Huh. How 'Bout Them Apples?

A few months back--heck, it was probably last summer by this point--I was talking on the phone with one of my out-of-state Best Good Friends, Eric. Now, I was snivelling to Eric about some inanity or another that I was unhappy about, and Eric, ever the perceptive friend, clued into something deeper.

"How's A----?" he asked, referring to my boyfriend

"He's fine," I responded cautiously, caught a little off-guard. "Why?"

"Okay, how are you and A----?" Eric persisted.

"We're fine," I snapped, probably a little testily. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Eric paused, trying to formulate his words carefully. "Well...it's just that you never talk about him. At all. Ever. I mean, in the beginning, I could understand why you didn't, but you've been together almost two years, and you still don't mention him. It's weird, how little you mention him."

He's a really smart guy, that Eric. And he tapped into something that has been a key theme in the relationship I have had with A----: the absence of him in my life, and me in his. Now, I can only speculate (probably pretty accurately) on why I was not a huge part of his life, but I can certainly account for his absence in mine: it was by and large my choice as much as his. I haven't talked about him a lot, not to my colleagues, not to my family, not on any of my blogs (and believe me, there are quite a few), and only a very select few of my friends...most of whom did not like him. But that's neither here nor there.

I think we held each other at arm's length, A---- and I did. Again, I can only imagine why he did (I bet I'd be pretty spot-on in my guesses, too) but I know the decision was, for me, deliberate. I loved him, and I had hopes...but I had no expectations. So when the end came, as it did a little over a week ago, there was very little drama, and perhaps most sadly, very little heartbreak. I cried that day, and then a little a few days later, but that was all.

I genuinely mourn the passing of our relationship. I genuinely mourn the wasted potential. I genuinely mourn the fact that love was never given a chance to grow--love cannot flourish where it is not nurtured. But I walk away with my dignity intact, and with the knowledge that even though in some ways I held myself back, I did give the relationship my best. Some things just aren't supposed to work, and some times we keep relationships on life support long after we shouldS have pulled the plug.

Next time, I'm going to listen to Eric Smarty-pants more. That guy really knows what he's talking about.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-Jig

Once again, I am home. Florida was everything I hoped for, and nothing that I had worried about. I guess when you've only got five days with your family, there's simply not enough time to argue and make death threats.

There is, however, PLENTY of time for drinking:

When Older Sister #1 and I went to pick up Older Sister #2 at the airport, I was eager and anxious. I hadn't seen Older Sister #2 in FOUR FREAKING YEARS. And when we found her, and I hugged her, after that, I couldn't do anything but stare. She looked the same as always, but at the same time...I didn't recognize her. Was this the woman whose voice I had heard on the phone every week for the past four years? She felt like a stranger.

I think I maybe was over-analyzing a little bit. And anyway, the strangeness wore off after about five minutes, and then it was as though the three of us had never been separated. As Older Sister #2 said, "There is no one you can laugh and acted retarded with as much as your sisters."

And now I am home again, and there's pretty much an entire continent between me and those who know and love me best. But there are some consolations--I love my home. I love my solitude, and when I arrived home, it was as though the silent alone-ness slipped gracefully over me like a sheath of silk. My cats, my bed, my computer, my work, my life--all of it, here, all mine.

There's no one like family, and there's no place like home. It's just a shame when the two aren't in the same place.

I Have a Theory...

Ah, the holidays. Hell-idays?

In a few days, I am flying back home--well, to one of my homes, anyway--to Florida. There I will see my grandparents and my mother and hopefully my ex-stepdad and John the Saint. But best of all, I will get to see my sisters--both of them. One of them, I haven't seen in four years.

A lot changes in four years.

I'm anxious, of course. Anxious about what, I cannot say. Anxious that we will all get along, I suppose. Because with family, there's always, always, always that inexplicable volatility. Everyone's got a memory of some holiday drama, some family feud or cold war that seems to erupt during the holiday seasons. Why is that?

Family's gotta be one of the strangest damned things out there, I tell you what. It's simultaneously the most comforting and maddening structure there is...no one knows you like your family does, and that's actually part of the problem. Your family knows you better than anyone, because they were there with you from the beginning, saw how you developed and evolved. No one knows you like your family-because the people (your colleagues and friends, for example) that know you now know the present you, not the you of your childhood and adolescence. Our interactions with our parents and siblings and extended family help form part of your basic identity.

And then something happens. Generally, family move away from each other. Distance and life come between you. You can still be close emotionally, but that initial relationship you have with your family changes. You change, hopefully for the better. Your parents and siblings change, hopefully for the better. Everyone changes. Everyone evolves; that's how life is supposed to work. You outgrow the mold you grew up in. But your family, being far away, doesn't know that, can't know it, are not privy to the day-to-day person you become. Their concepts of you--and yours of them--don't necessarily change. So your family remembers you as you were then, and see the present you (often a very different person) through the lenses of their past image of you. Without knowing it, and certainly without meaning to, they try to force you into the mold in which they remember you. It creates a lot of cognitive dissonance. You feel like your identity is imperiled; you're confused. And at the same time, you're likely doing it to them. And no one realizes it.

I'm so, so excited to be seeing my sisters again. I try to describe them to people at work; I try to explain that they are like me, but more dignified and mellow. I say, "Meet my sisters and you will see why I am the way I am." (My sisters will probably not appreciate this sentiment.) Explanation: When I was a kid, I really looked up to them, without even knowing that I did. I think I tried to imitate them in a lot of ways, but added some of my own Melissa-flair to it, which only made me look ridiculous and silly. And maybe that's how my role and mold in the family developed. I became Lissy, the Toaster-Mouth (don't ask), the Tootster, the Hot-tub Hottie (again, don't ask), the Mel-meister.

The thing is, I'm not most of those things any more. In all honesty, I think I kind of wish I would go home and my sisters and grandparents and mother would look at me and thing, "Wow, there's Melissa. She's so smart and she's done so well for herself, we really underestimated her. Never thought she would have turned out like this. She's well-spoken and she's pretty damned savvy."
(Hello, ego-trip!)

None of this will happen.

What will happen is this: I will revert back to the Melissa that we all knew 4, 8, 12 years ago. I will become my old goofy and tactless and blundering and sometimes inarticulate (but never tongue-tied!) self. It will be just like old times. And in a way, that's almost too bad. A lot of times, I didn't like the girl I was 'way back when.

I'd like for my family to recognize and appreciate and love the person I've become. Honestly, I am damned sure that they already do; any insecurities or lack of validation most likely exist only in my own head. Essentially, I think that's where a lot of family feuds happen: when we don't recognize the people our parents and siblings have become, and don't validate them, or when we feel they do not appreciate, recognize, validate who we have become. But what we don't realize a lot of the times is that we ourselves are complicit in denying that. I understand myself and my role in our dynamic in terms of that old mold, too. I will force myself back into that mold, because in the context of my family, that is all I know.

Maybe just being aware will help. Or maybe I should just try to exercise tact and the art of keeping my goddamned mouth shut every now and then this coming week, or at least be a little more mindful of what comes out. (I think that is tact, actually). But whatever--I am eager and anxious and happy and excited to see everyone, but especially my big sisters. I hope I don't disappoint them.

I hope I don't disappoint myself.

*This post brought to you courtesy of Self-Absorption International, a global organization dedicated to worshipping your own pointless thoughts.

Jersey Devil, Step Aside...

I'm a travelin' kinda gal. Maybe it's because I am a Gemini, and I get restless and can't settle down (see: multiple failed relationships) but I'd like to think that it's because I've got a slightly romantic spirit and like to go exploring and imagining.

Example: When I was 19, I went to England for three weeks. It was for some Summer Extension Course for College, and I actually studied at Cambridge. (American Parents, take note: your 19-year-old kids are not worthy of studying at Cambridge University; it's way too grown-up for them. It sure as heck was for me!) While I spent not enough time enshrining myself in academia, I certainly did do a lot of exploring. One weekend I ended up in Northern Wales, in the Snowdon Mountains, in a little village called Betws-y-coed (no, I can't pronounce it, and I bet you can't, either). Walking from the village to my bed-and-breakfast (a 19th century vicarage), it was grey and cloudy and drizzly and cold, and there was mist shrouding the tree-lined mountains looming overhead. As I walked, I saw a tiny golden light twinkling through the trees, 'way up high on the mountain. To this day, I fancy that it was a druid ghost, wandering about through the mists.

The Black Forest of Bavaria has always appealed to me; there's something very romantic, very mystical about it...it probably has something to do with all the fairy tales that originate from that region. Anyway. For a long time, I've really wanted to visit there...until tonight. Tonight I found out that in the Black Forest resides lumbricus badensis.

What is that, you might wonder? Well might you ask! It's a giant frigging earthworm.

That's right, the romantic Black Forest that I've always daydreamed about is home to a giant mutant earthworm of doom which can grow up to two feet in length! You can keep your damned trees and clocks and cake, Black Forest, 'cause there ain't nothin' romantic about an earthworm that can double as an implement of strangulation. If that's how big the earthworms are, I'd hate to see how big the fish they bait are!

Welcome to the Black Forest! We don't need any horses, just saddle up that there worm.

One Of Those Days...

Today was one of those days. You know the kind of day I'm talking about--it was the kind of day where everything goes to hell in a handbasket the moment you step out of the door and discover that the world outside your door is not the world you thought, but rather a warzone which vaguely resembles, I don't know, the Somme in 1916? Complete with tommies and jerries crawling about looking for missing limbs and inhaling highly toxic mustard gas.

Well, this IS Southern California. Mustard gas might be an improvement on the current air quality.
Most days, working at the Library is great. It's a blast--the patrons are by and large kind and appreciative and understanding; the colleagues are funny and smart and supportive. But today? Oh, today. Yes. Today. We were closed yesterday, and so it was like the patrons had an extra day's worth of orneriness pent-up, and couldn't wait to unleash it. It was a day of bulls&%t and drama, of cluttered desks and scheduling screw-ups and nonstop GO,GO, GO. All of that would have been fine, except apparently today was Diva Day. We had a rather famous author come and speak this evening, and it brought a large crowd, which is always great...but there were one or two eccentrics that just threw things off. One such eccentric literally shoved me out of the way to get to speak to Famous Author. Another patron came in and demanded an office chair instead of the regular seats and then demanded we move it to the front of the room so she could see better, and didn't want to hear that it would be against ADA requirements to block the aisle. The best one came at the end of the night when a woman tried to get into the library after we closed and when she learned she couldn't, declared, "I'M RUINED!"

Ruined. Ruined like a 19th-century parlor maid who's gotten in the family way, or ruined like a Mayan temple? Ah. I see, not really ruined, then.

The thing is, this is my job. I don't mind it, usually. Usually it can make a good story to tell at the end of the day, or week, or life. I have to endure it, have to smile and try to develop skills of tact and diplomacy. (I'm maybe screwed, a little.) And at the end of the day--this crazy, wonky day filled with ruined people and blocked aisles--I can sit down with my red, red wine and be glad to be in my quiet home, with my music and my not-so-quiet cats. I have to put up with a little bit of BS at my job, and the nice thing is that it's only lowered the BBSL (Blood-Bullshit-Limit, as opposed to Blood-Alcohol-Limit) in my own life. It's a nice feeling, and more than a little empowering, because it helps stiffen my spine with regards to some stuff going on with me, personally.
Oh, goody, another personal growth experience. I'm getting good at those.

It's nice to sit down at the end of a hellacious day and think, "Something good came of this." It's nice to gain insight and clarity, all from cranky people who sought to make others as unhappy as they were themselves. It's a victory, a quiet and comforting victory that you can embrace as you sip at the wine and relax and realize that maybe "one of those days" are the best kind of day to have.

Laugh and the World Laughs With You; Declare Bankruptcy, and You Do It Alone!

There comes a point when you've been gone so long that it's pretty pointless to say "Hi! I'm back! This is what I've been doing!" Yeah, I hit that point about a month ago. So, instead:

Hi! I'm back!

It's fairly difficult to watch the news these days without shaking my head in disbelief at the absurdity of it all. No, I will not be watching the debates, because frankly, I think the American public deserves better than some carefully-scripted soundbites and some carefully staged shennanigans; I know we can't judge our leaders based on a 1-minute answer.

And regarding Palin, all I have to say is this: nice try, McCain, but you still suck. It would take a lot more than choosing a female running mate to get my vote. I'm voting for the Democratic candidate Obama because he shares more of my values, ethics, beliefs, and ideals, and it's not enough that Palin and I share an anatomical attribute. She's a sell-out, she offers nothing to me, and I'm loyal to my party before I'm loyal to my gender, kthxbye.

The news is pretty scary right now, with all the economy news basically dominating everything. And so, tired of worrying, I sat down on the couch at 11 PM tonight, my Maggie curled up beside me, and we watched Jon Stewart. I had forgotten how much I loved him, and let me tell you, laughing at his theme of "Clusterf%@k to the Poor House" was just the medicine I needed. It doesn't change anything, but laughter always trumps fear in my home, each and every time.

Plus, Jon Stewart's really hot.

And this is why I am going to hell...But at least I'll be able to amuse myself.

Not to re-hash the past or anything...
Back in Indiana, I had a boyfriend. Boyfriend's mother hated me. For many reasons, none of them particularly logical, I might add. Her original beef with me (other than the fact that I was dating her son) was that I wore too many black shirts. Or something. And it just went downhill from there.

It didn't help matters that I am a rather blunt, flippant person, and sometimes make offhand remarks that really offend hypersensitive and illogical people people with delicate sensibilities. Lifelong enmity was established after Pope John Paul's death, when I absentmindedly made the remark to Boyfriend's mother that I didn't see what all the fuss was about; after all, it was just a stupid man in a stupid hat.

Never underestimate the lack of logic in a lapsed Catholic. You don't go to church for years, don't do confession or Lent or any sort of thing, but god forbid I mock your pope-man. Boyfriend's mom eventually became (Ex) Boyfriend's mom (such a devoted Catholic, she was, she ended up going evangelical Protestant) who threw a party in her heart the day we parted ways. Little children, love one another, and all that.

Water under the bridge, now...

...except Busted Tees.com is trying to start World War III here. Because there's a shirt that I think would be just perfect for letting her know there's no hard feelings: