strange musings of a distracted spunk

Dear Thailand,

Thank you for monsooning the night I left. Three hours of rain. Two hours in a cab, rushing to the airport in horrible traffic. If you regularly experience rainy season, shouldn’t your people know how to drive by now when it pours? I still have no idea how you made my bag bleed onto the brand new white dress that I’ve only worn once. That’s mighty powerful rain, yo. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Japan Air Lines,

Thank you kindly for giving me my own row again upon leaving Bangkok. Stretching out with a blanket and three pillows makes economy feel like first class, but less crowded cause everyone is in first class! Silly first classers.
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Dear Japan,

You are funny. I visit one of your temples during my eleven hour layover on Friday and offer to take pictures for a group of Chinese tourists. In exchange, they offer to take a picture of me in front of the temple. What I didn’t expect was for two of the little Chinese ladies to bum-rush me and hijack my photo. Apparently I am your new tourist attraction.
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Dear International Date Line,

Thank you for letting me have two Fridays in a 48 hour period. It was kind of fun leaving Bangkok at midnight, arriving in Tokyo at 7 AM, leaving at 6 PM, arriving in San Francisco at 11 AM, and leaving at 11 PM. I felt a little like Bill Murray in “Groundhog’s Day.” But my Friday was better.
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Dear McGee,

Your new puppy is schmuppy and adorable. I would like to take her home with me, but J might beat me up if I did. Thank you for seeing Sex and the City with me, of all the things we could have done during my twelve hour layover in San Francisco on Friday. I will miss you terribly.
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Dear Jack of All Trades,

Thank you for popping over on Saturday and helping my stepdad move the Ikea dresser he built after my mom and I bought it that morning. (I really think I pick the weirdest things to do after getting off a plane - movies? Ikea?) I’m still sorry for being a zombie and mostly staring at you and my family when you talked to me. However, I’m still amused that my mom had to kick you out after I passed out at 8:30. Next time, I will be slightly less zombie-fied. Slightly.
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Dear cats,

Stop rolling around in my shoe closet. I don’t know what I stepped in, but most assuredly, it was not catnip. Stay out of the damn closet!
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Dear 2006 Honda Accord that my sister forgot how to keep clean,

I’m glad we drove to Princeton yesterday. It was super fun being able to just sit on a bench and casually call out hey to one of my close friends, before she realized who I was and gave me lots of hugs. That’s the best kind of welcome home a girl can get. Here’s hoping we get to surprise more people together.
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Dear the U.S. Economy,

Stop sucking. And find me a job. Capische? Capische.
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Dear jet lag,

How do you feel about lagging somewhere else?

Sincerely,

DS

One Month Ago

As I walk back to my room, finally relaxed from a long soak in the clawfoot tub after all the latest battery and assault my heart has just taken, Roommate stops me. “Hey DS. I just wanted to let you know I’m moving out at the end of April.”

Heart stops. “What?” I say.

“Yeah, I got accepted into this program in Atlanta. I’m not sure what I’m doing after then, so I’m going to move out.”

“So I guess that means I need to find a new roommate, huh?”

“Yeah.” Roommate turns to go back to his cooking, casual and apathetic as can be.

I freak out. Living in a college town is not exactly the most profitable enterprise during the summer. Especially seeing as we live in a relative construction zone, behind a crowded and noisy bar that plays live music late into the night, I didn’t think I would get anyone. That I would be forced to cough up the rest of the rent for both apartments, when his apartment is more than mine, and I’m so caught up in student loan debt, credit card debt, and my regular bills that I would more or less drown.

Like any normal person, I immediately post an ad up on Craiglist, hoping I’ll at least get a nibble or two. Imagine my surprise when by the end of the week, I had more than fifty responses. I was thrilled. I might be able to find a new roommate after all!

Three weeks ago:

Roommate hunt #1 begins. I begin to think there are no normal people in Berkeley. Roommate stops by, the day after Roommate hunt #1.

“I was thinking,” he says. “I’m not sure if I want to come back to Berkeley after the internship, but I’d like to have the option. Also, I know you’re moving back East in August, and I thought maybe it’d be easier if we do a sublet. Instead of transferring everything into your name or someone else’s name, and worrying about a rent increase because the apartment’s been rent controlled for the last three years, you could just go pay me like you have been, I’d do a sublet, and you can find someone who can move in for the summer, or can stay beyond the terms of the sublet and take your place once you move out.”

I pause. I think. Technically, this idea makes sense. It would work for me.

When are you moving back?”

“If I move back, sometime in mid-August.”

“That should work out fine, because I should be gone by then.”

“Okay, well let me know how that goes.”

During Roommate hunt #2, I’m able to offer people the option of lease or sublet, explaining that I will be moving out in August, and my current roommate may move out for good or may move back once I leave. I meet Awesome Cat girl, we hit it off. Things are great. I offer her the apartment.

Two and a half weeks ago:

“Hey Roommate, I was just wondering if you had a chance to figure out your details, such as when exactly you’re moving out, so I can let Awesome Cat Girl know she can move in and such.”

“Yeah, I’m moving out mid-May.”

“Wait, what? I thought you were moving out at the end of April.”

“Oh, that was only if I was moving out-moving out. If we’re doing the sublet, I’ll leave when my flight leaves.”

“When’s that?”

“May 20th.”

“So you’re now moving out at the end of May is what you’re saying.”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Fuck. What if Awesome Cat Girl wanted to move end of April? Then I’m screwed. Again. *slight heart attack*

I call her. “Hey, Awesome Cat Girl. Here’s the deal. Roommate wants to stay till mid-May. I know I told you end of April, but I guess he changed his mind. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’m not in a rush, I just want to live someplace I like with someone I like.”

“You are fucking awesome.” *huge sigh of relief*

One and a half weeks ago:

“Just so you know, I need a bigger deposit to cover the cat,” Roommate says to me as I’m walking into the kitchen.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, technically, we’re not supposed to have a cat in the apartment. But when I spoke to the manager, she said it was okay. But I don’t know how she’d feel since it’s not my cat. So if you can ask Awesome Cat Girl to give me a bigger deposit, I’ll hold onto that and if the cat doesn’t scratch anything up, I’ll give her her deposit back.”

“Why would you give her her deposit? Shouldn’t that go to the landlord?”

“Nah, I have your deposit also. You would get it back from Awesome Cat Girl when she moves in. That’s how it always goes.”

“Why would you have my deposit?”

“It just makes things easier.”

“Uh….what? Okay. I’ll talk to her.” Fucking mother fucker. How many times is he going to come up with this bullshit? Make a fucking decision and stick to it!

“Hey Awesome Cat Girl. Roommate wants a deposit for the cat, just to cover his butt.”

“Is the cat not allowed?”

“I thought it was. But the lease technically says it’s not. But when Roommate was planning on getting a cat, he said it was okay with the manager. So he just wants a deposit to make sure things are copacetic.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine. As long as I can bring my cat!”

This girl is officially the most awesome girl ever.

One week ago:

Jack of All Trades is over. We’re watching a movie. Roommate’s girlfriend cackles, a la Fran Drescher. I cringe. He looks at me. “Wow. You weren’t kidding about how bad it was,” he says.

I notice there have been dirty dishes from Roommate piled in the sink for the last week. His girlfriend has slept over on average 4-6 nights a week now. We are out of toilet paper. We are out of paper towels. The toilet often has pee and floating paper in it. Not mine. I generally make a habit of flushing.

“I can’t wait till he moves out,” I sigh.

Yesterday

Awesome Cat Girl and I talk about upcoming move. We’re super excited. Whoo! Roommate sends us both an e-mail.

“I’ll be moving out on May 22nd, so Awesome Cat Girl, you can move in after then, but you don’t have to start paying rent until June 1st. DS, if you can be out of the apartment by August 8th, you don’t have to pay any August rent.”

What? I thought his flight was May 20th. How…what? And August 8th? But I can’t leave until August 23rd, as I’m planning an event for my job on August 22nd, that evening. What?

I come home and pass out, exhausted from taking an early morning flight from Tucson back to Oakland, and then going straight to work without recuperating.

Tonight

I pass Roommate on the way to the bathroom to get ready for bed, intending to make an early night after this week’s stress and zombie-fication. I have bubbled. I am content and calm, and had joyful conversations not involving boys.

“Hey, Roommate. Where did August 8 come from?”

“I always said August 8.”

“Um….no. You said mid-August. If you even came back.”

“I don’t know when I said that, but okay.”

“Well…I can’t move out by August 8th. I have to work until the 22nd, and I will need a day to gather all my stuff together, as I am going to be working overtime the entire week or two leading up to the event.”

“I guess Awesome Cat Girl will have to move out for two weeks, until you move out.”

“What? That’s not fair to her.”

“Well, can you go somewhere for those last two weeks?”

“Are you kidding me? I know all of seven people in the Bay Area. A few of them are moving in July. No, I can’t go somewhere else. And I’m not moving out two weeks before I move across the country! You know more people around here, can’t you find somewhere to live for two weeks?”

“It’s my name on the lease. If you want me to set this up as the agreement, then these are the terms. If you don’t like it, you can either get the new lease taken care of with a rent increase, because it’s been stabilized due to my having lived here for three years, but I don’t know if the landlord will let you keep the cat, or you can both move into the apartment across the way, or you can just move out.”

I stand there, completely flabbergasted, growing more and more furious as the conversation builds. I’m also growing more hopeless. How many hoops am I going to have to jump through, just to stay in my apartment until I leave?

I realize that I don’t want to live with this jerk, ever again. He’s become increasingly disrespectful, and I’m tired of the games. Of course, my landlord has an Asian accent, which is not easy to understand in person, let alone over the phone and I have no e-mail address at which to contact her to price out these options of negotiating the lease in Awesome Cat Girl’s name and subletting from her.

Do I:

A) Move out two weeks early and live out of a suitcase again, much like I did the first month I moved out here, making my life in California a full-circle (but hopefully without the anti-semitic crazy old bitch I first lived with?)

B) Try to re-negotiate a lease with a woman I can’t understand and hope that she lets us keep the cat and lets Awesome Cat Girl become the primary leaseholder, and me a sublet until I leave in August, and kick this fucking asshole roommate out?

C) Suck it up and search for another sublet option, who moves out when he moves back out, and deal with him for the last two weeks that I’m in California?

Fucking A.

Update, 11:15 A.M.: It’s all over. I’m leaving California. Guess that takes care of that.

It’s kind of funny when two of the more significant relationships you’ve had both tell you they’re starting their own blogs and ask for advice.

Both of them know I blog. One encouraged me to enter my writing in a contest his company ran, but refused to read it because he knew some of it was about him. He’s often held that he won’t read anything I write until I’m officially published. I think that was his way of not reading any of the short stories I wrote in college so he could focus more on programming. The other one stumbled upon my blog one day, and only told me about it after I wrote a rather favorable entry about him. It was a bit surprising at first, and I couldn’t decide if I was embarrassed or amused, but then I just decided that it was a part of my life from a long time ago, and we might have differing opinions on how things went down, but ultimately, we did have those shared memories. And obviously, we’re still fond of one another (though he might deign to disagree and instead call me a poppet or some other unwieldy word.) He also instructed that I note that he’s very alluring, sexy, and by all means hot. (His words, not mine.)

I got to thinking though, as I am wont to do, and realized that somehow, between September when I started blogging and now, I’ve sort of amassed a variety of blog friends. Of people that know my true identity and what I look like and more of my day-to-day activities than I reveal on here. Would that betray my call for anonymity to disclose my identity to so many? Thailand and I intend to do a double homecoming in August, at the end of a cross-country road trip, and there have already been offers of couches and floors throughout the country. But with so many people aware of who I am, do I stop becoming Distracted Spunk and start becoming (name?) I almost feel as though DS is a persona I wear, when I want to cull out the deeper thoughts, the unusual rationalities that purvey my mind, though I know in the context of my A.D.D. behavior, most people would have difficulty believing that (name) is also DS.

It was only a few weeks ago where I met someone new and he took one look at me and laughed, citing me as the most distracted person he had ever met. Yet somehow, I feel as though I find a center of focus through this blog, an ability to sit down and ruminate on just one thing and go from there, something I have difficulty doing in real life. I once explained in a job interview that the more stuff you give me to do, the more efficient I am.

And lookit that, I’m getting off track I think. Really, I guess what I was trying to say is that this blog provides an outlet I never realized I needed. What initially started as a practice in writing every day has become a chance to really dig deep, pull out the thoughts that have been swimming around beneath the aorta and underneath my muscles, and renew life into them with a breath of oxygen. When K first mentioned starting his blog, my immediate thought was, do I link to him? That might reveal my anonymity, and there are so many people who would be upset or feel betrayed or surprised by the existence of this blog, of the realization that as lighthearted and cheerful and friendly I may be on the surface, it goes much deeper.

I mentioned my perception of being fluffy to Jack of All Trades. It seems that if there was a word he would never use to describe me, it would be fluffy. I get that I require a brain, really, I do. But I didn’t think I was incapable of being so surface, but then again, I suppose I do hate superficiality. A walking contradiction to last the ages, I am.

Er. New track. Right. So really, I suppose that there’s a reason I started an anonymous blog. I knew inevitably I was going to write about my depression, about my parents’ relationship and animosity, about my sister (which I still can’t muster up the energy to write), about the friendships I’ve lost and the friendships I’ve gained, about the boys I adored and loved, and the boys who hurt me. I never expected this to become what it has, with so many readers whom I’ve grown to adore and look forward to reading each day.

But then I worry about revealing my anonymity. It truly is such a small world. I often wonder what if I’m reading an anonymous blog of someone who is involved with a man who belongs to another, and I’m encouraging her to get involved deeper, only to realize that that man belongs to someone I know. Or someone else I read. How often do our blogging lives cross paths with our real lives and we never know, because we shroud ourselves in anonymity? What if one of my family members found this blog? How unlikely is it that she would find a blog that links to another blog that links to another one that links to me? Would she confront me? Or would she just share it with other family members, until everything I’ve kept so carefully crafted under a wall of “I’m fine, how are you?” spills out like a vase of flowers shattered onto the floor, my protection discarded?

When I started writing, I chose anonymity because it seemed easier. No self-censorship. But it seems in a way, there always will be a sense of “What if?” because let’s face it. The world is a small place, and that includes the world wide web. Inevitably, the real world and blogging is going to collide. K has found me, my old boss has found me, it’s not unlikely that someone else will find me. I don’t mind sharing my blog with close friends, as they would already know much of these thoughts anyway, albeit much more scattered, but it would be strange to find that someone I don’t know as well has been reading my thoughts and learning more about me than I ever have of them.

Perhaps that’s why there’s a sense of safety in putting our lives out there for one another to read, because at the heart of it, we’re all sharing. What does it become when one is just reading, and not sharing? Does anonymity lose its place? Does the power of blogging weaken? I find I’m left with so many questions, and really, all my exes wanted to know was “How did you get started blogging?”

I have a confession to make.

When I was fifteen? I was obsessed with Newsies. And I don’t mean I just watched it every single day, or sang along to the songs, and knew the dances by heart. No, I truly believed that I WAS a newsie in another life. Lucky for me, there were a bunch of other teenage girls who felt the same way (and a few guys), and that became the Newsies Mailing List. I wasn’t too interested in high school; somehow, I felt I had outgrown it before I had ever gotten there.

Ready? I am/was an uber geek. Role playing, fan fiction writing, so on and so forth. I found a few stories I wrote at the ripe old age of fifteen under a pseudonym, much like this one, all under the name of Copper. I don’t know how the name became ascribed to me, but it seemed perfectly suited for me. Beyond the surprising self-awareness I had for a fifteen year old, Jack of All Trades pointed out that there was something unerringly perfect about the name chosen for me. That copper, as a metal, has so many properties that are akin to the properties of what I suppose could be called the essence of me.

For instance, copper has excellent electrical conductivity. Electricity often sparks energy, and there’s most definitely a current of nervous and crackling energy that surges through me at any given moment. It’s what keeps my pen tipping and my hands moving, my feet tapping and my eyes darting to catch all that happens around me. There’s a reason part of my name is distracted.

The alchemy symbol of copper? Is also that of the goddess and planet Venus. I’ve got curves. I could be a goddess. Right?

Then there’s also this nifty trick that seems too good to be true. Copper doesn’t rust. Instead, it actually creates a protective layer against further corrosion when exposed to air. Hi, wall that surrounds my heart that has only recently been broken down but seems to be crawling back in? Meet air. Bonding? Good. Keep that protective spirit up! Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind keeping some of the shine? Cause I like being shiny and distracting. Once, on a roller coaster with Avocado, I saw shiny things flying in the air every time we went over a bump. It took me a few minutes to figure out that it was coins flying out of people’s pockets. Avocado didn’t notice this. Me? I was fascinated. And somehow, I didn’t get hurt! So wall, keep up the good work!

We use copper in just about anything and everything we can think of. Communications? Check. Buildings? Yes. Money? I’ll take more of that, please. Imagine if I were my own self-dispensing bank. My student loan debt would be a thing of the past. The idea of being transcedental is one that appeals to me, for I truly believe we experience life in so many forms to shape up the sum total of our experiences as we grow. And hey! In excess amounts, copper can be poisonous, even fatal to other organisms. I’ve never killed yet, but perhaps someday I will with my stunning wit and fabulous good looks. More likely, I’d trip into someone and after a whole slew of events, someone will end up with a fork in their arm. (Coincidentally, a lot of flatware is made with copper!)

There’s also the fact that copper is just an incredibly strong, durable metal. One thing I’ve learned over the last few years is that life sends a whole lot of crap my way. Unlike the proverbial curveball, I’m more or less driving down a curvy road, hoping that soon will come a straightaway that I can hit cruise control and go. I’ve figured out that life likes to play games; I keep hoping for eventual good karma to hit, but I know that no matter what comes my way, as frustrated and upset and unhappy as it might make me for the time being, I’ll still be here at the end of the day. Copper in its most tarnished state still holds strong, even when steel rusts and breaks down.

I never realized until tonight how fitting the moniker of Copper was, and not just because it adequately describes my hair color. It’s one of those metals that seems to be everywhere, but not consciously, much like I often feel. Sometimes, I feel like I’m walking through life, as an observer or as a participant but not as a spotlight like say gold or silver might be, or even bronze, and I’m okay with that. If I have to be a metal, copper is a pretty darn good one to be. At the end of it all, I know my fingers will still be crackling with all the energy soaring through me, the same energy that picks me up when my day or days are rough, keeps me moving, my legs walking in front of one another and an invisible string somehow keeping my head up. Sometimes, I feel like I’m nothing more than a conduit of energy, waiting for the next chance to be melded into something different, kinetic in its change, holistic in its element, copper to my very core.

This is probably a winner of a quote today. “You’d be surprised at the difference between my hands and my vagina.” I’m not even going to try to explain the context, other than it took me four minutes to figure out why my friend was laughing so hard at what I just said. Slow DS? Yes.

I’m waddling like a duck because I wore converses when hiking. For the record - I didn’t know we were going hiking. My calf muscles are now tight as well….really tight muscles right before they go into a Charlie Horse and in order to walk somewhat properly, my knees are bent to avoid straightening my legs. This was more amusing last night when my abs were hurting as well and I was bent-kneed, hunched over, and waddling. It occurred to me after a friend of mine laughed at me during lunch today that I could pass it off as having great sex. Granted, we all know I’m not having great sex anytime soon. But perhaps if people think it happened, it really did happen? Isn’t that how most of the major criminal trials get resolved anyway?

How does one end up with sore legs from great sex anyway? Pea in a Pod mentioned one guy who would always leave her sore because of his big hips. I asked her if they were childbearing. I remember being sore from sex sometimes, but I think it was usually good.

Similarly, I’ve decided to put a call out there a la Babes in Toyland. If you don’t get the reference, it’s probably better. If you do, recommendations please!

Does anyone else find guys who dress up in drag for a charity thing simultaneously sexy and unnerving when they look better than you? Just me? Okay.

Lately I’ve gotten into not defining my pronouns. I require special skills from my friends - those who can interpret what I say without me specifically referring to it. This is usually enhanced when I’m in a non-relationship with my “person.” Note: If I say boyfriend, that’s kinda…scary and heavy. Words that don’t have significant associations with them are so much friendlier.

I only just realized that I’m going to a ballet performance by myself on Saturday night. On what’s sure to be a fantabulous date night for most people who bought tickets as a belated Valentine’s gift. Oh the joy.

Speaking of Valentine’s Day, mine wasn’t absolutely terrible. I was afraid I was going to break down, but I found looking down at the sidewalk and fumbling for my keys while I walked pass the 13 or so restaurants between my gym and my apartment is a very effective method of not observing all the goo-ey-ness that takes place on Valentine’s Day. Note: In case this isn’t abundantly clear, I have never been much of a gooey person. Last year involved a dinner with over-frosted heart shaped cookies, and my contribution to the meal was flowers for Pea in a Pod, myself, and the girl we met and found had little in common with us, in celebration of our fabulously single selves. So yes, I went to the gym (which was surprisingly crowded given that people should be fucking like bunnies and cooing love) but had to modify my exercises because hi, I can’t walk because I’m awesome and pulled both calves and am waddling everywhere (duck? Yes, quack!) and then I came home and took a bubble bath by candlelight and read. Who needs a boy when you’ve got a bubble bath? Hm…Waterproof suggestions welcomed too for that matter.

Also, I’ve noticed I have a habit of wearing colors that are associated with a particular day without meaning to. I always wear green unintentionally on St. Patty’s Day, and red on Valentine’s Day. This morning, I woke up and caught myself putting on a red sweater, and promptly changed it to brown. I am committed to breaking the pattern, that devious bastard.

Boys who draw lines should stay on their side of the lines. Unless we approve the game as hopscotch. Then we can jump around as we may. (Also, note: We are not playing hopscotch.)

Jack of All Trades and I are committed to making this Hawaii trip happen. In the case we don’t, we are also accepting recommendations of the globe fell over and landed on blip. Constraints: Must be about $800 total, and preferably within the U.S. as the man does not have a freaking passport. *shakes head* I’d do a whole, “In this day and age,” spiel, but I think he’s already kicking himself enough as it is.

This message was brought to you by the letters F U <3, sponsored by the “Make More Sense” Foundation. We’d also like to thank “DS Needs Sex Now,” for all their help in putting together this fine message. Oh, and last but not least, Happy Birthday Mr. Dead Presidents. As of Monday.

Thank you for validating me. By telling me that I do at 50% what most people do at 100%. For telling me that you’re so confident in my ability to keep up with all the work you assign me, you want to give me more responsibility - that of event planning. Which is incidentally what my dream job, current degree-in-progress, and past experience all involve. Because dammit, I am kickass at getting all the details together and putting events on like nobody’s business. I know now that I needed the job from hell to get to here, to a place of positive reinforcement and actual work.

It might be 3 or 4 AM your time, yet you’ll still talk to me for hours on end. You’re there for me when I need an escape from my own brain, you pick up the phone on a Saturday night when I decide to look for Mrs. Field’s cookies at the local supermarket and fail, and you laugh at all my quirks. Thank you for all that, and for knowing me better than I know myself. Road trip? Yes?

You’ve been around longer than most people. We might be in the same state now, but there’s still quite a distance - and that’s okay. We’ve figured out how to keep our friendship burning bright and strong, when you were ten minutes away, or an ocean away. Also, since our lives are so ridiculously interconnected, you give me hope that if you can make it work, I can make it work. Funny how we always lean on each other, eh?

When I feel particularly crazy, I think of you, and realize how tame I am in comparison. You’re my brother from another mother, and when I need a crazy night out, you’re the man to call. Now come home already!

I’m not quite sure how I got so lucky as to find you in class one day - you sat across from me and laughed at me every time my pen cap flew across the room. Distractions and all, more than a year later, you’re one of my daily confidants. It’s so refreshing to not have to explain things to someone who knows it and has been there already. Whatever did happen to dancing Barbie?

Four years ago, I wanted to kill you for your bipolar nature. Now, I want to hug you for making me laugh when I wanted to chop off my boobs because they hurt and I was in a terribly bad mood. You even offered to marry me without boobs to save others from my “sparkling personality” (as long as I was rich and there was no prenup).

Whoever you are, epic boob girl, you send a ton of traffic my way. So…thanks?

You laughed at me when I told you that I might secretly want to be a wedding planner someday. Because I love details and putting things together and making one hell of an event at the end of it all. And maybe that’s why I’m watching all these wedding shows. Or maybe, it’s just because for the first time in my life, I really want to have a wedding. Thank you for not judging me on either of those, and promising that we’re going to have kick-ass weddings, even when you’ve been feeling all over the place yourself. Also, you got me started with this crazy blog world. I both blame you and will adore you forever.

A year ago, you broke me. It sounds dramatic, but I was at the lowest point of my life. Now? After telling me you never wanted to talk to me again? We talk semi-regularly. You may have been the single-most devastating blow I’ve ever experienced, but I know I will never suffer anything as traumatic and deep as I did with you. Simply, because you kicked me when I was already down. I won’t ever be down there again. Either way, there are no hard feelings. Only hard lessons.

You drive me crazy sometimes with your puns, corny jokes, and self-deprecating humor. But you’re still the big brother I never had. And the only person who tried to save me from what became the biggest lesson I’ve ever learned.

You don’t read this, and I probably won’t ever tell you, only because you get how I feel before I get how I feel. There’s no point in you reading something you already know, and if I ever did tell you this, you probably would be mildly curious and then say, “Yeah, but I know all this. If you want me to read something, I’ll read it for you. But that’s your personal space.” It still bothers me that we’re in this place right now, where future and present collides. But when I feel low, Gwen Stefani sings “I really hope we make it, do you think we’ll make it? We’re running, keep holding my hand, so we don’t get separated,” and I think she knows what she’s talking about. Thank you for making my heart leap when I only wanted to keep it buried under miles of jagged glass. No matter what happens, I won’t live with regret.

The first time I ever went to see a therapist, I was given a list of things to check off. Depression? Check. Not sleeping? Check. Relationship issues? Check. Sexual issues? Check. Parental and family issues? Check. Stress issues? Check. After a list of about ten or so items, I think the only ones I didn’t check off were abuse, rape, and addiction issues. I thought to myself, “Well. That puts me ahead, right?”

I walked into the room, having practiced my speech of all the things wrong with me on the way over. In my head, I pictured the therapist’s head exploding after I finished my diatribe, bloody brains all over the walls, and how I would have to explain it to the authorities afterwards.

Well, I was explaining all my issues to the therapist, and after I finished, his head exploded, I would answer.

What could you have possibly said? Unless you were responsible for those grisly murders that were in the papers last week and gave him all the gory details?

No, nothing like that. More like A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, and X, I’d reply.

How could any one person keep all that inside? they would wonder.

Talent, I would say. And a busy academic, work, and social life to keep it hidden.

But what brought it all out? they’d ask.

Night classes. Staying up till 3 or 4 AM and waking up at 11 AM every day, with nothing to do until I went to class makes my subconscious constantly question itself, I’d answer.

We’ll have to take you in for more questioning, they’d say.

Sure! Anything to keep me away from my brain! I’d respond, gladly handing myself over.

It was those empty hours during my first year at NYU, when everyone else was at work or class that I found my deepest thoughts and fears confronting me, taunting me with all the years I had managed to suppress them. It was like my childhood fear of the child catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, but a hundred times worse, and come to throw me in his wagon with just my mind for company.

That and when I curled up into the fetal position and refused to speak to the man of the moment after he made me orgasm. When he sat on the edge of my bed, unsure if he should get dressed and leave, or try to hold me in his arms, I finally untangled my legs from my arms. He watched me, my body still thrumming from my emotional disconnection and my physical misconnection at odds with one another.

“I think you need to talk to someone,” he said.

He put his clothes on, as I threw on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, and led him out of my bedroom and into the dining room. It was that night, where we sat at my dining table with red glasses of water, where I let it all out.

About the first boyfriend, who my current love interest knew about and had met, but didn’t know about how I had been treated, how I lost myself, how I lost my body in more ways than one. About how my parents destroyed me a little bit more every time they fought, breaking down the diamond walls, to which I would have to find cubic zirconia patches to hide the holes. About how I had intense commitment issues, and how I would have been much more promiscuous, had I not met so many boys who were intent on their virginity or being with a girl with whom they were in a relationship (a blessing in disguise?) About how D decimated me days before, when he told me how perfect I was for him, and yet it still wouldn’t be us. About how I had stopped sleeping sometime in the beginning of October, and it was now the end of the month. About so much more.

Our conversation looped around me, arcing towards him at times, and towards me others. We started around midnight, and after three hours and several glasses of water later, I finally got it all out in one shot, for the first time. At the end of the night, before he left, because I was too emotionally destroyed to allow him to stay, he wrapped me in one of his big hugs, told me he wished he could do more for me, but that he really believed therapy could help me.

The next day found me making a phone call to see a therapist. The next week found me sitting in the waiting room, thinking of how best to start with maximum shock factor, because if nothing else, I am a storyteller. I even asked Avocado and Jack of All Trades for advice, though I was positive that my new therapist would have never had someone so rationally lay all their issues out on the line for them without having to dig deeper. The receptionist called my name and I was led down a lilac colored hallway, rooms set off each side.

Her room was painted a warm yellow, one that made me think of Tuscan suns, even though I’ve never been to Italy. She herself was warm, an easy laugh that reverberated from her vocal chords into the room. She listened. She watched me. She offered me a tissue that I never used, because I don’t cry.

And afterwards? She looked at me, her eyes searching for the best way to phrase her thoughts. “I think long term therapy would be best.”

It was only then that I started to cry. Not because I was afraid of being thought a complete loon, or because I had become one of those, the people who can’t function without therapy. Because finally, someone saw through my rock hard veneer and realized that inside? I was a complete fucking mess. And once that happened, I was finally able to let go of the trail I had been trying so hard to hold onto and forge a new one. It wasn’t one that I had exactly anticipated or ever foreseen, but instead, it has led me to a new place. One where as empty as I may feel some of these days, I still feel stronger than I did more than a year ago, when I was curled up in the fetal position for five minutes, refusing to let someone who only wanted to care for me touch me. Because that was when I hit rock bottom. And once you’re down there, you can only go up.

A year ago today, Jack of All Trades reminded me, we spent an afternoon lazing around at the beach. Where I did cartwheels that he caught in motion and he jumped into the frigid Atlantic, elated that it was almost eighty degrees in January in New Jersey. I was home for a week on winter break, having completed my first semester as a grad student at NYU.

D was still in my life, though we were beginning to ride out what I thought would lead to a more stable friendship, after a relatively tumultuous few months prior. I was so very wrong.

But on that day? Surrounded by frothy white foams of an ocean I hadn’t seen in months, watching parents laughing with their children, dogs chasing after frisbees, ecstatic to be out again and not shivering when we were normally surrounded by complete and utter cold? It was peaceful. I didn’t know what was in store for me, just that I was happy to be sitting on the white sand, watching the waves crash in as Jack of All Trades jumped around and sputtered cold water. How very far I’ve come from sitting on the beach in January a year ago, using his lens to view a different world.

This is going to be a long one folks.

Princess Extraordinaire: When and why did you start your blog?

I’ve been a writer, for as long as I can remember. My aunt and uncle have a “book” I wrote about a sleepover at their house when I was six or seven. My writing has taken on various tacks throughout the years, but Ashley introduced me to the blog world in September. I had little going on out here, as I had just moved, and I had been meaning to get back into writing. Through Ashley, I found Clink and read through her entire back story. I was a bit spellbound, and thought, “I think a lot. Maybe it’d be nice to get it out on virtual paper?” I’ve never been a diarist, but I don’t think of my blog as a diary. More of a place to gather together my various thoughts and create a compendium of the interactions and existence that I seem to be doing at the moment. It’s evolved into so much more, and I’m continuously surprised to see how many people read me. Thanks all.

Alexis: Ok, if you could ride a camel through the Sahara or dog sled through the icy wilderness, which would you choose? Also, what’s your favourite thing about being you?

Actually, I’ve been on a camel once. It’s something I will never do again, haha! Something about the way a camel moves and how it’s to and fro, never again. If there are lots of sweaters, jackets, and blankets, I think it would be absolutely awesome to dog sled through the icy wilderness. Just keep the grizzlies away.

As for my favorite thing about me, I think it’s my ability to go with the flow. I think I’ve become so used to change in my life, I almost expect it. At the same time, it’s a curse, because when something good happens, I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I think my sense of humor has been greatly conditioned by my fluidity and spontaneity - I think it’s what appeals to other people about me. There are times where I am caught off-guard, but I don’t require a tremendous amount of time to recalibrate and readjust. It’s what makes me so strong, I think. And I don’t think I would be where I am right now if I weren’t able to just take heed of where I am and go.

Lisa: If you could be anyone else for a day, who would you be and why?

This is going to sound super strange, but I think I’d like to be GDB. To have a better insight into his mind, to understand more of who he is, how his past life experiences have shaped him, and also to get a feel for where he’s at right now. The gray area is a strange place, and I know he has a lot of stress staring him down. I think also - if nothing else, it would improve our relationship if I could understand where he was coming from. There’s a Freaky Friday reinvented concept for you.

Qu33nbee: If you could own any exotic (i.e. no cat or dog that 90% of the population owns) animal, what would it be?

I don’t think I would. I’d feel genuinely bad about taking that animal outside of its native environment to call it mine. However, I have always loved dolphins - there’s something very freeing and playful about them, and I have always identified with them greatly. I wouldn’t object to having a dolphin friend to play with when I feel sad or lonely. This assumes, of course, that I live on a tropical island where the weather is always warm enough to go swimming in the ocean.

Eric left me about 21 questions. I’m picking four, because I thought they were really interesting.

What qualities do you seek in a friend, vs the qualities your friends actually possess?

I demand trustworthiness, a sense of humor, an appreciation for spontaneity, and honesty from my friends. Avocado and I have managed to keep our friendship for so long mainly because we made an agreement in high school that when something bothered us, we would tell one another immediately, rather than letting it build up and being passive aggressive - a rarity for female high school friendships. We have definitely had our moments and many fights, but we always pull through, mainly because we’re able to be so open and honest with each other, sometimes, when we’re not willing to be open and honest with ourselves.

One thing my friends do all understand is that when I am upset or angry, I need time to think and mull over what has just happened. Being aware of who I am, understanding my often contradictory nature, and being able to just go with the flow is what I love about my friends, among their many spectacular qualities. Also, the fact that my friends will call me out on stupid or juvenile behavior that I may engage in is incredibly important to me. They’re not afraid to tell me when I’m being stupid, and I may get defensive, but I’ll realize pretty quickly where they are right and I am wrong. None of my best friends are perfect - but that’s what I love about them. They all fill a different niche.

Tell us all your thoughts on God, and if you would really like to meet [Her]. If so, or not, why?

I believe there’s something out there, I just don’t know what. I don’t think there is just one individual who is controlling my life or who is choosing in advance the options I may choose to take throughout the course of my life. I do think there is karma, and fate, and the sense of being destined to do something, but I think it is rare to find that. I’m reading The Alchemist right now, and so much of what the book says speaks to me. I’m curious to see how the book ends.

Ultimately, we are who we want to be. Different things may lead us to where we are. If there indeed was a god, I’d be very curious to meet with her/him. Simply because I think it’d be fascinating to glean some insight into how he/she operates and what it is exactly she/he has control over. But I am not the sort of girl who prays nightly to a god - I do pray to whatever may be out there when I’m feeling particularly worried or unsure about something that things will work out, because it’s sometimes easier to believe in something, as insubstantial as it may be, than yourself.

Are you “epic”?

Hah. You know, I was having this discussion with GDB last week. We got into a whole long debate about the meaning of life and our various perspectives on religion and philosophy and I was reminded of why I do enjoy his company so much. I think, to the people who know me and live with me and experience me, I am epic to a degree. I am somewhat of an explosive personality, unlike any most people have met. People are drawn to me - I don’t say this to be conceited, but just because it’s true. As a result, I am somewhat hard to forget. Most often, I’ve heard, “I’ve never met anyone like you.” It bugs me to be pigeon-holed into a square that I don’t remotely fit in - GDB tried doing that to me initially and he soon learned that’s where he is very wrong. I think I am epic in regards to my friends and family, but I think once 150 years pass, unless I pull a Louis Pasteur, I won’t be epic then. Just the realities of life.

Damsel in Digress: if you had to pick a different celebrity/anyone famous to answer a list of characteristics (both physical and behaviorial), who would they be?

You get a chance to get back to me on this one, since I’m not sure either of us know what you’re saying here. I think though, if I could talk to any celebrity honestly and openly? It’d be Natalie Portman or Drew Barrymore. I feel they both have so much to say and so much to share, and I think I’d get along with them quite well.

Ashley: Why are redheads so damn fabulous?

Because everyone is used to blondes or brunettes. Also, we’re spitfirey. Or so the stereotype goes. I think it’s just a given - redheads turn heads, especially when they’re cute and pretty like us. We’re automatically ascribed an awesome personality as redheads (which is true in our case), but I think that’s a large part of the appeal. I love being a redhead.

Michelle: if you could travel back in time to any year where would you go, what would you do and why?

I’m not sure I would. I think the past is meant to be the past. If anything, I’d be curious to meet my grandfather in his early twenties. We’re so often called twins, just 50 years apart, I’d love to know what he was like before he gave up on ever making a name for himself to support his family. We’ve had fights where I take the position he used to take when he was younger, and my grandmother tells me it’s like watching her fights with him, but with me in his place and him in her place. It’d be interesting to see if we would get along when we were the same age and if we had the same ideologies and philosophies, or if we are inherently different, as much as we may have in common.

But I don’t think I’d want to go back, simply because I think we’re meant to only go forward and experience what’s meant for us. If it happens to be going back, then that’s one thing, but as I haven’t heard anything about time traveling recently, I think going forward is the most likely option.

Libby: what’s one thing you wish you could change about yourself?

I’m not sure that I would. I think I’m still evolving. I think I’m still learning and that everything happens for a reason. I got to be who I am and where I am based on my actions and past experiences. The one thing that I wanted to change, to become less mechanic, has happened. I would have never experienced anything of the intensity that I did with GDB had I not consciously made the decision to let myself experience more emotion months before I met him. I think it’s all a growing process.

This last month, especially, has been one heck of a trip. There’s a lot of wigglin’ going on right now. My flight finally left at 9:28 PM last night, three and a half hours after scheduled and two minutes before the time frame I predicted ended. We landed at 12:30 AM PST. It took an hour for the luggage to make it to the baggage claim, and I was finally home around 2:00 AM PST. My body is most certainly thrown out of whack with the time change, the traveling, and the little sleep.

I begin my new job tomorrow. This job could quite possibly be the door that everyone speaks of, but I’ve so rarely been able to knock on. Looking back on it, the salary and benefits package is spectacular, especially considering how young I am and inexperienced. I owe my former supervisors and references something big for getting me to this point. I may start looking for a new apartment or consider staying here, should my roommate leave, and make this one bedroom converted a proper one bedroom. There are so many possibilities, it’s a bit overwhelming. I was telling Jack of All Trades the other day that it’s so strange to be where I am, to know that I have the world at my feet, but with none of the original possibilities I wanted. New York was supposed to be my future - it may still be, but in the distance. GDB looked like he would be my future, and again, he may still be, but not currently. Right now, he and I are wiggle-wagglin’ it about, figuring out where we each fit in our new lives and new schedules. In the meantime, I’m moving forward with my life in Berkeley, wondering if it’s false hope to hope that we may be able to work it out again, now that the alien attack is over (for the time being) and he’s resurfacing amidst writing finals and moving into a new apartment in Chicago.

Being home itself was disorienting. I got to see many of the folk I wanted to see, but I didn’t get to see others, some of whom have been among my closest friends since sophomore year in college (the boys and girl I more or less lived with my sophomore year and have stayed close with since then.) I did get to see my city, but I didn’t get to walk around like I wanted because of course, it was the coldest damn day of the year. I was overwhelmed with the lack of interest in my life from my father’s side of the family, who insisted on planning my days, whereas I didn’t get to spend nearly as much time with my mother’s, whom I really wanted to see more. Thankfully, we did have one fantastic dinner involving Roll N’ Roasters - if you’re in Brooklyn or in the city, get a car and take a trip there. I always forget how good it is - it used to be a special treat for my sister and I growing up.

There were many home videos watched, for my sister was in a nostalgic mood. I watched them, and marveled at how many of the actions I performed when I was four, eight, or twelve, I still perform today. Just with more teeth and more meat on my bones. Until I went to college, I was a sack of bones - it’s almost alarming to see how many bones and angles my body was as a child, compared to the curves and not-as-bony my body has evolved into. I still do the funny jumping into the way, or tripping over things, I have the same smile as I did when I was a child, and there were so many random actions, I was surprised that my parents didn’t have me diagnosed with A.D.D. based on just the small things I did in these videos. In short? I was a total ham.

The strangest thing of all is knowing that the next time I return to the East Coast won’t be until July, and that’s for Wing and the lovely Lady of the Review’s wedding. My life is taking a new corner, one that I could have never predicted, having thought I’d be moving back East in May. AmeriCorps is done, as are the food stamps, but it seems that there is so much more out there for me. I feel as though I am more watching my life take place, and I am just going along for the ride, a mere viewer to sit by and think, “Oh wow. Yeah, that’s pretty crazy, huh? I’m glad I’m not her. Oh…but I am.”

I’m caught between wanting to know what happens next and not wanting any change, because it means accepting that what I thought was is in fact not. Thankfully, there is some wiggle room. So, with my new work wardrobe, a pair of smoking black pumps, and not a fucking clue, I step on the ledge of this new direction and hope that the destination reveals itself relatively soon.

Seeing as it’s the last day of the year and all now, I suppose I should write the customary year in review. Because it really, truly has been one hell of a year. In some respects, I’m glad to see it go, but in others, I’m not. I would also like to apologize to my readers - my writing is nowhere near as stellar as it usually is, but I’ve not exactly been a mindset to work on making this blog a work of craft. Right now, I’m more of the trying to live life mindset than I am of the reflect and make a story of life mindset. I promise, I will return. I just don’t know when. Please bear with me until then.

And now - a recap!

January: I rang 2007 in with some of my best friends, from college and from high school alike. There was so much unknown, so much promise at the beginning of the year, and we were all there single - only one of us at that point was in a relationship, but there were no couples at the party, something for which I was incredibly grateful at that moment. As we stood by the window in my apartment on 1st and 19th, we heard the crowd chanting in Times Square and we cheered and hugged as we ushered in 2007. At that point, none of us knew how much would change for us in that year - all but one of us moved, and they were all significant changes in our lives.

The rest of the month was taken over by school and a failed beginning with someone who has now become a good friend and a great laughing partner. I had no way of knowing how many twists and turns my life would take in that one year alone.

February: D dropped the bombshell that I never thought I’d recover from. Pea in a Pod revealed herself to be much stronger and much more like me than I had ever realized. Our friendship was cemented by her response to the D bombshell, and our weekly dinners became a saving grace for me. Not to mention the support I received from all of my other friends when my world fell out from beneath me and I couldn’t understand why I still existed. I watched my legs move me through the days, but never quite followed how I got there.

March: More drama with D, who somehow infiltrated every aspect of my life. A spontaneous trip to Chicago with Jack of All Trades and my thesis life partner led to the beginning of my renewal. GDB followed soon thereafter and my world gets shaken up again, but this time for a connection so intense, we spend 20 hours together the first time we meet. The beginning of looking for a new apartment, and incredible apartment drama with the most passive-aggressive individual I had ever met. Luckily, I backed out before I made a commitment to living with her in Williamsburg.

April: My life is work, therapy, classes, the gym, and sometimes GDB. Therapy was part of what made me realize it was okay to not be a robot all the time. I was tired of feeling like my outside betrayed my inside, but I never quite realized that people found me cold and insensitive sometimes, because as cheery as I could be, my low expectations of life were obvious. A search for a new apartment yielded a new roommate and a lovely brownstone in Boro Park, one that I couldn’t wait to move into.

May: Apartment renovations, finals, moving, tense times with GDB, tense times with my parents moving from their home of nine years to a new one in an adult community, the beginning of wedding season ‘07, the singularly most explosive date I have ever had in my entire life - passion, anger, silliness, and intensity above all. With GDB, of course. Also - the first time D and I see each other in person and the revelation that yes. I can move on.

June: My 23rd birthday, GDB’s decision to move back to Chicago, our back and forth decisions on what to do in terms of us, because we were growing into an us, loving and living in Brooklyn once again, my roommate’s strange cat who I often fed and once had to find after the landlord’s cleaning lady let him out of the house during a rainstorm, my impulsive decision to move and quit school for a year. Thailand’s departure, nights with males who are incredibly influential and involved in my life but remain to be revealed for their true or ultimate nature. Wedding season takes over.

July: Wedding season in full force, a ridiculous PR writing class on Saturday mornings from 9-3 (killed my social life on Fridays), my very first wedding as a bridesmaid for my rwin, GDB’s departure (we said goodbye on four separate occasions - none stuck), GDB’s realization that he didn’t want to end things with me just yet, a breakdown in the bathroom at the Savage Men show in Atlantic City for my cousin’s bachelorette party because I only just realized how much I cared and wanted to be with GDB. Also - multiple job interviews for positions around the country, an offer from the literacy advocacy group that I accepted, breaking the news to my family that I was moving to California in less than a month, breaking the news to my incredible employer who gave me a second chance, after my depression made me unreliable and difficult to work with. Moving out of my apartment, in a rather memorable last hurrah with Pea in a Pod and a former coworker, a not so pleasant battle with the roommate because he had to move as well. We no longer speak.

August: A trip to Canada with friends for a Harry Potter convention (yes, I’m a geek, I admit it, but I didn’t dress up!), another wedding in which I wore blue this time for my cousin, and finally, my departure. My fears of leaving my family, my school, my friends behind manifested themselves in a ridiculous way - meanwhile, I was thrown several goodbye parties, GDB was behind me all the way, and Techny Besty and I renewed our friendship and made it impossibly stronger.

The move. A flight from Newark to Dallas, and from Dallas to Oakland before my first trip around San Francisco and being brought to the strange lady’s house. A week of searching, before a week in Utah where I met one of my closest friends in California today, and finally, the beginning of a new job. Full of hope, full of possibility, full of adventure. I had no way of knowing what was in store. Also - GDB becoming a calming and steadying force in my life. Finally being in the same time zone as Avocado again, but now being three hours behind everyone else. My watch remained on East Coast time, as it does today, so I would know what time it was at home.

September: Moving in with the family who took me in for a week to save me from the Strange Lady, finally finding an apartment of my own and furnishing it in one day through Ikea and free furniture on Craigslist. A second trip to Chicago, this time to see my friends from Israel, as well as GDB. The beginning of this blog.

October: The beginning of my realization that AmeriCorps isn’t quite right for me. Contact reestablished with D. Avocado comes to visit. My almost-mono fluke virus that bewildered me and my new doctor for a week. My growing frustration with the lack of support from the AmeriCorps community, and the first time I really miss home. The realization that I am falling in love with GDB.

November: My first attempt to quit my job. The highest highs of the year, with my friends, GDB, and the blog community now there for me. My return home, for the first time since I moved. The realization that GDB is falling in love with me, as well. Feeling on top of the world, in all aspects. Botched traveling and a layover in Chicago is changed to a layover in Denver, before becoming a direct flight back to San Francisco. Feeling like anything can happen, and I’m okay with that.

December: A week in L.A. where I was reminded of my deafness repeatedly, before I got to see my family that lives out there. GDB’s birthday, and subsequent alien attack. The first ending of our relationship. A last minute decision to fly home. Lost toiletries on my flight coming back from L.A. The realization that some people who I had never expected to be my support system had indeed become just that - questions about where it could go with them in the future. The renewal of some sort of relationship with GDB. A job offer. A job ending. Many meals out. A canceled flight and more travel chaos. Tons of family videos, traveling, last minute excursions, and not nearly enough sleep. Questions, unending certainty, and almost depression because my future has become so unclear now. There are no answers anymore. Just questions.

In a way, I’ve come full circle. But last year, when the world seemed so full of promise, when it was so bright and shiny and exciting, I feel incredibly removed from that. Now, I’m left wondering why exactly am I going back to Berkeley? There’s nothing left for me here, I’m certain on that, because I’ve never felt so dislocated in my life, but I don’t know how I will feel when I return back to California. I have no idea what’s in store for my future, and right now, I feel slightly cheated. Before, there were hints of sparkling memories in store, of a future with GDB, of impossibility becoming possible. Now, while I know the world lays at my feet, I wonder - are there too many possibilities? Are we just too accustomed to expecting everything that it makes it impossible for us to expect nothing?

I experienced my greatest relationship to date in 2007 - it may have been long distance for the last five months, but it was the most functional, the most real, and it showed me the capacity I have for loving someone else. It saddens me to know that I may not be able to do that anymore. This was the first year where I was ready to take on a stable relationship - though I did have several of my one-night encounters, as was par for the course all throughout college. I’m still great friends with most of them, but unless they were to become more than a several-night hookup, I don’t want to purse that sort of thing anymore. I realized I am so much stronger than I thought I was - I could pick up and move to a destination where I knew absolutely no one, make my way through hell and back, and still find myself walking into work to follow through on my commitment. Not to mention leaving my family behind and saying goodbye to my support network, most of whom reside somewhere on the east coast.

I wish I could say that I’m looking forward to 2008. But right now? I’m not even sure if I’m looking forward to waking up tomorrow. It’s just a hard end to what has been one hell of a year. If the last few days are any indication, I won’t wake up until at least noon. I’ll decide which one of the seven parties I’ve been invited to I want to attend (it seems impossible to me that anyone should desire my company with the current state I am in), and eventually head over.

I’ll watch the ball drop with others, drink my customary glass of champagne, send a few texts to a bunch of friends and GDB, and hope I fall asleep to a dreamless night, in anticipation of a more stable 2008. I think I’m ready for some stability in my life.

Edit: I spoke too soon. It’s 6:00 AM on New Year’s Eve, and I have not yet gone to sleep. Instead, the memories of a life I no longer have keep rushing through my head, and while I know I need to get rid of them to move onto a new year, my heart feels emptier. How can one’s heart say yes, while one’s head says no? There are so many words left unsaid, so many memories not yet experienced, and I feel broken in my uncertainty. My body doesn’t flutter right now, I’m lucky if I’ll resemble anything less than a zombie today. It seems I was in love all along - I just never knew it. Because I’ve never experienced anything this devastating.

At any rate, the new year begins in approximately 14 hours. Here’s hoping it rings in with some stability for a change.