Making your bed with a cat is pretty funny and not the most straightforward process.
Making your bed with a kitten and a puppy is downright laugh ’til you cry and your stomach hurts hilarious…and again, not particularly straightforward.
(Oh yeah, my roommate and I got a puppy! More on that later.)
See, I’m climbing all over my bed with my fitted sheet, and the puppy is on my bed. This may seem counterproductive but it is really in the puppy’s best interests (and mine – my clothes are all over the floor, as usual, and they’re clean) for him to be right where I can keep not one but both eyes on him.
So, while Sir Pees-A-Lot follows me from corner to corner and licks at my face, the kitten, Catastrophe, is underneath my bed. She too, is following me, but with a more nefarious plot than kisses in mind: catching my feet. Envision this: college student hopelessly trying to make bed with puppy constantly licking her and pulling sheet this and way that while kitten snatches and grabs at her barefeet from under the makeshift bedskirt.
This, ladies and gents, is why I’m in such a good mood. It was all just too adorable.
So, yes, we got a puppy!
His name is Sebastian, I do not know how old he is, he’s a Boston Terrier with a teeny tiny bit of brain damage, and he’s the snuggliest most precious and ridiculous thing you ever saw in your entire life. He and Catastrophe greatly enjoy each other’s company.
So, other stuff! I’m writing a lot, as usual. People enjoy my plays and my poetry so far, I read at an open mic night and submitted to the literary festival, Glossolalia, that takes place here in a few weeks, and I’m once more working on my top secret super duper important project that I have voluntarily shown only 5 people. All of my plays have been set in fantasy lands so far, which has been really refreshing for my class, and I actually wrote a poem that has wordplay and may become sort of a slam piece (google slam poetry if you’re unfamiliar with the term).
The other poem that I wrote that I’m really excited about right now…well, it makes me giggle for one thing: I wrote an erotic poem!!!! Haha, I feel so naughty. Get your minds out of the gutter, it’s not explicit – in fact it’s about as vague as can be. It is, however, very sensual and evocative – I like to think I’m capturing as many of the senses experienced in this nonverbal dialogue. It’s still rough ( ) right now though, when I’ve gotten some more of it figured out I’ll share it with you guys.
Tangent: I will almost never ever shared finish work on the blog. The main reason for this is that if I do, many entities won’t accept it because it could be considered ‘already published’. While I don’t consider my little corner here to have that much
prestige whatever it is, I would much rather avoid the whole thing entirely. I am, however, more than happy to share works in progress, especially if fellow writers, or anyone for that matter, would offer up some criticism.
So, besides all of this, there’s something I want to…muse about? Discuss? Deliberate over? Thrash out? I have no idea. There is no ultimate point in sharing what I’m about to share, no tidy ending to this line of thought, but nonetheless it’s haunting me and I need to articulate it. Besides, I’m fairly certain that it’s relatable (My computer keeps trying to tell me that isn’t a word. Screw you, computer!).
My last (official) relationship ended sadly. Almost three years, which was an accomplishment for both of us. It happens – you grow apart, you want different things, blah blah blah. We all know the various “it didn’t work out” stories. However, it was sort of a clean break. There was no sneaking about, no low blows, no giant implosions. It just ended, as things tend to do, and what was left was natural heartbreak. Sad, yes. Difficult to get over, yes. But that was it, it was just time and experience and a whole bunch of other stuff that I needed to heal. Granted, I have a scar, but I think of it more as a beauty mark, really. That relationship was the most amazing thing to ever happen to me in my entire life, and I will always be grateful for it and what I learned.
Since then is a different story. The…
okay, there really needs to be more and better synonyms for experience exposure I went through has, quite honestly, damaged me. Hang on, let me back up.
Before me and my ex got together, I was as cynical as they came. I had had brief, fluttering relationships with tons of boys and had it about down to a science. I didn’t really care to keep them around though. My parents’ divorce didn’t exactly encourage love and vulnerability, so I didn’t really believe in it. I never kept a guy around for two months…and every so often, they didn’t keep me around for two months. That always kinda sucked: I had gotten into this mindset that I was a heartbreaker not unlike Scarlett O’Hara.
So, imagine my shock when I’m preparing to break up with this boy because he’s leaving for college in 6 months and he tells me he loves me. I was bowled over and absolutely hands-shaking-tears-welling-mind-frantic terrified. It was the most romantic moment of my life.
Obviously, he convinced me that we could make it long distance, and we did. Falling in love with someone had rarely been so much fun.
Back to topic though: before that night, I had formulated my romantic life. I observed, learned, judged, and then selected a boy to amuse me for a time. Flirting was fun and we were always the talk of our social circles. Eventually he would clumsily ask me to be his girlfriend (I do believe I asked the guy once or twice) and it would be fun, going to school dances and whatnot. Trouble always started though: he didn’t like my guy friends, I thought he was narrow-minded, he liked some other girl, the usual. I could pinpoint the stages of the relationship based on how much we liked each other, how different we were, etc. I was always prepared and I almost never got invested. When I did, the painful endings served as reminders about what happened when I started to really care, and I would begin to work harder at keeping myself closed off. I was Ana, the vivacious and curvy conqueror of teenage boys. Life was good.
So opening myself up to my ex, letting go of statistics and probability and my hard-won doubt was huge for me.
Now, after having done that with someone else and…it not working out…I am a giant mess.
I want to revert. I want to go back to safe, predictable and controllable patterns. Eventually. Because honestly, right now I feel so damaged that I don’t want anyone near me. Emotionally, and not much physically. Sure, I’ve gone home with someone after parties, but I hate them touching me afterwards and I’m the most uncomfortable person until they’re gone or I’m gone.
I also miss being in a relationship. I miss the cuddling, the connection, and someone being more than politely interested in my day. The most intimate and significant part of being with someone for me is sharing my life with them. Not just my day, but my projects, my past, my goals and hopes, my family and friends, and so much more. When I care about someone, I want to learn about them. The worst camping trip they ever went on, the corniest joke their dad ever told, and their favorite books. I fall in love by immersing myself in who someone is, in memorizing the way they walk and their handwriting, and how they mix with me. Given a choice, I would rather spend Saturday night curled up on the couch watching Firefly with the man of my dreams than going home with some stranger who can’t kiss worth a damn.
I miss that magic and yet, I don’t want it because I just don’t trust it anymore. There was someone who made me feel beautiful, whom I could lounge around with in pjs and no makeup and do homework with, whom I showed the dream that I someday want my life to revolve around, and it was extraordinary. Until I messed up and suddenly my person was under scrutiny. There was nothing I could do to prove that I wasn’t whom I looked like.
The end result of that drama is that I don’t want to give myself over, but I want the happiness that comes with it. I want the comfort and easiness and intimacy that I had but at the same time I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone to know anything about me, I don’t want someone else’s emotions or stories because I don’t want to care about them. I am essentially split in half.
The ending of this thing was no clean break, there was no fast snap to it. It wrenched and twisted and splintered and my state of mind reflects that. Now, I don’t know what to do with myself but just…abstain. Fortunately, I’m rather skilled at pushing people away, so that’s no difficulty.
I read this all the time, and I see it and hear it and share it. I want to live it, but that’s not going to happen again for a long time, I’m sure. I don’t know that I have any advice for you, or questions. If you never leap off the cliff, you’ll never feel the air beneath your wings….but you also know you’ll never plummet to the rocky bottom.
That’s so cheesy. It’s up to you, and to me, to decide how we want to live our life.