hey ger-bear

I haven't written in here in a long time. I need the outlet, though, today.

Nothing in particular is going on, just the business of grieving. It's so fucking weird. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm crying my fucking eyes out, I'm fine, I'm crying my fucking eyes out, I'm fine. There's no rhyme or reason for why it hits when it does, except, sadly for me, I appear to be losing it mainly in groups, which, yay! My therapist said it might be that I'm afraid to cry alone and might be able to break open a bit around supportive people. All I know is that it sucks. And it's embarrassing.

I couldn't be doing more to get through this. I'm AAing it out the yin yang, I'm going to a suicide support group, and I'm going to therapy. (Every week I swear I'm not going back to therapy as I can't afford it but every week my ass keeps hauling in there… I need it right now. The cost of sanity?)

I'm just tired. Dammit, Gerry. Seriously. I love you more than you could ever know. You were so sweet to me and sometimes you were a giant asshole. You were so funny. You were so fucking depressed. You were so smart and such a fucking dumbass. I could kick your ass right now. I'd give anything to hug you right now. I've got Butters and he makes me think of you every minute. He's such a dorky dog, and so sweet. I just fucking miss you. I've never gone this long without talking to you, even when I was so hurt and angry after fighting with you that I could punch you in the face.

And why did you do what you did? I'll never know how that seemed to be your best option. I imagine the scenarios over and over again. I get that you couldn't stand anyone with the person you loved. I know it was hell. I get that. But to do THAT? I can't make that leap. I actually hope I never will. You were broken down to your toes. I had an idea then and I know now. I tried to help you and you couldn't/wouldn't take it. You couldn't admit how broken you were because to do that you'd risk breaking apart entirely. I wish I knew what would have made a difference. But you were an adult, and eventually I had to leave you the fuck alone. I would have done anything to help you. You know that, right? Anything. All you had to do was ask.

Every day I remember turning that corner at the funeral home and seeing you in your coffin. I saw your face and I still couldn't believe that you were there. It brought me to my knees that day and mentally it still does. Don't you know how loved you were? How loved you ARE?

I remember the day you came into the world. The day you left was the worst day of my life. My baby brother. I want you back.

It kills me that you're not here any more.

Getting started yet again

"When you die, and it really could be this afternoon, you will not be happy about having said no. You will be kicking your ass about all the no’s you’ve said. No to that opportunity, or no to that trip to Nova Scotia or no to that night out, or no to that project or no to that person who wants to be naked with you but you worry about what your friends will say.

No is for wimps. No is for pussies. No is to live small and embittered, cherishing the opportunities you missed because they might have sent the wrong message."

Dave Eggers

Vaguely sad

I've been in a good place for a while, so a mini-emotional breakdown is overdue. I am mad lonely. I had a really vivid dream about my ex-boyfriend, who I haven't even seen for two years. (Well, I saw him walking once while I was driving. Doesn't count.) I really missed him out of nowhere. It's retarded. That's the last place I should be going.

I've been genuinely fine for a long time now with being single, and it's suddenly getting very hard. I don't know where this is coming from. I liked not having to worry about anyone else while I was making these monster changes in my life, and while things were changing it was nice not having to deal with big emotional ups and downs. I think I'm ready now and suddenly the absence of possibility is overwhelming. I feel really overweight (which I am) and unattractive and kinda neutered, if that makes any sense. I don't know. I'm a little lost.

Is this because I quit therapy to save money? Oh dear. :)

xoxo

Feeble Attempts

I'm having a no-work Friday. I mean, I'm AT work, I just don't want to do any. Brain tired.

Linda's shower is this weekend, and I literally did not start or finish any of the projects I planned for this week. Oh, well. I don't know most of the guests anyway. Well, I know many of them, but not all. Topic: I wanted to have all my projects done so the house looked like a real grown-up house, but I'll have to settle for a grown-up-ish house. At least I got lots done last weekend so I don't have a giant list 'o work.

Hmmm. I don't feel like doing this either. Later.

Checking in

Time for that 2x a year blog entry, whoo!

I'm boring as shit, y'all. That's why I ain't been writin' too much. But what the hell, it's good at least to be productive when I have downtime instead of going through the entire archives of various websites.

Anyway. Obligatory where-I've-been bit out of the way.

Seriously, though, I am boring. Mondays always make me sad when people post all their exciting weekend adventure pictures and all I have to post are more dog pictures. Or cat pictures. Seriously, look at my facebook page. It's all pets. Yawn. No one wants to look at my pets that much. Except me. God, they are made of cute.

But I digress. Or not. Really not a coherent thread of narrative happening here or anything.

Let's see. Maybe a summary will help. Or a list! That's it.

2009, SO FAR:
1) Um, still sober.
2) Job still good.
3) Dog no longer the biggest mistake I ever made, instead an adorable time suck.
4) Have a new roommate. She's cool. I'm getting less anal and controlling, which, yay me!
5) Nanny died. That was… really hard.
6) My parents are taking their financial fuck-up-edness to new heights. It's delightful to watch.
7) Friends are having babies all over the place. Late 30s: gotta get on the stick.
8) Not dating, which is not for lack of… not trying. I'm not trying at all. White-chip cherry intact.
9) Had a huge falling out with my brother, which continues. And makes me sad.
10) Have made lots of new friends, which is really great. My social life is pretty good, but could be better if I made, like, an effort. Ever.

That's a sad list. Okay, am now motivated to get that list splashier by the end of the year. I mean, really.

in the meanwhile

I haven't written for a while. So, like, sorry.

I'm okay. Not peachy, but okay. I feel like I'm treading water more than making any real headway lately, but at least I'm not (for lack of a good water metaphor) sliding back.

Went to a work party tonight and everyone was drinking and having a great time. I really wanted to drink tonight, more than I have in a while. Tonight this AA thing seemed so stupid, like I really overreacted about the whole thing. I guess that I was so desperate is an indication that I am, in fact, an alcoholic. Dude. I dunno. It was hard.

I wanted to leave but didn't want to make a big deal about it so I literally snuck out. Felt like an ass, but the party was in full swing and I just needed to leave.

Anyway.

twenty years later

So I attended my 20th high school reunion on Friday after all.

I returned yesterday and had an hour to relax a smidge before meeting people for dinner and a meeting (the new dinner and a movie, don'tcha know), returning home and crashing out really early. Today all my grandiose plans crumbled into cramps on the couch. I read a book, I read two David Foster Wallace short stories online, I talked to my friend in London. And my girl G called and was a bit disappointed that my account of the reunion was so cynical. I think she wanted me to have had a great time. I think that I was open to having a great time, but that a great time just wasn't possible with people so completely different than people I fill my life with these days.

So… a written account. I'm not sure I'm up for it today but let's see what happens, shall we?

First, though, the back story. My friend Jennifer asked me to attend with her about a month ago, and I said no. Put it out of my head. We talked again this week, and she told me that her plans were to go to Columbia Friday afternoon and return Saturday afternoon. I started to think that the road trip part with her sounded fun, and it would be fun to make a quick visit to my family and have a partial weekend home as well. The real factor, of course, was the actual reunion. I agonized over the situation, and finally decided to attend Thursday. I just didn't want to be a fucking coward.

Let me explain the back back story. I attended a private school. There were 72 in my graduating class, and I think about forty-something of us had attended all grades 1-12. Out of the 72 there was a central clique of about 25 who ran everything. Cheerleading, student council, beauty pageants, homecoming, honor society, pep clubs, sports, whatever… this central group (and a supporting group of 10-15 who were semi-popular and intermittently included) ran everything. My friends and I did not exist. We were not visible. None of these 35-40 talked to us except to be mean to us. Casual cruelty about my hair, my clothes, my glasses, my, um, very existence. If we dared to try to join activities we were efficiently put back in our places. We quickly retreated into the safety of chorus where we were relatively safe.

It was only this weekend that I realized how scarred all of us were, meaning my friends as well and not just me. In retrospect, I wish we had figured out sooner that we just weren't going to make into the rarefied atmosphere of the class kings and queens and just made more of our own fun. That's hard to know, though, when all you want in life was to be included into what everyone is told would be the quote unquote best fucking years of our lives. Incidentally, if that was true, I would have shot myself by now.

---

It's now Tuesday. I think I needed a couple of days to absorb. The funny thing is that I am having the oddest experience: I can't remember big chunks of Friday night. It's like I was drunk, but… I wasn't.

Overall, I'm glad I went. It was really great to re-friend my old friends. Jennifer and I really reconnected, and I was surprised that though different we were able to talk about our lives and shoot the shit. 'Cause usually I have a hard time relating to people not of my tribe unless related to me by blood, and sometimes not even then. So, yay.

Anyway, the reunion itself: y'all, walking in that house was one of the hardest things I've ever done and I'm not exaggerating, unfortunately. I was all pins and needles. I didn't know what to expect and I didn't have any desired outcomes. I was just there to, I don't know, rip open the closet door and look at the monsters.

So, all the girls squealed when we came in, gave us hugs and one line of conversation and then proceeded to ignore us (mostly) in lieu of dancing to 80s tunes and reliving their glory days. In limited conversation I determined that they are all still best friends and all their kids go to the school now. All the girls had southern-lady hair and are all probably in the Junior League. Hanging as party decorations (the house was pretty, though decorated in Early Duck) were every t-shirt ever made and all twelve of our yearbooks and saved prom decorations (seriously) and class wills… stuff I got rid of approximately five seconds after graduation if I ever had it at all. They were reliving their glorious high school years. I was in a post-traumatic stress disorder induced flashback. Which, I'm kinda not joking about: I really am blanking out part of the evening and it was so surreal that I wonder.

So, yeah, I talked to almost everyone for literally a minute or two. I talked to a few people for longer and enjoyed maybe two of the conversations. One being the only other liberal at the party and I think she was excited as me to find a kindred spirit in a strange, strange land. I talked to the guys more than the girls. One of the guys totally gave me a dismissive smirk, which, seriously? Dude, you're wearing your old football jersey over your paunch — without irony — and you're smirking at ME?? I know I looked odd in their insular world since I look more like New York (well, not as much as I did) than Columbia so I'm the freak, proudly.

I kept the bitter snark to a minimum ("I can't hide my Hammond pride, whoo!" "I can") and didn't try to impress anyone 'cause I didn't care enough (seriously, I think my life is awesome but it's hard to convey in a sound bite and I didn't care to try). So, all in all, a success. Whatevs. It was… interesting. Oh, and I'm sure that a picture will be sent out at some point and I will post it for everyone's enjoyment.

Wankers. Sorry, just had to get in one more dig. :) Oh, wait, one more: every man there had on pleated khakis with a polo shirt or an oxford. The only picture I took was of a line of good southern gentlemen in their republican fucking casual-wear uniform.

I am glad I went, seriously. I don't know why, but I am.