Trying to resist

I keep dreaming of writing you letters.

Musings

This blog has generated a bit of a stir.

A couple things before I go on:

1. This is my journal. You don't have to read it.
2. When I said I was thinking about moving I meant what I said. Thinking about it.
3. If you work with me and we are not friends and you read this I think it's really inappropriate. Especially if you are management. Ahem.

Anyway.

I'm trying to remember how it felt when I knew it was time to leave Richmond and come to San Francisco. I had been there for 6 years and I was itching for change. It felt like I had learned the things that I needed to learn there and I wanted to move on. I was restless and pent up and pacing. It's weird, because that's not really what I'm feeling right now.

I feel defeated and tired. Really fucking tired.

People have asked me where I would go. I'd probably start with North Carolina, but I think realistically I would end up in Richmond again. I know. That sounds weird after I described being ready to leave, huh? It's just that the times I have returned to Richmond since I have been here, I have felt absolute joy. When I feel homesick, it is for Richmond. When I hear a weather report or a news story about Richmond, I feel a pang. When a friend mentions traveling to or being in Richmond, I am incredibly jealous. I miss it. I miss Judith and Amber and Dave and the folks I used to work with. I think it's the closest thing to "home" I ever felt.

I don't know.

The last time I made this decision it was a natural transition period in my life. Plus, I had someone to go with. This time I have neither going for me. Can I do it again? I don't know. I am considering it seriously enough that I told my friends here. I promised Nannette that before I made the decision I would work on getting to a mentally healthier place.

I am working on that.

Heritage

These were my great, great grandparents: Levi and Lula Williams. Aren't they amazing? I have no idea what year this was.

Thinkin' 'bout leavin'

Last night the Golden Gate Bridge had my number again. I'm terrified of that thing. There's something about it that draws my brain to it in times of despair.

I'm thinking about leaving San Francisco. Like, for real.

I used to feel optimistic. I used to have a feeling that things were going to work out for me--somehow, some way. I felt that good things were in store for me. That all ended a couple of years ago. I've struggled to figure out how to get it back, and I keep coming up short.

Things have gotten bad again, and it wasn't until last night when I told anyone just how bad they had gotten. I barely do the things I need to do to take care of myself, and this has to change. I deserve a lot more.

I'm giving some serious thought about moving to North Carolina, at least as a temporary stop en route to somewhere else, to be with my aunt for awhile. I need to leave the job that makes me want to slit my throat. I need some mental and emotional support. I can stay with her awhile while I look for a job. I can focus on myself and stop struggling so much just to survive. I need to sit with the idea a bit. If I do it, I need to seriously save some money, so it probably wouldn't be until after my summer class is over.

I'm scared. But I feel like there might be away out of this mental prison I'm living in.

I once had a friend named M.

M. was one of the first people I ever went on a date with and, while the romantic part of the relationship wasn't there, I loved him to pieces. We started hanging out all the time. We took drives. We went out to dinner. We sat and talked. He was a wonderful friend to me during a terrible time. He was a source of support and a confidante and a cheerleader.

M. met someone and fell deeply in love, and it was a joy to watch. He bloomed and grew and his happiness was contagious. He moved to the east bay and--despite my happiness for him--I was sad that he was going so far away. I knew it would take extra work to keep in touch, but I was fine with that. It was worth it.

I've never seen him again.

There were a couple of cursory emails since then, but that was all. It hurts me. I've struggled with how to handle this. I told myself it wasn't all about me. I know it's not. I told myself that I would let him know that I was here if and when he wanted to be in touch. I can't be in limbo that way anymore.

I wrote him and told him we needed to break up as friends, because I can't be in limbo about our friendship anymore and I'm so tired of crying over people who are now gone. Maybe it seems bitchy. Maybe it seems selfish. Maybe it seems heartless.

I just needed to prune the hedges. Everything is way overgrown around here.

Osama bin Laden sent this pie

She dreamed he was in the kitchen. Here. After all these years. He talked to the others in the room while she carefully averted her eyes, but she was dying to stare open-faced. He wanted to take a walk, and she casually offered him her favorite green umbrella. He suggested she come along. Her heart sang, but she reacted coolly. No reason to give it all away, after all.

She led him through her childhood backyard, pointing out where trees used to be, where daffodils bloomed every year, where second base had been when playing youthful games of kickball. They walked past her grandpa's, and she had the luxury of knowing he was there--still alive, inside. They walked through the neighborhood, first hand-in-hand, then with their arms around one another.

She tried not to think too hard. She knew she was dreaming. She knew to take it for the few moments of happiness it could bring. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek and it's sandpapery flush was so familiar.

She awoke alone, heart thumping, to grieve the loss of the dream.

Happy Valentine's Day

You in?

I find myself in a strange position tonight: I have no one to go out with. Everyone is part of a fucking couple, and it's getting on my nerves. Plus, I feel lonely. I'd kill for a beer and a good conversation right now.

I decided to be proactive.

Back in 2005--when I first moved here--I found most of my friends (and all manner of other possibilities) via Craigslist. I decided to try it again. I spent some time this evening looking in the "activity partners" and "groups" sections in which I looked the first time. I didn't really find anything I was looking for, so I posted an ad of my own. It was short and sweet:

Try new restaurants and bars with me (San Francisco)

Some of my friends have recently moved away, and I'm looking for some new and interesting peeps of all stripes to try out bars, restaurants, and anything else we may see fit to get into.

Good: wit, sarcasm, curiosity, macaroni and cheese appreciation

Bad: closed-mindedness, dogma, bad breath, spitting on sidewalks

You in?

I've gotten one response so far, and I'm totally excited. We're waiting to see if we get a couple more before we make any plans. In the meantime, I'm putting together a wish list of places I want to try.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

...Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid....

- T.S. Eliot

Mystery that shall remain unsolved

I got a phone call at 5:30am from a 415 number with a voicemail (okay, so I broke down and checked out of curiosity) that say, "Hey, Amie. This is Robert. Give me a call." I don't know any Robert. Especially one that would call at 5:30am.

P.S. I took an ill-advised nap, Shobana, so tonight promises to be a productive one, too!

Fear

I should probably let this being a chicken thing stop getting in the way.

More 6 word memoirs

She usually took the scenic route.

I apologize for what I said.

Break my body

Cripes.

The person to whom I lost my virginity was recommended to me as a friend on Facebook. And he is wearing a coat hanger on his head in his only picture.

Glad I dodged that bullet.

There is no sign of land...

Sometimes the most interesting people end up in my dreams. This time it was a former student of mine whom I haven't even seen in a couple of years, but communicate with regularly on Facebook. It's not the first time he made it into my dreams. I imagine he must be totally creeped out by now. Here's the recount I gave him:

This time we were both 13. Early in the morning we stood on my childhood porch. You were in an old flowered bathrobe. I drank coffee and listened while you taught me words in Spanish. Devolver. I conjugated the verb in my head. I worried that my stepfather would wake up and find a *boy* within a hundred yards of me.

No one does it like you. (2)

She pressed her face against the cold window to watch him walk out into the dark January night. All she wanted was to be near him, and it seemed like they spent most of their time saying goodbye. Suddenly she felt desperate at the sight of his figure growing smaller as he walked away. She let out a wail and pounded frantically at the window. The deer who crept carefully nearby were startled into a run, but she didn't care. There was a singular goal. He heard her beating against the window and was bewildered, but ran back and inside to her out of concern. Suddenly she was back where she had wanted to be all along: in his arms, pretending the next goodbye was nowhere near.