Decisions, Decisions

Generally, I don't believe in love at first sight. But with Indiana, it's always been a little different.

Technically, it wasn't REALLY first sight. But we don't need to worry about that. From the second I crossed over the state line, back in 2004, I was hopelessly in love with it. I remember John the Saint and I stopped at a rest stop about twenty miles in. It was late in the afternoon, maybe around four or 5. I stood at the edge of the pavement, where it met up with a field. My back was to the moving truck and John and the car; I was facing the field and the tall, burnt-yellow grass. A warm wind was blowing, and it promised excitement.

Indiana? Exciting?

Later that night, after we arrived at Duncle's in Bloomington, after we had all gathered around the dinner table and gorged ourselves, after the plates were cleared, after the sun had set, I went out onto the screened porch and settled onto the porch swing. A late-evening storm was brewing, and silver lightening lit up the sky, the back yard, Aunt Jo's vegetable gardens, and the hay bales beyond her yard. Even the air felt different, after Florida--a little less humid, and a lot more electrified.

John the Saint joined me, and together we watched the storm roll in. And then, between flashes of lightning, there was something else lighting up the evening--tiny little gold lights, burning silently and bright for a second, and then disappearing just as quickly. An enormous smile spread over my face as I realized I was seeing fireflies for the first time since I had moved away from the Midwest, almost twenty years before. I glanced over at John, who smiled back, enjoying my simple bliss.

And just like that, I was hopelessly in love with Indiana. With the whole Midwest, really.

Now, as I am beginning to contemplate where to go next, my mind keeps drifting back to the Midwest. Should I try to go back? Am I only considering it because, after the disappointment and emotional desert that is California, it seems safe and comfortable and familiar? Or is it time for me to return? It's felt more right than any other place. Or should I leave that love in the past and move on to something else? Should I try to forget the fireflies, the haze settling on the landscape in a summer dusk, the iron-grey skies of an endless February, the shabby nobility of 100-year-old barns, long abandoned to decay in overgrown fields, the chilly autumn evenings?

I don't think I can forget it.

But I don't know if I should try to go back.

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning...

This never used to happen, but lately, it’s getting to be an almost regular occurrence. I awakened around 4 this morning, and could not go back to sleep. A full bladder may have been the culprit, but I suspect the real cause was a distubing dream in which I was a caregiver to an old lady and her 101 (not Dalmatian) cats. Fears of becoming my mother, much?

Anyway, any normal person would have used the litterbox, shaken off the dream, and re-commenced slumbering, but that would be a normal person. Not the Sassy Kitten, here. I’ve got about a billion things on my mind lately, so as soon as I awoke, all one billion of them slammed back into my awareness like an inconvenient tsunami on Boxing Day. And stupid me, I spent the next hour in bed, thinking about them, until I gave it up and rose to meet the day at 5 AM.

There are worse ways to go–I tend to roll out of bed 30 minutes before I need to be at work, and this barely gives me enough time to bathe, let alone prepare my responsible, professional (fraudulent) self. So having three and a half hours to get ready is an unexpected luxury–it gives me time to make my oatmeal. Clean. Write some emails. Blog about pointless minutiae. Spend time on the exercise bike. Fold laundry. Even lay out my work clothes. Not bad for a Monday morning!

But lord, I will be hating life by 4 PM today.

I Guess At the End, You Start Thinking About the Beginning...

In another six weeks, I will be celebrating my third California birthday. Like any birthday, this is going to be–inevitably–a time of reflection for me. Uppermost in my reflections will be the knowledge that I had never intended to celebrate three California birthdays here; I had planned to be gone from this state after a year and a half.

And yet.

And yet, here I am. Three years older than the 26-year-old that drove in on the 10 on a hot, dusty day in mid-June, feeling no excitement, no joy, no anticipation, only relief to be at the end of my journey and a grim determination to get through it. Thank god I didn’t know, couldn’t know how long I would be here. Three years older, but not necessarily wiser. And here I am.

Part of growing up, growing older, is having the courage to admit when a thing–a situation, a relationship, a job–is no longer working. It’s having the courage to admit when it’s time to give it up as a bad show and walk away. And it’s having the good sense to know when it’s time. Kinda like the serenity prayer, like that. So I guess I’ve learned something in California–I’ve learned when it’s time to walk away.

Now I just need to learn how.

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.