Thursday, June 30, 2011

some other beginning's end.

I don't know, I guess I just wish I could write as well as John Irving.  If someone happens to be mulling over the perfect gift to give me just because I'm pretty, I will provide a suggestion:  every novel John Irving has ever written (minus The Cider House Rules because by George, I've got it).  I used to own three others but they've been lost in the madness.

Oh, and I just finished The Hotel New Hampshire.  So don't buy me that one either.

Can I provide you with a quote that epitomizes the beauty of this ridiculously unrealistic yet so there book?  No.  Because it's not like that.  It's not direct.  It's the entire story -- the whole freaking thing -- the intricate nuances of each character, the obsessive attention to detail. Ah yes, I can pull a quote after all!

  "You've got to get obsessed and stay obsessed." 

How many times have I become obsessed but couldn't stay? 

Just recently, however, I put my all into a really intense work presentation.  I sacrificed my body for this work of art, spending about 16 hours on it within two days.  My lower back aches, my neck is threatening to send me to the chiropractor again and my hands are sore enough to affect my tennis game (sending me reeling into a sea of expletive-filled tantrums last night at the courts).  But who gives a shit right?  I very rarely feel useful at work and I needed this to keep me just getting by there. 

My great aunt Zi-Zi died last week.  My great aunt was my grandmother's best friend.  And my grandmother and I have a sort of closeness that fits into the space reserved for the love of mother and daughter.  And since my mother and I haven't been able to get there yet (I'm saying yet now because I've decided that since I'm moving home in a month I should try to be optimistic about her) what my Mom-Mom and I share far surpasses where my mother and I stand.  The woman is blind but graceful.  She is the type of woman who makes you feel like she's been sitting on the edge of her seat anticipating your arrival with an excitement usually reserved for those who win the lottery when you walk in the house. 

And her best friend died.  And I cried for the loss of Zi-Zi and I cried for my Mom-Mom's heart breaking.  But we all celebrated Zi-Zi's life and grieved her death together as a family and even though this may sound selfish, it felt like a little victory to me.  I become instantly terrified when tragedy strikes, fearing that I will return from it losing the ability to smile ever again.  It's very selfish really.  Why did you die?  Didn't you know I have a hard time coming back from sadness?  You should think before you go and do something like that.  I cried and I grieved that day with one of B's large, warm hands wrapped in mine and the other stroking my back.  But I also smiled and made Mom-Mom laugh too.

Healing happens when it wants to.  I read John Irving's novel with a certain tinge in my heart as he described parts of my life.  And I felt the pain and the nervousness that revolve around those parts.  I realized I hadn't yet fully healed.  But I didn't pick at it to try to make it go away quicker.

I let it live without trying to control it.
And here I sit now, emptying myself of the words and picking the scab on my cheek to make it heal faster. 

Damnit.  Didn't I just say I learned that healing happens in its own time?  Do as I say, not as I do.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Learning when to zip it.

You pay a price when you decide to divulge the details of your very personal life on a public forum.  I have hesitated more than a few times before pressing "publish post" after writing descriptive details of what's going on in my heart and head.  Believe it or not, I have many unpublished drafts that have been seen only by my eyes and I believe they'll stay that way.

I've even posted things only to run back to the computer an hour or so later to remove what I've written.  I think there's a balance in divulging your personal affairs.  I've yet to master it.

In the grand scheme of things, only 26 people subscribe to this blog of mine and I am pretty sure only about 12 people read regularly.  It's really NOT that big of a deal that I'm revealing my shit to y'all because I'm not going to be published in People Magazine or featured on an E! News broadcast.

I'm not that popular, thank God.

But I sometimes struggle with wondering how much I want my circle to know about my love life.  I struggle because for onee, I think it's unfair to my significant other.  He doesn't read what I write and he's reminded me that he doesn't want to read it because he doesn't want to influence my writing.  I completely and utterly respect and love him for that.

However, those who read my blog and see what I say about the details of our relationship are able to paint their own picture of this man sometimes without even meeting him.  Not to mention the fact that some of my writing is a bit fictitious.  I write things a certain way or describe details a certain way to strengthen my writing.  The best writing comes from personal experience and then I build off of that.  And I think I've done B an injustice. 

I am not downplaying the reality that our relationship hasn't been beautifully smoothsailing.  There have been very powerful waves.  But then again, would I like a relationship without passion?  The challenge and the boldness of this relationship has allowed both of us to put cards on the table that I'm so glad we've put there before we decided to live together or get married. 

What I'm trying to say is this: I think I'm going to refrain from committing the details of my very personal relationship to this blog from now on.

And a much as I love the relationships I have with certain family members, I find myself more confused than anything after speaking to too many others about what we've got going on.  I feel like my family is asking for updates on us because I'm the oldest and I'm at the "marriage" age.  They want to have a family wedding and so do I!  I just think it should be Thumber (number two in line) that should be pestered from now on.  She's much closer to that type of commitment in my opinion. 

There's all this pressure.  Seriously, there is.  I see my close friends getting married, I see Facebook updates informing me of yet another engagement, and then I  begin to compare my relationship to these relationships.  Should I be engaged by now?  Am I with the right man?  Are we marriage material?  Is he ready?  Will he ever be ready?  Does he love me enough?  Do I love him enough?  Blah, f'ing blah.

I begin to get way too ahead of myself and it's unbelievable to me that I've become this type of girl.

To ease my anxiety over this stuff, I ask others to weigh in on the ins and outs of my relationship.  Mistake.

On top of all my unnecessary questions, I have their unnecessary answers.

I have no idea what my future holds relationship wise, career wise, etc.

I do know that I'm ready to try to become a bit more private.

I love this man more than I can put into words.

And it takes a lot to make me speechless.