Slow Fixes & Fast Friends 

Do you know how everybody has one of those things that is just a turn on for them? For some people it’s construction workers. For other people it’s police officers. For others it’s fireman. I met a guy when I was pregnant who was super turned on by pregnant women. His wife was just accepting of it and thought it funny. For me, it’s dirty working types. I don’t know if it’s because they know how to fix things or because they know how to take them apart and put them back together or because they know how to make a sweaty t shirt look good or because the smell of motor oil or sawdust turns me on in some weird way. Kind of like dreadlocks turn me on in pretty much every kind of way. (It’s a real thing). Anyway, today I got a double whammy. I went to have my broken headlight fixed and when I showed up, the mechanic had dreadlocks. So not only did he have greasy man hands, he also had my favorite hairstyle. I thought maybe it was my brain tumor acting up again, why I was so immediately turned on by this guy, but then I remembered that I don’t have a brain tumor and he was just super hot in a dreadlocked greasy kind of way. He was also about 10 years my junior which didn’t really matter because I was just getting my car fixed. And to top it off, we were like kindred spirits. We immediately clicked. He was like a master smartass and super quick witted, which is not a common find. I’ve definitely never had so much fun while getting my car fixed.

I paid him for the headlight, which was more than I had hoped but not as much as it probably should have been considering he had to take my whole front end apart. The longer I stood there, the more I thought, “I’m not going to be able to afford this. I wonder if blow jobs are acceptable forms of payment?” They weren’t. So I paid cash and I asked him to look at my belt because it was squeaking and my kiddo doesn’t like to be dropped off at school with the squeaky belt, as if that is the end of the world. Instead of looking at it, he ended up just fixing it. For free. So I offered to get him some food since he worked well past quitting time on my car and still had work to do on others.  I thought I was just going to go grab something and bring it back but he ended up just closing up the shop and coming with me. So we went to grab a bite real quick and had the best time making fun of life and little kids. It’s funny when you meet somebody and you just hit it off. I guess sometimes life needs to remind you that you aren’t the only twisted individual in the universe. There are others.

A Time to Rebuild 

 a·nal·o·gy
əˈnaləjē/

noun

a comparison between two things, typically for the purpose of explanation or clarification.

     ~~~~

Relationships are kind of like construction. Sometimes it takes an explosion. The old structure has to be knocked completely down and disposed of before you can even think of rebuilding a better one. You wouldn’t build a second floor apartment on a burned out first floor. And I think that in the majority of my relationships, after the demolition has occurred, looking at the emptiness left in its place is just too difficult for me. Just the thought of having to bend down and pick up the rubble and throw it away starts to stress me out. Maybe I’m lazy and I don’t like the gruntwork of a fallen relationship. But I’ve had this relationship that has been like an impossible remodel. When I first laid eyes on it, it was perfect. And I bought it, moved in, and then started noticing all the things that were wrong with it.  And then I got frustrated. And every time something broke, I wanted less and less to fix it. Dripping faucet. Left it. Broken stair. Left it. Broken window. Left it. Eventually my dream relationship started to look like the only blighted property on the block. And I eventually left it to sit there and waited for it to fall down. But then a funny thing started to happen. Right around the time that the paint started peeling and the siding was blowing off and I thought the damage was irreparable, I realized, for some crazy reason, I love this damn house. So I started fixing the things I let go and it started to feel like home again. And even though it’s not the house anyone thinks I should be living in, it’s the one that makes me comfortable and happy most of the time. And like every other decision I get to make as an adult, good or bad, it is ultimately my decision and I will be the only one with buyer’s remorse if it doesn’t work out. 

I guess my point is, everything takes work. I know I have a tendency to want to romanticize things and I know I have a tendency to always look at things through rose colored lenses, but I’m ok with that. I think things should be romantic. I think everyone should own a pair of rose colored glasses. More importantly, I think some things are just worth it moreso than others. Love is patient, right? I’m practicing patience right now. And practice makes perfect. Or so they say. 

Repeating a Tough Lesson 

I got a little drunk last night. And by last night, I mean this weekend. And by a little, I mean a lot. I used to drink until my heart was content when I was younger. I was basically a weekend alcoholic, which in some ways, is just as bad as a regular alcoholic. I used to go out pretty much every weekend from the time I was 22 until about 25. I rarely had my kids on the weekend because I usually had to work. So I was a Sunday night through Friday evening mom. The kids would end up staying the weekend at their other family’s house or with someone in my family. I could have been a 7 day a week mom. I was before the partying got me and I was again after I decided to stop all the madness. I remember it like it was yesterday, which is ironic, because during that time, I was usually black out drunk and either wondering how I got home or how to get home from whatever random place I woke up in. And now, I can barely remember yesterday. When I finally decided to quit drinking, I thought I could still go out to my regular places a.k.a. the bars and I tried to give it an honest shot the last time I ever went out during that phase of my life. I went to the club with my friend who was also a weekend drinker and I decided I would not drink that night. I was there for an hour or so, having the most miserable time sober. The DJ, who knew me from being a regular, came up to me and asked why I looked so miserable and a little green. He said I looked sick. And I told him I was fine. He asked if I wanted a drink and when I told him I was trying to quit drinking, he immediately knew why I looked sick and green. He left his partner to spin the tunes and took me out of the bar to go get some food. We went to Denny’s and talked over my Eggs over MyHammy or some other ridiculously named meal. I told him I could feel myself spiraling out of control which is never a good thing when you come from a long line of alcoholics and I was trying to be proactive in stopping it. We talked for a while and when the night was close to ending, I went back to the bar to pick up my drunken friend. I never stopped drinking completely. I would still go out occasionally, very occasionally, but the outcome was always the same. I’d always start with the intention of one or two and in the midst of my good time, two would turn to six, would turn to eight, would turn to blacking out. I never HAD to drink after that one time I stopped. I could go weeks or months with never a thought of it, but as soon as I started, it was a snowball effect. I eventually outgrew it. I figured out my limits. I knew I could have 4 shots and be good. I knew after five, the ball would start to roll. I would want to go out dancing or singing karaoke, which is ok, but five usually turns to six, to eight, to blackout again and so I always stop at 4.  I’ve actually been really, really good at following my 4 drink rule. Sometimes, I overindulge, but not often. This weekend was one of those times. Not only did I overindulge and get sloppy drunk, I turned into an asshole. Not like a cute little smirk on the face asshole either, like a super duper should have been thrown in jail or off a roof asshole. I guess my sober mind has my emotions under lock and key. My drunken mind, opened the lock, swallowed the key and refused to shit it out. I. Was. Awful. Everything was all fine at first. I was happy. I was joking. I was even speaking in my fake British accent. And then I saw a picture on a phone that immediately put me in a bad mood and turned my happy drunk into psycho bitch crazy drunk. So I went upstairs to shower off my hate ( I was at a house getting snowed in, not a club). Instead of washing off my anger, the heat of the shower must have intensified the alcohol or maybe the copious amounts I had ingested coincidentally kicked in during my shower. Either way, by the time my shower was over, I was blacked out and ready to fight. Reports of said night, by innocent bystanders, include me yelling and screaming, trying to get in my car to drive home, unsuccessfully, and punching someone in the face for trying to stop me. The following day, I woke up with a super duper headache, a swollen hand, and a spinning room. When that wore off, I offered apologies around the room and thanks for not letting me be an idiot and drive. All is mostly forgiven. I will expect it to be brought up from time to time for the rest of my life though.  Needless to say, I’m reverting back to my no drinking/ 4 shot limit so as not to embarrass myself any further. It’s funny how you can forget lessons you’ve already learned a hundred times over until you decide to repeat them.

A Little Peace and a Lotta Love 

I finally talked to James (of the order of protection, broken window fiasco). We weren’t supposed to talk but after I cooled down from our fight, I missed not talking to him and I knew he wanted to talk to me so I reached out to him to see if he wanted to talk about the madness. And he did. So we got together and had a nice long talk where I found out he didn’t break my window and that was just a case of perfect timing on the part of the universe. I know. I know. Maybe I’m stupid for trying to talk to him, but I don’t like conflict. I don’t like carrying around anger in the pit of my soul. I don’t like feeling animosity. It all makes me physically ill. And it did. I couldn’t breathe through my nose. I got a cold sore on my lip and my nose and it just kept growing. The more I thought about the resolution or lack of, the worse it got, the worse I felt. Apparently, I’m a sensitive person despite my hard exterior. Maybe my exterior is not so hard. I guess it’s just that I always try to be so strong and for some reason, he is my weakness. Maybe I’m in the habit of him because we’ve been around each other in one way or another for the last two years or so. If not romantically, then professionally and though he makes me mad and drives me crazy and sometimes I want to dig a hole in the back yard the size of his body, I still love him. It sucks being human. I guess we are all a product of our raising and our environment. I’m not going to start a nature vs nurture debate. Like I said a few days ago, I’m just going to try harder to accept people for the way they are and not the way I want them to be, especially not him. He says he’s working on it. And I do believe him. And I’m working on it too. I know I’m valuable to him and his life is, if nothing else, a little more peaceful with me in it. And sometimes all you need is a little peace and someone to love through the madness sometimes.

A Bit of a Phenomenon

I saw Joe Sunday. It was maybe one of the best days yet. Not because he was more lucid  or made any leaps and bounds of recovery. It was because we spent five hours together without a break in contact. It’s nearly impossible for me to try to explain how I feel for him. Love doesn’t quite sum it up because it seems like such a small word for such a big feeling. I’ve had people try to explain it away, “you just feel like that because he’s unobtainable now.” Or I have people look at me like I’m the world’s biggest idiot. Not everyone, but some. I guess everyone sees this situation with the world view they were brought up with. I don’t even know why I try to explain it. Joe and I have always had more of a spiritual connection, a friendship, a love that blossomed through thousands of words written over two decades of letters. You get to know so much more about a person, especially a person of the opposite sex, when actual sex is not a factor. It’s so easy to get wrapped up in something that is spiritually and mentally bad for you when the sex keeps reeling you in. I’ve done it numerous times. So many I’ve stopped counting. The only thing that was ever missing from mine and Joe’s relationship was the physical. He is probably the nicest guy I’ve ever met. He’s handsome, caring, and generous. He’d help anybody. He loves God. He knows the bible backwards and forward. Sometimes we’d have long talks about religion and God. He’s more spiritual than anything. And we got to know each other over the years so well. And it’s shown the last few times I’ve gone to see him. I’ve gone in with my big smile and shouted out a gleeful “Merry Christmas,” “Happy New Year,” “Happy Sunday.” I even wore an ugly Christmas sweater for Christmas because it’s his favorite holiday and even though I’m slightly Scrooge-ish, I would have dragged a decorated tree in there with me if it was allowed just to chance seeing him smile for a second. I don’t get many smiles from him. He grimaces sometimes, like a child when the dentists asks to see their teeth, but never a smile. It’s like those muscles don’t work anymore and he can’t figure out how to make them. This weekend, though, I got a little bit of a grin from him. Maybe what happened happened because we do know each other so well. The irrational, in love side of me thinks it is because we are psychically connected and we can speak without words. I got there New Year’s Day like I do every Sunday. I walked in thirty minutes early like always. I got searched and frisked and escorted to his room. I did my little Happy New Year song and dance, gave him a kiss on the cheek and grabbed our book that we are reading and the chair I sit in and I scooted his bed over and sat down next to him. I always tell him what day it is and the date. I added the year this time since it changed. I told him what was going on at the house. Mel is fine. The dogs are fine. They all say hi. I told him about my dreary rainy drive and all the gunshots in my hood at midnight the night before and then I recapped the first part of the book and started reading to him. I make sure to touch him the whole time I’m there. I will rub his arm or his hand or his leg or his face or his hair, but I just always touch him because human touch is one of the most important things in life, I think. So I rubbed him and read to him. He started getting antsy and was moving his legs and his arm as if to tell me he had enough of the book. So I asked him if we were done reading. It was as if I could hear him saying yes we were done reading, but I asked him to clarify with a couple of blinks for yes. I think they usually make him do one blink for yes and don’t give him an option for no besides not blinking which I think is a flawed system. So I ask him to blink twice for yes and once for no, that way it’s less confusing. So he blinked twice and I put the book away. I think he just wanted me to rub his head with both hands really, and since he’s the boss, we stopped reading and I started rubbing his face and his eyebrows and running my fingers through his hair which seems to be his favorite because he always closes his eyes. So I did that for a while and sang him a couple of my favorite songs. Usually he keeps his eyes closed, but this time he kept them open the whole time I was singing to him and he just watched my face. Eye contact is a very intimate thing even when it is with someone who cannot speak or move. It’s like we have whole conversations without saying a word. Sometimes we just sit in silence staring at each other and it’s just peaceful. So I went through my whole little concert and we just looked at each other for a while and then he asked me to sing another song with his eyes. This is the part that all the skeptics will start rolling their eyes and calling me crazy and I’m ok with that. I may be crazy, but I asked him what song he wanted me to sing. And we just looked at each other for a minute and out of nowhere Bruno Mars popped into my head. So I said, “Bruno Mars?” and his face changed as if to acknowledge that was right. So then I asked him what song? And again, out of nowhere, it was like the answer appeared in my head. And I said, “the one about the moon?”  And he blinked for yes. Then I told him I couldn’t for the life of me remember the words or even the melody. And, again, out of nowhere, it just appeared in my head. And I started singing it to him and when I looked at him, he was grinning (a real grin) in satisfaction, it seemed, that he had so eloquently relayed the message to me without a word. I know it sounds crazy. It is a little crazy to me too, but I don’t even have Bruno Mars in rotation in any of my playlists. Not that I don’t like him, because I do, I just don’t think of him often and the look on Joe’s face when I started singing it, well, it was worth every embarrassing out of tune note and it made me feel deep down inside that he is in there somewhere trying to find his way back.

Happy resolution day

I haven’t been one lately for resolutions. It’s more like I have intentions at the beginning of the year. I intend to eat better, I intend to work out more, I intend to enjoy nature more, I intend so many things. But if it doesn’t work out, I don’t beat myself up because I didn’t follow through with my resolution. But this year I decided to make a resolution list. It only has one thing on it. To accept people how they are instead of how I wish they would be. The way I see it, the people in my tribe wouldn’t ask me to change, and if they did I likely wouldn’t. I am who I am. Unless they were asking me to change because I was doing something that was hurting myself or others and then I would completely understand that. Fundamentally, though, you can’t really change how people are. You can only choose to except them and either let them in your life or not let them in your life. So this year I love more, I will laugh more, and I will accept  people and the way they are not how I wish they would be. Happy New Year!