Something for Cat

I tend to describe people by their connections. Not just with others, but how they themselves are connected to me. It makes for an odd conversation - Oh, that's Fred. He used to work with me but he grew up with Jimmy who is a really good friend of mine, even though I haven't really talked to him for almost a year.

This intro is not getting me where I want to go. Retry.

My senior year of high school I tried (fairly successfully) to convince myself that my anger at the world was not caused by what I was doing but what other people were. And since I'd be leaving for school two states away and would never ever be back, I found it useless to meet new people and make new friends. I took the thought that I really didn't need anymore friends and ran with it.

I ran pretty far.

I ran so far, that even now, my new friend-making skills are a little different. I don't network anymore, I don't try to get to know as many people as I can as deeply as I can in as little time possible. Within the last year and a half, If I've made a friend, they are far more likely to be near and dear to my heart, and stay that way. Probably because every single one of them have been able to help me out of the roughest rough patches of my life so far.

And oddly enough, they become near and dear to my heart very quickly. Point in case, there's the girl that lived the floor above me, and within a few months of actually meeting, I was talking to her about the depression I hardly mentioned to my own sister. Or the man this same friend introduced me to, two weeks after we met we were dating. Six months later, we still are. But this isn't about him.

It's about the girl I met at work two months ago. I thought she was mexican (she's not), and I couldn't remember her name (yesterday my boy proved he still can't). I'm not sure how we bonded. Maybe it was our shared confusion at the new job, maybe it was her telling me that she was to leave for her mission soon, the same day my sister returns from her own. That the mission was in the same state. That the bosses didn't know yet and I shouldn't say anything to anyone. That she'd give me a ride whenever I needed. That Dr. Who's blue phone booth were on her shoes. That we had not one but two pairs of matching shoes. That we didn't have to actually talk and it was still fine. Maybe really we saw each other in each other. But she's a better driver.

My sister returns home in three days. Which means Cat is leaving in three days. I don't know why we met when we did, or why it had to be so short. I suppose it's a blessing, because had it been longer, she'd be the third bestie in a year and a half to leave me for the same reason. So maybe this is a mercy. Either way, right now, I'm Feeling Good.

Amish ewe, Cait. amish ewe.

The Girl Who Grinned at the Sky

I'd just finished a particularly frustrating session of one class, and was trudging along to my least favorite and most dreaded class. No end was in sight, and the wind whipped cruel cold inside my “good” winter coat. The bright sun mocked overhead, shining sarcastically down. I looked up to glare it down, unappreciative of how it mocked my colder loneliness.

The sun remained.

However, my attention was caught by something else. A brilliant azure accompanied the sun, and no cloud was in sight. The pure blue stood beside the sun, silent, yet almost apologetic. It seemed to say, “something will happen soon. And it's always, always for the better.”

Its silent words tugged a half smile across one of my cheeks.

I realized I was still walking, and refocused my gaze to what was in front of me. Instead of being distracted by my looming class, I saw a girl coming toward me, noticing the same thing that I just had. Except she was different. Her lips peeled back against her broad white teeth, and she grinned. At nothing, just the sheer color above us both. She also remembered she was walking, and she looked straight ahead. Our gazes met.

Her gigantic grin only grew.

It was contagious. Now not only half my face was affected. I no longer noticed the wind's chill. She introduced herself and asked if she'd met me before. I assumed it was because we were instantly joined by the bond of sky smiling, and told her no.

She had met me before, I find later. She wanted to date my next-door neighbor. I can't understand why he wasn't interested. Later she and I flew a kite in a park. I haven't seen her since.

Broken

I sat there twirling the perfect sunflower found on my seat. I swallowed hard against a hot, thick ball forming in my throat. I willed the tears not to burst through the dams of my eyelids. I wasn't sure I really wanted to be there, but I knew I really didn't want to talk, frustrated with circumstances, confused by previous words, blinded by prior mistakes,

He broke my shell of silence

"Can I hold you?"

He didn't just hold my body to his own, he reached out over the parking brake and held my shivering heart.

conjugating

studying on the floor in front of my open door in the newfound sun.

sending a surprise package to my sister.

sunning myself on the roof of the roommates car while she borrows my shoes and library card to check out the entire movie collection.

failing at eating the heart of an artichoke because I couldn't get past the hair.

trying to fend off a cold.

succeeding.

going to three different pharmacies in search of sudafed.

failing.

running into the best friend's boyfriend buying the best friend food to make up for a fight.

running into said bf's bf while playing -arco -olo in the last store whose pharmacy was closed.

being glad the sun is finally out and the weather is finally warm.

watching it snow again.

crying because the frigid wind is so strong it blasts the moisture out of the eyes and onto the cheeks.

failing at fending off the cold after all.

kicking the trash out of the dreaded presentation.

cooking Sunday dinner for ten.

sleeping while sitting up on the couch three nights in a row because of the cold I failed at fending off.

meeting a girl who grinned at the sky.

grinning at everyone else because she was grinning at the sky.

teaching boy from upstairs to cook fried rice.

talking about dating with two olderish single men for an hour.

cooking super-hot mexi rice and stuffed peppers.

being accosted on facebook about me not being myself.

hearing that the rice was too spicy.

being accosted via text that i was upset and worrisome.

sneaking food into a movie theater with a dear friend.

feeding super-hot mexi rice to a real man.

realizing the real man knew the grinning girl.

being accosted on facebook for dating advice about a different girl i never really knew.

eating an entire bag of peanut butter m&ms between midnight snack and breakfast.

going on a date with a guy i never really knew but with whom I wouldn't mind seconds.

kicking all my roommates out of the apartment.

bumming a ride home from a girl i still don't really know.

sitting in the apartment alone.

wondering if the sister ever got her package.

being glad the sun is back just in time for spring break.

wishing something would happen around here.

retracting that wish.

wondering how the trashcan got that full in my absence from my bed.

He'll if I Know

It wasn't bitter cold, it wasn't snowing. It wasn't a dirty slush day either, the one you have to dance the slosh to come home without frostbite but you're still soaked and freezing.

It was stay-at-home because you want to weather. It was a watch-a-movie-alone day. It was a clean-out-the-fridge-with-your-face-because-you-have-to-and-you're-leaving-tomorrow-anyway day.

I walked through the cemetery to drop off a Christmas present. There were two groups of people there: one, a group of undertakers placing the marble monolith over a fresh grave. The other, a large group of mourners under a blue polystyrene canopy all in black and driving vans. Apparently people die the week of Christmas too.

My friend wasn't home, so I left the present on the doorknob and walked back, avoiding the mourners and their eerily subdued children. I avoided the cemetery gate against which my once-boy-now-best friend had pushed me to kiss me harder than I wanted. I avoided the memory of the cushion of the chainlink against my back, I avoided his remembered whispers of apology and remorse after I pushed him off.

I walked past the basketball stadium, avoiding the two players coming out. I didn't ask them if they could give my friend a Christmas present: A date with one of their teammates. I didn't even stand up straight to my full height as I usually do when tall boys walk near me.

I got home and curled up on the couch with a blanket that smelled of new, hoping to avoid the draft by the window. It didn't work. Instead I turned on a girl-power figure-skating movie and drank the last of the bubbly in the fridge.

Except it wasn't bubbly. But I drank it straight from its long necked bottle. And threw out rotten avocados. And old cheese.

I also misread the words “three pair” - i thought it said “knee pad.” As these were in reference to socks, I didn't think it was too far of a stretch. Wouldn't you buy knee padded socks? I wouldn't, but that's just because no matter how long the socks are, they never reach my knees.


In other news: The definition of Thoguh (not though, THOGUH) derived from the Urban Dictionary.

(Drumroll, please)

....

clears throat

“Hell if I know.”


Thank you, thank you, please, save your applause for those that actually deserve it. No, seriously. SHUT UP.

Anyway, I like how it kinda sounds and looks like SHOGUN, which, everyone knows is a king-like figure thing in eastern cultures. I think.

Introspectus

Ever had one of those nights where you're so tired that you flop onto your bed and instantly fall asleep without even a blanket on top of you? And then in the middle of the night you half wake up and realize that you are, in fact, cold. But you are also ridiculously comfortable there, curled up and dozing that you can't bear to move and spoil the immense contentment wrapped around you in the blanket's stead. So you just lie there, wishing you were warmer but unwilling to do anything about it.

That's what I was doing last year. I was too comfortable that I didn't change anything until I simply couldn't stand it anymore. Until I realized that nothing was going to change unless I changed it. Until I realized that my misery was self inflicted.

Last year my misery made me into something I didn't recognize. I didn't even realize that the monster I'd become even existed. My misery made me angry. My anger made me sarcastic, caustic, and eager to inflict pain on others. I was malicious. I refused to meet new people. Since I refused to meet people, I forgot how to do it. I withdrew inside myself, unwilling to come out even around the people I loved the most. I spent my time doing absolutely nothing, making no memories, useful skills, or even talents. I did only what was required, and even then, only the bare minimum.

I contemplated dropping out of high school, even though I only had one term left and one class left to pass. I obsessed over men who brought out the worst in me. I lied skillfully to remove suspicion and bring more on others around me. I twisted words, situations, feelings, arms. I cared for no one, including myself. I did what I wanted, so long as it wouldn't get me in trouble that night. I respected visible boundaries while skipping gleefully around the ones I could easily sneak past. The smallest slights wounded me deeply and I refused to let them go. What once were molehills were now mountains, the mountains molehills. I scorned everything that I had once held dear. I forgot about the people and places and things I had once loved.

I thank God that this is no longer me.

I asked rhetorically last night, “What was I thinking?” The only answer I got was, “Maybe you weren't.”

He was right.

In Retrospect

We do dances differently here. We don't go on dates until we're 16, and even then, we usually go in groups. Two or more couples. I guess it's a good way to learn how to date, it keeps kids out of trouble, and it forces them to meet new people.

My little brother went to Prom this year. He rented a tux (with a bow-tie. I love bow-ties.), bought her a corsage, matched his vest/tie to her dress, and went in a group of five total couples. I don't know where he got his information, but he did it right. I'm proud of that kid.
My boyfriend's sister went too. Scott and I were setting up the family trampoline in the backyard while she was getting ready with a family friend and cousin. We came in muddy, dusty, scratched up, and she was standing there like a princess in her black and white dress. We were scared to touch her, all we could do was watch.

A knock came at the door. Everyone was there: Grandma, Dad, Mom, Friend, Friend's 18 month old baby, Cousin, Boyfriend, Girlfriend, Princess. We crowded out of the entryway of the split level house to greet the poor boy coming to pick her up. Baby was running around behind the cameramen, throwing rocks and getting trampled. All the people, pictures, screaming baby. . . Scott and I left. Even still, I couldn't help thinking of the only time I went to a formal dance.
I was a senior, I felt obligated to go to Homecoming with an acquaintance. Turns out he had almost no friends and spent his days and weekends reading anime at home. He was a temp janitor for a local elementary school. He was huge. I hardly ever talked to him, and the date was no different.

While at this dance, I hardly danced with our group, preferring to panhandle around the high school's gym in search of my friends who were actually enjoying their dates. At one point he thought I'd ditched him. (I hadn't. . .intentionally) I wanted to throw up whenever I looked at my date, and I tried to stay away from him as much as possible, though I couldn't entirely out of politeness.

This year's Prom was Scott and my five-month mark. We've never had a fight, though we have had our problems. We've had the good fortune of being able to work through them and becoming stronger and closer because of it. I'm home for the summer. I don't have to miss Scott any more - I've seen him every single day – a far cry from our once-every-two-weeks-maybe arrangement.

Anyway, Scott's sister, I hope you had fun. You too, Brother, even with my Homecoming date in your Prom group.

The Impossible is Possible Tonight

I broke down today.

That never happens.

And of course, it's when it's snowing in April, I'm uncontactable, and I won't see my sister again for 18 months.

18 months. A year and a half. You might think it's no big deal. You're wrong. You have to realize that we've been best friends since I was born. In fact, I was her three-year-old birthday present. The longest we've EVER been apart is about seven weeks.
Seven weeks... versus 18 months? Sure, sisters fight, but we always moved past that within a day. I didn't have friends when i was little because I didn't need any, I had her.

Couldn't call my support network (beautiful boyfriend) because I'm out of minutes - i was talkin' to my sis for the last time and used them all.

lost my wallet. My entire life on paper, GONE. My identity, COMPROMISED. great.

and it's snowing again.

*sighs*

So in retaliation i've been gorging myself on leftover easter chocolate, coke (my fave anger drink) and watching mystery movies in my unlighted dorm room on my roommie's laptop.

i do now have a laptop... it's just at home. twas my sister's.

i'll miss you, carolyn.

:)

Interesting how just a glimpse of a dripping water faucet or a pair of feet clad in bright green converse can turn my horrible day into something a little above tolerable.

Glassy. Just Glassy.

I went home this weekend. Therefore, I was not at my apartment for two days.

Within this time, some idiot dropped a bottle of Martinelli's Sparkling Cider directly in front of my door. It shattered, like dropped glass often does, and he just left it. (I say "he" not because of the propensity for men to be clumsy slobs, but because most of the people on my floor are guys) By the time I saw it all the liquid had evaporated, an impressive feat given that our current temp is 21 degrees. Anyway. There was just a buttload of thick, green, shattered glass sitting in front my door the entire weekend. And no one bothered to clean it up.

Until I did.

I picked up the big pieces AND recycled them, and then I went to talk to my R.A. about a dustpan and broom. He told me not to worry about it, he'd get the officials to clean it up.


Yesterday morning someone was out there sweeping... it must have been an official's job cuz there's still green glass out there, glued to the cement with sticky apple cider residue. Another official job well done. Yeesh. Disclaimer: DO NOT GO BAREFOOT IN MY BEDROOM. GLASS SHARDS IN YOUR FEET PROBABLE.

Anyway. That's not my only glass incident. Last night I was closing my window, when the adjacent window (broken, not by me) attacked me! All I did was lean up against it when its naked frame bit me! I was left with what I thought was a little gash... I watched the blood flow slowly down my wrist... the blood wasn't warm. You know how everybody talks about warm, sticky blood flowing out of their wound? I've decided that that proverbial wound must be huge to keep the blood warm enough. But I digress.

I thought it was a gash. But as I started playing with it (because I'm masochistic and macabre and morbid (and alliterative)) I realized that there was something inside it. I squeezed it (like popping a pimple) and a shard of glass half emerged from my thumb.

My poor roommate. I made her grab her tweezers and pull it out -- after which the blood really started to flow, but I couldn't tell whether or not it was warm, she'd turned on the cold water and made me wash it.

Turns out that water+blood+wrist shaking=cool designs and patterns in the sink.

My RA was studying with my other roommate the entire time and stupidly asked me while I was bleeding through my second bandaid, "Oh by the way, did they ever fix your window?"

Uh, NO. They didn't. Thanks for caring.

But now I'm worried about tetanus, because that window frame was both rusty and had flaking lead paint.

I'm so glad I pay so much to live in substandard housing.
If I get sick can I sue the school and get them to pay for housing for the next three years? Maybe I won't go get a tetanus booster, because that'd be great!

Because I CAN

(CNN) -- Was it a theft? A prank? A roundabout effort to bring some holiday cheer to the police? Authorities in Harwich, Massachusetts, are probing the mysterious appearance of a piano, in good working condition, in the middle of the woods.

A police officer examines an oddly placed piano in the woods of Harwich, Massachusetts.



Discovered by a woman who was walking a trail, the Baldwin Acrosonic piano, model number 987, is intact -- and, apparently, in tune.

Sgt. Adam Hutton of the Harwich Police Department said information has been broadcast to all the other police departments in the Cape Cod area in hopes of drumming up a clue, however minor it may be.

But so far, the investigation is flat.

Also of note: Near the mystery piano -- serial number 733746 -- was a bench, positioned as though someone was about to play.

The piano was at the end of a dirt road, near a walking path to a footbridge in the middle of conservation land near the Cape.

It took a handful of police to move the piano into a vehicle to transport it to storage, so it would appear that putting it into the woods took more than one person.

Asked whether Harwich police will be holding a holiday party in the storage bay -- tickling the ivories, pouring eggnog -- while they await word of the piano's origin and fate, Hutton laughed. No such plans.

Harwich police have had some fun, though. Among the photos they sent to the news media is one of Officer Derek Dutra examining the piano in the woods. The police entitled the photo "Liberace."

A good friend just sent this to me, knowing my penchant for pianos, strange occurrences, and forestry.

The thought that comes to mind is for my dream house, which WILL include a round living room whose walls are entirely windows. In the exact center of this room will grow a tree. A tree whose leaves inspire the Greeks, and whose bare branches scrape ones soul. (also can't be fruit bearing... Cuz I don't want fruit rotting in my house. And it can't be poisonous for dogs, but i digress)

Beneath this tree will sit a piano. Not just any piano, but a Black Steinway 3/4 Grand Piano.

(Not like this one.)

And I will be happy.

And I'll hang white string lights from the tree...
And I could build a treehouse in the tree...
And I can rake my living room in the fall...
And if its a flowering tree I'll play my piano in the midst of cascading petals
And I'll play my piano in the midst of cascading leaves in October
And the moon will shine through my transparent ceiling and I will play for her, just as she has played for me.



And it's totally never going to happen.
but a girl can dream, right?

let's not assume the worst, shall we?

It's funny how not-so-interesting experiences can really make one think. It was a pretty mundane, common-place thing that happened to me the other day and I don't know why it stuck with me, but it did.

I was walking into the public library and passed a teenage couple walking out. They'd have caught anyone's eye, as they were both covered in fairly typical goth-wear. You know, the chains, the make up, the secondhand almost-stylin' fedoras, the bondage pants, whatever. He had a tattoo of a skull superimposed on angel wings, and her eyeliner was smeared down her cheek to her jaw.

Who doesn't stare when they see people dressed like this?
And who wouldn't glare back at them as if the starers had intruded?
I can't blame them. I've been guilty of the same act. Yes, I have walked around in a sleepy mormon college town wearing getup similar to theirs. I got plenty of nasty looks. And the nasty comments I got were from my sister.

But I wasn't staring at them to disapprove, No. I was admiring their art. The art of looking different, the art of being different, the art of trying, the art of maintaining that edge. The only time I dress like that is when I'm making a statement. Those statements are reserved for "I can do this, watch me," and my annual boycott of Valentine's day.

I think this momentary passing stuck with me because I did feel mildly affronted. I wasn't looking at them out of deprecation, but out of admiration.

But then I turned that around: How many people's glances have I misinterpreted? Is there any way of knowing whether or not I am misinterpreting those fleeting looks? Had I been dressed in my own goth outfit (and not the mildly hippy looking one I had been wearing) and passed the same couple under the same circumstances, would they still have had the same reaction?