Look for the Stars as the Sun Goes Down

About four months ago, maybe five, I was sitting in my classroom when Griffin sent me a text telling me that Angels and Airwaves was coming down on September 10. For those of you unaware, Angels and Airwaves, or AVA, part of "the holy trinity of Blink-182, Angels and Airwaves, and +44/Boxcar Racer," according to one of my posts from 2012, is a band that while not a part of my technical formative years, may as well have been because they had such a significant effect on not only my life, but the lives of all four people who at one time lived in this house. 

Lest you question the importance of AVA on the people who hail from the Marthentyre residence, when presale tickets went on sale near the end of last school year, Glenn, who I'm pretty sure everyone knows can't stand me at all, told Griffin I could use his special code to buy some for me and Keifer in case they sold out. AVA is just...well, they're just us, or at least the us that once was.

When I looked up the show, which was in Orlando, I saw it was on a Tuesday, but I didn't care. I'd been working at MHS long enough to miss a day of school near the beginning of the year; plus, formative, seminal band and stuff. Missing work instead of the show was the only option...when I worked at Miramar High. As you all know, that's no longer the case.

Still, seminal band and stuff. I couldn't miss the show (and neither could Kei, who was planning on taking a bus from Jacksonville to meet me at the show (Griffin would be going with Glenn and his girlfriend, Chanel)), but I also couldn't miss work. As unappealing as the thought of it was, I'd just have to drive to Orlando after school and then home again the same night. Sure, the next day at work would be awful, but it was one day. I'd live.

Well, as the show got closer, the thought of making the drive there and back in one night and working the next day got less and less appealing, and then, as you know, the whole being faux broken--fauxkin?--up with by M thing happened on Friday night, so by the time Monday morning came around, the day before the show, I could think of about a million things I'd rather do than go. Still, AVA was coming and Kei and I had plans, so I bought him his bus ticket to Orlando and did everything I could to minimize the exhaustion and stress I knew the next day would bring: picked out my clothes, packed my breakfast and lunch, did everything I had to do extra early so I could get in bed by 11:00 since I knew I'd be up until about 2:30 the next day...

I think this is now my favorite expression because it applies to literally everything in my life, but the best laid plans of mice and men, right? 2:30 in the morning the boy who now only sort of lives in my house comes waltzing in, slamming the door and waking both Hudson and me up, and I couldn't get back to bed until after 4. What kind of mood do you think I was in the next day? And what kind of mood do you think I was in when, at 2:15 in the afternoon while I was discussing "The Gilded Six-Bits," Kei called to tell me he got to the bus station early but the bus was backing out and they refused to let him board, so I was out the money for a concert ticket and bus ticket and going to the concert alone while Griffin was going to be there with Glenn and Chanel?

If you're thinking I was in the kind of mood that would make me want to kill everyone and get in bed and never get back out, you're thinking too positively. Upset doesn't even begin to cover it.

I called Griffin and told him I didn't know if I was going to the show and got in bed to take a power nap. I decided I'd sleep for 20 minutes and then decide, but really since the second Kei called me, I had already decided I wouldn't go. The notion I had a decision to make was just me being my usual non-committal self. 

At 4:00 my alarm went off. I got up. Got out of bed. Decided again I wouldn't go. Drive for three-and-a-half hours there, watch a show all by myself, and then make the trip back home, most likely having to stop at rest stops for power naps like when I made the same trip for Joyce Manor last year? Uh-uh. Absolutely not. 

Then I had a conversation with myself as I very often do, and it came down to me asking myself this: Which decision would be worse? I knew either way I'd have regrets; it was just a matter of which I'd regret more. 

About ten minutes after I made my decision, this

,

and it's one of the best decisions I've made in my life.

I wish I could explain to you the way I felt at the AVA show, the sense of hope, and happiness, and fulfillment, and wonder. I wish I could make you understand that it was just exactly where I was supposed to be at just exactly that time. I wish that you could feel what I felt at the AVA show. Everybody should be have the chance to feel like that at some point in their lives.

Now is the time when I tell you that if you're wondering how long it will take me to get over my most recent instance of utter despair and heart-wrenching pain--the fauxk up--the one that made me sob on my bathroom floor Friday night, hunker down in my house all weekend right after, and swear off boys for an indefinite amount of time, already turning down two dates, one with D from my super quick cheat sheet, the answer, apparently, is two days fewer than it's been, so that's, what? Four days and a few hours with Tom DeLonge? 

As it turns out, I was right not so long ago when I said I probably wasn't really the ittiest, bittiest, teeniest, tiniest, microscopickest, infinitesimallest bit in love with M but instead one-hundred percent high on  dopamine and oxytocin whenever I was around him. By Monday after school, all AVA issues aside, I was already feeling better, so much so that I told my cousin that I felt oddly all right, by Tuesday when I was on my way to the show, he barely crossed my mind, and when I was there? I off-and-on thought about exactly one guy the whole time, and it certainly wasn't anybody in the Kismet department of my life. 

When I left the show and went the wrong way because I can't follow directions even with a gps, I wasn't happy I was lost and way north of Orlando, but I was still in a good mood. At 2:00 when I ran over a humongous rock in the middle of the turnpike and my tire blew out causing me to swerve all over the road and then have to wait for somebody to come and put on my spare? Nary a negative thought. AVA restored what on Friday I thought I lost but didn't because six-heart sex on a five-heart scale is pretty fucking nice, but my light? That's all mine.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again (not the sugar thing; that's just common sense):

I've Been Here Before a Few Times

So for the second time in a little less than a year, someone who isn't my boyfriend broke up with me. Unlike last time with La Dispute Guy, this one can't be called a noyfriend, though, because M was really never anything more than a lover to me (albeit the most amazing one to ever take up 80 inches of my bed, and boy do I feel sorry for the guy who comes next. Actually, fuck the guy who comes next. Who I really feel sorry for in this scenario is me). I wish I could say that also unlike the last time with LDG, this time it doesn't hurt, M being nothing more than a lover and all, but you guys know me well enough to know that I can't. 

You guys know me well enough to know I'm currently right around the stage of wanting to die, the one with the feeling of nausea in my tummy and a heavy feeling in my throat and chest, the one where I get all teary at just a thought, the accidental reading of a car registration confirmation while scrolling through my texts, or even the opening of my fridge on which sits this:

What's April 30, Day of the Happy aka Dia del Feliz? you ask. The first time Kelly, Rodoshi, Sumaya, and Sam were ever simultaneously happy about a boy except in Sumaya's case her boy was a girl because she's gay, but you get the point. The four of us sat there during lunch at 12:50 on April 30, the day after M and I met, right after he'd sent the Todo a su tiempo text that would have a much bigger effect on my way of thinking and my life than he ever could have known, and marveled at the anomalous situation. This day has to be commemorated, one of us said (I don't remember who, but surprisingly, it wasn't me), so Rodoshi wrote it down and put it up on my bulletin board so we wouldn't forget. When I cleared my room out at MHS in the middle of August--three and a half months later and surprisingly we were all still happy over the same boys except Sumaya's girl in place of a boy--I moved it to my fridge, and it's made me really happy every day. Today, though? The same way Sumaya's boy is a girl instead of a boy, my happy is complete and utter despair.

The thing about being broken up with by someone who's not your boyfriend, and I think I'm becoming expert enough at this situation to know what I'm talking about, is you're the only one who experiences anything sad, and while I'm on the only-one-who-experiences-anything-sad track, I have to say the break up isn't the only thing to which it applies. If the person you're seeing isn't your boyfriend, it goes to reason that you're not his girlfriend, so he doesn't have to take any of your shit. This means you don't give it. If something bothers you, you don't say anything because you're really hoping inside that one day the not boyfriend/not girlfriend thing might be a thing of the past, and, well, giving shit? Not the way to make it happen. The whole time you're not dating the boy who's not your boyfriend, you're also doing everything he could possibly want, not just because you want to because he makes you so happy you feel like you could burst, but for the same reason as above. As a result of this mixture of circumstance, the boy who's not your boyfriend, the one who never planned to be anything other than a boy who's not your boyfriend and therefore didn't get attached nor do any boyfriend things for you yet got every single bit of your best girlfriend parts because, well, frankly, because you're a hopeless and hopeful idiot who hasn't yet learned, never experiences anything sad, neither during nor after the non-relationship.

In short, like I used to cry to my parents: it's not fair. It's not fair, and I think I can't do it anymore, at least not for a while. Pretty much right after I got over LDG, I went to M, and yes, I was so mostly happy for four months it was like I was living another person's life, but really that's only because it takes so little to make me happy, and if I look back at the entire situation objectively, I shouldn't have let myself feel so much which of course where I'm involved is like saying I should no longer pee, and so the only solution is an indefinite moratorium from boys.

(This should be a blast.)

This morning, I cried, and when I say I cried, baby, did I cry, to my Snapchat followers, and I'd apologize but if they want me cute in my undies, they've got to put up with the occasional puffy-faced tears, not just about M, but about the pizza and pancakes and holiday morning French toast that were so long a part of my life but no longer are. Believe me when I say you don't want to see the whole thing, but the details really aren't important, and it came down to this in the end:

As you can see, I'm not in a good place. I feel wretched right now. Wretched, and lonely, and devastatingly sad.

But

I suppose I do have to say that if, like I asserted in this morning's snap, eventually everything is gone, that means this sadness one day will be, too. 

A Bit Strange and a Little Bit Manic

Yesterday while I was crafting a poem, and I say crafting instead of writing because it was borne from poetry magnets--lots and lots of poetry magnets; my God, I don't understand why I have so many poetry magnets--I came to a realization. I can't share that realization with you because I think I'm going to turn it into an actual an essay, the kind I used to write when I cared about such things, but I can tell you it's sort of a big one, at least to me. I can also tell you that having four days off because of Labor Day and the hurricane gave me some time for reflecting on recent events which  means it's update time, so now you're going to have to think about them, too.

The first order of business we'll take care of is

That Wacko from Creep Who I Thought Disappeared 

A couple weeks ago I got a message and a friend request from some random guy on the same site where the lunatic from Creep and I met. If I didn't block him last week, I'd show you our messages for the sake of both accuracy and laziness, but I did, so I'm going to have to actually think. His name was Jay, he was 26, and for maybe fifteen minutes, he was pretty charming and cute. We talked for maybe four days total except one of the middle ones we didn't talk at all, and the only reason we talked on the third day is he messaged me saying something about how I'd disappeared. The first day he said something about wanting to--and I quote--own a slut (end quote move to paraphrase) because his fwb got into a relationship and they weren't seeing each other anymore, and when I asked him why they were only fwb, he said something like, I didn't really want a relationship and honestly, I still don't, to which I replied, But you want to own a slut? and he said, Well, the way it is on this site like tell her who she can and can't fuck, and I was thinking, Dude, that is not the way this world works no matter what kind of site you think you're on, but instead of saying that, I just didn't reply.

Two days later Jay messaged me telling me not to disappear. I told him I got distracted. I also told him that he seemed like a really nice guy, but I wanted him to know that I was already seeing people and not looking for anyone else and didn't want to waste his time. He thanked me for my honesty, and I thought that was the end.

That was not the end.

The next day this guy, this fucking guy who I barely talked to but had the decency to be nice to and honest with despite the fact that he contacted me when he was shopping for a slut, messaged me and said, and I kid you not, Well, it looks like you fucked me anyway. Now, normally I'd just let it go, but I have to tell you, I am just so over guys thinking I owe them anything at all that I couldn't. I told him I wasn't here for any sort of male entitlement he might have--I think my exact words were, Dude, I am not here for your male entitlement plus maybe some other things I don't remember--and his reply? I hope you never have the Popeye's chicken sand which, [sic] and well, this is where things get strange.

A somewhat paraphrased/sometimes exact transcript:

Your wish is granted because I don't eat meat.

Now you're not only an asshole, you're a lying asshole.

Ummm why would I be lying? Lots of people are vegetarians.

I don't know one.

That's probably because you're blue collar.

Don't assume things about me, asshole.

You don't know one vegetarian and you can't spell the word sandwich. It's really more of an inference than an assumption.

I know for a fact you're not a vegetarian.

Dude. I haven't had chicken in over eight years, I said, but let's for a second pretend I had. He knows for a fact, well, anything about me at all? What? That's not weird as fuck.

END SOMEWHAT PARAPHRASED/SOMETIMES EXACT TRANSCRIPT

The two of us went back and forth for longer than I'd like to admit (sometimes I really just like to be mean to people), moving from his assertion about my being a meat eater to how much money he thinks I make as a teacher and why I shouldn't dare call him blue collar to his asking me for my phone number about three times.

You got me, I said. I constantly eat meat and make no money at all.

Good. Now that we got that out of the way, why don't you give my your number already? he asked.

Wait. Is this, like, you trying to establish dominance? I asked, and I don't remember what he said, but it was something about it not being that but that he had to let me know I couldn't treat him that way, something weird enough for me to go back to his profile to look around. This is what I saw:

One photo on one extremely new profile. No friends. No interactions. No About Me. No nothing at all. Something was definitely amiss, and I'm pretty sure weird incel guy was in the midst of it.

Blocked.

Now, this next update is a little awkward and weird, but probably not any more awkward and weird than I, and plus I've actually had a few people ask me about this, so it looks like there's no getting around talking about

My Vaginal Health and the Removal of my IUD

Well, first of all, you'll all be happy to know the removal went swimmingly. I went in for my appointment, waited naked from the waist down for about an hour or so, lay down for my doctor, felt a tiny bit of pressure, said Ow! and there he was showing me my IUD. It was as easy as that. While we talked birth control pills, he handed me a pad, but I was bleeding so little I didn't even put it on, and when I left the office, I went straight to Publix where I picked up my new prescription.

I'd love to tell you it's been all bunnies and unicorns and rainbows in my vagina from that day out except not really because holy crap would that be a freak show, but you get what I mean. I can't do that, though, because despite not bleeding for the first couple days, after my second day on the pill came the blood and when I say came the blood, I mean it gushed. I thought it was just going to be a normal period since I hadn't had one in so long, but I bled for probably ten days, and I didn't just period bleed, like that rosy pink that leads to red and then turns rusty brown, I crimson red bled and every time I thought I was done I did it again. It did eventually stop, though, so that was great except the blood wasn't the only thing that stopped--my desire to have sex did, too.

Okay, people who read my blog, if you question anything about me at all, I'm betting it's not my interest in sex, but when I tell you the pill had an effect on it, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph did the pill have an effect. After about two weeks I called my doctor's office and was like, No, no, no, MC, this cannot be, and we tried a new pill. After about a week things started returning to normal, but I'm not super sure if it's the new pill or circumstance. I guess time will find out.

And the PH balance? Some days I feel okay, and some days I don't. I guess we need time for that one, too.

Hmmm. I think it's possible there's not much more for me to report on but okay, fine, we'll talk about 

How My Happiness is Panning Out

My happiness, I'm happy to report, is still around, and I'm even happier to report that two or three days ago, I wasn't happy at all; in fact, I was in a horrible mood. I know, you're thinking, Why the fuck are you happy that you were sad? Or mad? Or whatever negative Nelliedom you were visiting? and well, that's exactly why; I was visiting negative Nelliedom, but I didn't move in! I tend to go through wild extremes--wild, wild extremes--with my moods, and usually when I fall, I can't get up, at least not without some outside force, but this time, I got up, and I did it all on my own! I'm not sure how I did it except that I'm pretty sure music and dancing played a really big part and this is where I should maybe mention I have a  music and dancing problem, and it sounds like a silly problem, I know, but like I was telling Griffin yesterday, it really takes a toll because I turn on music, and it makes me happy, and when I'm happy, I dance, and it literally keeps me from getting anything done. I was supposed to make my students a quiz yesterday but I couldn't stop dancing long enough to do it, and I was supposed to grade papers but I danced through that time, too, and I was supposed to write this blog but I couldn't sit for long enough to do it, and well, it looks like happy dancing is both saving and ruining my life and maybe too much of a good thing really exists and now that I think about it, maybe mania takes different forms, one form being that of 

Magnetic Poetry and the Realization I Can't Talk About 

While I can't talk about my realization and while my poem is only crafted and not written, it definitely ties into the updates about all things Kis, and so for your reading pleasure, lovely people who read my blog, I'll leave you with this:

Amen.