Still passing the open windows and falling down the stairs

Flutter

I love this part. The flirty innuendo. The text banter that keeps the phone buzzing through an already busy day. And the anticipation. Oh…the anticipation.

I remind myself that as fun as this part is, it rarely ever leads to the meaty part, and even when it does, that has always led to the devastating part.

Returning to my breath, focusing on the flutter. He is not them, the good parts or the bad. He may hurt me, or I may hurt him, or we may hurt each other.

Or not. It’s not necessarily destined that this part, this wonderful, exhilarating part, will lead to the other part that I have known too well.

Everything’s coming up bandick

I’m super stoked and my fingers are flying across the keyboard and I’m probably gonna drop the eff bomb a whole bunch, so look out!

Finally. FINALLY. Things have ticked back into the awesome category.

October 9 marks two years since d-day with the baron, which was absolutely the most devastating day of my life. I feel so overly dramatic making that statement, but it’s the truth. I felt shell shocked for months (and a little covered in the residue until this summer). I was on the brink of total destruction that October. Four months later, my job blew up and the char on my spirit was complete. I was a pile of ash.

I knew, I have always known, that life is change and when it feels like the bottom, there’s nothing to do but climb. I wasn’t ready to climb then, so I just clung to the bottom of the ladder and tried to stay optimistic; to let my eyes gloss over and paste the smile on when people told me how strong I was being.

But I didn’t feel strong. I felt hollow and lost. And frozen. I was scared of making any decisions. I’d chosen a man who’d made a conscious decision to hurt me, day after day, for 18 months. And I’d chosen a career path that led me to a place where 10 years of dedication turned out to be nothing compared to the whim of someone in a superior position.

Now I believe that being frozen was the only thing that shielded me from the chaos. I learned how to not make decisions. I learned how to breathe. I learned how to be patient and calm in the world. And then I learned how to rock it out and land a kick ass job that makes me want to shout, FUCK YEAH! And I learned how to let men enter my life without shifting the focus from myself. Some have floated around as background noise for a while and some are brand new, but all are reminders that I am not a pile of ash.

I’m a mother-fucking Phoenix.

I’m the shit, yo

I’ve been on a nearly daily cycle of tippy-top peaks and rock bottom lows of motivation over the past few months. There are days when I can barely pull myself out of bed in the morning and others when I spring out going 70 mph. There are manic days of bouncing around the house, submitting job applications and socializing with friends, all while scrubbing the floors and walking the dog. There are other days spent on the couch reading Game of Thrones for 12 hours straight.

Mostly, it boils down to days of optimism and days of pessimism.

There are days, sometimes weeks, when I understand that this cannot last. It is not possible that I will never work again. It is not possible that I will never be in love again. In those times, I understand that it’s a numbers game and eventually my number will come up. And then there are the days when I feel totally and utterly rejected.

The thing I struggle with the most is the feeling of “deserving”. I wonder if feeling like I “deserve” something makes me a selfish person. But I feel like I deserve better than what I’ve had in the last year and a half. I just do. I understand that bad things happen to good people; just as I clearly understand that good things happen to bad people (the Baron seems to be experiencing quite the wave of good luck). I’m okay with having my stretch of the bad things.

BUT HOW FUCKING LONG CAN THE BAD STRETCH GO ON???

One thing I have learned is that you have to have some pretty high self-esteem to handle the job search and dating at the same time. There is no better way to feel universally rejected than by doing both simultaneously. It actually makes me wonder a bit about what is wrong with the men who aren’t rejecting me. How did they not get the memo that everyone else got?

I am trying to stay positive. I really am. I don’t want to get stuck here.
I know I’m kick ass. I just can’t remember how I used to make other people think that, too…?

Cracked

“If you really wanted to mess me up, you should have gotten to me earlier.” — Nick Hornby, High Fidelity

The tough nut turned out to be uncrackable and in the past that might have left me feeling a little cracked myself. But it didn’t this time. I’ve been truly cracked in the past so the damage has already been done. I didn’t necessarily handle the situation with the nut as coolly as I would have liked but overall I know that I did the right thing.

I’ve realized that I have really come a long way in the last year. I ended a relationship with a really nice guy who was not a lifetime match for me. I recognized that the nut would likely end up causing more frustration at a point when things should be fun and easy. I listened to my instincts and walked away from both. And I know that I will continue to reject people and situations when my instincts tell me to do so.

In many, many ways, 2012 has sucked ass. But in a few important areas it has been one of my best personal growth years. Still, I’m happy enough to see it go.

Tough nuts

I love mussels. They are a favorite treat and I love to explore the wide variety of delicious methods in which they can be prepared. But I learned two things, two very important things, about mussels early on. (1) Never cook a raw mussel that is already open and (2) never eat a cooked mussel that has remained closed. My initial instinct was to try to pry them open with my fork or my teeth or slam them against my forehead. Bad ideas, all. Some mussels aren’t meant to be eaten.

I always wonder if that is true for nuts as well. Pistachios in particular. When staring down a tightly closed pistachio, I ponder the end result of trying to crack it open. Will it make me sick? Will I break a tooth or, worse yet, a nail? I usually just toss it, unwilling to take the risk for one tiny delicious nut.

So, how about men? I’ve recently (within the past six months) encountered what I am now beginning to believe is a closed man. The difference is that this man opens up a little, then sometimes a lot, then seems to close again with little notice.

There are some understandable reasons that this might be so, the primary being distance. And I get that. A 4-1/2 hour drive is a pain in the ass. But I’m a girl whose first serious relationship was with a bloke from London and third LTR was in Ohio for the first 18 months of three years together. So a neighboring state seems like a cake walk to me.

All I know is that he’s definitely a tough nut and I’m no nutcracker.

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