(Un)Happy Holiday, You Bastard! 2023

This is a hard post to write, my until-2020-annual-what-I'm-thankful-for post that the last time I wrote talked about Jonathan and how grateful I was to have him; in fact, I wasn't going to write it because what the fuck do I have to be thankful for this year? At least that's what I've been thinking. A lot. But here I am, and here it is albeit slightly different from the norm because this year I've decided to write both what I'm thankful for and also what I'm not. Petulant and sullen of me? Sure, but also pretty on brand, not just in the petulant and sullen part but also in my refusal to pretend to be anything I'm not. In the spirit then of being somewhat thankful, mostly not thankful, and being myself, it's time for my list(s). Let's switch things up from gloom and doom for a few minutes and start with

Things I'm Thankful For, 2023

1. What I look like. Right this second, it's the only thing coming to my mind. So many horrible things have come out of my breakup with Jonathan, but the way I look isn't one of them and honestly, thank the fucking lord, because if I didn't at least have my looks, I'd probably have killed myself by now. I know this doesn't matter since Jonathan is with Carla and not with me, but it does make me happy that she looks the way that she looks and I look the way that I look, and while we're on the subject, it also makes me happy (which I guess means makes me thankful, so it should be number

2.) to know that the only reason Carla is Jonathan's girlfriend instead of me is because I threw him out and caught him in lies. He wasn't going anywhere, feelings for Carla or not, so at least I have that: the knowledge that, whatever happens in their relationship, she started out as a consolation prize. 

3. My determination to be healthy. I won't say this will last forever because with me, nothing ever does, but I've been consistently strength training since July and training for a half-marathon for the past month, and I have to say, it's really paid off, not just in the way that I look, but in the way that I feel about myself when I follow through and meet my goals. Right now, I really need a win, and being disciplined in my workouts is giving me one. 

4. R - so I met this guy on Bumble, but before you go thinking anything, it's not like that. I told him from the get go that I just wanted to be friends, and we're nothing more, but we've gone out, and we text a lot, and it feels good having that which reminds me of 

5. My group chat with Curt and Geoff. It's an inactive group chat a lot of the time because Geoff keeps very strange hours (I won't take the time to explain who Geoff is to you, but if you know the show My So Called Life, you'll understand who he is to me when I tell you his name is Jordan Catalano in my phone), but it always makes me feel good to be a part of it. Curt and Geoff are two of the wittiest people I know (far wittier than I am if you can believe it), and our interactions make me happy. Plus, no matter how far removed from elementary school, middle school, high school, and undergrad and, therefore, my obsession with Geoff I am, I'll always be just a little bit in love.

6. My run club or better yet, the fact that I got up the nerve to go to a run club at all. When Jonathan and I were together, he used to go to his cunt of a mother's house every Wednesday night for dinner, so I joined a run club to go to while he was gone. I didn't go all summer since I had no desire to leave the house, but I went back in September and have been there almost every Wednesday night since. I've never been good at meeting people because I come across as standoffish since I'm so shy, and while when I first showed up, I could barely talk, I'm now friends or at least friendish with everyone. It feels nice. 

7. The newfound judgment I, at least for now, have. I think it's no secret that I don't do things that are good for me especially when it comes to boys. Recently, though, I've made three good decisions that in the past I never would have. As we all know, I've been feeling pretty bad, and when I feel bad, I start to think of the past which leads to me wanting to talk to people -- you know what, forget the involved explanation. Clinton. I wanted to text Clinton. His birthday just passed, and I was like, what harm can it do to just send a happy birthday text? I even messaged a friend and asked what she thought, and although she stupidly said she supposed it could cause no harm at all, I realized it could do nothing but. Whether he ignored me or whether he responded, it would only lead to my getting hurt, and so for the first time in my life, I exercised self-control regarding a boy. You know what? I'm lying. That wasn't the first time in my life because exercising self-control was involved in another one of the three good decisions I made, and this other time came first. I recently was in the position to have sex with someone who you all know from past posts as the best sex I've ever had but who you also know from this post as someone who broke my heart. Even though I'm totally enmeshed in my breakup trauma and depression and feel like I'll never care about any boy other than Jonathan again, I know if I were to have had sex, emotions would resurface whether genuine or not, so like with not texting Clinton, I made a healthy choice. Same goes for my decision to only be friends with Bumble guy R who I could have dated if I'd wanted but who I know isn't right for me and doing so would only be an attempt to feel a little bit better right now but end up hurting in the long run. I think it's possible I'm learning how to protect my heart.  

8. Keifer moving next week. Keifer came to stay with me in July, and while I love him very, very much and am happy I had this time with him, I'm ready to have my house to myself. I also can't stand how much he loathes being here, and if moving will make him happy, I'm thankful for that. 

9. My relationship takeaways. Jonathan and I were talking a few days ago, and the subject of how we've influenced each other's lives came up. Both of us agreed that we've adopted lots of things because of one another. Not limited to but including the things that I cook and I eat; Mary, Gustavo, and Diana, my three Roombas; my well-rounded education in video games; and my love of The Vampire Diaries and Castlevania, there are so many things in my life now that weren't here three years ago, and since I mentioned 

10. TheVampire Diaries and Castlevania, I'd me remiss if I didn't talk about being thankful for them. I'm not saying they're Buffys, but they're pretty close. I suppose it's possible they came around at just the right time in my life and that's why I love them as vehemently as I do, but whatever the reason, I'm thankful they both exist.

11. The relationship with Jonathan that I still have. Through this post and some recent ones, you may have surmised that Jonathan and I still talk. It's not super often (although lately it's been much more often than it was), but when we do talk, we talk a lot, and like he said today, it's without devolving into fights. I know. I know! Zero contact and all that stuff. Except not for me. It doesn't matter what Jonathan did to me or how awful I've felt as a result, I still love him just as much right this second as I did our whole entire relationship, and I'm thankful I have him in my life.

And you know what? Let's stop this right now. It's not like you're unaware of the things I'm not thankful for; let's for once end a post on a good (although sad) note. Happy Thanksgiving, people who read my blog. It may not be in my immediate cards, but I wish every one of you lots of love and peace -- unless, of course, Carla happens to be reading this post in which case I'd like to minus one from that wish. 

Goddammit, did that just fuck up my good note? Let's try this again.

Ending on a good note, take two:

Love and peace, people. Love and peace. 

Here's to Living in the Moment 'Cause It Passed

You know how when you go to text a photo and click the little arrow, a choice of contacts comes up for where you want to send the photo based on the people you text the most (at least on iPhone)? For the first time a couple days ago, I went to text a photo, and Jonathan wasn't there (although for some reason he was later that day despite my not having text him (update for transparency: in the time since I started writing this post two days ago, I have, in fact, text Jonathan although also for transparency, it was only to remind him about an upcoming deadline for the accelerated nursing program at NSU)).

It shouldn't have surprised me -- his contact not showing up -- five months and seventeen days after we broke up, and it shouldn't have affected me, but let me tell you -- it did both.

I know. I know! It's time for me to move on. When I was in the car with my sister last weekend and said something about Carla taking my place and going to Friendsgiving with him this year instead of me, she said she still couldn't believe it, couldn't believe the two of them were together, and I agreed. I told her that even now, five months later, it's so hard for me to believe he's not my boyfriend anymore, that he's with someone else. I did acknowledge, though, which is something I wasn't able to acknowledge, or even understand, before, that this isn't anything unusual; my plight is not unique. Relationships end all the time. People leave each other, people who have been in relationships far longer than the three years I spent in mine. The incredulity I feel, while it may be warranted, should have run its course. 

That word, though -- should. I keep saying it. But should I?

We hear it and think it all time. He should, she should, you should, I should. There are lots of things people should, so many things, but, really, who's to say they should them? (Yes, I meant to write it that way; in this case, should is a verb and not the helping kind.)

When I recently told one of the guys I've been talking to on Tinder that I'm still recovering from my last relationship and have always been pretty emotional and sentimental and maybe -- maybe; uh-huh -- a little hypersensitive, he replied that there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, a sentiment echoed by a healer whom I watch on Instagram who asserts that all feelings are valid, and the way people feel is always correct.

But this isn't why I came here, to talk about feelings and whether we should feel them or not because should or shouldn't, mine aren't going away. I might not cry at the drop of a hat anymore, but like I told Jonathan last night when he told me he misses me very much, it's all Jonathan in my mind all the time. It doesn't matter where I am, where I'm going, what I'm doing, everything is somehow Jonathan adjacent. I guess that's what happens when you spend almost every minute with someone for three years of your life. 

But, again, this isn't why I'm here. I've kvetched about Jonathan enough, and unless they're mentally challenged, everyone who's read this blog (as well as anyone who's had even a two-minute conversation with me in the last five months) knows how I feel. So then why am I here?

Let me tell you, people who read my blog, I wish I knew. 

I'm here, I guess, to try to make sense, not to you, but to myself. About a week ago, I was grading some papers for my ENC1101 kids and came across a passage by Steven Alvarez. In it, Alvarez says that writing is "the process of discovery through language. It is the process of exploration of what we know and what we feel about what we know through language. It is the process of using language to learn about our world, to evaluate what we learn about our world," and while reading it, I kind of had a moment of vindication even if only to myself because that's why I'm here. 

That's why I'm always here. 

What reason, other than trying to figure things out, do I have to tell a bunch of strangers and a bunch of people who know me -- which is way worse than telling strangers -- the minutiae of my life? Why else relay the humiliation, the desperation, the loneliness, the denial, the sadness, the ugliness, the defeat, the truths that I imagine everyone carries inside them but is discerning enough not to share? I know I've said this to you before, but that's how I process things, how I come to understand, and no, writing in a journal for myself isn't the same. Journaling or diarying, if you will, is akin to fleeting thoughts while blogging and essaying and poeming engender rumination. I mean, how many times have you seen me have an epiphany mid-blog? How often does my blog start out about one thing and then it turns out I was really writing about something else? 

So (sort of) going back to Jonathan and my shoulds, I've been told, in addition to that I should feel better by now and that I should move on, that I shouldn't write about him anymore which really goes back to the former -- I should feel better, I should move on. I shouldn't spend (read: waste) any more time writing about him. But for me, writing about him isn't a choice because I write about my life, my world, and as pathetic as it sounds (here comes the humiliation from one paragraph up), Jonathan pretty much is my life and my world (all Jonathan in my mind all the time, remember?). And to make sense of my life and my world, or at least some semblance of sense, I have to write my life and my world, and so (!), here I am writing about how jarring it was that Jonathan's contact didn't come up when I went to send a photo via text. 

Also jarring? Getting an Olukai catalog in the mail a couple days ago since the only reason I get it is from ordering Jonathan shoes; sleeping without him in the bed where he and I slept when we'd visit my parents' house; booking a room for two nights in Orlando at the hotel where he and I always stayed; kissing another man; seeing a penis -- like an actual one, not a penis on my phone -- that's attached to someone else, an experience I'd love to write about, and about which I know you nosy pervs would love to read, but which won't occur since the person attached to the penis will most likely be reading this.  

Actually, you know what? Forget the catalog, the bed, the hotel, the kiss, and the penis. It all jars me. Every single thing. Every time I do something Jonathan and I used to do together sans Jonathan for the first time (and sometimes the second and the third), every time I think of Carla being the one to do something I'd normally do with Jonathan in my place, every time I do something I thought I'd never do again because I thought I was entrenched in forever, I'm jarred. 

I know. I know! You'd think I'd be used to these things by now. I'd think I'd be used to these things. 

But I refuse to subscribe to the idea that I should. 

A New Address on the Same Old Loneliness

I'm sitting here right now, an itty bitty bit drunk, thinking about how it's so much easier to make decisions when I'm like this. While, yes, I know it's not practical or the healthiest way to be, if I could just be an itty bitty bit drunk all the time, I think life would be way easier for me (although I'm also thinking, as I sniff it on my wrist, that maybe I don't like the palo santo and patchouli oil I bought about forty-five minutes ago at Yellow Green Farmer's Market on my sort-of date quite as much as I thought I did, so maybe the drunk decisions I make aren't the best, but to counter that, if I'm drunk all the time, do I really care?).

Case in point: When I'm not an itty bitty bit drunk, I'm wishy washy, and I vacillate about, well, everything, but since we all know this post isn't about everything, I might as well say what I really mean, or okay, maybe "really" isn't the right word anymore, so let's go with a better one - primarily - in conjunction with my not-an-itty-bitty-bit-drunk-Jonathan-related dealings. When I'm not an itty bitty bit drunk, he and I talk and we don't talk, and I think to myself that I should block him so that he doesn't do to me what he did Monday night, which is text me after us having had almost two weeks of no communication, setting my everything back, but I don't have the nerve. The way I feel right now, though, I could block him, and that would be the end of that. Once I'm not an itty bitty bit drunk, though, I know I'd unblock him right away; therefore, if I were to stay an itty bitty bit drunk around the clock, Jonathan would be entirely out of my life. 

***

Okay, so it's now tomorrow, and I'm no longer drunk, and all I have to say about what I wrote yesterday is forget not liking the oil I bought as much as I thought I did, I out and out loathe it. I got so excited when I first saw it since it's two of my favorite scents, and it smelled really, really good when I first put it on, but there's this overly alcoholish undertone that I smell on people often and can't stand, and as time went by, that same stench started to emanate from my skin. I thought maybe it was my imagination and put a little on after my shower today to test it only to scrub myself silly about two minutes after putting it on. Oh, well. At least it only cost twenty-something dollars which maybe is sort of worth it for the lesson I got. 

Not clear about the lesson I got? Yeah, neither am I. I say we talk it out.

I can't make decisions. Ever. And I'm not just talking about big stuff. I'm talking every decision that has to be made in my life like, say, 

things to buy. Let's start with that. Before I buy almost anything that goes in or on my body, I do more research than my students seem to do when assigned a research project. From product websites to reviews to ingredients, I spend, and I'm not exaggerating, probably twenty-to-thirty hours minimum doing research, and then a lot of the time, I still can't go through with trying a new product. 

A table doesn't go on my body (I'd love to make a joke here, but I'm coming up blank) which might make you think buying one of those would take less time. Silly people who read my blog! If you had any idea how long I've been looking for a new table, how many websites I've been to, how many lists of tables I have saved, surely you'd think me mad(der than you do now). Same with comforters. And drapes. I've wanted to replace both my comforter and the drapes in my room for months now and have looked at countless comforters and sets of curtains online, but I just can't commit. Jesus, are you reading that? Because I am. For months, I've wanted a pink comforter and pink blackout curtains--pink! Just pink! I'm not looking for anything fancy at all. No patterns, no designs, just pink!--and I can't commit. To Amazon. Where everything can be sent back. Like, what in the motherfucking fuck?

That oil I bought yesterday? I never--never--would have bought it if I hadn't uncharacteristically had a daytime beer. What I would have done, and I know this because I've been in this situation sober many times, is smell the oil and want it but not be sure about making the purchase. I'd have put a little on and told the woman I was going to think about buying it, left and walked around and smelled my wrist every few minutes for the next however long, something that if I'd done, I'd have known I couldn't actually stand the oil's smell, but because I was an itty bitty bit drunk, I bypassed that part. So what did I end up with? Basura. Twenty-something dollar's worth of basura sitting on my shelf.

So here I was yesterday, all proud of myself for actually making a decision and buying something, and oh my God, right this second as I type this I think - wait a minute, let me check - okay, checked, and yes! That oil wasn't all I bought. I just checked my email and saw that at 4:14 I got a confirmation email from Amazon for having bought running shoes, doggie bags, and a shower liner I haven't been able to decide on whether or not to buy for a couple weeks, and all I have to say about that is, this post just became a little bit more layered than I thought. 

I made a bad decision when I bought the oil, and I was ready to talk about how, despite my declaration yesterday about staying drunk so I could buckle down and decide on things I otherwise couldn't, the decisions I make when I'm drunk are obviously bad and that it's better to not do anything at all than it is to choose wrong, but the things I bought at 4:14? That decision was good. I know I need doggie bags; it's not like my dogs aren't going to poop, and yet, those bags have been in my cart for days. I also know I need a shower liner; I've needed that for over a month but haven't been able to decide on one. Never mind the fact that a shower liner does nothing but hide behind a shower curtain and keep the shower curtain from getting covered in mold, I literally couldn't pick (do you have any idea how many colors there are?). And the running shoes? I have these super unwieldy toes that curl up so much when I run, my shoes have holes in the upper mesh. Clearly I needed shoes, but if not for the fact that I was an itty bitty bit drunk when I looked on Amazon yesterday and saw that they carried the same model of Asics that I wear, I never would have clicked the button to buy; instead, I would have just kept saying I need to go to Running Wild but not actually go.

So I guess what I need to think about isn't whether or not the decisions I make when I'm an itty bitty bit drunk are good or bad since clearly they can be both, it's why I need to be an itty bitty bit drunk in order to make them at all. Like, what am I so afraid of? Making a mistake, sure, but like we saw when discussing Amazon, it's not like a lot of those decisions can't be reversed. So what's actually up? And, yes, I know everybody does things they normally wouldn't do when they're an itty bitty bit drunk (liquid courage, right?), but I'm willing to bet a lot of those people if not most are also capable of buying a shower liner when they're sober and now that I typed that I'm coming to a 

Realization

and that's that anger is my non-drinking, itty-bitty-bit drunk. Before I threw Jonathan out of the house, I was miserable about Carla for a long time but it was the blinding anger that made me take the action that I took. I told you before that when I lamented having acted out in anger, my therapist said she didn't think that I did, that this was something going on for a long time and that I knew I had to take action or it would never stop. I suppose she knew what she was talking about. The thing with Carla bothered me so much for so long just like the way he pussyfooted around his cunt of a mother, and I knew what I had to do, or better yet, what I should do, but I couldn't. I'd decided long before I ended things that if things continued the way they'd been going, I'd have to end it, but my decision to end things with Jonathan was my shower liner in my Amazon cart. It just sat there in my insides until something made me click the "Place Your Order" button. 

I'm realizing now, like right this second as I type, that somewhere, somehow, I lost all my nerve which now, having walked the dogs between the word "nerve" and "which" and thinking about this the whole time, I think translates to trust. I don't trust myself. At all.

I think I've made so many bad decisions in my life, decisions that I regret, that I just don't feel like I'm capable of deciding anything at all. Take the tables in my wish lists. About a month or so ago, I sent those tables to Jonathan, my sister, and my older son, three people who have absolutely nothing to do with my house, and when any of the three of them didn't like my top choices, I took them off the list. Like, why? What reason do I have to think that the tables Jonathan, my sister, or my older son likes are any better than the ones I do? First of all, in this situation, what does better even mean? And what if they are better somehow? What's going to happen? It's not like I'm going to put all the fine china I don't own on whatever table I get and it's going to collapse. So what do I even need for them to decide? I'm the one who has to live with the table and look at it every day. Shouldn't it be my choice, and wow, now I'm realizing 

something else, and let me tell you, it isn't pretty. If somebody else were to tell me what table to get and I ended up not liking the table in the end, it wouldn't be my fault. I would have sacrificed the table I wanted because somebody told me there was a better one out there, and when I looked at it every day and regretted getting that table instead of the one I wanted, there'd be someone else to blame, and holy shit, what I'm realizing now in front of everybody who reads this is that I'm a coward who doesn't want to take responsibility for the things that I do so instead, I leave what I do up to somebody else. 

Wow. 

But let me digress because I've already written almost a chapter in a novel, and this is going in a direction I couldn't have foreseen. Going back just a few steps, to the place we were before I discovered my proclivity for placing blame, I also discovered that I hold things inside of me that I know have to be acted upon, and it's not until I get angry enough that I follow through only to later regret it just like I do buying yesterday's oil. When I'm sober which for me seems to mean not angry, but sad, I care about the consequence; when I'm furious, I don't. What I didn't think about before this post is that unlike people who have anger issues and make decisions without thinking about the consequences, I have thought about them. A lot. But because I know how painful those consequences will be coupled with the distrust I have in myself, I avoid doing what has to be done

and let's face it. I have good reason. I've been miserable - miserable, miserable - for the past five months. But what's the alternative? Always being just a little bit sad? Having a boyfriend who doesn't care about how I feel and lies all the time, whose behavior I've always justified by telling myself that when people are in a relationship they decide what annoying behavior they can tolerate and what they can't? 

I have two things I want to say. I'm not sure how to tie them together, so I won't even try. The first is that when talking to my former therapist about how irritated I get, she told me to practice not getting angry with little things and that eventually it will extend to bigger things. I've been trying that recently. Cocoa, one of my dogs, has been peeing in the house at night. About a week ago, I was so mad, I think I traumatized her for what's left of her old-lady life. Yesterday morning and this morning, though, I didn't even raise my voice. I simply didn't let myself get mad. Something else happened, something I can't remember now, and instead of getting angry, I just told myself it wasn't a big deal and didn't get upset. I'm thinking if I can do this with little things that would normally make me angry and get so used to it that I'll no longer have to, I can do this with decisions, too: push "Place Your Order" when something is in my cart; choose a table on my own; buy shampoo and conditioner or sunscreen or for the love of God, even a pack of Expo markers (yes, I've recently been unable to even follow through with purchasing that). If I can practice making decisions and accepting the outcome, like with my not-getting-angry muscle, maybe I can also strengthen that which brings me to

the second thing I wanted to talk about, and I guess maybe they do kinda sorta connect. I have, I don't know, a friend? A somewhat friendly former lover? A guy who I talk to and sometimes see (but not in the talking to and seeing way you may be thinking)? who told me recently that discipline is the highest form of self-love. Since he said that, I've thought about that statement a lot. This whole thing with Jonathan - the knowing I needed to end things but not being able to until I was incensed and the fervent need I feel to have him back in my life the way he used to be despite knowing, during moments of lucidity, that what he did was horribly wrong and not in the realm of when-you're-in-a-relationship-you-have-to-decide-what-annoying-behavior-you-want-to-tolerate behavior - these are a lack of self-discipline because along with lacking trust in myself, I've also lacked self-love. I've lacked that for a long time, long enough that it's responsible for a whole lot of those bad decisions I've made, and that's not me placing unwarranted blame. 

It's merely the truth.