Really? REALLY!?

Robert Nicholas Williams

That's IT. I'm done going through life pissed off about everything. Soon as I find my medical information, I'm going to boot camp, establishing a career, finding a wife, and STARTING A LIFE! Monday (3/14/11) @ 10:13PM.

That made me laugh. Especially the "finding a wife" part. 'Cause, y'know, that's WHY HE FUCKING BROKE UP WITH ME. No big. I'm over it. Mostly.

So. Yeah. It's been a rough couple of days since then, and well... I feel like I'm sliding backwards almost. Annoying and frustrating and borderline heartbreaking. I want so much to be better, to be above how awful he still makes me feel, but despite how much better I feel some days, there are still days (too many, in my opinion) that leave me feeling broken and helpless. Coffee helps. Chocolate helps. Buffy marathons with Rose help. But nothing's made it better yet. It still isn't right. I mean, I was a mess before we met, I'll give you that. But it sucks that I had a couple years of being somewhat okay and then *poof* back to where I started. No, about three miles behind where I started.

I suppose this concludes today's angry outburst. Just know that I'm not feeling very forgiving right now if you happen to meet me on the street somewhere. And Robert? He's a poncey-twatted tossbag prick. So there.

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.

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.

An Angry Outburst

May I be a raging psychotic bitch for a few minutes, please? Granted, this is my blog so I could conceivably tell you all to just piss off and let me rant, but I'm feeling like a polite raging psychotic bitch this evening.

It is amazing to me how even after taking my meds, getting some exercise, doing some writing, some knitting, spending time with people I care about and escaping for a few days, I'm still vulnerable to his attacks. Even when he's not aware that it's an attack, it cuts me again and again at how just 6 months ago I was practically the center of his universe (in a good way) and now I'm something he's apologizing for. I'm sorry. What did I do? How is any of this my fault? But I'm not explaining right. Let me simply copy/paste so you can see for yourself (all 0 of you that read this):

Robert Nicholas Williams Facebook

I want to apologize to my California buddies for the last 3 years. I spent so much time focusing on a girlfriend that I didn't give any to you guys. Hopefully I can pull my ass in gear and try to fix this.

01/22/2011, 11:35PM.

So. I was a waste of time. I took him away from his friends. I ruined his already fragile relationships just by being in his life. Nevermind that one of the last things he said to me when we were still acting like friends was that I was a major part of the best 3 years of his life and he didn't regret a thing. That had nothing to do with it. UGH! The thing about this particular thing that kills me, that really bugs the shit out of me, is that all the time we were together, I was encouraging him to spend time with his other friends. I urged him to call up his pals from high school, from theater, from whatever else it was, and he always did the same thing. Make excuses. Blame them. Say they weren't worth his time. Claim he would rather spend that time with me.

So I wasted 3 wonderful years of my life that I'll never get back. I'm permanently damaged, and it will take me eons to get over this relationship because there's no such thing as a happy ending to this one, no matter how often we talked about it. He can call us friends all he wants, but it's going to take a long time - and a lot of work on his end - for that to even be an option.

Good luck, loser.

Willow

Revolutions

So. Maybe we should talk about New Years' resolutions? Or how about just things I want to start doing for myself everyday? That sounds a little more reasonable...

1. Write everyday. Be it journaling, letters (but to whom?), or working on a project, one solid hour of uninterrupted writing.
3. Exercise daily. I've been doing this, I can stick to this, I enjoy it and I deserve it.
4. Keep calm, stay organized, stay focused. Work on Latin, do some intellectual reading, stimulate my mind.

4 little things to accomplish each day. This is feasible. I just need to buckle down and stick to it. I mean, really, it's honestly only 3 daily things. The rest is more active. More active but still what I should be doing.

Maybe an option on the first can be responses to the last. If I go to Classic Coffee each day for an hour (on days when leaving is necessary, that is) or so and do some intellectual reading and then make my writing my response to or my thoughts on what I read, I killed 2 birds with 1 stone. Or 3, if escape is necessary... Hmmm. Maybe. We shall see.


"My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me; so won't you kill me, so I'll die happy?"

"Love all, trust few, do wrong to no one." ~ William Shakespeare

Peace,
Willow

Old People

"Always be nice to those younger than you, because they are the ones who will be writing about you." ~ Cyril Connolly (1903 - 1974)

Cool old people. I know, right? Sounds ridiculous. But they do exist. Really! I know most of them, so don't go searching your local retirement village to find some, because you probably won't be successful. Anyway. Cool old people.

So two days ago, I got a call from (you guessed it) an old person who happens to be a dear family friend. She offered me $40 to help her help a friend (another old person) clean out her garage/storage unit and get rid of some of her deadbeat son's stuff. I accepted. Prior to heading over to help, I stopped at my Uncle John's house. Technically, he's my Great-Uncle. Technically, he's not related to me at all. He was my grandfather's best friend, and after my Opa died, he pretty much stepped in as the grandfather for my enormous family. He's done an excellent job. So I stopped by (it was on the way) to say hi and pick up some things he had for my mom. We wound up sitting on his back porch for an hour drinking iced tea, red wine (not together, ew) and talking about this year's crop of oranges. Because he has a citrus grove in his backyard. Not kidding. I've never purchased oranges. In my life. I've always just walked up the street and picked some.

Anywho, my Uncle John started telling me all this stuff about his Navy days back in WWII, and showed me this really cool carved ivory ball he bought in Japan. We started talking more and he told me more stories and all that jazz and I realized how cool he is. He's like, 82 years old. And still rockin' awesome.

So I went over to see Ms. Paula to help her friend. Now, Ms. Paula is technically Mrs. Baker, but when I was little, she was my dance teacher. She taught my sisters to dance. She's teaching my niece to dance. No little girl in a 5 mile radius of my small town that dances hasn't gone through Ms. Paula's class at least once in her lifetime. So basically, all of them know her. Her friend introduced herself as Ellen, and Ellen grew up in the 40s (like my Uncle John). She didn't catch my name very clearly so she called me "Doll" all afternoon. But you know how old people have a tendency to talk like old people? You know what I mean... But it sounded really cute coming from her. I like the endearments of the elderly. Unless they're hard of hearing. That just irritates me. They need to find a way to just give people new ears or something.

But then I started thinking about my Oma, who is seriously one of the coolest old people in the world. She has 22 grandchildren, 2 great-grandchildren, 8 kids, and has taken care of ALL of us at one point or another. Ever December, she spends the entire month (and often the months before) prepping for Christmas. She bakes, cooks, stirs, sifts, wraps, and basically makes Christmas for us. But she lets me come over and hang out and knit with her and generally get underfoot whenever I like and loves to watch Perry Mason reruns with me. Frankly, I hate Perry Mason, but don't tell her that. She gives me free chocolate so let's not ruin that.

I guess what I'm saying is that old people really are cooler than we think. Sure, a lot of them are crotchety and mean, but there are quite a few gems in the mix, too. Granted, I know most of them so the odds are stacked against you but still. Go find an old person, bake them cookies, and ask for some stories. You'd be surprised at some of the stuff you might find out.

And the quote at the top is impossibly true. But so many young people (given that I, too, am technically "young") don't talk to old people to get their stories to write about them. Fix it.

'Til next time,

Love all, trust few, do wrong to no one. ~ William Shakespeare

Willow

PS: Today's objective: Train my niece to act like Reptar from Rugrats and stomp around the house roaring. To test this, we are going to the mall.

It's Been a While

I'm back. It's been a while, I know. And I apologize. Not that anyone reads this regularly or is desperate for an update on my life and state of being, but it feels like an apology is appropriate. But, a lot has been happening. I left school, came home, spent some time in hospital, and now I'm sitting on ready, but rocking on pause. (That's an old, old pilot's phrase I've tweaked. The real saying is: "Sittin' on ready; rockin' on GO" meaning that they're ready to take off.) In taking a leave of absence from school, I've put my entire life on pause, it feels like. I don't know who I am when I'm not a student.

I find myself itching for an adventure of sorts. Or something. I feel like that saying, "When nothing goes right, go left." I want to start walking, and just keep going until I bump into something exciting. I need to go somewhere. I want to hug again. I want to do something other than run away from everything that seems to be attacking me from all sides. I need to do something a little spontaneous. Routine is good; my doctor confirmed this. But my routine as it stands now gets halted at around 11am every day depending on my work schedule. I get up, drink coffee, have my meds, exercise, shower and bam! it's 11am and I'm bored. Usually I'll have Kenzie. Usually she's napping between 11am and 1pm. Today I baked cookies. And then took her to the bookstore. And came home.

That's all my days seem to be anymore. I don't mean to sound whiny, I'm just at my wit's end of things to do with myself. Tomorrow, thankfully, one of those choices is being made for me. I'm helping a family friend help her friend clear out her garage. For money, thankfully. Still. It's little things like that that I want to do more of. Less sitting around the house chasing my niece around and a little more going out and getting outside and being away and experiencing things and then writing about them. I tried dedicating myself to one hour of writing a day. In the last 5 days, it hasn't exactly worked. But I look at it this way: if I finish the necessary stuff my mother outlined (getting up by 9am, exercising and showering and taking my meds) by 11am every day (unless I'm working), then I can take at least 1 hour to myself to disappear and write. And take another hour to spend knitting or crocheting or things like that. And then read. Maybe. I want to work on guitar, too, but I don't want to be too ambitious. I refuse to sell myself short, though.

Suggestions? I've never been able to come up with a solid routine and stick with it so this is a big challenge for me, guys. Whoever reads this. Yeah...

Probably more tomorrow. I hope. Let's see if I can stick to that one little thing...


Love all, trust few, do wrong to no one. ~ William Shakespeare

Peace,
Willow