This will be long. That’s ok. I hope to not look back on it one day and say, “YOU MORON! YOU’RE SO STUPID!” Who’s paying attention anymore? Who’s keeping score? Fuck-a-little-score. I’m tired of score. Cut it open; pull it out, “You win.”
People say it’s a good idea to spend some time alone to really figure out what it is you want and how it is you want it. I used to think this was what folks made up to help make break-ups and single-life more tolerable and “necessary” and it probably is all made up, but I don’t think I would change things even if I could.
So I spent some time alone. Alone. Ugh. (Even the word looks sad). But I did it. I did so and I moved my ass to New York City—possibly the loneliest city this side of Orion’s Belt.
I woke up some days miserable. Empty. And completely amazed at the speed in which I got here.
I went from 5th gear in life-speed straight into reverse here—woke up gasping. Ouch. Sobering. And one day there was this. This person. I met a boy by a total accident (what wine, a night out with an ex, and several months of gutting oneself over top the same old scar can do with a life). It’s like being stripped down, stark naked, exposed, everything I have never really liked about me and suddenly I’m forced to stand it up and pay it some mind and not that “ass-beating” kind of mind, but the “cold washcloth on a jumbled, feverish forehead” kind of mind. It’s hard when someone comes along and they like you and you have to figure out why. It’s really hard.
(I feel like one of those morons at the self-help center who finally gets the trade in the silver folder for the all-mighty gold, shiny one. I have finally realized I am living a life of someone I used to only envy. Forgive me if this might sound like a brag, this is more of an ode).
There is nothing I won’t tell him. There is nothing I can’t say. He fills in these silly blanks, which never made much sense before now. (Madlibs). Movie lines make sense now, even the bad ones, even the silly ones. I added color to my wardrobe. No more only black and shades of black and beige. (Primary. Yum). I have green sheets. My carpet has a pattern. I painted my shelves red. There are plants and wind chimes hanging from a ledge in an apartment we may need to leave soon. (Who cares). Removing pride in front of someone who won’t kick you when they see pink is the single most liberating feeling in this life so far. Having someone to show that to is like learning how to do all those things you can only do once in a lifetime all over again—like losing baby teeth, or taking steps, fumbling all over the place, giggling madly. (Who cares). I’m doing it over again. All together. All at once. (And remembering it this time).
I realized Saturday that everything has shifted. I now have something to lose. I wish to prove to someone else that I am and will be there for him or her. (Integrity). I am starting to sort of like myself. (Strength). I have a bigger toe print and a larger hand. I want to leave marks. I do actually live here. (Here). This planet. Earth. And no matter how much is spins and how sick I feel there is proof that I was here, even if it’s just for today and even if I do owe it to a boy. I am here.
(The end of part 1 in an infinite series).