Have you seen those toddlers who just won’t seem to settle down? They're like spinning tops. They’re tired, but they won’t sleep. They’re all hopped up on sugar or life and just go and go and go until they pass out wherever they happen to be standing when their energy finally runs out.
That’s me.
I was zipping along at breakneck speed at work today. I’d been there for six hours and despite almost constant motion, I had yet to get anything done. So, it’s now one o’clock in the afternoon. I’ve already made one intern cry, and I’m looking at the man from the telephone company who’s come to install two new fax lines that corporate ordered without bothering to ask me if we needed them.
“Where do you want me to put these?” he’s asking.
I look up at him, the million other things I need to deal with are running through my mind, and I'm stifling the urge to scream at him. I finally give up and just tell him that I have no idea. We don’t need the lines. I didn’t ask for the lines. I don’t want the lines. He can put them wherever he wants. He is the expert, right?
“Hey,” he says to me, completely calm amidst my chaos and in the face of my obvious irritation with having yet another task stacked on my overflowing plate. “Relax.”
And his voice is so soothing, and I’m so completely stunned, that I do.
So, I took Boy shopping tonight for jeans. On the spur of the moment he’d asked to go up to Vermont with my mom, and I’d realized he only has one pair of jeans, twenty million t-shirts, and a pair of flip-flops. They're leaving tomorrow. I really am the WORST mother in the world. It’s a miracle he’s made it to eighteen without more emotional damage, or at the very least, a rap sheet.
We tromped through Nordstrom’s, where I drooled over a pair of Via Spiga booties with three inch heels, and walked straight past their yummy coffee bar to get to American Eagle which is apparently the only acceptable place to buy Boy jeans this month. While he tried on jeans, a friend of his from school who works there advised me that gray t-shirt and jeans I was wearing were far too big for me and pushed me toward the dressing room.
“No, no,” she told me as I grabbed helplessly at a medium sized t-shirt that looked a lot like the one I was already wearing dangling on the return rack, “Small. Extra small, maybe. Not medium. Lady, have you seen you?”
Then came an array of teeny tiny tops and teeny tiny torn jeans to try on.
I put on a teeny tiny tank top that tied at the waist, took one look at myself in the mirror and turned to her to try one last time to reason with her, “This shirt makes my boobs look huge, Destiny.”
“Yeah?” she said and fixed me with one of those looks.
I just kept quiet after that.
And wondered to myself what kind of commission Destiny was pulling in.
P.S. I now own three boob shirts.
And Boy has two new pairs of jeans.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Building Sand Castles
Had a discussion with Email Buddy Eric the other day via email – natch! I can’t remember how we got on the subject but it included my finally admitting that I’m not the low maintenance girl I always believed myself to be.
Stop laughing.
Oh, now I remember. He had commented on something I’d written in an email, and I wrote back that he really did know me so well. To which he responded, “Can any man really make that claim?”
And so began this philosophical discussion wherein I disclosed that for a long time I hadn’t been self-aware, merely self-absorbed, and how I now realized that those weren’t the same thing. I concluded with the statement that I believed that the more you know yourself, the more others can know you. That’s when I told him I’d finally realized I was high maintenance.
I swear I could hear the laughter through the speakers of the computer.
"You just realized that?"
Apparently other people can know you better than you know yourself.
I was out with Dog the other day, and for once he wasn’t working at yanking one of my arms longer than the other. The Eagles were on my iPod, and I was thinking about how often I have to remind myself to ask someone how they’re doing first, instead of waiting for them to ask me to respond in kind. That’s when the whole “self-absorption” thing hit me. I won’t even address the fact that it’s really self-absorbed to be wasting your time analyzing just how self-absorbed you are.
So, now I’m going through this phase where I’m trying to be focused more on what’s going on “out there” than “in here.” And perhaps that even explains why I’m posting less these days. It’s not only that I’m super busy. It’s that it takes a certain amount of introspection for me to compose. I have to get inside my head with one of those red plastic shovels and dig around in the wet sand for a bit before I can begin to build anything even resembling a castle.
Instead of being so inside of myself and staying safely under my big pink beach umbrella where everything’s pretty and nice, I’m out in the bright sun, sticking a toe in the deep blue ocean. I’m talking less. I’m listening more. I actually read a newspaper the other day. I asked how someone was doing and waited to hear her response.
What can I say? I’m a work in progress.
And maybe someday, I’ll finally get to a point in my development where a strong wave won’t have the power to knock my castle over and leave me standing by in silence while I watch it all disintegrate into the sea.
Stop laughing.
Oh, now I remember. He had commented on something I’d written in an email, and I wrote back that he really did know me so well. To which he responded, “Can any man really make that claim?”
And so began this philosophical discussion wherein I disclosed that for a long time I hadn’t been self-aware, merely self-absorbed, and how I now realized that those weren’t the same thing. I concluded with the statement that I believed that the more you know yourself, the more others can know you. That’s when I told him I’d finally realized I was high maintenance.
I swear I could hear the laughter through the speakers of the computer.
"You just realized that?"
Apparently other people can know you better than you know yourself.
I was out with Dog the other day, and for once he wasn’t working at yanking one of my arms longer than the other. The Eagles were on my iPod, and I was thinking about how often I have to remind myself to ask someone how they’re doing first, instead of waiting for them to ask me to respond in kind. That’s when the whole “self-absorption” thing hit me. I won’t even address the fact that it’s really self-absorbed to be wasting your time analyzing just how self-absorbed you are.
So, now I’m going through this phase where I’m trying to be focused more on what’s going on “out there” than “in here.” And perhaps that even explains why I’m posting less these days. It’s not only that I’m super busy. It’s that it takes a certain amount of introspection for me to compose. I have to get inside my head with one of those red plastic shovels and dig around in the wet sand for a bit before I can begin to build anything even resembling a castle.
Instead of being so inside of myself and staying safely under my big pink beach umbrella where everything’s pretty and nice, I’m out in the bright sun, sticking a toe in the deep blue ocean. I’m talking less. I’m listening more. I actually read a newspaper the other day. I asked how someone was doing and waited to hear her response.
What can I say? I’m a work in progress.
And maybe someday, I’ll finally get to a point in my development where a strong wave won’t have the power to knock my castle over and leave me standing by in silence while I watch it all disintegrate into the sea.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Mint-flavored Waxed Tape on My Bedside Table
Went to my first Pilates class today. It was a private session, and so only one person was there to witness my humiliation. Actually she held my hand while she was putting me through it. Well, my hand, my foot, my thigh,.. You get the picture.
Is it me or do they just tell everyone they’re doing great? I think it’s like when you go to the dentist and they tell you that you’re doing a great job with your at home care. They must figure positive reinforcement will keep you coming back. Or maybe they're saying it to shame you into flossing more often.
So, I stopped at a bike store a couple of doors down from the Pilates studio to pick up a bicycle for The Boy. Since he’ll be living on campus, we decided he wouldn’t need a car. He, being my child, decided he wanted the trendiest bike going, so he got a “fixie.” Have you seen these things? They’re fixed gear. Every part is bolted on. And there are no brakes. It’s all the rage around here. The college kids love them. I’m sure I’ll be getting a phone call from the emergency room in no time.
When I made it home this evening, Boy pulled the bike out of the car and went out for a ride. Dog and I sat down and ate half a bag of Doritos. I caught up with phone calls and emails, and I’m already looking longingly at my bed, which just happens to be my absolute favorite place in the WORLD.
Lily and I have been spending a lot of time together. Her daughter’s just off to college, so when she gets bored or lonely and I'm home, she’ll wander over here. She visits with Boy, while Dog gazes up at her adoringly from her feet. The other night, I gave her a French manicure, while “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” was playing on the television. Then, I fed her and Boy, sank into my big corner chair, and promptly fell asleep.
We’ll sometimes skip the middle step, and Lily will just come upstairs and crawl into bed with me. While she watches movies, I sleep. I’m not sure why all I want to do is sleep, but at least she’s tolerant. Actually, it’s pretty darn cool of her. She even makes sure to pull up the covers over me before she leaves. It’s great to have girlfriends. You really can just be yourself, and in my case lately, that’s comatose.
You just can’t do that with guy friends. Well, you can, but they don’t seem to want to stay just friends for very long, and my actual boyfriends never seemed to believe me when I told them, “It’s not what you think.”
So that’d turn into a big fight about their "total lack of trust in me" and how I can be so "completely naive sometimes" and all that, and in the end it would always turn out that the boyfriend was right: Guys really do only want one thing.
So now I keep my guy friends in the living room and my boyfriend in the bedroom. When my girlfriends aren't there with me, of course!
And I always, always try to remember to floss.
Is it me or do they just tell everyone they’re doing great? I think it’s like when you go to the dentist and they tell you that you’re doing a great job with your at home care. They must figure positive reinforcement will keep you coming back. Or maybe they're saying it to shame you into flossing more often.
So, I stopped at a bike store a couple of doors down from the Pilates studio to pick up a bicycle for The Boy. Since he’ll be living on campus, we decided he wouldn’t need a car. He, being my child, decided he wanted the trendiest bike going, so he got a “fixie.” Have you seen these things? They’re fixed gear. Every part is bolted on. And there are no brakes. It’s all the rage around here. The college kids love them. I’m sure I’ll be getting a phone call from the emergency room in no time.
When I made it home this evening, Boy pulled the bike out of the car and went out for a ride. Dog and I sat down and ate half a bag of Doritos. I caught up with phone calls and emails, and I’m already looking longingly at my bed, which just happens to be my absolute favorite place in the WORLD.
Lily and I have been spending a lot of time together. Her daughter’s just off to college, so when she gets bored or lonely and I'm home, she’ll wander over here. She visits with Boy, while Dog gazes up at her adoringly from her feet. The other night, I gave her a French manicure, while “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” was playing on the television. Then, I fed her and Boy, sank into my big corner chair, and promptly fell asleep.
We’ll sometimes skip the middle step, and Lily will just come upstairs and crawl into bed with me. While she watches movies, I sleep. I’m not sure why all I want to do is sleep, but at least she’s tolerant. Actually, it’s pretty darn cool of her. She even makes sure to pull up the covers over me before she leaves. It’s great to have girlfriends. You really can just be yourself, and in my case lately, that’s comatose.
You just can’t do that with guy friends. Well, you can, but they don’t seem to want to stay just friends for very long, and my actual boyfriends never seemed to believe me when I told them, “It’s not what you think.”
So that’d turn into a big fight about their "total lack of trust in me" and how I can be so "completely naive sometimes" and all that, and in the end it would always turn out that the boyfriend was right: Guys really do only want one thing.
So now I keep my guy friends in the living room and my boyfriend in the bedroom. When my girlfriends aren't there with me, of course!
And I always, always try to remember to floss.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Yard Sales and Cat Vomit
Managed to pull myself away from the office early on Friday to drive over to my mom’s on Friday afternoon.
She and my grandmother had a yard sale on Saturday morning, and I went over to help out and visit with them for a bit. We were up at five in the morning to set up and were surprised to find a couple parked out in front of my grandmother’s house by five-thirty. This ticked my off a bit, because it stressed out Grandma. She actually wondered aloud if we should ask them in for coffee and doughnuts.
My mom’s response to that suggestion: “Absolutely not.”
Can I tell you how many times I'd gotten that same response to my suggestions while I was growing up?.. The funny part is, the same words flashed through my mind right before they came out of mom's mouth. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!
Grandma is so cute. She made up little signs with sayings like: “Deal or no deal?” and “Cash from my attic” and “Let’s haggle.” She’d written these sayings on white paper she’d cut out with crimping scissors and glued them onto red paper, which she then taped to all the tables. Then she put on a little visor and sat down at a table in the breezeway with the cashbox and an inventory list. How adorable is that?
By noon, it was almost a hundred degrees and we were packing up the car to deliver anything that didn’t sell to drop off at the local charity. It took two trips and a stop at the local diner for lunch, but we were back at my mother’s by three-thirty, stinky and exhausted.
I had meant to head home then, since Boy had been sending me text messages since I’d left and was missing his mama. He’d had us all giggling about mid-morning with a text that read: “The cat threw up again. Tonight she dines in Hell.” So, I’d figured I should get home to diffuse that situation, if nothing else.
With clouds in the distance, though, my mom pointed out that I’d be driving into the storm, so she popped in a movie on the television in the living room and I took a nap on the couch while outside the windows the bright sun turned to mist and the Atlantic Ocean metamorphosed from rolling glass to churning foam.
My mom’s off to Greece this week to visit my dad. Some stipulation with his visa requires that he leave Jerusalem for a period of time before returning to work. He goes to these cool places for a couple of days, and, when she can, my mom goes to visit with him. Tough life, huh?
I had brought her a belated birthday gift and was thrilled that she really seemed to like the earrings I’d gotten for her. She always brings us girls jewelry featuring our birthstones, so I’d returned the sentiment with a pair of ruby earrings. It’s so hard to know what to get for people anymore, isn’t it? Most people will just buy what they want when they want it, and your job as gift giver is reduced to finding the one thing that they didn't know they wanted and is least likely to end up in a yard sale.
So, I’m home now and back to being Mom myself. Dog’s Cat dined in my kitchen last night, though judging from the mountain of dishes I found in my sink when I finally made it home last night at eight, this is only a short step up from Hell. Dog won’t leave my side, but Boy has stopped blowing up my phone. All is quiet.
And there is comfort in this rhythm I’ve found in the quiet.
When I think about the week coming up, I know the quiet will be lost. I know life and work and friends will push in. But for today, I’ll hit ignore on my phone when it rings and putter in the garden and wash my windows so that the sun shines though them and leaves patches of light on the floor for Dog’s Cat to nap in between bouts of regurgitation.
She and my grandmother had a yard sale on Saturday morning, and I went over to help out and visit with them for a bit. We were up at five in the morning to set up and were surprised to find a couple parked out in front of my grandmother’s house by five-thirty. This ticked my off a bit, because it stressed out Grandma. She actually wondered aloud if we should ask them in for coffee and doughnuts.
My mom’s response to that suggestion: “Absolutely not.”
Can I tell you how many times I'd gotten that same response to my suggestions while I was growing up?.. The funny part is, the same words flashed through my mind right before they came out of mom's mouth. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!
Grandma is so cute. She made up little signs with sayings like: “Deal or no deal?” and “Cash from my attic” and “Let’s haggle.” She’d written these sayings on white paper she’d cut out with crimping scissors and glued them onto red paper, which she then taped to all the tables. Then she put on a little visor and sat down at a table in the breezeway with the cashbox and an inventory list. How adorable is that?
By noon, it was almost a hundred degrees and we were packing up the car to deliver anything that didn’t sell to drop off at the local charity. It took two trips and a stop at the local diner for lunch, but we were back at my mother’s by three-thirty, stinky and exhausted.
I had meant to head home then, since Boy had been sending me text messages since I’d left and was missing his mama. He’d had us all giggling about mid-morning with a text that read: “The cat threw up again. Tonight she dines in Hell.” So, I’d figured I should get home to diffuse that situation, if nothing else.
With clouds in the distance, though, my mom pointed out that I’d be driving into the storm, so she popped in a movie on the television in the living room and I took a nap on the couch while outside the windows the bright sun turned to mist and the Atlantic Ocean metamorphosed from rolling glass to churning foam.
My mom’s off to Greece this week to visit my dad. Some stipulation with his visa requires that he leave Jerusalem for a period of time before returning to work. He goes to these cool places for a couple of days, and, when she can, my mom goes to visit with him. Tough life, huh?
I had brought her a belated birthday gift and was thrilled that she really seemed to like the earrings I’d gotten for her. She always brings us girls jewelry featuring our birthstones, so I’d returned the sentiment with a pair of ruby earrings. It’s so hard to know what to get for people anymore, isn’t it? Most people will just buy what they want when they want it, and your job as gift giver is reduced to finding the one thing that they didn't know they wanted and is least likely to end up in a yard sale.
So, I’m home now and back to being Mom myself. Dog’s Cat dined in my kitchen last night, though judging from the mountain of dishes I found in my sink when I finally made it home last night at eight, this is only a short step up from Hell. Dog won’t leave my side, but Boy has stopped blowing up my phone. All is quiet.
And there is comfort in this rhythm I’ve found in the quiet.
When I think about the week coming up, I know the quiet will be lost. I know life and work and friends will push in. But for today, I’ll hit ignore on my phone when it rings and putter in the garden and wash my windows so that the sun shines though them and leaves patches of light on the floor for Dog’s Cat to nap in between bouts of regurgitation.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Fore!
I made the mistake this morning of asking Dog if he wanted to go for a run.
I woke up at five, a consequence of waking up that early all week to head into work before anyone else so I can actually get some work done, threw on a sports bra and some shorts, threw some food at the animals, and went out to the garage to search through my car for the running shoes I haven’t seen since I had to wear them for a last minute trip to the Par 3 – a month ago.
By the time I stepped back into the kitchen to put on my socks and shoes and wonder why my running shoes smelled faintly like stale Bud Light Lime and lawn, Dog and Dog’s Cat had eaten their kibble, and Dog was looking at me with that expectant look in his eyes.
“Do you want to go for a run?” I whispered to Dog.
He started barking. Loudly.
“I guess you do,” I laughed and let him pull me out the front door before he woke up the whole house. Then, I told him, “You know, no one likes a big barker, Baby.”
Dog just looked back at me, and, I swear to you, he smiled.
Work. Something is so totally wrong when that’s all you do. All you want to do. I leave home at six-thirty in the morning and get home at seven o'clock in the evening and once everyone is settled and fed, I think to myself, “I can go back right now and get more done.”
I haven’t gone to Bikram all week. I had to MAKE myself go to the barn this week. There was a Pilates class I wanted to take. Work won.
I'm completely reorganizing the way my department does business. This is how that conversation with my team went, “We’re going to conduct business completely differently than we have for the past eight years. The transition is going to be painful, and I need everyone to work longer hours for a couple of weeks and come clean with every project you haven’t gotten finished or even started for the past six months. You have my word that it won’t reflect in your reviews.”
I’m big on transparency, so as my reward for my non-retribution policy, I got to see firsthand what everyone has been hiding in their file drawers. Hence my long, LONG workweek. I really do believe this “work smarter, not harder” plan will work, though, and, yeah, I’m heading back into the office today.
I’m just thinking that with all this work that wasn’t getting done before, we should all have had more time to make it out to the Par 3.
I woke up at five, a consequence of waking up that early all week to head into work before anyone else so I can actually get some work done, threw on a sports bra and some shorts, threw some food at the animals, and went out to the garage to search through my car for the running shoes I haven’t seen since I had to wear them for a last minute trip to the Par 3 – a month ago.
By the time I stepped back into the kitchen to put on my socks and shoes and wonder why my running shoes smelled faintly like stale Bud Light Lime and lawn, Dog and Dog’s Cat had eaten their kibble, and Dog was looking at me with that expectant look in his eyes.
“Do you want to go for a run?” I whispered to Dog.
He started barking. Loudly.
“I guess you do,” I laughed and let him pull me out the front door before he woke up the whole house. Then, I told him, “You know, no one likes a big barker, Baby.”
Dog just looked back at me, and, I swear to you, he smiled.
Work. Something is so totally wrong when that’s all you do. All you want to do. I leave home at six-thirty in the morning and get home at seven o'clock in the evening and once everyone is settled and fed, I think to myself, “I can go back right now and get more done.”
I haven’t gone to Bikram all week. I had to MAKE myself go to the barn this week. There was a Pilates class I wanted to take. Work won.
I'm completely reorganizing the way my department does business. This is how that conversation with my team went, “We’re going to conduct business completely differently than we have for the past eight years. The transition is going to be painful, and I need everyone to work longer hours for a couple of weeks and come clean with every project you haven’t gotten finished or even started for the past six months. You have my word that it won’t reflect in your reviews.”
I’m big on transparency, so as my reward for my non-retribution policy, I got to see firsthand what everyone has been hiding in their file drawers. Hence my long, LONG workweek. I really do believe this “work smarter, not harder” plan will work, though, and, yeah, I’m heading back into the office today.
I’m just thinking that with all this work that wasn’t getting done before, we should all have had more time to make it out to the Par 3.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Life on a Chain
This post could easily have been called “Strange Condition,” another of my favorite Pete Yorn songs, but “Life on a Chain” describes me best right now. And I do love that song. I always thought it was overshadowed by the success of “Strange Condition” on that same cd, so it gets top billing here…
Ugh! Too much work and not enough play. I know I’m going through a transition right now – with work and life – but I am so totally ready to just be transited! Ten and twelve hour days, and I come home too pooped for anything but a bath and bed. I’m just too exhausted for words.
There just aren’t any.
Really.
None.
So, I’m going to be random and use song titles to name my posts.
Some more.
I always have been mad into music. It’s funny that I never ended up playing an instrument with any true proficiency or talent. I gave all my would-be talent to Boy. He plays all the instruments. Seriously. All of them.
But I do have a good ear for what’s good or what’s going to be good or was good or should have been bigger. Always have had.
I make cds for friends. I give them as gifts for Christmas or sometimes just because. I have a buddy who’s from Guam, and he made a copy of a cd I burned for him and sent it to a cousin on Guam. End result: One of my cds is a big hit on the island of Guam. How’s that for bragging rights? The entire island of Guam likes one of my cd mixes. Too cool.
Apparently, it’s not a large island.
Ugh! Too much work and not enough play. I know I’m going through a transition right now – with work and life – but I am so totally ready to just be transited! Ten and twelve hour days, and I come home too pooped for anything but a bath and bed. I’m just too exhausted for words.
There just aren’t any.
Really.
None.
So, I’m going to be random and use song titles to name my posts.
Some more.
I always have been mad into music. It’s funny that I never ended up playing an instrument with any true proficiency or talent. I gave all my would-be talent to Boy. He plays all the instruments. Seriously. All of them.
But I do have a good ear for what’s good or what’s going to be good or was good or should have been bigger. Always have had.
I make cds for friends. I give them as gifts for Christmas or sometimes just because. I have a buddy who’s from Guam, and he made a copy of a cd I burned for him and sent it to a cousin on Guam. End result: One of my cds is a big hit on the island of Guam. How’s that for bragging rights? The entire island of Guam likes one of my cd mixes. Too cool.
Apparently, it’s not a large island.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Strippers and Friends
Boy is home watching “Blood Diamond” tonight, and I have to confess that I love this movie. And I love Leonardo Dicaprio in it. This is, I think, the first movie he’s been in where he actually seemed like a man and not just a boy playing a man. That fake South African, oh, I mean Rhodesian, accent, and that take charge, mercenary way about him. I mean, he got me. I’m only human.
I went to lunch with some real men today. A couple of the engineers I work with went with me to follow up on a project, and when we were done, I asked where they wanted to go for lunch.
The big guy named one of the local strip joints, and I knew he was joking.
So, I said, “Sure, but I’m not going to French kiss any more strippers for you.”
“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to go to Hooters,” which is where I knew we’d end up anyway.
So we did.
Work has been insanely busy. I’m simply overwhelmed. It’s the end of the fiscal year, so everyone’s taking time off and we have all these deadlines coming up. Crazy.
I went to yoga tonight to decompress. It’s my seventh Bikram class altogether and my second in four days. It’s a little weird that it takes sweating and stretching for an hour and a half to make me calm again. But I’m not going to argue with results. I’m definitely at peace right now.
When you’re doing yoga, you’re directed to empty your mind of all the b.s. that’s holding you down and just exist. I have a really hard time doing that. My mind starts to wander, and I start remembering things I’ve forgotten, like the wet laundry in the washer or where I left my keys that time when I was seventeen and had to get my locks rekeyed. Or people I’ve put behind me.
There was a girl I went to high school with. We were best friends for years and years. We finally parted ways because I could never give her what she needed from the relationship. It was too emotional. She cared too much about me. Normally that would be a good thing, but in this case it wasn’t.
Her husband hated me, and for the longest time I couldn’t figure out why. But, shortly before I withdrew from the relationship for the last time, I caught her lying to him about where she was when she was with me.
So I asked her, “Why did you do that? Why are you lying to your husband? And why doesn’t he want you hanging out with me?”
She told me that after I visited her one time, she’d been so upset about the fact that I didn’t return her affections – she’d made a pass at me and I’d brushed it off – that she’d ended up in therapy.
And it all clicked into place finally. Why she was always wanting more and more from me. Why nothing I gave – time, phone calls, emails – was ever enough. She was in love.
I didn’t feel that way about her, had never felt that inclination toward a woman at all. I just didn’t, and I couldn’t. So I left the friendship. I simply stopped returning her calls. I took a step back.
It was the right thing to do - for everyone.
But I still miss her sometimes.
I went to lunch with some real men today. A couple of the engineers I work with went with me to follow up on a project, and when we were done, I asked where they wanted to go for lunch.
The big guy named one of the local strip joints, and I knew he was joking.
So, I said, “Sure, but I’m not going to French kiss any more strippers for you.”
“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to go to Hooters,” which is where I knew we’d end up anyway.
So we did.
Work has been insanely busy. I’m simply overwhelmed. It’s the end of the fiscal year, so everyone’s taking time off and we have all these deadlines coming up. Crazy.
I went to yoga tonight to decompress. It’s my seventh Bikram class altogether and my second in four days. It’s a little weird that it takes sweating and stretching for an hour and a half to make me calm again. But I’m not going to argue with results. I’m definitely at peace right now.
When you’re doing yoga, you’re directed to empty your mind of all the b.s. that’s holding you down and just exist. I have a really hard time doing that. My mind starts to wander, and I start remembering things I’ve forgotten, like the wet laundry in the washer or where I left my keys that time when I was seventeen and had to get my locks rekeyed. Or people I’ve put behind me.
There was a girl I went to high school with. We were best friends for years and years. We finally parted ways because I could never give her what she needed from the relationship. It was too emotional. She cared too much about me. Normally that would be a good thing, but in this case it wasn’t.
Her husband hated me, and for the longest time I couldn’t figure out why. But, shortly before I withdrew from the relationship for the last time, I caught her lying to him about where she was when she was with me.
So I asked her, “Why did you do that? Why are you lying to your husband? And why doesn’t he want you hanging out with me?”
She told me that after I visited her one time, she’d been so upset about the fact that I didn’t return her affections – she’d made a pass at me and I’d brushed it off – that she’d ended up in therapy.
And it all clicked into place finally. Why she was always wanting more and more from me. Why nothing I gave – time, phone calls, emails – was ever enough. She was in love.
I didn’t feel that way about her, had never felt that inclination toward a woman at all. I just didn’t, and I couldn’t. So I left the friendship. I simply stopped returning her calls. I took a step back.
It was the right thing to do - for everyone.
But I still miss her sometimes.
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