

Last Friday was a very difficult day for me.  I had to say goodbye to one of the only constant companions of my Twenties.  Or, as I figured it, I was having to Kevorkian my dog.  The way I felt that day was absolutely tragic.  I felt fragile and lost.  After the days I'd had in preparation, I didn't think I had any tears left by the time we arrived to the vet.  But I lost it.  I mean broke down and sobbed like I've never cried before.  Her enormous heart stopped before they'd even finished injecting the medication.  The moment they confirmed she was gone, the only emotion I could feel was lonely.

Back when I was a young and optimistic twenty year old adpopting my first pup, I guess I just always assumed that by the time she died, I would be married, or have a live in boyfriend, or own a house with a big yard and perhaps already have another dog.  I never thought, even in recent years as her health declined, that I'd be left all alone.  I don't have a spouse, or roommates, or kids.  For nearly a solid decade, that dog is who I came home to every day.  She was the one who greeted me at the door, wanting to hear about my day.  The one who laid with me as my tears fell onto her fur while consoling my heartaches.  The reason I had to get out of bed everyday, if only just to feed her and let her out.  When she died, my aunt and Sister were by my side and cried a few tears so I could cry a few less.  The incredible outpouring from family, friends I hadn't seen in years, and even a handful of demons, was something to be grateful for.  All weekend, friends and family made sure I didn't have to be alone.  I didn't even stay at home for two nights.  Still, without my baby, I felt incredibly alone.

But that outpouring has helped me to see a silver lining and something beautiful about it all. I had well wishes from countries she had never been to.  Friends from all over the US, who also spent nearly their entire Twenties with that dog, called and texted all the time.  That sweet and sometimes grumpy dog made an impact on this globe during her time here.  And I should be proud of that.  If I had never come along, she would have been euthanized years ago, never having the chance to experience a full and free life. Together, we traveled, attended keg parties, slept on random couches (and in my car), went rock climbing, snow-hiking, camping, swimming in rivers, danced at music festivals... The list goes on.  That dog lived an absolutely beautiful life and is known and loved the world over.  Thanks to me.  I take pride and comfort in knowing the two of us had a mutually loving bond, and side by side, we saved one another.  Her last few days were spent with me taking time off work to spoil her absolutely rotten and do all the things her old age had put on hold.  Just one last time.

May you always be so smug, My Girl.

Friday marked another monumental day in my life.  I should have been attending a baseball game and having beers and lunch bought for me.  It was my ten-year anniversary at my work.  Now come on, how many people reach ten freakin' years of employment at the same place before age Thirty?  Not too bad, in my eyes.  I love my career and what I do.  I may not be bringing home wads of cash just yet, and it hasn't been easy.  In fact, it's been downright painful sometimes.  But I am proud of myself and proud of what hand I have played in helping my company to become what it is.

Through all my self doubt and moments of feeling as I have wasted my Twenties, I can proudly say there are at least two things I managed to not completely fuck up.

Dear Universe

Dear Universe,

How about you go fuck yourself?

Thanks, 

C

If I were to say that my heart could not possibly be anymore broken, I think the Universe would take that as a challenge so I will refrain.  

Last Friday, I had a girls' date with Bodhi.  We met for happy hour beers at our usual spot, then proceeded downtown when, after searching for parking forever, we snagged some delicious sandwiches for dinner.  We then walked a few blocks to an intimate concert venue to see a great show.  The night could not be better. Turns out that we had some other friends in the crowd so before the first act got underway we went on a search mission.  Less than one minute into said mission, we run into the motherfucking Wrecking Ball.  FUCK. How, in a sea of beautiful and inebriated bearded men, do I only exchange words with the one I have been avoiding like the Black Death for over a year? You see, the Wrecking Ball is not just any demon.  He is Satan himself.  No one person or thing in this world can fuck with the wiring of my brain as that man can.  The heartache from our demise is still so raw and so fresh.  My gaping wound that after being gangrenous and infectious, was just starting to heal and resemble more of a battle scar, when he walked up and slashed it all open again.  After successfully not puking on him and finding the other members of our group, Bodhi and I took our spots in front of the stage and I tried to brush it off.  I am certain the old drunk hippie standing next to me, thought I was on Acid as the only thing I could do was stare at the pretty lights in the ceiling, hoping that by elevating my face, no tears would fall down my cheeks.

Though I had designated myself as our driver, I woke the next morning with an emotional hangover.  The kind where you have a headache simply from crying.  My phone rang next to my head as I tried to come to.  It was darling Robo trying to wake my pathetic ass up for our planned hike.  Before calling her back, I decided I should replay the previous night's events in my head and start some coffee.  I laid in bed just a little longer while I felt the way I did over a year ago "Just last night, he was here.  And now he's gone."  I felt like I would die. I found myself asking all the same questions over and over.  I eventually hobbled out of bed to start the kettle, while cursing the Universe for ever bringing that man into my life if I was just going to wake up alone anyway.

As I stumble into my living room, the Universe smacks me upside the head to remind me that I never wake up alone. There it was. Vomit. Shit. Lots of it. Once contained in the forty pound body of a dog. MY dog. My sweet, precious girl that has been with me for the entirety of my Twenties. Who, while I bitch and moan about being lonely, gently reminds me "But I'm here.  And I love you. Unconditionally.  And I will never, ever leave your side."  But the fact is, she will. Not by her own doing. No, she will not abandon me. Instead, I have to make the decision to not be selfish and let her leave this Earth in no more pain than she is currently in. I have to let her go. I have to let her know that I will be okay without her. That I am a better and stronger person because of her love. That her job here is done. 

This Friday, Sister and I will take my dog into her very last vet visit.  And we will leave without her. The outpouring of love and compassion from everyone who knows her and my love for her has been amazing. Even dogless, I know I am not alone.

Dear Universe, 

If you can be gentle after the tough week you have dealt me, that would be great.

I love you, 

C 

 

Fishing Weekend Report

I last opened up to you about The Fisherman.  After he arrived on Friday, we took our dogs on a long walk in my neighborhood.  Nearing the end of said walk, he said "What I love most about us is that we always just pick up where we left off.  We never have any 'I haven't seen you in a year and this is weird' moments.  It's always just so... easy?"  Sort of hilarious as I said nearly the same thing in my post earlier that day.

That night, he took me out for the customary sushi dinner.  I LOVE that he buys me sushi every time we see each other.  Our dinner conversation was fairly typical for us; mostly about our careers and dogs.  Like me, he absolutely adores his job.  He, on the other had, abhors where he lives.  He confided in me that he really has no social life outside his coworkers.  Outside of work, he is fairly miserable in the cow-patty town he lives in.  He basically said "Please, find me a job here that I will love just as much as the one I have now.  Then, I can move here and we can get married."

Aww...  But I'm not exactly checking out the want-ads.  As great as The Fisherman may be, I would have to be out of my damned mind to even entertain the thought of him relocating his life to start one with me.  No more than thirty minutes after his departure on Sunday, I started hearing many complimentary "You guys are so right for each other" comments and answered many questions about The Fisherman.  My response? I don't really care for a boyfriend at all right now, let alone, a long-distance boyfriend.  I don't have the desire and energy to put in effort to truly devote myself or my life to a man that lives one block away.  I'm sure as hell not putting in the effort to drive out of state once or twice a month.

Sure, I love the idea of love and romance as much as the next person.  Probably even more than most.  But I am just not looking for it right now.  My life is too big and too great.  I simply want to just be me.  Not anyone's girlfriend.  Just me.  And while I may not be anti-romance, if it does happen, it needs to be organically.  In the case of The Fisherman, that would mean him getting a job and relocating to my state on his own accord.  Then and only then, perhaps building a more regular friendship with me that may (a very strong may) have the potential to become more.

This time, there were no tears when he and his dog drove off into the sunset.  In fact, it was a relief.  Sure, I had a wonderful time with him.  We spent the weekend eating decadent sushi, drinking micro-brews at my favorite spot, hiking, BBQing with friends.  It was great and it was fun to "play house" for a little while.  But when my dog and I had the place to ourselves again, it was complete bliss.
 

Going Fishing This Weekend

There is one demon I have failed to ever mention.  I'm not entirely sure I can count him as a demon, solely because we have never actually dated.  The Fisherman and I have known each other for about five years now.  Though some say "ideals" are the root of misery when it comes to love, if I were allowed an ideal partner, The Fisherman would come awfully close.  He is the mountain girl's version of a romance novel hero.   He has lived in the wilderness as a fishing guide and is about as outdoorsy and manly as they come.  Growing up, my Dad always told me real men carry a knife in their pocket.  The Fisherman always has knife in a his pocket.

As I said, we have never seriously dated.  If only because we live in different states.  Somehow, we almost always seem to be magnetically drawn to one another when we sense the other might be single.  We can go six months to a year without seeing one another, only keeping friendly contact.  Then BOOM - stars align.  We both conveniently end up unattached at the same time and the flood gates open.  Each time, it's the same story.  We see each other as much as we can, travel between locations, express over and over how if we lived near each other, things would be perfect.  We eventually drift apart, one or both gets involved with a more local romance and we remain "friends" until that sixth sense kicks in again.

So there I was, last weekend.  Celebrating a hike with some friends over a pitcher of microbrew in the afternoon sun, loving my single and free life, when my text alert buzzes.  Before I even checked my phone, I already knew who it was.  I knew the dam had been released.  Today - just hours ago - The Fisherman informed me he is checking out of work early to make the few hour drive to visit me for the weekend.  Hell yeah!  But.  Wait.  Just WHAT THE FUCK do I think I'm doing?

I don't want the distraction of a man right now.  I sure as hell don't want a relationship.  I just freed myself from being shackled.  I have been restless for too long.  Since ending things with The Writer, I couldn't be happier about my singledom.  In fact, I have hiked over 55 miles in the last 2 weeks of freedom.  That is not a typo.  Fifty-Five fucking MILES.  I have been able to keep my home in order, actually focus at work, take care of my dog, see my family, drink beers with my friends while listening to MY choice in music.  Life has been very good.  The last thing I want is anyone or anything getting in my damn way.  Yet I know, I always enjoy every minute I spend with The Fisherman.  And you know why?  Because I can do all those things with him.  We are so similar in our interests and passions that it is just easy.  Very easy.  Sure, we'll probably sober up from our playing house drunk when he leaves on Sunday.  And I will likely shed a tear as he loads his dog into the back of his Subaru to drive away.  I will feel a pang, knowing it seems unfair we can't be together.  But it's okay.  I find justification in knowing that Sunday will come.  And I will still be single.  And I will not have had to sacrifice a single part of my weekend to spend it with him. 

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?