But Sometimes I Want to Feel Sorry for Myself . . .

. . . but you can't. The world does not allow self-pity. No matter how bad you have it there's always someone worse off and someone else telling you to get a grip. Is it really necessary to be pissed at the homeless? To assume anyone on welfare is gaming the system? To roll your eyes at those with a handicap license plate? I may be better off then all of the aforementioned groups, but it doesn't mean I'm doing so great. Roll your eyes if you want, talk behind my back, assume I'm exaggerating. None of it makes a difference. Sometimes we all need to just feel a little down.

Let's face it, regardless if you're a happy, positive person or if you believe God has delivered his blessing upon you, or you're just a sad, angry atheist pissed at where your life is, we all sometimes have legitimately bad days. So why are we so judgmental when someone veers from the happy facade and admits that no, today is not so great? Can't we get a time out on the fucking positivity and just acknowledge that having pancreatic cancer at 26 or diabetes at 38 or cancer for fucking ever isn't a dream come true? Divorce, heartbreak, loss, and even just a really nasty hangover should buy us a little sympathy, right?

I'm not suggesting you pity me, but just don't judge me because I take a 20 minute self-indulgent writing break or sob in traffic on a rainy day. We get to have our mini-meltdowns, because life throws a hell of a lot of curveballs. If you manage to maintain your sunny disposition, then I'm happy for you and we're all better off for it, but don't write off my right to feel sad or angry or bitter just because. Maybe feeling that way is what keeps me from going over the edge. For you, it's drawing rainbows with a pot of kittens at the end of it, but for me, it's rye whiskey or a bottle of cava and a few self-pitying tears.

Get over it. Life's a melting pot or a box of chocolates or whatever other dumb metaphor you want it to be. The point, is that crazy bad shit happens and sometimes just subjectively bad stuff happens, but either way we're all just trying to survive and I think we deserve a little self-pity time now and again.

I don't know where my life is going, but it's hurtling there at 185 miles an hour and in the few glimpses of reality I get when I'm not torn between love, casual sex, happiness, torment and any other emotionally battering choice, I slow down to wonder when. Not why or how or who, but when. When will it all slow down and make sense? Maybe it never does. Maybe animals and people get mistreated forever. Maybe we never stop hating the homeless for being poor. Maybe we always hate ourselves for not being someone better. I don't know. I'm just looking for a moment to be myself and for that to be okay with the jury at large.

Day 67: Sometimes You Have to Kill a Part of Yourself to Save the Rest

Okay, it's not really day 67, I've just stopped blogging. Thing is, I think all the whining, public disclosure of personal issues, and self-aggrandizing are coming to an end. To quote James Morrison (not of the Doors) "I've got one last chance to get myself together. I can't lose no more time, it's now or never. I've tried to remember who I used to be." There's a life out there that I'm not living, but I need to be and sitting around whining in a blog or waiting for things to happen is not going to get me there. I'm at a point in my life that it is time to make some hard choices. I have to realize that I cannot have everything I want, so I will have to walk away from some and fight for others. The trick here, is to know which is which, or as Kenny Roger's put it "Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run."

I think maybe I could live my life by song lyrics, they seem intuitive and wise enough, certainly no worse off than my current style of living has gotten me. So here I am, once again perched tentatively and uneasily at a crossroads and the only thing I know for sure is that I cannot stay where I am. School, marriage, freedom, career, NYC . . .?  There are looming questions and no answers so maybe it's time to take control and to force a few on my own.

I know I blogged incessantly about the husband and my feelings, our separation, my hope to reconcile . . . blah, blah, blah. I'm even annoying myself with the self-pity and emotional wreckage. I love him, yes. I want him back. He's in California thinking it over, basically deciding if he can't live without me. Well, he may love me, but I know myself well enough to know I'm no picnic and anytime someone asks themselves "Can I live without Ame?" The answer that's going to come back is not going to be in my favor. So time for plan B. Should Jeff realize we're happier when we're together and forgive me for all my stupidity and flaws I'll be ecstatic. Until then, however, I have to live a life I am proud of and crying about my sorry life is not it.

I am currently pursuing my graduate degree in Public Administration, specifically Emergency Management. The goal is a government job in FEMA or similar function at a private or subnational government agency. So here's the thing, I can't have a government official google me and find my "spill my guts" blog online. It will kill my chances at a career. I've likely killed my marriage, I'm losing that too. So the blog has to die soon. And not just die, but be deleted from this world. I will have to stifle that side of me that craves a creative outlet and who uses that outlet for personal catharsis. Can I live without it? Sure, maybe I'll journal, who knows. I do know that we all end up compromising in life eventually and I've been living on my terms for far too long. Time to compromise, time to chase not a dream, but a real possibility and if that possibility makes me sort of happy that's going to be enough. At least for a while.

I don't know where I'll be living in five months. I don't know if I'll still be separated or semi-happily married. I only know that I need to make decisions and to stop waiting for someone else to open a door for me. I can open my own damn doors. So here's to picking a path and finding some doors. I'm not sure where it will take me, but I know I can't stay here.

Day 66: Holy Hell, I've Turned Into my Pops

Most girls grow up and one day, sometime between their 28th and 45th years realize they've turned into their mothers. So imagine my surprise when I suddenly realized that I've become my father.

To say that I am vastly different from my parents would be an understatement. For one, I'm adopted, so my "parents" are not my biological 'rents. There are some interesting studies to do regarding nature vs. nurture to be sure, but I'm more interested in how I became the man that for years I didn't really like all that much. Pops left us when I was five. Or rather, he left Mom. We still saw him, but I grew up knowing he left because he cheated and broke my Mother's heart. I also met the many women that he dated and/or let move in with him -- all of them younger, some much, much younger.

Pops liked the young, hot women and he also liked them slightly damaged. He has a hero complex I think, wanting to "save" them from whatever troubles might be keeping them down. Generally, they stay with him for year or a few, using his house, his cars, his money and his security, then when they're strong they leave. It wasn't until I found myself living with him at the age of 25 that I really got to know and to like him. He's a good guy, smart too, he just happens to like a hefty share of young, hot pieces of ass and I have to say, I'm not far from that legacy myself.

Looking back on my dating life, there are more than a few young, impressionable boys on the lineup. I'm prone to the slightly banged up models myself, but I also appreciate the innocence and simplicity that 18-26 set brings to the picture. In talking with a friend it came to light that not only was I attracted to the physically gifted baby boys among us, I objectified them. They didn't have actual names, they had various nicknames. I frequently called them "recruits" and anyone I dated more than once was a "repeat offender." They were young, pretty, innocent, and disposable. Clearly, I'm not my Mother. Mom was a virgin when she married Pops and a true lady, complete with high-necked collars, ruffles, and tightly crossed legs. I, on the other hand, was once described by my cousin thusly: "You're weird, Ame. You bake and knit, but fuck like a guy." Don't I know it and turns out there's a good reason. I grew up to be my Daddy.

This is mostly in good fun. I certainly have managed a few long-term relationships and my husband, though currently more appropriately defined as my limbo-husband, is my own age and pretty damn perfect for me (hear that husband?). There was a time though and it's still evident in the boys I choose to look at twice, that I liked them young, hot, and ready for anything. So how did this happen? I suppose it no longer matters. I'm married and hoping to stay that way, but it is rather curious and slightly amusing to suddenly realize after all these years that I somehow became the man I used to dislike. I always loved Pops, but that didn't mean I had to like the man. Now I am that man and it's given me a whole new perspective into his life and personality. Turns out he's not such a bad role model after all. I'm a good woman, smart too, I just have a weakness for short stints with easy prey. Don't worry, it's perfectly okay to objectify them from a distance. I am, after all, a respectable married lady now.

Day 65: What if This is the End?

I feel like I'm whining too much or divulging too much when I get personal in my blogs, but the stats say those are the ones you like the most. Maybe hearing about my struggles helps you in some way? We're all human, we all screw up, we all hurt, why look at Ame, she's a total freakin' mess most of the time . . . well, you're in luck because it's one of those days.

The husband is moving to Death Valley in California in one week. We  spent Superbowl weekend together and it was fun. We had some laughs, shed some tears and in the end parted with a hug. It might have been the last time we ever see one another. He knows where I stand and what I want. He has some big choices to make and the hardest part for me is knowing that there isn't a damn thing I can do to influence him. Jeff is a man. They don't do big gestures and I've said and written all I can to try to coerce him to see things my way. It is now in his hands alone and while for most women, love will win out every time, guys aren't really like that.

Love is great, yes, but they are more quick to turn off emotions when they fear heartbreak might be the result. They can walk away, they can live in denial. Women on the other hand, and myself in particular, will pound our heads into our own wall of emotion until the only thing we know and feel is what we believe we need and want absolutely. We tell ourselves that life will be miserable without this one thing and we fixate on it until we've made ourselves miserable. It's a skill. We're just more talented and focused as people.

Ha. If only that were true. I don't know why we fixate on those things that are painful, all I know is that I love my husband, he's not sure he loves me enough to take me back and that means my entire world and self-value are dependent upon his feelings. Surely I have value without him. I'm not an idiot. I recognize that life will go on and that I will likely love again . . . I just don't want it to. This is what I want, he is who I need and I am determined to make myself miserable until I convince him or I run out of energy to punish myself.

Love is not the fairy tale it's made out to be. We all suffer for it one way or another. I made him suffer because I was unhappy and now he gets to make me suffer. I have no idea where this is going. I know that we love one another. I also know that love is never enough despite all the cheesy songs singing to the contrary. Real life is not neat or easy and love rarely solves problems. I may never see my husband's face again and that knowledge tears me up almost to the point that I cannot function, so I don't let myself think about it or feel it beyond simply stating it. If I did, I don't know that I could control the waves of grief that would surely follow. Right now, it is still a question, an uncertain possibility in a sea of chances. I'm just trying to ride surf for now; holding on for dear life. I'm not worried about finding land, I'm too preoccupied with merely surviving.

Day 64: As Good as it Gets? Let's Hope Not.

I am emotionally drained. You know that line, that place you get to where you just hit a wall? It's not depression. I still function in society. I care about how I look, I am capable of having a laugh and being in a good mood. There's just this . . . wall of emotional exhaustion that I just cannot quite get past. What if you live on that wall? What if every day of your life is a struggle? Sure, there are always those worse off, but don't forget there are also those who may be much better off. Sometimes things come easy to people. Sometimes for some people life is all picnics and noodle salad as Jack Nicholson's character in "As Good as it Gets" says in the movie. So what if this is, as good as it gets?

Do you have to be satisfied with it? There are always those happy, shiny people out there that are obsessively positive. They'll tell you to be happy for what you have, to appreciate what you have been given in life and what you have accomplished, but it's not that you cannot acknowledge or appreciate those things. Why can't you also be upset about those things you do not have? So what if I might be negative or see things that I want and do not have or things I would like to accomplish and have failed at? Is it wrong to acknowledge those things? Are we just supposed to languish and be satisfied with what we have?

I had a karate teacher years ago who said, "never be satisfied because when you're satisfied you become comfortable and stop trying." I find that there is a trick to walking that line. If you are not satisfied does that mean that you are dissatisfied? That you are grumpy and unhappy with life or that you simply want more and wish to strive for more success in life? I think we can all agree that that is a good thing, right? Some of us may just recognize both the trying and the failing and why can't I acknowledge the things that I failed at? I am apparently supposed to simply walk around with a big, goofy grin plastered on my face and be happy about the fact that yes, I got a raw-assed deal.

For some people life is picnics and noodle salad. I am not saying that we all do not have problems, but I do believe that we have different problems and varying degrees of the same problems. For some, being broke might mean they are down to their last ten thousand, but for me it could mean that I have seven dollars. Total. I can't lose ten pounds, but I weigh 126, so the person that weighs 226 has arguably a real problem. So should I shut up and just love myself or do I have the right to be unhappy with particular details in my own life. Yes, they might have a bigger problem than me (pun intended), but I still get to acknowledge the factors in my own life that make me unhappy despite the degree of that problem as viewed from someone else's perspective. I still have a right in my own life to recognize those things I do not like or wish to change.

I am emotionally exhausted because every time things start to go my way something bad happens. I am not alone in this. What about the grad student who is one semester away from graduating and suddenly finds out that he/she has a potentially fatal disease and has to drop out? Or you finally see the light at the end of the financial tunnel and then you get into an auto accident or your house catches fire and now that money that was going to put you ahead is just going to help you break even?

I am tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of losing. I am tired of getting shit because I dare to recognize the fact that sometimes life really does suck. It's not because I am negative or have a bad attitude. It is because life is beating the fuck out of me. Yes, sometimes I make bad choices that contribute to it, but in a lifetime of good intentions I think we all deserve a few bad choices without them coming back on us. So I apologize, but if this is as good as it gets then no, I am not happy. I want more, and I think that's okay.

Day 63: It's More Than Just the Super Moments

As a lifelong Pittsburgh Steelers fan I was, of course, thrilled to once again see my team in the Superbowl. My husband, on the other hand, claims Wisconsin as his home and therefore actually owns a foam cheesehead. (By the way, they are just as stupid looking in person as they appear on TV.) So tonight's game was epic in the Bramline household, or it would have been, if there still were a "Bramline" household.

I couldn't help feeling going into this game that there was more than the Lombardi trophy on the line. I joked to those that were unaware of our separation that if the marriage could survive this, we might have a chance, but honestly, maybe it wasn't a joke. I love my team, but a big part of me was secretly rooting for the Pack. I'm a realist, Jeff's married to me and I'm not winning any trophies for wife of the year, he could use some good news. It's not like I believed that watching his team win the SB would suddenly put him in the mood for reconciliation, but it couldn't hurt either. Right?

As a society, we may be putting too much energy into rooting for sports teams, friending people we're already friends with, and ripping on Justin Bieber. We should at least put the same level of effort into living our real lives. Here I am hoping that a fun night of football could erase some pretty awful choices, but life is not entertainment. Real life and relationships cannot be lived like a movie. There are no grand gestures to suddenly make someone forget the bad and embrace what moments before was possibly worth throwing years of love away. Life is not about "the big game." The big moments of life are there to be cherished and enjoyed, sure, but they do not erase a bad season. Those moments existed too.

So we spent the weekend together, we watched the Pack win, it's been a pretty good two days. Am I still separated? Um, yeah, but I handled my team's loss with grace and congratulated the husband on his win. He thanked me for being a good sport, offered me another beer and left the room to go play an online video game. Not a bad start, but it's not all rainbows and puppies. Maybe the fate of our marriage didn't hinge on the outcome of a football game, even one this important to both of us, but anyone that's ever suffered through the potential end of a relationship knows one good weekend is pretty much like a Superbowl win. It's big, so while we may still be Bramlett and Esterline for now, there could be a trophy at the end with Bramline engraved on it. We just have to keep perspective and remember it's not about one game, it's about all the time, energy, practice that went into it.

Day 62: Are You Teaching Your Children What's Just or Merely What You Think is Right?

This is going to get me into trouble. I know this going in. It might cause the loss of a facebook friend and piss a few people off who choose to ignore the bigger picture and focus on the judgmental part, I know this. I accept this. I just can't help myself.

I'm going to break with a self-imposed rule and hijack a friend's Facebook status for the sake of my own selfish blogging. Today I read this: "So the whole way home from school today~ (insert child's name) was telling the little boy i babysit for~all about God. "You gotta sing songs to God because he loves you and he will never not love you." "You have to spread God's word to other people cause he wants you to know him." "You gotta study the Bible cause its his book and you can learn about him." TALK ABOUT TEARING UP, I LOVE MY BABY BOY!" All of this, except for the insert child's name part is directly taken from a friend's status.


I found this horrifying. Don't get me wrong, I think it is sweet that one child was instructing the other. I love the child believed enough to want to share. I can even appreciate that all involved believed that this was a 100% positive experience. All good. Except, is it? To read this in a positive light one must assume that the child being babysat is being raised by equally Christian parents who desire nothing more than than that their child be educated by friends in Christian beliefs. So that's all good, right? Or maybe not?


This strikes me as a perfect opportunity to educate a child about diversity. Not everyone that these kids meet is going to be Christian. So why not use this as an opportunity to affirm that yes, these are our beliefs, but do you know what other cultures might believe? Let's talk about Judaism, atheism, Islam, Buddhism, etc. This is a great chance to discuss the fact that not everyone thinks or believes the same thing and that just because some people believe something different does not make them unworthy of our respect. So maybe instead of trying to influence some unsuspecting parents' child when they are not around to approve or disprove, we use it to teach tolerance and diversity. Right?


I kind of found this FB status shocking and disappointing. I believe my friend to be a good person and a good parent, but even so, I find this incredibly short-sighted and almost negligent. It's okay to teach your child exactly what you think, it would be naive to expect otherwise, but to allow that narrow world view to reach out to another child when you may or may not have knowledge of what that child's parents desire, is a bit tragic in my opinion. Why do we constantly assume that it's okay to inflict our beliefs on others? Why is advocating a narrow worldview better than educating an actual worldview. It is a big world with diverse cultures, beliefs, religions, non-religions, and politics. I'm not saying you shouldn't teach your kids what you believe, I just want us all to recognize for a second that "we" does not include everyone else. What you believe is not what I believe or Susan believes, or Muhammad believes, or Althea believes. Please, let's just take a moment to breathe and to respect that "we" is not "all" and that it is okay to acknowledge and to respect the "other." Just think, and for God's sake if that's what you believe, open your eyes to the world and not just your space in it.


I want to add here that I understand I may be jumping the gun here. It is entirely possible that my friend and this child's parents are close friends who go to the same church and share the same views on religion. I am generalizing for the sake of my point and I do not want to misconstrue the facts, because the simple truth is that I know nothing for sure. I am just hypothesizing and I admit that.

Day 61: Compared to Then I'm Emotionally Healthy; I Know, Hard to Believe

At two different points today I found myself in discussions regarding the death of a parent and in both of them, the primary topic wasn't the death, but the emotional turbulence one faces in the months and even years after. There is a window of time in which those of us who have lost a parent while still young -- and by young I mean under 35 or so -- are sort of trapped in an emotional limbo. You feel grief, of course, but also this pervasive sense of "now what." We're the kids. We don't make the real family decisions. We don't send the cards or help to facilitate the family grapevine. We still need someone to tell when we're sick (even if it is a self-induced hangover) that will feel bad for us, or will give us financial or relationship advice.

Losting a parent younger than say 17 or 18 is very different in its own right, just as losing one post 30's. But that window of 17-35ish is unique. We're adults, but still floundering a bit; still relying on Mom and/or Dad. What this means is that in those months immediately proceeding the death our decisions will be based on emotion alone and largely on false or artificial emotions. In reality we're numb, but because of the rawness, we feel like we are extra emotional. We feel things more intensely we think and we're liable to follow that false sense of emotional need right into ill-time relationships or even break-ups.

After my Mom died I got involved with an alcoholic artist who carries an almost suspicious resemblance to the Jacksonville Jaguars coach Jack del Rio. Given that, we'll call art boy "Jack." I met him just three weeks after my Mother died and only two weeks into my move to New York City. Not yet completely caught on to the rule of not talking to people on the subway, I struck up a conversation with him on the L line into Brooklyn. Within a month we were living together.

Flash forward 18 months and I realized that not only was I not in love with him, but that I was never actually in love with him. It didn't hurt that he drank too much, shoved me occasionally, possibly cheated and began to smoke behind my back. He was a good artist though, but I knew it was over when I discovered he was cheating and I felt more relief than hurt. I also paid off most of his 10K in bills and spent a tidy sum of my own online shopping at night when I was afraid to sleep.

I say afraid because when the insomnia didn't keep me up, the fear that I would have nightmares about Mom would. So I shopped, because as long as you have new shoes, books, and clothes you're never truly alone. But I was. It might have been the most social time of my life, but I was hurt, angry and lost. None of which I actually admitted to or showed. Instead I was angry, bitter and negative. I pushed people away before I could get hurt again. Jack was my life vest in some ways. He gave me a safe place to rest emotionally, because the truth was, I couldn't feel anything but sadness. Funny thing about death and denial is that sometimes, even when we think we've accepted it, the denial takes root in a different form. Jack was my denial, as was online shopping at 2am. They kept my hands and mind busy and gave me a neutral front so I appeared normal emotionally. Underneath I was kind of dead.

After a while, we get older and we learn how to cope, but much like the weekend Dad who mentally stops allowing their children to age, seeing them forever as the age they were when the family broke apart, I still feel like that 27 year-old girl. I still see my brother as that temperamental kid. In many ways, our parents mark the passing of time in our own lives. They remind us what we need to take care of in terms of family business, they host the holiday celebrations, they never forget our birthday. Parents are our lifeline to . . . well, life. They teach us how to live. When they die before we're old enough to have already made most of our life mistakes we tend to look for our emotional lighthouse. We don't know where we are going necessarily, we just need help to steer around the rocks.

Day 60: I Was Held Hostage by Jesus in the Dentist's Chair

I had my wisdom teeth removed yesterday. It was a new dentist, one I found online and decided upon based on the look of their website, the fact that it is a female dentist, and how nice they were on the phone. They may not be the best reasons for picking a doc, but they're not the worst.

I went in for the initial visit and all was well, but yesterday morning I was nervous. I have a decent pain tolerance and I'm not scared of needles, but I have never had a major medical procedure of any type so there was some anxiety. To make matters worse, there was a TV in the exam room and they had Regis and Kelly on. Kelly is gorgeous and I'd probably like her in real life, but the show makes me want to punch someone. So my heart rate is up, my blood pressure is low and the local anesthetic hurt like a bitch. Why do they have to inject you in so many places and so many times? I felt like a pin cushion. Anyway, many needle jabs later, Kelly Ripa still screeching above me, and a hot flash precipitated by nerves finally subsiding, the Jesus freak enters the room.

She seems normal at first. She's a nurse in training and will be assisting for the procedure. Fine. Then it happens, she begins to tell me her life story. Ostensibly, this is to calm me down and distract me -- either from Kelly Ripa or the impending ripping out of teeth, I'm not sure. She tells me at 21 she had two children and went to a party with her sister. They were already drunk when they got there, before she decided to do ecstasy for the first time. Me being me, I half stop listening and am sort of hazy on the details of the story because now I am fixated on the idea of a 21 year-old woman already having two children finding it prudent to get drunk, go to a party and do X. Please do not let this genius have the scalpel.

Her story goes on to describe what she terms a near death experience (NDE) and a visit to hell which she knows was absolutely real as was her proceeding ascent to heaven. She tells me that in discussions with other NDE survivors they all remember the same things about heaven, so it had to be real. Her sister then drove her home from the party and dropped her off at her house. She was never treated at a hospital or medically deemed "dead." She tells me it's how she knew she had to get with God and accept Jesus into her heart. She knew she was going to hell unless she accepted Jesus. I told her it sounded like a bad drug trip to me.

Apparently, reality should never be thrust upon a born-again in the midst of testifying or testimony or whatever the hell the zealots call it when they foist their beliefs on the unwilling. She was not amused and told me I needed to go home and pray to Jesus to come into my heart and to forgive me. This is the point when I wanted to laugh, but was unable due to being numb from chin to jaw and drooling slightly. I also briefly considered telling her to go fuck herself, but remembered she was involved in my procedure somehow and my self-preservation instinct prevented it. I finally settled on saying that I am not a believer, but if her beliefs gave her comfort then that is all that mattered. That should be enough right?

We should be able to respect one another's beliefs without being held hostage in a dental chair while some crackpot confuses an alcohol-fueled drug trip with divine intervention and shares the story a la Moses on the mountain. Also, when did it become appropriate in a public business to profess your personal religious beliefs to clients? I don't even want to know about your stupid kids, let alone your religious crap. Where is the mutual respect? I simply tell a person I'm a non-believer and I get advised to pray, to accept Jesus, to search my heart . . . and whatever else you people have said or written to me over the last year. I was as nice to that Jesus whack job as I could be despite her making absolutely no attempt to accommodate my beliefs or preference that she abstain from any further God talk.

Let me make this perfectly clear and hope that the message comes across accurately: I DO NOT BELIEVE IN A GOD. Not your God, the Muslim God, Buddha, Jesus, Angels or any other God-like entity. I believe in your right to believe in a God and I expect you to believe in and support my right to not believe. If you want to pray for me fine, knock yourself out, but I do not want to know about it. I do request however, that if you do pray for me also pray that I win the lottery, you know, just in case. I am going to continue fighting for your right to believe and to express your beliefs because my number one belief is freedom of speech. In return, I'd like for you to accept my reality. I do not believe in God, nor do I want to.

Atheists are the most mistrusted and biased against group in our society. I am a bigger minority than blacks, latinos, asians and gays. And to make matters worse, at least most of you refrain from using racial or homophobic slurs to their faces. I don't get that same respect. I have to sit immobile with a numb mouth, surgical instruments perilously close by while a "professional" offends me with her obnoxiously close-minded belief system. Thankfully, the dentist entered the room just as I was considering making my escape or bashing drug tripper's head into Kelly Ripa's screen image. I'm not asking for anyone else to believe like me, just get out of my face with your personal shit. I don't deem it necessary to tell you why I "know" God is a farce or how I once mistakenly masturbated with a tobasco bottle (yes, it burned). Even I have limits to what peppy little life stories and details I divulge. Please learn boundaries. You don't have to read my blog (that's a boundary), but when you're hovering over me prior to a surgical procedure I'm pretty much stuck listening to whatever intimate details you want to tell and believe me, it's too much.

Day 59: What's the State of the Union? Pretty Damn Awful and it's All Our Fault.

Tuesday is the State of the Union address. I am hearing and reading a lot about the wacky notion that Republicans and Democrats might dare to . . . wait for it . . . SIT TOGETHER!!! I know, crazy! The men and women we elected to represent us in the House and Senate have thought long and hard about what they can do to ease the ever-mounting tension and discord between the two parties, and this is what they came up with.

I think it's great that everyone wants to get along, but the answers to today's problems are not going to be found in simply picking a bosom buddy with whom to watch the speech. Once again, they are missing the point and each legislator seems to be using this a PR opportunity. Go in the room, sit down in the first available seat and shut up. You are not special because you decided not to express your inherent opposition by your geographic location for a whole hour. Get a grip.

While we're at it, let's all get a grip. Let's talk about what we'd like the President to address. An article on Yahoo! listed the items most wished for as Presidential topics by their contributors. Among them, job creation, Medicare benefits, education, taxes, financial aide for universities, retirement benefits, the war and several other, more personal issues. It's pretty obvious the President cannot address every topic of concern to Americans any more than he can hope to please all sides affected by the topics he does discuss. That's just reality. The responsibility on our political leadership is great, regardless which side of the aisle they usually stand on. All elected officials and public administrators run the risk of alienating some sector by taking one stand over another, not taking a stand, taking too strong of a stand and anything else done in one's job.

What about our responsiblity? Where do we fall as citizens in terms of our obligations to uphold current policies and work to create better living conditions? So what, you're poor. Does that mean I or my government owes you a dollar? So what, you're rich. Should you get a tax break because you're in a higher bracket or conversely, should you be taxed higher because of your good fortune? You say the education system isn't what it used to be? Your kids are not getting the time and attention they need to adequately learn and succeed because teachers are overworked and classrooms too full? Ever think maybe a teacher is a supplementary aide to what you should be teaching them? They're YOUR kids, you lazy harpy, why would you prefer a stranger be the sole gatekeeper for their education?

There is no common sense in our society anymore and I have had just about enough of the selfishness played out in the name of "the children," "the elderly," "the sick," "the rich," "the poor," etc. Every one of us wants some presidential policy to benefit ourselves. We are selfish even in the name of the greater good. My dream speech from the President might tell all the whiners to shut the hell up. If you're poor and cannot afford to raise your children on your low-income wages, maybe you should stop breeding. So what if you're old. It's not our fault you didn't take care of yourself and ate gravy and white bread for 70 years, do you deserve more medical assistance than those younger or poorer? You can't get a job because you're overqualified and the PhD after your name is scaring off employers? Utilize the delete key you self-aggrandizing ass and leave that part off. You can pull out the "Doctor" title after you land the job.

I'm not asking for big changes, just some common sense. It should not be an educator's job to teach your child everything from potty training to quantum mechanics. Take some responsibility. You asked for war, for two wars, and you got them. Now that we're embroiled in the rebuilding of what we tore down and have created more insurgents in other places don't expect the military to be able to wrap up in a neat and tidy way.  And if you're rich, just shut the fuck up about your taxes. The government needs money, you have it, the poor and working class do not. I'm sorry you have to pay more, but you have more to give so shut up and count your blessings that you are still able to feed your family and pay your bills. Think of it as your ticket to that Heaven you're so fond of preaching to everyone after you spend your 60 minutes a week in church while worrying someone might scratch your new Lexus in the parking lot.

You all make me sick and by "you" I mean people in general. Everyone wants something for nothing and we all think that our needs are important enough to be singled out by the President we elected and then turned against within 12 months because we weren't suddenly rich again and the wars still existed. I'm not saying I'm any better, I just acknowledge my hypocrisy. We could all use a dose of reality, rationality, and humility. Three things I've come to learn are pretty alien to the average American. That's what is on my wish list for things I'd like to hear the President address. We're fat, lazy, stupid and selfish and we've got no one to blame but ourselves.

Day 58: Life is Like Football

I like football. Actually, I love football. Someone today asked why I am so passionate about it and I didn't have good answer. I do now. Football is a metaphor for life. There's an offense and a defense and often those two roles are played by the same people or groups of people at alternate times. We're all trying to defend what is ours, those things both material and emotional that we've worked for or lucked into. We also keep striving to attain more successes even if that means defeating someone else. In fact, much of life can be boiled down to a series of winners and losers and the spoils won and lost.

But what I really love about football is that in addition to all that passion, all the hard work and luck there is always the possibility of success, even if it looked like you might be out for the count. Everyone gets a second chance in football and often a third and fourth too. They keep fighting for what they want even when the odds might seem insurmountable. Players are physically bruised and battered and yet they still run onto the field and face the possibility of more punishment. They might be suffering from bruised egos as well or demoralizing losses and yet on any given Sunday things might turn around. Even the Lions had a halfway decent season this year.

Football gives me hope. I'm not a lucky person, but even I have had a few winning game balls land in my lap and more appropriate to the current state of my life I've managed to throw them away, not realizing their true value. We all make mistakes and work hard punctuated by moments of great self-centered laziness. We're human and this game we're playing has no outcomes written in stone. Anything can happen. Underdogs can win, favorites can lose their way, and sometimes even those of us that fumble the game winning touchdown can find a way to steer back onto a winning path.

I love football because on any given day anything can happen, but no one ever gives up.

Day 57: Empathy and Intuition isn't Native to Adulthood

Okay, as a good friend pointed out today, it's time to recommit. Much has been going on, but in the past I never let it affect my ability to write daily whiny self-indulgent blogs, so the break's over!

Lately I was thinking about the movie "Powder." Not sure who else might remember it, but there is a scene when the title character, cruelly nicknamed "Powder" for his very pale skin, channels the assumed fear and pain of a just-shot deer into the hunter that shot it by touching both. Powder is an empath. He is a conduit for the emotions flowing to and from any one who touches him, basically making him a raw nerve of emotion and a conduit that flows from another into him. The movie was so-so, but the message stayed with me and as an adult I often find myself wishing for that ability to transfer true intent and emotion to another without life experience cluttering up the message.

Children first learn by trying and then by intuition. They pick up on the moods of those closest to them so that if the Mother is upset or stressed the baby will become agitated. I assume this to be because as babies and toddlers, unable to communicate through language they bond first by instinct and usually overlooked signs. The increased pulse, shallow breaths, rigid neck and shoulder muscles -- all signs of heightened stress, pain, or fear. Then too, is the possibility of a different pheromone being given off during such emotional states and babies, being new and uncluttered, might be more attune to that as well.

Overall, there is an honesty to the emotions transferred and received that one cannot fake with words or smiles. As adults we're a bit like the boy that cried wolf and too many disingenuous compliments, comments, promises, etc., all contribute to a mounting inability to distinguish the real from the artificial. So how wonderful might it be to actually have the ability to transfer one's heartfelt emotions to another? Look into my heart, feel what I'm telling you, know it's real. Sounds like a lot of melodramatic rot, but if it were possible how many miscommunications due to mistrust, poor timing, past betrayal might be avoided?

We'd know if our love were serious about their feelings, if they really meant that apology, if we could risk our heart one more time or if we should walk away. If you could feel what I feel, you'd know my words are real, my promises are honest and my apologies are deep and sorrowful. If you could feel what is truly inside my heart and mind, maybe you'd release that tight grip you have on yours and just . . . breathe. Take a few deep breaths, close your eyes, open your heart and . . . try. I may not be able to make you feel what I feel, but I promise to spend the rest of my life trying to prove it to you. That choice to let me, however, is still up to you. So forget what experience and adulthood have conditioned you to believe and instead, trust that intuition that just will not let you completely walk away. There's a message there that your heart wants you to hear and to follow. Trust me. Feel what I feel.

Day 56: What the Congresswoman and the Astronaut Taught Me

Tonight I watched the ABC News special interview with Congresswoman Gaby Giffords' husband. I didn't want to watch it, mainly because they decided to call it the "The Congresswoman and the Astronaut: An American Story of Love and Strength." Why is ABC trying so hard to take away my sympathy for this tragic couple? What is this, some animated Disney feature follow-up to Beauty and the Beast? I get what they are trying to do, but why manufacture drama when this story has enough tragic circumstances and demonstrations of love without the helping hand from the ABC News producers. 


I get that because he's an astronaut we are automatically supposed to feel something more significant for them. This isn't just some average Joe or MBA, this is a American hero! Screw you ABC, I do not need Mark Kelly to be more than just a loving and concerned husband to make me feel for them and want to hear what he has to say. And what's with the "American" love story part? Because we wouldn't feel sympathy for them if they weren't American? Or is it more that Americans think they have the market cornered on romance and happy endings? Other cultures have fairy tales ending with mythical Prince's on white horses rescuing the always in trouble and dependent damsel too. 


The whole PR campaign for this interview made it about a magical love story and great American tale of love, etc. What makes them any more magical than the rest of us? Have any of you that have been married walked down the aisle and looked into your partner's eyes only to think, "Eh, well it's not the worst I could have done"? Do we not all start out and believe that we are living a magical love story? And who's to say we're not? Just because we also have bills to pay, kids to raise, dishes to do, trash to take out and not always mind blowing sex to alternately initiate and submit to does not mean it is still not a fairy tale. 


Fairy tales have the luxury of ending at the moment both parties realize their love and ultimate happiness resides in being together. Those characters never have to live up to the challenges of a partner farting in bed or morning breath or discovering that you can't get the damn juvederm you feel you desperately need in those nasolabial folds, because that cash is earmarked for something practical. In any case, fairy tales only exist in well, fairy tales. The rest of us live out our magical love stories amid all the messiness of life and I'm sure Gaby Gifford and Mark Kelly would say the same thing. That they love one another is not in doubt. That they have a special bond and magical connection unique to them is expected. What they also have, is a real marriage with all its complications and logistical issues of being together, working, prioritizing, etc. 


Their story captured the hearts of Americans because of the tragic circumstances that brought them to the public consciousness. By isolating them and sending the message that they somehow have the storybook romance uncommon to the rest of us, ABC is doing them and us, a disservice. I listened to Mark Kelly say how hard this is for him, but that he has a time table for her, that she is a fighter, that he knows she recognizes him as her husband, because he knows her habits and her expressions. He is not a character out of a fairy tale, he's a man in love with his wife and all he knows is to be by her side and to fight for her. He is just like the rest of us and that is the message I am taking away. 


This is not an American story. It is not a notable story because of their occupations. It is a story of a husband and wife who are confronting a horrific situation the best way they can and with all the love, patience, and strength they can muster. They are us and we are them. No nationality, no race, no religion, and no occupation is necessary to recognize the human spirit and love embodied in this story. So shame on you ABC for over-dramatizing the purest and most raw of emotions and stories likely to play out on the public stage.

Day 55: Would Dr. King be Proud or Would He Still be Hard at Work?

Today is the celebration of Martin Luther King Jr. day. MLK is only the second U.S. citizen to have a national holiday named after him.  A pretty remarkable accomplishment considering how many truly great leaders and humanitarians have come from our nation. It is also notable given that we are still a country that operates with racist undertones constantly at play. MLK day only became a holiday in the 80's and 90's and  it was not initially accepted by all states. Arizona, South Carolina and New Hampshire were the most notable of states to fight the holiday. John McCain, previewing his poor judgment and all around douchebag-ness fought the holiday as did President Ronald Reagan. It will come as no surprise that former senator and evil MF-er Jesse Helms also objected to it as a national holiday. With so much opposition and over two decades between his death and the holiday you could ask why all the fuss? Did he deserve it?

Our nation is still riddled with racism. We have hate groups whose meetings and public protests are protected by free speech. We still have need for affirmative action, EEOC laws, and the Rooney Rule. I hear people here say racist things all the time, though I find that most often people do not believe they are being racist. Referring to a bar or club as being "dark" isn't apparently racist to almost everyone in this obnoxiously racist town. I also hear people actually claim that "there are black people and then there are n_____s." Really? That's not racist? Surely there are assholes of all colors so why invoke such a hateful term?

Dr. King's dream was not just a civil observance of desegregation and semi-peaceful cohabitation of the races, it was a real and true understanding that skin pigmentation is not where our similarities and differences begin and end. We are humanity, all of us. Every race, culture, religion, and socio-economic group -- we are the dream, united by the human condition and put on this earth together to forge a path and to make the best of life. Should we celebrate Dr. King because he was the leader of the black rights movement? Absolutely, but we should also celebrate his life and his work because he was a great humanitarian. It's time we start honoring his mission with more than a surface acceptance, we need to pull back the curtain and rid our society of the racism and hate that still exists in every corner.

Day 54: If Only Life Had a Master Key

I've fallen off writing of late. Not sure why, just doesn't feel right for some reason. There are all these factors, both public and personal at work and the swirl of thoughts and potential blogs is a bit overwhelming, so instead of tackling them, I was ignoring. That is old-school Ame, so I'm trudging forward once again.
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This weekend is going to be a game changer for me. The path my life will take after this weekend will alter irrevocably depending not on my actions, but on the choices and emotions of another person. For a control freak like me, to have someone else hold my fate in his hands is almost unbearable. Still, I am resisting with everything in me to not self-sabotage and to follow through. Everything I have done in the last two years has brought me to this crossroads and I will stand here and wait for my path to be chosen for me.

That statement is a bit misleading. No one can actually chose my life path for me, but another can limit options as certain doors are closed. Once I know what choices are available to me I can go in a dozen different directions, but the one path I want to follow, that I am pinning my future happiness to is the one choice I cannot make on my own. We talk so much in terms of making our own destiny and being whatever we want to be, but never do our parents sit us down after these idealistic little chats and say, well, if others in your life are willing to entertain those choices that is.

Fact is, we do not get to choose all our own paths. Yes, we can decide if we want to be doctors or environmentalists, but we are not in sole control of our relationships. Friendships, marriages, familial bonds are all affected by all parties involved and no matter how much we want or need something it will not make it so. I know, for instance, that my husband loves me. I know it because as much as he claims to want out, he cannot cut me off completely. The problem is, he hasn't cut me off not because he wants the contact but because he knows it will kill me and he cannot bear to hurt me. Ironic isn't it? He wants out to save himself, but my pain hurts him too. That's love, but it's not the same as being a willing participant in it.

For our chosen path to be open to us we depend not just on our own recognition and acknowledgement of what we want and need, but of the willingness of others affected to be open to it as well. Without both of these factors working in our favor we are destined to be unhappily clawing at a locked door or else forced to digress from our desired path. So yes, I get to choose my graduate degree, my career path, where I'll live, and the type of whiskey I'll be drinking when I make my intended choice known, but the response, the fate of that door swinging open or locking shut is totally, completely out of my hands. It is terrifying and that too is another aspect of myself I am working on.

I'll face my fears this weekend. I'll stare fear down and the possible rejection of that locked door and I'll do it not because I don't have other options, but because I will never be able to fully move on until I test that door and see if maybe, just maybe, I really do have the key.

Day 53: Is it Exploitation if it's True? There's a Lesson in Tucson.

"If a Detroit Muslim put a map on the web w/crosshairs on 20 pols, then 1 of them got shot, where would he b sitting right now? Just asking." These words were the tweet of Michael Moore upon hearing about the shooting of Congressional representative Gabrielle Giffords and the others in Tucson. Many, many others have also taken this opportunity to point to the increased vitriol in the political debate on the right. Over the course of the last few days many Facebook friends and media pundits, all of whom are on the right, have stated that it is in poor taste to exploit the tragedy in Tucson to promote a political agenda. The agenda in this case being to bash the Tea Party and ultra-conservatives like Sarah Palin.


I cannot argue the exploitation factor. It would be no better than those horrifically evil Westboro church people exploiting grief to further their own cause, if in fact the ultra right are being unfairly blamed for increased violence in the name of politics and religion. I'm just not sure that is actually what is happening here. How many politicians and pundits on the left have called for the deaths (figuratively or literally) of their opponents? These violent metaphors and graphic images employed by the right are not to blame for the actions of a stranger, but they can and quite possibly have, incited violent acts. Just as rock or rap lyrics do not cause a person to lose grip with reality and commit violence, it may offer a impetus for an already disturbed individual or add fuel to a collective fire. 


Personally, I know I've said things to the effect that I'd like to see someone take out the knee of Tom Brady, or how I wouldn't be sad if the backstabbing bitch that was my friend should accidentally hit the bumper of my car when I'm driving 80 mph. The main difference aside from the fact that I am obviously just venting, is that I am not a public figure, there are not hundreds of thousands of people reading my words and taking them to heart. I am not a inspirational figure seeking to hold public office, be a mentor, or to lead. (Though I absolutely should be all of those things.)


Yes, I'm a lefty and no, I'm not religious. Even so, I really do believe that should a member of my political party say and do things with such violent overtones I would have to speak out against it. I'm not blind to the fact that people are people and not party "agendas." Just because someone is on the right does not mean I am going to dislike or even disagree with him or her and the opposite is true as well. The fact here, is that over the last couple of years the political debate has turned to increasingly violent imagery. Crosshairs, target, sights, rise up, revolution and who knows how many other words and terms are leaking into the rhetoric at an alarming rate. It is almost normal now to talk of "killing" the opposition and their proposed legislation. Crosshairs, really? We think that's okay? Mama grizzly better watch out because I'm pretty sure that "sight" has been turned back on her and her rumored 2012 Presidential campaign. 


Hopefully, if nothing else, the one good thing that will come from this will be a downgrading of the rhetoric and vitriolic debate surrounding the political process and its candidates. There is no respect anymore for leadership. The American people used to be able to disagree with both each other and with the leadership without it becoming instantly hateful or violent. We used to respect the Presidency above all and then it just became a mockery -- though one might argue that Clinton's White House antics and Bush's . . . well, ineffectual leadership, moronic comments, and general buffoonery are most directly to blame for the current lack of respect for that office. What happened to gracefully disagreeing? Does every debate have to turn into a UFC cage fight? Are there no rules, no common respect and decency? 


I don't want to use the death of a 9 year-old little girl or critical injury of a congresswoman to further my own political beliefs, but I also do not want to ignore this opportunity. Whatever side you are on, please understand that this is not a call to arms for the Left against the Right. It is a warning to both sides to stand down and to remember we are debating policy. Everyone gets a vote, everyone gets the right to live. Killing abortion doctors will not stop abortion. Killing politicians will not keep gun laws so lax. Killing anyone will not further a political agenda, but it just might kill the process itself and after two hundred plus years of fighting for democracy, that would be a shame.

Day 52: A Peppy Little Tale about Faux Suicide Wishes

Have you ever wished that someone or some force other than yourself would take active control over your life? Perhaps circumstances and the resultant choices and conclusions caused by those circumstances are all just a bit too much? I felt like this a few months back and still feel this way periodically. Funnily enough, in the midst of my desire to pull a Virginia Woolf and step into a pool with rocks in my pockets (not that Woolf used a pool) a friend was seriously injured in a random accident. I was jealous.

I am not suicidal. I have never truly been suicidal, but there are times in these last six months that I long to not be in control of my life. My friend realized this fantasy of mine and for a short while all the factors of her life came sharply into focus as she battled for one singular purpose. To live. The physical injury and healing took over where everything else abruptly left off. She got to live my fantasy.

Each day I pondered what it might be like to step into the pool and sink to the bottom; walk into a busy street; or steer my car into oncoming traffic, it didn't feel like suicide wish, it just felt like a way to give up some of that control I've been so tightly hanging onto. How else could I prove to my husband that he loved me? How else could I make it through one more day without him and with knowing that I had finally dug myself into a hole from which I could not dig out?

Realistically, I knew that it was just a pool and for one there aren't any heavy rocks around it, nor would I ever be at the pool with pockets. I wear bikinis to the pool; no place for the rocks. As far as the walking into the street thing, the problem there is that people here drive rather slowly and poorly so I probably couldn't get hit or seriously hurt if I tried. The last one, and the one I find myself thinking most often, would never work because it would likely injure others in addition to myself and that's not cool. I believe we have the right to be selfish if we want, but I'm not taking anyone else down with me.

So here I am, alive and kicking and realizing that I am in control, no matter how much I might not wish it. I never have wanted to end my life, but I think many of us would be lying if we did not at least secretly own the fact that just once, just briefly, we wanted a way out from the decision making process. A way to bring what really mattered back into focus not just for ourselves, but for the others in our lives. As stupid and ridiculous as it sounds, a part of me still wishes for the chance to wake up in a hospital bed, concerned faces hovering over me so that in a moment I would know exactly what matters most and the man I love might be able to remember what it was like when I was that "it" for him. I know this sounds melodramatic and slightly crazy, but I'm real and I don't hold back in my blogs. This is what I think sometimes and I don't think it makes me a danger to myself, so please do not call me a shrink.

I no longer have the time to fall apart. I have two jobs now and school and a cat that seems depressed. As much as I'd like to sit in a chair and stare at the wall while drinking wine or single malt and listening to sad music, I can't. Which sucks, because that is what I really need and want to do. I just want everything around me to stop because maybe if it did, this wouldn't hurt so much and the choices that we all have to make would not keep taking me further and further away from the one time in my life I was truly happy.

Day 51: No Fear

"The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself." Sounds pretty good. It's a great moment in history and whoever the speechwriter was (no I did not take the ten seconds it would require to look that fact up on wiki) he created history with that line. As adults, however, it's just not that easy. We have plenty to fear and one could argue that it would be almost irresponsible if we ignored those things. This line was intended towards a particular topic, but I hear it repeated and echoing in my own head, in reference to a dozen different things. I used to think I was fearless, but it turns out that was a lie. I'm terrified every day.

Several years back in the ocean off the coast of Delaware where we spent a wonderful weekend with friends, my husband admired the fact that despite my fear of the water and the brutal, waves kicking everyone's ass that day, I kept going back for more despite being afraid. That is the person I see myself as being, but it's just not true. Fear holds us back and I feel like sometimes it even propels you forward into decisions you otherwise would never make.

I saw a sticker on the back of car today that said "No Fear." It looked kind of like the Christian fish stickers, but it was yellow. For all I know it could be the name of a band or a snowboarding company. I'm not hip enough to know these things, but I do know that I want to have no fear, or at least to get back my ability to look it straight on and defy it.

This is going to be the year of me. The year I try things as I wrote in a blog earlier in this new year and the year I stop letting fear dictate who I love and what I do. So what if I run a 5K slower than my Grams could walk it, that doesn't mean I shouldn't still give it a try. Karaoke? I hate it. Mostly because I can't sing, but also because as much as I like to be an attention whore, I prefer it to be for something that does not cause me to make an ass out of myself. But so what? This year I vow to get up on stage and sing a solo at some point. I may even flash my boobs or moon someone with my cellulite. There are tons of things that other people routinely do, from which I have abstained.

My greatest fear is looking like an ass, which is pretty funny considering how often I act like one.  I am also afraid of failing and though I've racked up quite an impressive list of failures thus far, there are still plenty of items left to try that could very well end up in that mounting pile. So I'm going to give them a go. I believe we have more to fear than just fear itself, but since when is fear ever a good enough reason to not do something? Musicians and actors might fear the stage. Police and firefighters might fear doing their jobs. Moms the world over fear they will fail their children. Our military troops fear injury or death in the face of war, but yet they all still do what they must. They have fear, because fear is not the enemy, the enemy is in letting that fear win.

So while I cannot exactly let out a battle cry of "no fear" and mean that I'm never going to be scared of something, I believe I can live a life in which no fear stops me from doing what I need or want to do. No fear. Life will continue to happen whether I'm involved in it or not, but it's never going to be as rewarding if I'm limiting myself to the sidelines. Yes, I'm terrified, but no fear will stop me!

Day 50: Who'll Buy My Memories?

There's an old Willie Nelson song that goes something like, "Who'll buy my memories of things that used to be; there were smiles before the tears and with the smiles some better years." Lately this song has played over and over in my head like a theme to a melodramatic Hollywood film. With six years of memories and no place to put them, nor the ability (or willingness) to simply forget them, who will buy my memories?

Every story I have to tell is a "we" story. My photos from Southeast Asia, the beautiful field of sunflowers in Spain, the wine bar in New York . . . these are all "we" stories and events too. How can I talk about the pool bar and the Governor's House frozen cocktails in Negril without mentioning "we"? Every story, every photo, every trip, every major purchase are all "we" moments and now after six years of "we" I'm supposed to simply revert to being an "I"? How is that done?

My memories are filled with images and anecdotes that are either of him or of us. Now that the relationship is ending do I avoid discussing anything but the most basic of facts and events or only cover the last six months? How does one simply erase or ignore the "we" of their past? Jeff used to tell me I was too concerned with pronouns, but to me, those two or three letter words tell a story. Whether or not a person is part of a "we" or simply an "I" make a difference. That is "our" car. "We" would love to go to dinner. "Our" vacation was wonderful. These are the stories of my life over the last six years.

To this day when I talk to people I talk about "us" and "we," I just do not clarify who the other half of my plural pronoun is. If our lives are made up not just of the present moments, but of the memories of our experiences how do the sane and stable not fixate on those others in their photos and mental memory banks? I cannot talk about the ocean, Spain, chorizo, wine bars, football or a dozen other topics without immediately calling that "we" to mind.

These memories, worthless to anyone else are priceless to me and yet I find it nearly impossible to own them. So who will buy memories because if something I cherished, but ruined is truly gone, I don't think I can afford to carry them around anymore. The cost is just too high.

Day 49: Real Friends Cry With You, Then Pour You More Wine

I am in unusually good spirits for me. It might have something to do with half a percocet and a bottle of cava, but I think it is more about friendship. Tonight, I reminded myself why I have been so miserable and how to get out of the trenches. Friendship will save me. It's not love or flirting, or stoicism. It's friendship. Plain, pure, lasting.

There are times when I feel lonely, insecure, and undesirable. Those times I usually turn to a pub and the powers of flirting to lift my spirits, but they are dropped just as quickly and twice as far because that comfort is a hollow victory. So what if someone thinks I am attractive? It's a bar, they are drinking, I'm wearing a low-cut top, not exactly a moral victory. Friendship however, makes a lasting impact. Spending time with someone who loves you, despite your flaws, and who doesn't want to just buy you a drink to advance their trouser invasion is refreshing.

I'm not going to pretend that I do not get lonely or miss attention any more than I will pretend that I do not sometimes flirt for the sheer satisfaction of, well, satisfaction. What I will tell you is that a night with a true friend who loves me and will not tolerate my self-bashing bullshit is what I really need. I've had a few close friends recently who held a mirror up to both tell me I'm lying to myself and that I'm not as bad as I think I am. It helps. They helped.

Even a loner like me needs friends. Though, that's not to say that there aren't days when the sweetest words in the English vocabulary aren't "party of one." I do love my private time, but I also love being around those who know me well and do not put up with my crap or my self-pity. There is just something about being with those that know us well and love us anyway that makes up for loneliness and all the other negative emotions. True, there was no magic cure for my life at the end of the night. I'm still in love with a man who doesn't want me; financially I'm a disaster; my muffin top is looking more like a full blown cake; and I still cry into my whiskey in public places from time to time. It's not pretty, but that's why friends are important.

The guy you flirt with at the bar only cares as long as you look good, but a real friend will tell you that you look a mess and yet have never been more beautiful. That's friendship and in 2011 that is exactly what will heal me. Thanks ladies. I missed you.

Day 47-48: 2011 Means it's Time to Get in the Game

I have not felt very inclined to blog since the disastrous 2010 came to a close. It's not that there isn't anything going on, I have plenty to blog about, I actually just wanted to take a couple of days and let 2011 settle in. This year, regardless of the good or bad it may bring, will be better. It will be better because I will be better. This is my year. It is the year I finally take control of my body, my eating habits, my career, and even possibly my runaway emotions. I may not achieve what I want in the end, but the process will be a success.

This is the difference I'm learning. The end results are only so important, but the path along the way can actually make all the difference. I may fail in what I want, but I will try. For a long time I did not pursue that which I was not good at, but all that did was to limit my opportunities. If life is a series of successes and failures then am I not increasingly my likelihood for success by increasing my overall attempts and options? I want to do everything or at least to try to do everything. If I'm a big fat failure already, then what could it possibly hurt?

Who knows what 2011 will bring. Perhaps I will still be married. Maybe I will get to transfer to a grad school back in NYC or even in another city. My finances might even straighten themselves out. I'd like to be in the best physical shape of my adult life. I'd like to be a nicer, more positive person (how's that for an attempt at optimism -- or humor, we'll have to see how it turns out).

Truth is, none of us knows where, what or who we will be in the upcoming year. Even those of you who wish for no changes might find yourselves faced with dramatic turns of event. In the end, it's all a craps shoot really, but one thing is for sure. I'm going to try. This year, the only resolution I have made is to be present in my life. Every decision, every event, every friendship will be one that I have actively participated in and not something that I've let happen to me. It's my life and it's about damn time I got in the game.

Day Forty-six: 2010 Needs to Die

Thankfully 2010 is over. I don't want to be a drama queen or anything, but I could not be more happy to see the close of this year than if it brought vast sums of money, career advancement and liposuction with it. This has absolutely been the worst year of my life. What I am trying to come to terms with now, however, is if that had something to do with my own energy.

If we put out into the world what we expect to get back as several new-age type sources would have one believe, then I was a total fucking train-wreck asshole in 2010. I get that I'm not a super positive person and I might bring some negative stuff down on myself, but seriously? Could you suck more? No? Yeah, I didn't think so. This year was worse than the year my Mother died which was exactly ten years ago. Worse only because in that year I also moved to NYC which saved me.

The city reaffirmed for me who I am as a person and the life I am meant to lead. It was my home, my friend, and my confidante. New York City is a living presence in the lives of those of us who have lived and loved there and I have not been the same since I left. Since those years I've been adrift. I thought I found my home with my husband, but his own journey took him far away from both himself and the life we built together. So here I am,  a woman without an emotional and physical anchor.

This past year showed me the true depths of myself. I learned not just what I was capable of, but what I could excuse. We all make mistakes, but mistakes do not always equal regret. As a person who has committed her life to living without regrets and to the notion that I do not need a partner to be happy, this year has been very revealing, sadly, those lessons were learned too late. I am flawed. I am selfish. I am incomplete and unbalanced. My husband was my balance and through him I had a true center, without him I spiral off into directions that serve neither my own interests nor those of anyone around me.

Ask me if people need people and I will tell you the story of a woman who believed she was better off alone, but who made a mess of her life without the grounding force of love. I'm so far from perfect it's laughable, but at least I know I need work. I suppose there is small comfort in that fact. Self-awareness is the starting point and it is what will save you. I know I'm a mess. I know I fucked up the best thing I've ever had in my life. I know that I need love in my life, but fight like hell the notion that I need anyone other than myself. It is not easy to be vulnerable. It's never really been my thing, but I admitted it once and it came around to bite me in the ass.

Jeff Bramlett, I love every damn thing about you. I miss all ten hairs left on your head. I adore your silly, girly laugh. I miss that hairy chest and amazing ass. I crave your brain and the fact that you know the answer to every stupid jeopardy question. You are my safe place and my future. I don't know how to live without you. 2010 ended our marriage, but it will never end my love for you. I know I'm a fuck up, hell, you knew that when you married me. Wake up Bramlett, this is your life. It's not neat or tidy or  easy. It's me. Flaws and all, you fell in love with this crazy bitch and for better or worse I'm what you've got. This is the for worse part. But once upon a time there was a better and it can be that way again. Just take the chance, believe and take the leap.

2011 can't be any worse than what we've already lived through. At least I hope not. I don't think I can survive another 2010, there's a limit to even my strength and we're kinda already there.