I miss being in a relationship. Save a couple “you know it’s going to end before it begins” types of short-lived mistakes, I have not been in a relationship for over two years. And with all the cheating and lying that were woven in to the seven years before that, well, it feels like I have very few points on that hypothetical scoreboard.
The problem is that the longer I go without it, the less I think I deserve it. Or can get it again. I am not necessarily lonely; although the irony of living in a city of eight million is that it can be, in fact, a very lonely place.
I bump into people, get shoved, and touch people all day long. On the subway, on the street, in line for lunch. But it feels as if someone is playing a cruel joke, because I haven't had the kind of touch I need or want in a long time, and I have no idea when it's coming.
Some friends make me the butt of some harmless teasing, but it ends up by not being so harmless. I freeze up with a dare to go talk to that tall, cute guy across the bar. And he is not coming over to talk to me. And then I think that I am not going to meet someone I have anything in common with in a bar anyway, so the next time my friends invite me I don't bother to go. And then I feel bad about myself and just want to stay in all the time.
I am doing better now: working out helps; friends on the weekends seem to lift my spirits-but nothing can fill that void.
I miss being in a relationship. I miss someone loving me not because they have to, but because they choose to. I miss bouncing big ideas off another person that I can completely trust.
Perhaps I'm idealizing "The Relationship"- I know I am, but I want to feel that again and I just don't know what to do to get it.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
The Not-So-Simple Wish
Ever have something happen at the exact time you needed it to? A raise when you needed money, a new love when you felt alone, a new job when you felt you couldn’t go on another day at the one you have?
I need that to happen now.
I can feel that I am on the cusp of a major change in my life, and I am hoping it is for the better. I have been applying to jobs in New York, Connecticut, New Jersey – in a nutshell, anything that was train accessible and had the word ‘newspaper’ somewhere in the ad – for one year and three months.
One year and three months seems like forever, although I know its not. I know that the likelihood I will have to work harder, work longer, sell myself better, is extremely great. I know the city can swallow people alive, and yet it has left me whole. I have made it through the growing pains, and the horrible breakup and the doubters that told me I would never make it. I have made it, and made a life for myself here. It’s just that this last step feels so insurmountable. The puzzle is only missing one piece, but it’s a big one – and its jammed between the sofa cushions, and – well, you get the idea.
I came to New York to be the next Carrie Bradshaw and now I want to be the next Bob Woodward. Funny where life takes you. I came looking for a career that would make me the talk at high school reunions, even though I would never go to one. I came looking for the glamour, and now I just want to get back into the khakis again with the notebook in my back pocket, pen on my ear and camera in my hand.
I applied for another one today: Special Sections Editor at amNewYork, a free commuter daily owned by Newsday.
Here’s hoping.
I need that to happen now.
I can feel that I am on the cusp of a major change in my life, and I am hoping it is for the better. I have been applying to jobs in New York, Connecticut, New Jersey – in a nutshell, anything that was train accessible and had the word ‘newspaper’ somewhere in the ad – for one year and three months.
One year and three months seems like forever, although I know its not. I know that the likelihood I will have to work harder, work longer, sell myself better, is extremely great. I know the city can swallow people alive, and yet it has left me whole. I have made it through the growing pains, and the horrible breakup and the doubters that told me I would never make it. I have made it, and made a life for myself here. It’s just that this last step feels so insurmountable. The puzzle is only missing one piece, but it’s a big one – and its jammed between the sofa cushions, and – well, you get the idea.
I came to New York to be the next Carrie Bradshaw and now I want to be the next Bob Woodward. Funny where life takes you. I came looking for a career that would make me the talk at high school reunions, even though I would never go to one. I came looking for the glamour, and now I just want to get back into the khakis again with the notebook in my back pocket, pen on my ear and camera in my hand.
I applied for another one today: Special Sections Editor at amNewYork, a free commuter daily owned by Newsday.
Here’s hoping.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
UNME4EVR
I have a very simple rule about my future: No man I will ever marry spells the word "you" with the letter "u."
Text message or not, it's just creepy.
(And yes, I am aware that if there were a land called Anal Retentiva, I would be their Queen.)
Text message or not, it's just creepy.
(And yes, I am aware that if there were a land called Anal Retentiva, I would be their Queen.)
Friday, January 19, 2007
Guess How Much I Love You
Sometimes people have strange ways of telling you they are grateful for your presence in their lives.
A simple thank you, a nice pat on the back or a genuine smile are all great. Or there is the sentiment I received in an e-mail last night from my friend Kate:
“You and I are definitely soulmates in such a non-lesbian way.”
I snotted Tropicana out my nose when I read this — how did you react?
A simple thank you, a nice pat on the back or a genuine smile are all great. Or there is the sentiment I received in an e-mail last night from my friend Kate:
“You and I are definitely soulmates in such a non-lesbian way.”
I snotted Tropicana out my nose when I read this — how did you react?
Monday, January 15, 2007
A Creepy Realization
I talked with my mom last night, who let me gab on about pointless irritations and generally, a whole lot of nothingness. Then as I apologized for having little to talk about she broke the news: She is moving in with her boyfriend next month.
My 68-year-old mother called to tell me she is moving in with her boyfriend. (Shudder.)
I suddenly felt the same reaction she likely had when I told her the same thing:
“Eww. Oh my God. She’s having SEX.”
After that, I calmed, and then the pictures returned to my head. Nausea ensued.
It’s hard enough to picture your parents having a sex life when they are married. In order to cope, you just go along with the most intellectual notion: that you were hatched from an egg. This just seems a bit strange to rationalize when you are 27.
But really, this relationship has been nothing but good for her. She hasn’t dated since I was in grade school, and has likely never experienced the kind of happiness she feels now.
She is acting like a girl of 65 again.
My 68-year-old mother called to tell me she is moving in with her boyfriend. (Shudder.)
I suddenly felt the same reaction she likely had when I told her the same thing:
“Eww. Oh my God. She’s having SEX.”
After that, I calmed, and then the pictures returned to my head. Nausea ensued.
It’s hard enough to picture your parents having a sex life when they are married. In order to cope, you just go along with the most intellectual notion: that you were hatched from an egg. This just seems a bit strange to rationalize when you are 27.
But really, this relationship has been nothing but good for her. She hasn’t dated since I was in grade school, and has likely never experienced the kind of happiness she feels now.
She is acting like a girl of 65 again.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Reliving the Nightmare
I spent a good portion of last night and much of the morning and afternoon with two of my greatest friends in the city, who, after seven years together, have decided to separate.
Early this morning, I went with them to the apartment that is only "hers" now, when it used to be "theirs."
As he attempted to quietly exit with the last few boxes of his things, I began to cry. I felt selfish and guilty for shedding tears over someone else's unhappiness, because if anyone deserves those tears, it's the people who are having to live this nightmare first hand.
But I couldn't stop. I cried for them, I cried for other friends that are going through similar situations, and I cried for myself - because it was not so long ago that I was quietly moving out the last few boxes of my things, and moving on to an unfamiliar place.
Separately these friends have both confided in me and told me they want nothing more but to be back with the other. Time, each says, heals all wounds.
I just wish it was that easy.
Early this morning, I went with them to the apartment that is only "hers" now, when it used to be "theirs."
As he attempted to quietly exit with the last few boxes of his things, I began to cry. I felt selfish and guilty for shedding tears over someone else's unhappiness, because if anyone deserves those tears, it's the people who are having to live this nightmare first hand.
But I couldn't stop. I cried for them, I cried for other friends that are going through similar situations, and I cried for myself - because it was not so long ago that I was quietly moving out the last few boxes of my things, and moving on to an unfamiliar place.
Separately these friends have both confided in me and told me they want nothing more but to be back with the other. Time, each says, heals all wounds.
I just wish it was that easy.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Something’s Gotta Give
I am working out again after way too much time away. (Pat on back.) I feel better and more fit already. But now I am too tired to spend even an hour each night looking for a job to save me from the one I have.
Life is all about balance, but I feel like I am always running out of time. Well, first I am running out of money, then out of energy, then out of time.
Calgon take me away.
Life is all about balance, but I feel like I am always running out of time. Well, first I am running out of money, then out of energy, then out of time.
Calgon take me away.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Instant Family, Just Add Water
I came to a strange realization over the holidays: I actually like my family.
Of course, I always loved them. Despite all the dysfunction, all the conflict and all the craziness. All of it. But I was always frustrated over some part of the pie — frustrated about why my mother treats my sister like a black sheep and why she treats my older brother like God on Earth. I always ended up somewhere in the middle, and lucky for me, more often than not I fell towards the Brother end of the scale.
The designation I received began in high school, but I did not begin to notice my mother’s attention until college. It was then I became The Jock, a varsity athlete at a Division I school, and my mother seemed to transform as quickly as I did.
My body grew lean and muscular; my mother grew attentive and loving. My rowing and racing skills improved, while my mother made cakes for my team to celebrate victories.
It was a strange adjustment for me, as my mother had been distant in the past to say the least. Granted she had every reason to hold on to the depression that I believe defined my formative years for her: no partner, no money, and three children who desperately wanted her undivided attention. But nonetheless, this newfound interest in me and my activities was a bit strange and although I feel guilty saying it, it was a bit contrived.
My friends during college loved my mom, while I struggled to discover whether her participation in my life was genuine. Then I felt guilty about not trusting her presence, and questioning her methods. And so, the cycle continued for years.
But now that the youngest (that would be me) is all grown up, the family seems to have started a new phase in our collective life. Somewhere along the road, we have all become adults. At some point, we stopped being a family because we had to and started being one because we wanted to.
Relationships are funny and complicated beasts. But lucky for me, I think this one is working out.
Of course, I always loved them. Despite all the dysfunction, all the conflict and all the craziness. All of it. But I was always frustrated over some part of the pie — frustrated about why my mother treats my sister like a black sheep and why she treats my older brother like God on Earth. I always ended up somewhere in the middle, and lucky for me, more often than not I fell towards the Brother end of the scale.
The designation I received began in high school, but I did not begin to notice my mother’s attention until college. It was then I became The Jock, a varsity athlete at a Division I school, and my mother seemed to transform as quickly as I did.
My body grew lean and muscular; my mother grew attentive and loving. My rowing and racing skills improved, while my mother made cakes for my team to celebrate victories.
It was a strange adjustment for me, as my mother had been distant in the past to say the least. Granted she had every reason to hold on to the depression that I believe defined my formative years for her: no partner, no money, and three children who desperately wanted her undivided attention. But nonetheless, this newfound interest in me and my activities was a bit strange and although I feel guilty saying it, it was a bit contrived.
My friends during college loved my mom, while I struggled to discover whether her participation in my life was genuine. Then I felt guilty about not trusting her presence, and questioning her methods. And so, the cycle continued for years.
But now that the youngest (that would be me) is all grown up, the family seems to have started a new phase in our collective life. Somewhere along the road, we have all become adults. At some point, we stopped being a family because we had to and started being one because we wanted to.
Relationships are funny and complicated beasts. But lucky for me, I think this one is working out.
My Best Friend’s Wedding
My best friend called me Sunday night and began to speak with that squeaky, giggly in-between-the-tears voice that could only mean one thing — she had just gotten engaged.
I was generally happy for her. She deserves every bit of this happiness and she has dated what seemed like dozens of Mr. Idiot- or Mr. I Don’t Know How Great She Is-types of guys. It seems insignificant that this particular guy, her fiancé, resembles Anthony Edwards enough that I refer to him as “Goose” as he sends her meals back for her because it does not fit his standards.
Seriously, though, he is a perfectly nice guy, I guess, if anyone must take this role. She seems to have a calm over her that I haven’t seen before, which makes me think that this is the right choice for her and the rest of her life. But I just can’t help the feelings of fear for her and for myself, well, there’s a fair share of frustration, anger, resentment and just plain jealousy.
It was this girl, after all, that was experiencing a so-called “normal college life” when we met and I was deeply involved with my first true love. She was dating, and partying, and a varsity athlete — all while enrolled in an accelerated pre-med program. I was glued to the first man that ever paid me any real attention. I, too, was an athlete and through the years we shared some great memories. But this great divide always remained between us: she seemed to see the plan of her life so clearly and I fumbled over the same mistakes and wondered what the future would bring.
Luckily this friendship turned out to be stronger than any of my petty insecurities. Now she is a doctor and her fiancé is as well. Goose chose emergency medicine, which I find incredibly ironic considering Anthony Edwards starring on E.R.
But I keep the joke to myself.
Now, I am waiting to get back in touch with her so we can discuss what kind of sea foam green, puffy-sleeved frock I will be wearing at the ceremony. The date is already set: October 27.
Ten months to go over wedding plans.
Ten months to discuss travel arrangements.
Ten months before I have to make my life seem thrilling for friends I haven’t seen in years.
Ten months to get a date for my best friend’s wedding.
And the worst part is after titling this blog I have that stupid song from the movie in my head. God damn it’s a bad day.
I was generally happy for her. She deserves every bit of this happiness and she has dated what seemed like dozens of Mr. Idiot- or Mr. I Don’t Know How Great She Is-types of guys. It seems insignificant that this particular guy, her fiancé, resembles Anthony Edwards enough that I refer to him as “Goose” as he sends her meals back for her because it does not fit his standards.
Seriously, though, he is a perfectly nice guy, I guess, if anyone must take this role. She seems to have a calm over her that I haven’t seen before, which makes me think that this is the right choice for her and the rest of her life. But I just can’t help the feelings of fear for her and for myself, well, there’s a fair share of frustration, anger, resentment and just plain jealousy.
It was this girl, after all, that was experiencing a so-called “normal college life” when we met and I was deeply involved with my first true love. She was dating, and partying, and a varsity athlete — all while enrolled in an accelerated pre-med program. I was glued to the first man that ever paid me any real attention. I, too, was an athlete and through the years we shared some great memories. But this great divide always remained between us: she seemed to see the plan of her life so clearly and I fumbled over the same mistakes and wondered what the future would bring.
Luckily this friendship turned out to be stronger than any of my petty insecurities. Now she is a doctor and her fiancé is as well. Goose chose emergency medicine, which I find incredibly ironic considering Anthony Edwards starring on E.R.
But I keep the joke to myself.
Now, I am waiting to get back in touch with her so we can discuss what kind of sea foam green, puffy-sleeved frock I will be wearing at the ceremony. The date is already set: October 27.
Ten months to go over wedding plans.
Ten months to discuss travel arrangements.
Ten months before I have to make my life seem thrilling for friends I haven’t seen in years.
Ten months to get a date for my best friend’s wedding.
And the worst part is after titling this blog I have that stupid song from the movie in my head. God damn it’s a bad day.
National Day of Mourning
I had a bad dream last night that Ohio State's football team, who went 12-0 in the regular season, got hammered 41-14 in the National Championship game.
Someone please wake me up.
Is it sad that I am possibly more upset about this than what is actually going wrong in my own life?
Someone please wake me up.
Is it sad that I am possibly more upset about this than what is actually going wrong in my own life?
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