Losing Dolly at the beginning of the year was absolutely devastating. However, I was also buoyed by the fact that we suddenly had space for a new cat in the house. What better way to help me through the mourning process than to have a new life keeping me company while Heather’s at work? And since her dream was always to have an orange tabby, I set about finding her the perfect kitten from the Humane Society back in January.
I thought he was still teething, but it turns out he just really likes chewing things. Also, sleeping in boxes.
Kittens tend to go within a few hours of being put up for adoption, so at one point I was checking the website every hour for available candidates. When there happened to be a tiny male tabby at 14 weeks old on the other side of town, I drove over immediately and found him in a cage sleeping with his sister (a beautiful little calico). It broke my heart to split them up, but I also knew she’d soon be snatched up herself.
Continue reading “introducing Percy”…
I’ve recently been faced with the challenge of navigating divergent histories within a shared narrative.
It’s the reason I wonder what my ex-bestie tells people regarding our falling out; I have the feeling it’s something along the lines of, “I don’t know”, even though I made it extremely clear exactly why I was unsatisfied and unhappy in our friendship. It’s the same reason I suspect my mom tells people that we didn’t get along when someone asks if she has any kids, instead of “I hurt my son so much that he refuses to have anything to do with me”. Sure, each explanation might be close to the truth, but they’re far enough away from it that I’d consider each one a lie.
Continue reading “unreliable narrator”…
I hope I’m not belabouring the point when I say I’ve suffered a lonely existence. For much of my life, I’ve kept those closest to me at arms-length, out of a subconscious fear that they’d hurt me. I could never turn to my parents for any kind of support, cause they were more concerned about how I made them appear than how I felt; I had no siblings with which to form an alliance when they became my greatest enemy. The best friend I carried into adulthood was a person who never truly understood me, and my best friend after that abandoned me at the first sign of difficulty.
Managing my relationship needs has been a lifelong struggle. Much of the growing I’ve done (or been forced to do) is intertwined with the solitude I’ve faced; being able to change myself gives me a small sense of control in what would otherwise be a messy and chaotic existence. An added difficulty is that I keep evolving, and my social needs evolve in turn. It takes years to develop the kinds of relationships that nurture me. I’m in the middle of a transition, and my support network is the smallest it’s ever been.
Living with a partner has helped, but at some point my attachment to Heather grew unhealthy. It’s not fair for me to put so much pressure on her to be my lover, friend, therapist, caretaker, gaming buddy…everything. When I start to resent her for my needs going unmet, I know I’m in a bad place and need to check myself.
Continue reading “semi-poly”…
Stepping out of my comfort zone lately means letting someone hear my material before it’s ready, saying I love you without the expectation of hearing it back, posting pictures of myself I find unflattering, being an attentive listener during difficult conversations, worrying that spouses will know my secrets but telling friends anyway, listening to songs that remind me of her, holding important people accountable for hurting me, asking for help before I need it, accepting the fact that no one can be everything I need all the time, loving someone from a distance, letting boys hold me when I’m upset,
daring to dream that things will be okay,
putting myself first in the destructive relationships I can’t escape, saying no instead of finding excuses, making love without some kind of reassurance about my looks first, letting myself miss the people I no longer like, being first to call after exchanging numbers, not knowing when I’ll be home and going out anyway, hoping I’m not judged every time I ask her to do that thing I like, giving myself space from people who adore me but don’t nurture me, not trying to please everyone all the time, playing even though I have a decent chance of losing, not cutting someone out after they’ve wronged me, reconciling with old lovers, empathizing with people I hate, going out when I’m not high, spending time around people I find difficult, saying sorry and meaning it, trying to hit chord tones in genres I never listen to, and paying attention to the friends who call me on my shit.
That’s how you described yourself, soon after your dad died. A girl lost in grief, trying to drink and smoke and work and fuck her way out. Living her life like she was the only one who hadn’t figured out what to do with it.
It’s hard to imagine you being so sad once. Or sad at all, and secure enough to admit loneliness. You even had the objectiveness to know that you shrank from others even though you didn’t make yourself happy. That’s why I keep going through these entries in your old blog. Not just a dream journal, but a journal of dreams. Before you became trapped in a domestic life and your heart turned into a lump of stone.
Continue reading “a reckless careening of emotions and actions”…