I’m unhappy. Not all the time, just more often than I think I should be.
I think this unhappiness stems from my lack of drive, my lack of having a sense of purpose and any sort of goals to work toward. My job is lacking- I feel as if I am constantly on the verge of smacking a coworker upside the face for being a dumb bitch or acting completely self-entitled, and I also feel trapped. I have come to realize that I hold a position in a program in which I am made to feel guilty for needing sick time or for wanting a vacation. Not only is it almost required for me to “flex” my hours but I also have to cover other people’s appointments whenever a minute shift in our schedule changes, adding to my already piling workload. On top of that, my director is wanting to “overbook” us, meaning scheduling multiple sessions at the same time just in case a client doesn’t show up. That’s all fun in theory but when you wind up being expected to run two completely separate sessions at once, life starts to look less like the fun filled adventure I’ve been hoping it will be.
I’ve also been unable to write. I will literally stare into space waiting for any kind of inspiration to hit me, like it used to, and nothing ever comes. It does not matter whether I’ve had a long day or a short day or whether I’ve actually been doing the writing exercises I’ve been trying to do, I sit staring blankly ahead contemplating the flat plane of nothingness that has become my capacity for creativity.
And I’m lonely. With Z being officially deployed and my having been alone for well over a month now and only being able to chat via face time once or twice a week, I’m having withdrawals and rather than being constructive with my pain, I sit and watch SVU reruns on Netflix rather than read the piles of books that I growing around my apartment.
Boo. Well, bright side, I’m cooking A LOT and I’m getting good at being vegan (I think). And I’m hoping that my new diet will allow me to start running again. I also have a bunch of lovely horses to ride.
I just need to find the positives and a nice goal to work toward. And maybe a good shrink ;)
So basically I’ve been terribly busy over the last 6 months, with a new awesome job and wonderful barn and of course, my fantastic boyfriend. But now, I’m BACK on tumblr and ready to write :)
The main motivator behind my return to blogging is that said fantastic boyfriend left bright and early this morning (we’re talking airport drop off at 5am) for 5 weeks away at training. He will be home for hopefully a couple of days before taking off again for a week. Then he’s back! For about a month.. before leaving for his 9 month deployment. So, in a desperate attempt to maintain my very fragile sanity, I’m going to start writing again, which was how I’ve kept sane throughout the rest of my life.
Suffice to say, I miss him and it’s been just over 12 hours since we said goodbye for now. The longest we’ve been apart since April, however, was 6 days over Christmas. My current way of thinking is that I’m not allowed to become completely miserable because in only a few months short time, we’ll be apart for 3/4 of a year. And that’s not exactly something to look forward to. However, my longing is physical with the feeling that I’m constantly about to cry but haven’t shed more than the few tears I let leak out when I was driving away from the airport. I might just be getting sick. And hopefully that’s the case. Or I’m basically screwed when Spring rolls around…
Until then, and for a long while after, continue to look for my posts, ask me questions, and above all remember that LIFE IS GOOD, SIMPLE AS THAT.
Baby Goats Playing OMG
Well, fuck. Everyone wants to be loved. The same thought had been looping through her head for months. Picking a piece of god-knows-what from underneath her finger nail, Jesse continues to stare straight ahead, mouth slightly open, tongue relaxed, as if she were about to burst into a great speech focusing on the injustices of the world. Instead, she returns her attention to her laptop, takes a long drag off of the cigarette poised conveniently near the screen, and begins typing. The words pouring out from her fingertips have no real meaning, no fundamental goal. Hell, I’ll probably delete them all before this story even climaxes. She smiles to herself. Sounds familiar.
The current topic in question was, of course, her relationship. She was a strong, independent young woman with a strong sense of self-image and many, many goals, though most of them were so off the wall that she’d never openly admit to their existence. Inspired, hard to follow bouts of creativity such as the one shooting across the Word document were so inconsistent that the idea of making a career in a creative field was laughable. But it helped her vent and it helped her see things more clearly.
She takes a sip from her latte. It had grown cold as she’d been working and was now simply remnants of foamy, cold coffee. She thought about ordering a new one but taking a cursory glance around the café, smiling blankly at the happy people around her, she changed her mind. Cold was OK, she decided, and turned back to what she was calling “today’s work.”
Social media was to blame, she decided. Fingers leaping off the keyboard in a moment of realization. If she hadn’t been able to see the “I Love You’s” written in plain sight after a mere 4 month relationship, if the photos of what must have been tear-filled goodbyes hadn’t been so simple to find, if her track record with love hadn’t been the clusterfuck that it was, she probably would be cheerfully clicking between the Oatmeal web comic and her Facebook News Feed, trying to entertain herself during her time off.
The self-portraits of the drooling, happy couple of a few short months, contrasted greatly with the few begrudgingly-taken photos she had with her boyfriend, the same man who was smiling so giddily in those hidden profile photos. Every time a new sign would crop up, Jesse had been able to ignore it, she had been able to type out a few lines of a rant or a love-sick poem, post it on her blog, and get over it.
This time, however, the past cropped up and left her once-empowered psyche crumpled up on the floor of her apartment.
I’ve never been loved. The words flew from her fingers onto the page before her, leaving all the metaphors and Shakespearian jargon for a moment of brutal honesty.
No no no no no! She slams her laptop shut, throws it into her computer bag and storms from the café. Once outside, she takes a few deep breaths, lights a new cigarette and tries to clear her head. Let’s replay this scene, m’kay? What is so undesirable about you that you’re impossible to love? A list that would have been impossible to build three relationships ago was now forming in her head, slowly at first, but with increasing speed as the moments passed and tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
Shaking her head against impossible truths, Jesse starts the short walk home. The most apparent criticism of Jesse was the fact that she was so tall. Tall had always been what she considered to be one of her greatest attributes. She had been recruited to a number of modeling agencies during her early growth spurts, her long, straight red hair helping her stand out in a field of professionals. Now, however, she was not just tall, she was also athletic, a quality that had earned her thousands of compliments by her friends, but one which had also caused the men she’d dated a great amount of unease.
What is athletic? She wondered. Athletic was not thin, it was not delicate. It was a foundation for a great number of jokes at her expense. It often left her in tears, diet pills arriving in droves at her doorstep only to be thrown out in wild moments fueled by renewed self-confidence. Nearly six feet tall, Jesse’s frame was held together by lean muscle built by years playing college soccer. Now, it was the cause for many nights sleeping in a folded ball, praying to an unknown entity to miniaturize her frame into that of a petite, feminine female.
She had seen photos of her exes with their previous girlfriends, all of whom were petite and blonde, though she would not describe any of them as particularly attractive. Maybe that was her problem. She was so competitive with women whom she hoped to never meet that her life was consumed by a series of self-indulged compare and contrast charts that she could never accurately fill.
Clouds rolled over and Jesse pulled her hood on, careful to tuck the long ends of her hair into the waterproof jacket. She increased her step, unheeled boots tapping a steady rhythm into the sidewalk. The rain began to fall in quiet streams.
She forgot her self-flagellating list as her apartment moved into sight. Alex was home. She smiled to herself and sighed. At least she could forget her insecurities until the next social media slip up, until the next off handed comment shook her foundations and sent her reeling back to the coffee shop, secret cigarettes and laptop in hand, anger-induced creativity coating page after page of hidden documents.
Smiling, she walks into the living room, pulling off her hood. She was always so surprised at how attractive she still found him, so long after they’d started dating. He gave her a cursory glance, asked her how her day had been, and returned to his work, never to know the pain the absence of three little words would eternally cause her.
Taking the scene in, pushing it into the back of her mind, Jesse gave herself a clean slate and numbed herself a little bit more to what the lack of I Love Yous had been doing to her since the first moment she’d fallen in love and regretted it.
He sent me a link to a military photographer that took pics of some of their field training exercises. He told me I should check them out because there was a message for me hidden in the pictures.
I assumed that at the end of the photos, the soldiers would have written little messages or something to their families/loved ones. WRONG.
After looking through several hundred photos (including some fabulous ones of him), I discovered a picture of him sitting near his mock “patient,” holding up a gloved hand upon which he’d written, “Hi (my name)!”
I about died. How adorable is that?? AND I pick him up from the airport in a week.
Cloud 9 is my current location.
“A Letter I Will Never Send”
… y’know, just because.
I’m between flights on my way back home. My weekend in Texas was amazing and I already miss him more than ever.
We toured the river walk and saw the Alamo. We hung by the pool, relaxed in the hot tub, played pool at his favorite dive bar.
We spent so much time in contact, fingertips touching and locking, eyes meeting and memorizing. My heart broke as he walked out the door and headed back to base.
I wouldn’t trade the three days we spent together for the pain of watching him leave. I spent the next three hours nimbly trying to distract myself and prepare to head back home.
He says he associates me with home which is why it was bittersweet for him. I have to say that I agree with him. I can only continue through the motions, thank the gods that my job keeps me so busy, and wait until we’re able to be together again. This time for more than a few brief days, hours, or weeks.
I think I build things up in my head to the point that when my dreams aren’t satisfied, I get hurt.
My mantra today: lower expectations.
At least I survived the flights, right??
Think about the number of times you’ve used “we” in the beginning of a relationship. The power of “we” is a tricky little concept that both amuses and alarms me. The first time you use it, especially if it’s early on in the relationship, is a bit of an “oh my” moment- what will his or her reaction be? Have I assumed too much??
Food for thought- inspired by a lovely little film I watched on my hot V Day date with my friends tonight.
“Hell,” I said. “I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?”
“Yes. I want to ruin you.”
“Good,” I said. “That’s what I want too.