Sunday, February 13, 2011

Valentine's Day

Tomorrow is February 14th, 2011. Valentine's Day. A day for men to spend obnoxious amounts of money on flowers, candies, cards, jewelry, restaurant reservations and lingerie for their wives or girlfriends or both, and for children to get hyped up on sugar and for teens to have awkward dates and awkward sex and the rest of the world to sit and be lonely. Florists charge exorbitant prices for semi-fresh roses; candy companies, condom manufacturers, fancy restaurants and hotels see a sharp rise in sales, and all the single people of the world celebrate Singles Awareness Day. S.A.D. Call me bitter and jaded and cynical all you want.

Last Valentine's Day, not only did I have a boyfriend, but that boyfriend also happened to be not only local, but in my immediate presence. He bought me a single, perfect, pink rose: tender, innocent love. He kissed me in front of all the people I worked with and a crowded street - a rare moment - and for once, I thought there was merit to this retarded Hallmark Holiday. Tonight, however, a year and a thousand tears later, I'm wishing I'd cherished that day more, made a bit more out of it. Enjoyed starlight instead of cheap pizza, told him how perfect I felt when we were together instead of telling him how much I hated my hair. Not that he remembers any of that...

Tomorrow I will smile, laugh, enjoy my job, and not let on how lonely I am. I won't secretly wish for him to kiss me, I won't remember every night we stayed up 'til sunrise talking about marriage and children and forever. I won't cry myself to sleep just because some greeting-card funded calendar-making bastard says that because I don't have a special someone who buys me flowers and calls me beautiful, I should be miserable.

I think we can all agree that tomorrow will be just another fucking Monday.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Every Second

I’m learning that there’s a difference between copping out, cheating, dropping out of life, etc., and realizing you need some time and taking it. This time away isn’t a failure on my part. It’s not me saying “I can’t”, it’s me saying, “I can’t right now.” There’s a difference, and I’m learning it.

There are still things I struggle with. I dreamt about my friends from school last night for the first time since the hospital. On the one hand, seeing them was hard and painful, but on the other, it was glorious just to see their faces and feel like I was with them for a little while, if only in my head. It’s hard to realize how much you miss people – even people that were really only your peripheral friends or friends by association – until you’re away from them for months on end. And they seem to have forgotten you.

But I’m getting better. I’m getting ready to go back, to reenter the life I took a step back from with more gumption, sass, and energy than I left with. I’m not ready yet, no way. But I’m getting there. I don’t have my flame back, my passion, but there are sparks starting up here and there reminding me that I had it once and will get it back.

So this time out isn’t walking away, it’s just that: a time out. A breather. A break. A brief breath to remind me what it means to take better care of myself and not lose myself again. So I’m taking my time on this time away. Every glorious (and even not-so-glorious) second of it.