My calculator will be more valuable than my mind.

One of the topics that occupies my mind frequently is the idea of choice. I am drawn back to a memory of sitting alone in a dark theater lobby somewhere around 2004. I was sitting on the large marble stairs where I’d always felt at home. Tears were rolling down my face and my cell phone was pressed to my ear. The specific cause of my grief that moment is lost in the details but most assuredly it involved getting myself into a crumbling false marriage and seeing no way to change my life. It is a situation that has repeated itself many time. I am feeling stuck where I am, just treading water every day.

That day I was relating my agony to a friend who lived in New Orleans at the time and had seen me through some difficult moments. He could always talk sense into me it seemed. At that moment he told me that we were lucky. We were able to make choices when so many people in the world were not. I quieted by sobbing. I felt guilty. He was right. I had so much control over my life that just crying about it was wasting time.

I’m now in the middle of the book The Art of Choosing and it’s so dense with information that I’ve craved that I want to read it a second time even before I’ve finished the first reading. I’m also juggling around my new idea of Numerical Justification. If I can accurately learn to assign numbers to my emotions, then simple equations can determine the correct choice to be made and I can be confident in the outcome.

I’m sure I’m not the first one to think about this or the last one but it’s a fun notion to play around with and I’d love to write a little bit about my discoveries. I’d also like to draw more escape drawings, paint my hot air balloon and draw a comic.

So choice has been on my mind recently and I’m looking to change my life up a bit to make myself happier. I’m going to start by knocking a few things off of my to-do list.

P.S. This was one of them!

A short fairy tale

I read my writings today and found them to contain the dripping emotions of a heart slowly leaking written by a girl who could do nothing except watching it all roll away from her drop by drop.

Today this girl decided to poke a small hole in someone else’s heart. He doesn’t realize it yet. He won’t until one day his breath is just a bit more shallow and he checks himself in the mirror. After a bit of searching to remember where he’d last seen his heart he’ll realize that it’s not as full as it once was. Maybe something will spark a memory and he’ll remember the red head who loved him so much she was willing to wait. What ever happened to her? Is she still where he left her?

No. She stuck one of her tiny fingers in the hole in her heart and set off to find a suitable patch. One that would last this time.

Waste of space

I keep starting sentences, lines of thought that do not lead anywhere. They are all directions I have gone before and writing about them has not led to any resolutions or comfort. I don’t have any new opinions on them really. So I’m going to list them, get them out of my mind for a bit. Write down the plain sad truth.

Seven bottles of Jameson in one month is too much. And I still want a drink right now

I can’t concentrate on work and I don’t want to be here or even think about it.

My boyfriend is still the worst boyfriend ever but he’s happier now that I’m leaving him alone.

I just told a guy I work with that I hate love. I think I mean it.

I’m trying to play sick so I can go home and crawl back into bed. And I think it’s making me sick.

Or it could be nerves or stress or crohns disease.

This blog sucks.

Let me at 'em!

I’m ready to be a comic artist. I’m ready for people who aren’t in my immediate circle of friends and family to read my Bubbles & Bicycles comic strip. I’m ready for them to laugh and love me.

I started drawing comics last January, almost 12 months ago. I drew them in my work notebook. And I drew them mostly for him. He was traveling the world for his job and we were long distance lovers. To introduce him to my world I drew the comics, crudely scanned them in and sent them off. I drew him mushy ‘I miss you’ comics and ones that showed us happy in the future. Other than those, the comics were simple stick figure renditions of my life.

I started adding to my e-mail list a few people at time. Sometimes they asked to be added but mostly they didn’t and I just started to send them.

Then it got serious. He broke my heart. And I drew it exactly as I felt it. He interrupted my life, opened by chest, pulled the heart out and silently dropped it, stepped on it, and disappeared. It was the first comic on white paper and the first one with a bit of color. I went and bought a big sketchbook for final comics and a tiny one for ideas. I carry the tiny one with me always. It’s where I jot down the ideas and figure out how to draw people with ponytails and calculate my spacing. I also keep the list of 20 people who are my subscribers.

The next step was buying bubblesandbicycles.com and working on a web design. The process kind of stalled there but the comic writing didn’t. Now it’s almost the end of 2010 and I’ve got 34 pages in the big sketchbook filled. Reading back over them it has become a diary of sorts and it’s fun to read.

This morning instead of doing work at work, I read my daily web comics and started reading two more. These people may be real artists. They draw more than stick figures, in color sometimes with computer programs. They call themselves cartoonists. I want to be their friends and I’m ready to go up to them with my sharpie pen and notebook and show ‘em what I got!

Mystery meat for dinner

I find myself staring out into the night at the lighted windows across the way. In the other hospital rooms and offices, there is little movement. I am staring at nothing in particular when the large flakes start to float down from the sky. It’s the only change I’ve seen in hours. I tell my mom, “Look, it’s snowing.” She leans over to the window, glances up and says “Stop it!.” Oddly enough that command 5 minutes ago seems to have been heard and the snow is stopping.

We’ve spent 10 hours in the hospital now with only a quick vacation to get some lunch. Much of it was spent in the waiting room of the Ambulatory Surgery department. It is a waiting room designed for people that will be there a long time and will be worried. The front desk ladies call everyone “Family.” They say things like “Hi Family, how are you doing?” They are friendly and efficient. They know that everyone wants to know where their family member is and when they will be finished. There is a genius tv that has individual patient tracking. If you know my father’s number you can see when his status is “In OR” or “Surgery Started.”

It’s stayed at “Surgery Started” for around 3 hours with my father. We weren’t really sure how long it took to slit someone’s throat, move all the insides to one side and yank out two discs from the spinal cord. Discs 4-5 and 5-6 to be exact. My mother was a perfect example of calm, or hiding fear. Myself, I got a bit jittery there for a minute or so.

We both felt better when my sister arrived with a $10, 2 pound burrito. We lightened the mood with our unending sense of humor. Why were there 20 puzzles available to us, some in just ziplock bags, and NO Operation game? ZZZ! Damn! Missed the bread basket!

My family deals with fear and insecurity with humor. We all do. Which means we are badly behaved in hospitals. We are probably the only one frequently found laughing in inappropriate places. How else would I have discovered that the light switch in the waiting room also changes the channel on the tv when you turn the lights on? How would I own those two surgical caps?

In fact, just this moment I said “Psst. When dad falls asleep put one of these funny caps on him!” “He’s getting very tired now,” my mom replies. With his eyes closed my dad says “I’m not sleeping you know.” “Yes you are,” my mom tells him.

My comic strip would not exist with this humor and I’m sure I would not exist without it either. Surely this is what brought my parents together.

He’s slowly falling asleep and mom is getting anxious to go. What if the weather Gods disobey her and it starts snowing again?

It’s cold and dark outside. I know we should be going but I don’t want to leave my father. Can’t I just sleep here in this chair?

Poorly written emotional rambling - Part 1

What I want:

A supportive, encouraging, loving, strong, romantic, understanding, adventuresome man to be my partner to create a life and future.

What I have:

A good looking guy who I will go on occasional dates with while he enjoys a lot of “him” time and works on his issues. Maybe someday he will magically turn into what I want.

I’m left to wait. I hate waiting more than anything in the world. Well I also hate being stood up. I’m not in control of this situation. He claims that I have control of my mood and emotions and doesn’t understand why I don’t just turn on happy. I have nothing to be happy about. I am not going to smile. I am not in any position to smile.

I get nothing. I lose. I know that this is a pessimistic way of looking at things but let me sulk for awhile. My forward progress with my love life has halted, put in reverse, and taken out of my hands.

I can’t see my boyfriend when I want to. I can’t talk to him about how I’m feeling or rely on him for comfort or support. I can’t seek confidence inducing comfort in someone else’s arms or even distract myself by going out on fun dates with people because I’m still taken by someone. I will still be chastised for spending time with people I’ve slept with and reminded that guys don’t want to be my friend, they just want to fuck me. He’ll still make me feel like less of a person because I’m sad and lonely. He’ll still tell me I have no right to be lonely because I have such great friends. I’m still scared to be honest with my feelings because of his temper.

What the fuck do I get? I should have at least negotiated for a restaurant gift certificate or free oil change.

Letters We Don't Send - 3

Dear Guy Who Used To Be My Boyfriend,

As much as I hate quoting songs I can’t help but put The Approaching Curve on my iTunes.

"This is what's best, for me, for you, for us," or maybe just for me I thought, As a tear formed in the pit of her eye.

You certainly win this one. I will back away and give you space and time to only pay attention to yourself. I won’t make you feel bad about it because now that I’m not your girlfriend I have no right to. You get to continue to be selfish and thoughtless without any guilt. And what do I get?

“Would you rather break up? If I were you, I would be glad I was honest and that I still want you in my life.”

Yep. I’m feeling like a pretty lucky girl right now.

Someday in the future when you figure out your issues and have had enough of your freedom I’ll get to be first in line. Well unless someone else has caught your eye or heart by that time.

But it’s cool cause you still want to hang out with me, to “date” me, to fuck me.

I’m gonna go celebrate. Fuck you.

Sincerely,

Whatever the fuck I am

Entry to my museum will be a tiny button.

It is cold and rainy outside on this Sunday morning. When I look out of my bedroom window I see the naked tree and the roof of the porch that will surely fall in this winter. The sky is a light gray and I can hear the drops of the rain coming from it. Inside my apartment though it is warmer than usual thanks to the plastic on the windows. My xmas tree is blinking it’s seizure inducing cheer and I smile just because I have a xmas tree this year. My two cute fishies are fed and seem not to notice that the third fishie only died a week or so ago. Shorty, my hermit crab is up and crawling around which confirms that he’s still alive. Depressed maybe, but still alive.

Inside my head though everything is bright colors this morning. I’m dreaming about becoming a collector of tiny art, a tiny art collector. Small oil paintings, miniature glass vessels, sculpture, collage, anything as long as it’s tiny! I will curate my own collection and design and build a display case. The display will look like a tiny museum. There won’t be any tiny people in it though because it’s only for me. Maybe I will sneak in some of my own tiny art!

Although I would not categorize myself as a morning person, I believe that I am much more positive in the morning. As the day wears on me I become more anxious, impatient, and sad. In the mornings I am optimistic and ambitious and I’ve forgotten the loneliness of the night before.

So I’m going to gather up my belongings, pack a couple activities in my bags, and head out to my parents. Maybe I’ll get a comic done or an oil painting. Just to hold on to this feeling and not let all of the negative thoughts creep in!

Finding my own way out

Sometimes I just feel lonely. Don’t get mad. Lonely isn’t something you just feel when there’s no one around you. Sometimes you can feel lonely when everyone is around you. Tonight is a holiday jazz show at my place of employment. There will be almost 500 people in the holiday spirit sitting and listening to some of the best jazz performers in the city. It will be a joyous festive atmosphere. It’s the last big show I need to worry about and everything will run smoothly. I work somewhere where my co-workers are friendly and care about me. In fact, nothing is wrong.

Yet I feel isolated amongst the crowds, alone in my thoughts and feelings; desperate to feel close to someone, to share myself. I want to hide in the shadows tonight because I know there is no hiding the sadness in my eyes. I can not pretend to be happy and gracious tonight. I just don’t have it in me.

How did I end up in this position? I’ve simply always been in this position. Varying shades of lonely. At times I have felt that I’ve had a kindred soul close to me in spirit if not in location. It was their proximity to my heart that mattered, which comforted me. Those instances turned out to be false and my trust in them has diminished.

Now I am not searching for another but determined to find my solitary peace. It’s a matter of survival now.

Goals? I had goals?

It’s been just about forever since I did a goal update:

Goal: Stop drinking.

Status: Tried it out. And stopped quitting. Had some great drunken nights. Can I change this goal to “Stop blacking out”?

Progress: I suppose this goal is off the table for awhie.

Goal: Lose weight.

Status: Ate pretty healthy today.

Progress: I thought I was on the right track but there’s no weight being lost.

Goal: Establish a routine exercise plan.

Status: Spent 30 minutes on the elliptical today. First time this week.

Progress: I’ve been challenged to do 22 workouts before Dec 25. I don’t know if I’ll make it but it helps to motivate me.

Goal: Get a promotion at work.

Status: Hmm…

Progress: Haven’t done anything about this recently.

Goal: Fix personality. Stop worrying. Relax. Don’t be so emotional.

Status: Oh boy…

Progress: I can’t say this has been going very well. Crying at a zombie scene that leads to a screaming fight can’t be called progress.

We must laugh to keep from crying

Imagine two stick figures screaming at each other. It doesn’t really matter what they’re saying because the other one isn’t listening anyway. They both have scary serious faces on though. Imagine the littler one starting to cry and the bigger one tapping her on the face and saying “No, no, no, no….” It’s kind of humorous when you think about it like that. Two adults in a relationship who have very little idea about how to deal with each other. Two adults who are strong willed but who can’t see past their own baggage. Two adults unwilling to give up.

Letters We Don't Send - 2

Dear Boyfriend,

I would normally just try to stuff all this inside of me so you didn't claim I was giving you a guilt trip but I thought maybe telling you how I felt might... I don't know what it will do. It might just make you angry but I hope it doesn't.

You're getting a kitten. I didn't know until you were talking to your parents about it. And it's going to be your kitty. And you didn't ask me what I thought about it or ask my opinion and you didn't ask me to have any part in helping you pick it out or anything. I know that you did this because your ex-wife stole your cat away from you and so you're not sharing this kitty. But cat's live for another 15-20 years and so someday (in that secret future that you have) we may live together and the cat will be there. And it will be your cat. And it will never be our cat. And I will feel left out. And in my future I picture a house and a family and pets and I want to be part of something bigger than myself, a family. I don't feel like your letting me be a part of your life, now or in the future. It's messing up my dreams for the future. I don't even know what I see in my future anymore. I want to dream and you and us but you've given me no reason to. So I try just generic dreaming or dreaming for both of us but it's alway in the back of my mind, "Maybe he doesn't see me in his future."

I hate that I just wrote all that. It sounds so insecure and needy. Maybe I won't send this. Maybe I'll post it. Maybe I'll just delete it. Maybe I'll keep you out and see if you notice. Maybe I'll close down a little bit to protect myself.

Or maybe I'll send this and just apologize like mad for writing it.

Any way you think about it, I don't win. Nothing will change and I'll just feel bad about how I feel.

Yours,

Girlfriend

Every guy is NOT the same

I’ll admit to it. I get jealous when he’s out with friends. It’s an argument we may get into for forever. He has “guy friends” who he wanted to spend “guy time” with. The thing is I don’t have “girl friends” to spend “girl time” with. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever used the phrase “I’m hanging out with the girls tonight.” I don’t know if I ever will. I’ve always gotten along better with guys, always had more guy friends than anything. Which brings me to my second point of this mostly frustrating blog tonight:

Every guy who sees me wants to sleep with me. This is not a vain proclamation. This is what my boyfriend confessed to me on Wednesday. Every guy who I consider my friend just wants to have sex with me. Except Steve. Because somehow Steve gets a pass. And my boyfriend should know because he’s a guy and all guys are the same.

This bothers me for two reasons: 1 –It makes me feel worth nothing. For someone who has some serious self confidence / “been used” issues, this makes me feel like what I always feared and didn’t see is true, I’m not good for anything but sex. That’s a confidence destroyer. 2 –All guys aren’t the same. A few days ago a good looking, intelligent guy came over to drink copious amounts of Jameson and decorate my tree with me. We drank, we decorated, we took funny pictures, we slow danced to xmas music and laughed at the music on TV. We had a beautiful night. And then he went home. No sex whatsoever. It was the night I wanted to have with my boyfriend.

The second thing I’ll admit to tonight is that I write this lame blog from a point of frustration and jealousy which means I’m not looking at the rational side of this right now. I’m just being lonely. Because I’m a lonely person looking for the other half to complete me and worrying that he wants to be out with friends rather than curled up next to me.

I’m going to bed.