Probably because we can handle it.

I’ve been noticing a pattern in the past month that I’ve either ignored all my life, or with time just decided to expose itself. Probably a bit of both. People are very comfortable around me, people and people’s time.

In the past month, I’ve had two close friends tell me they’ve been raped, and another has been but is in denial. I’ve not only realized that this happens so much to women and we just silence ourselves. It’s so fucking disgusting, the whole rape culture. We go about our day to day on a rape schedule, always looking behind our shoulder when walking alone, waling faster if someone is behind us, locking our car doors when we get in. Its this incredibly inferior cycle that we are put in, and we are trained to be in. And i’m down right tired of it, and tired of hearing that such wonderful people have experienced such a harsh and fucked up reality. End venting. But really….

Also, people’s time. Time as if it’s its own being. We all have it, we all waste it, take it for granted and forget it exists. And then suddenly it’s gone, and we remember the good times and long for them. I’ve seen 4 people dead, not die, but dead. I’ve instinctually knew 3 people weren’t going to last much longer, before reality made that true. I feel like if there is a God, he knows I can handle losing people to death. Multiple people. And I can handle foreseeing such a thing. Some people may call me crazy, and yeah, I can be. But with this? No, I’m positive. The crazy thing is I don’t know I’m sensing it until it happens, then all of these feelings and clues come rushing back to me, knocking me over with how freaking obvious they were.

Anyway, I’m soon to lose someone else. And although we weren’t extremely close, we quickly connected. What can I say? That Cali-swag! She’s a badass, one of my past professors. I pretty much took my entire minor by just taking her classes. Maybe 3 years ago, she came down with breast cancer that had already spread to her lungs when they caught it. Now it’s in her brain. And now she’s on hospice. Time I took for granted and can never have back, but time I knew deep down was precious and limited from the second we met and clicked.
Before she had found out, she was always sick and canceling class. All the students in her classes were tired of not getting their money’s worth, and tired of not hearing her awesome lectures. So of course, being the blunt, to the point person that I am, I emailed her telling her to come back. She said thank you, I know, see you monday. And from then on she barely missed a class. A few weeks later she informed the class she had cancer, and she looked straight at me. My heart dropped to the floor and I could barely breathe. I saw it in her from the beginning, something that made me uneasy about her, like it usually happens. I get this uneasy, irking feeling that goes away the second I know for sure what I feeling wasn’t crazy.But I felt so incredibly connected at the same time. She wasn’t looking at me to make me feel guilt for giving her a hard time, she did it as a thank you. And from then on we had an unsaid understanding that I appreciated her teaching, and that her teaching was the only sense of normalcy and sanity for her. We quickly learned that neither of us like bullshitting, “get to the point and don’t waste our time” types. She required a 24 page paper once…I wrote 12, skipped class to finish writing it, ran into her on the way up to her office in the elevator, and nervously and quickly handed it to her as I was leaving the elevator and she was getting in. Not spell-checked, not 24 pages. I got an A. My friend who wrote 24 pages, and most likely flawless in grammar, she got a C.
I also learned that California still has our hearts, and this retched small midwestern town was a bitter sweet black hole. She also taught me resilience, and to give myself more worth. If I don’t, no one else will. And her teaching in the class room, man. She taught me more than art history, but taught me to critically question EVERYTHING I see. Absolutely everything. Her voice and advocacy for women’s rights and equality continues to ring in my head, especially when my fellow strong women are feeling down. And when all of these strong women in my life are coming to me with heartbreaking stories about stupid men and rape.

And she was ringing in my head tonight, during our groups ladies night. about 13 of us all went out for drinks at an open mic, sang and read poetry. We talked and reminded each other that we’re not crazy, just too nice sometimes. And all these women, strong women around me. For all the shit we put up with, for all of it left unsaid. We are all the best badasses to walk this earth. Seriously. But I do have to say, how emotionally exhausting it all is. So exhausting.


Friday Date Night

My friend was in town from the West Coast and asked me to go to the Museum and dinner Friday night. I wasn’t sure to accept it as just friends hanging out and getting to know each other better, or more. So I went into Friday night with a clear mind, ready to make the best of whatever was to follow.
I’m pretty sure it was a date. We never had an awkward moment, like the waiter didn’t ask if we were together or separate. I always hate when that happens. It’s happened a few times where neither of us want to say. Oh, and he paid for everything, wouldn’t let me pay a cent. One thing I always enjoyed about our friendship is that we dive into deep philosophical questions without trying. Or we aren’t afraid to ask each other personal questions. Though, keep in mind, we aren’t even that close. Like he’s a good friends friend and was only around here for a hot minute before skipping town again. Like one time, it was his last night before moving out west, and he posted on Facebook that he’d be at the coffee shop if anyone wanted to hang. I don’t know if anyone showed up. But I did without letting him know. And the first minute was silent, just sipping our coffee. Then I asked if he was scared. We talked it out, and the one thing that stuck out was, “you have to be ready to leave. No matter where you are, even if you hate the place. You have to be ready to go. I wasn’t ready the first time around.” That has always stuck with me since then. I always ask myself if I’m ready, really ready.
But yeah I got sidetracked. In other words, we can either say a lot, or very little. And no matter how much comes out of our mouths I always feel fulfilled by our time together. It’s always warm, and calm.
Usually. Until we went to the third stop to get a second round of drinks. He kept mentioning how hot he was. Granted, he’s pretty fine. But it was like 30 degrees out and sweater/coat weather. I was toasty and feeling great. After a while, the bartender asked, “Is it hot in here?” So of course we wrote off his hotflash as normal. Ten minutes later, he wanted to go home.
He woke up that night at 4am, vomiting. I felt like crap! We went to eat dinner at the place I suggested! And he got sick! Not just that, he only had a few days left in town and was supposed to see his extended family the next day. But guess what? He didn’t because he got sick from the restaurant I suggested! Did I mention he got sick from the place I said we should eat at? I still feel so bad.
So I went over the next day with coconut water and veggie broth.
Yup. Made him sick on the first date. I must be a keeper…

He called on Christmas Eve

He didn’t call me for 5 months. Not after a tornado, bad weather, and after hearing that I ended up in a ditch. Not after my Mom refused to stop telling him my life. He texted me a few times, usually photos of paintings he was working on. I don’t know what he expected to come of it, that I would write back how talented he is? How it’s about freaking time he did something he enjoyed, instead of always complaining how much he didn’t have time for it.

But I guess my dad had time to call me finally, on Christmas Eve. And of course, I was having a nice, cozy dinner with Evangelista and her awesome family. I wasn’t about to answer the phone because he finally realized we hadn’t talked in months.

So I waited until Christmas day to call him back. I didn’t want to FaceTime him, but he did try the night before, so I figured it was only fair to give him a chance at it. Sooo, I FaceTimed him, and he sat there for a few seconds holding back tears. Yeah I missed him, but I wanted so badly to be able to reach through that phone and knock his head. This call could have happened months ago. And sure I could have called him, but he would have missed the point if I had. Or so I thought.

Small talk ensued and then I asked about the Christmas card he had sent. The first line read “I haven’t called because I know you don’t want me to.” He said well you didn’t. “Damnet Dad, no. You weren’t listening. I said call me when you are ready to stop lying to me. At this point, I gave up hoping you’d stop drinking. But I couldn’t take the lying.” And with all seriousness, he said, “Oh, then I must have read that wrong.”

And there went 5 months of not talking.

See I thought my dad was hardhead, but shit, not this hardheaded. I asked if he was done, done drinking I meant. And he said he was. I guess I won’t believe it until it hits a year.

He never did say he wouldn’t lie to me anymore.

He didn’t call even after a tornado.

There was a tornado that passed our town and touched down on the other side of the river. I was 3 hours away when it happened and luckily my roommate called me to tell me to stay where I was. It surprised me that my dad had yet to call me. Every morning and every night he check the weather online before he starts his day, or goes to sleep. For 6 years, he’s been a better weather radar than the local news, occasionally texting or calling to let me know a storm was on its way.

I still haven’t heard from him since July. And although my hurt may sound trivial compared to the pain people are feeling right now with homes and belongings completely gone, I can’t help how it creeps into my mind at work and stops me in mid sentence throughout the day. I’m pretty sure he knew about it and didn’t call me. Even if he didn’t know before, he knew about it after and still didn’t call me.

So one day, while shower thinking, I thought about the situation as if it was the other way around. If an earthquake were to hit home, I’d be calling as soon as I can. As a matter of fact, when a 5.4 earthquake hit right outside of Mexico City, I called home to ask if they knew if everyone was okay. My dad and uncle hadn’t heard about the earthquake yet. If that’s how I reacted about family I barely know, I would definitely be calling if it hit California.

It’s sad to think that I almost drove right into a storm, if it hadn’t been for my roommate’s call. He wouldn’t have had a clue, not out of not being aware, but out of pride. And unfortunately, my resentment grows.

Being alone…

Isn’t too bad when you have some things in your life to make it easier. Like a heat pack! My back and shoulders are constantly in knead of a massage. Bah! I know stupid. But a heat pack helps. I feel asleep with one on my shoulders last night and I feel absolutely amazing today. I massaged some kinks and knots and although only a professional could get them out, the attention I was finally paying to myself paid off. Hm, what next? A little self tlc goes a long way.


How To Be Alone

A friend just posted this on Facebook. I recently cut out someone from my life, Cigarette Lips. It took him a while to say the words, “I don’t feel the same for you as you do me,” even after asking him 4 times to say those words aloud. With his hesitation, and his hysterical begging to still talk to him afterwards, I realized he was full of shit. A part of me still wants him to admit how he feels, but he said what I asked him to instead. In the end, I’m left having to take those words and act on them. I know I’m terrible at getting over him since I definitely failed the first time around. But this video, this small reminder that I can at least be okay with being alone. I forget how valuable I am, just me, alone. My thoughts and work and actions and singing and dancing and all my ability and love. I have so much to offer, I forget to offer it to myself.

So although I can’t control who I end up falling in love with, I can remember to keep my love for myself burning strong. Because I should, I can, and I deserve it.

Pokemon lovers

So my roommates (my redheaded best friend Sally and her brother) make fun of my list of love interests by naming them after Pokemon. It’s gotten so bad that even a mention of someone I find attractive or interesting gets dubbed a name.The issue with this? I don’t even know Pokemon by name. So they get to keep tabs on this list and I struggle to follow. 

Pikachu: That one guy I always go back to no matter what. Problem? He’s 2,000 miles away. He also isn’t the best at expressing how he feels about me. We’ve known each other since we were 16, and ever since he’s maybe expressed to me he likes me a couple of times. Then a couple years ago called me crying, asking when we were ever going to be in the same place. I obviously couldn’t give him a direct answer. And he brought me to uncontrollable tears. I had never heard him talk that way, and I never thought I would. Ever. 

Just now, I got a text from him. Brother says, “Oh who’s that?” in his teasing voice. Redhead, “Pikachu?”

Yes, I say, knowing that there would be an onslaught of teasing to follow.

“Ohhhhhhh Pikachu?” Brother says, “So he’s still around?”

“Yeah, and I don’t know if that will ever go away.”

And of course, Sister, “SHE HASN’T RELEASED HIM!!”

“Oh my gosh.”

“OHHHHHHHH I see! So you haven’t used your thunderstone on him huh? Still isn’t Raichu?”

I swear, my roommates are nuts.

The stupid part about all this, I now refer to him as Pikachu because my roommates know right away who I’m talking about. Fuck my life.

Also, sidenote: One time he sent me a gif in a text. This one, Pikachu crying. I had NEVER mention Pokemon to him, let alone his nickname. FMLx2 pikachu crying

Pretty sure my ex found my blog

I stopped posting regularly because I realized she had seen my blog. I’m pretty sure she was unaware that bloggers get stats and notifications about how many visitors and how many views per visitor their sites are getting. Two days after we broke up, I had two visitors with a total of 55 views, mostly all from one visitor. I think I had a good guess on who it was that found my blog so intriguing. I could never really be sure, but it’s never happened since, and in my blogs stats it still stands as the record holder for the most views. After that, here and there whenever I’d post about certain things the number would spike. But there was never being sure after that it was her.
Moral of this stupid short story: don’t worry about who reads your blog. If they don’t want to know what’s up, they can choose not to read.

Could he just admit it?

I want him to just say the words, “I don’t like you that way.” I think it’s gotten to that point. If he can’t say it, then he’s not over me. He’s also someone that’s terrible at lying. I’m so incredibly nervous to bring it up, but if I don’t I’ll go absolutely insane.
If he says it, then hopefully I can get the closure I need to get over it. Or I should just listen to Elizabeth Gilbert…

Stop wearing a wishbone where your backbone ought to be.>