Reflections to a Friend

Dearest,

It's hard to accept that I was beat to the punch. Near the end that's exactly how I felt though I'd never admit it. You were the one that took control and made things ultimately for the better, not me. It's easy to be resentful because of it, but almost two years later I'm thinking maybe it was the best thing for us.

See, we never had closure. I'm wondering what closure was needed, as it seemed you and I would never again see eye to eye. It felt like we were blaming each other for our own mistakes rather than taking responsibility and making corrections as needed. Seeing that door ultimately close, both physically and virtually, made connections possible...but we both knew I would never take the hit of my pride to reach out to you.

That's how it had always been. I'd hurt you, I'd hurt myself by hurting you, yet I'd still expect you to reach out to me and get the ball rolling. For a long time we were always able to rely on that because it was a system that worked well enough for both of us...even though it wasn't fair. You just happened to be a good enough person to be a friend before being right. I should have learned that...maybe I did it just took me a while.

The saying goes "bros before hos; sisters before misters"...and on paper it's obvious that's where our downfall was. In an ideal world we'd each coexist in our social group and in our intimate group harmoniously. Well on both sides that never worked for either of us. There are a thousand "what if" scenarios that maybe just maybe we could have fixed any damage that had been done...but if that happened, would I be here now, coming to the revelation I have?

...now of course that I've stated it, it's supposed to now be this grandiose thing, which it's not. We've not spoken in almost two years, what's to say that should even change, let alone can even change? Is it sad that there are times I do or see something and you're the first person I want to tell? Or that there are quirks that we honed in on and made our own that still rest with me today (What's this? I don't know, but here goes another one...). I suppose in the past couple of months I've noticed a decline in spite within myself. It sucks to admit that there was spite in the first place, but like I said earlier you beat me to the punch...almost like you beat me at my own game. But more and more that's not what I think of when I think of you. More happy reminiscing...more laughing at the good times rather than holding onto the bad.

I have no idea what you're doing with your life right now. I don't know what track you're on, career, education, or otherwise. I don't know what your status is, what your current goals are, or even what color your hair currently is. I could probably navigate my way through social networking sites to find answers to these but I don't think I would be satisfied with the knowledge. I'm fairly certain I want my best friend back rather than just knowing about her.

boo hoo, Emma wants her best friend back, the one she pushed away and didn't attempt to contact for two years, big whoop. Karma's a bitch, am I right? It's possible that this will do nothing but create a funny story for those around you. It's possible this will go unread and unheard. It's possible that this will bring back two years of resentment and give me the worst kind of closure. Or maybe it's possible that this could open a door a crack and let there be a possibility for communication. Part of me wishes that I wasn't writing this right now because I haven't developed my thoughts to create a well-rounded letter...I'm pretty sure this looks like it was typed by a 5th grader. But at the same time it's so easy for me to over-think my feelings that maybe this is the only way I can get true feelings across, butchered syntax and all?

I don't want fake happiness, fake welcome, or fake tan (lol). No cuts, no buts, no coconuts. Straight A's, World Peace, and Brad Pitt (lightly buttered). I'd love some inspiration to write an actual blog post that reaches the eyes of millions...oh wait that's not what this is about...oops.

I want...your attention. Please yell if you're paying attention.

Please yell...

Please yell...

Please yell...


I truly hope you're doing well with whatever you're doing. I hope you're happy. I hope you're surrounded by those you love and those who love you in return. I hope you've found the spiritual relationship that works best for you and I hope you're still as funny, quirky, charismatic, impulsive, loving, and strong as my memories of you.

Until next time,
~Me

I Was Going To Freak Out

Because I try and have at least one post a month on her. And while I've been exceedingly busy, I had a strike of guilt when I remembered it was now October and I did not remember blogging in September.

BUT HA! I WAS WRONG! I DID BLOG IN SEPTEMBER! WHAT NOW!

...I understand no one cares about this but me, but hey, it's something right?

I'm going to post my teaching reflections on here at some point. Granted I'll make the dates make sense so then this post will look crazy because I'll magically have more posts in September, but just roll with it, ok?

:) If nothing else, I'm good for this month too! :P

And Here's To You - Chapter 4

I got to the parking lot of the antique bookstore and head in, seeing my boss already atop a ladder trying to get a first edition Hemingway for a customer. He heard the bell chime as I walked in. “Elaina! So good to see you! I have a list of books that need to be rotated…”

Thomas Henderson was a senile old man who had owned this store for decades. He spent his early years trekking around the east coast and Europe tracking down old books to add to his collection. Once he settled down to get married and have kids, he opened this store to pay the bills for his family. Even though he has grandkids in different states and his wife past seven years ago, he stayed in town with his store to bring the joy of books to this modern technology generation.

I was one of two employees he hired to help him keep things smooth. I mainly did the administrative work that he never seemed to grasp. When I first got hired his receipts were all in shoeboxes with no cataloging or filing system in place. Although I do get up on the ladder sometimes to help customers, that is mostly Kennedie’s job. She’s his granddaughter, from his one son that stayed in town to make sure he was still moving about and didn’t need to be placed in a home. Kennedie grew up hearing the stories of how Thomas got each book and was able to use those sentimental pieces to sell them. Her technique was flawless and something to be admired by anyone was a clue about sales. I typically just sat in the back office mumbling to myself about how he Thomas might be able to keep from being audited if he had a sentimental story to share with the IRS.

As I start my work, I can’t help but feel my mind wander back to the events of the last couple days. My life just seems to be on repeat: summer day in, summer day out. Parents fight, I run next door. You’d think someone who was angry enough by all of this would try and not let it affect them, right? It would be so much easier not to care. But then again it would also be easier just to leave and start over, but for some reason I wasn’t doing that either.

Am I really staying in town for college for Cameron? It was an answer I refused to find only because I knew how easily I could convince myself that I was. I had the grades to go to any state-funded school, and I had sports to get me scholarships if I wanted to go private, but instead I only applied to the school in town. I got in, and that was that. I tuned out the rest of senior year and I tried to ignore all of my classmates and their excited chatter for the future.

Stop it. I jolt out of my memory. Acceptance and change; those are your two options. You don’t waste time and emotions on things you can’t accept or change. I quickly get out of the office and look for Kennedie to start rotating those books.

*~*~*~*

Every night starts the same.

I try not to need him. I try and find the strength in myself to handle everything that’s going on in my life. I try and tune out the copious amounts of arguments I hear each night from the depths of my parents’ bedroom. I try every mechanism I know to keep myself from going back into Cam’s arms. Or worse…

I look to the top left desk drawer across from my bed. Even though I haven’t opened that drawer for months, I know exactly what the contents are. I know that in the back corner, where no one would see if they just opened the drawer not knowing what to find. The box of razor blades was inconspicuous for a reason; I had no intention of letting anyone know how I used to cope with reality before Cam.

Every night was a constant battle. Which was the lesser evil: Relying on someone to keep you from falling and not knowing how to exist without that someone there; or using physical pain as a distraction from mental and emotional pain? Years of practice showed me where to cut so I could wear clothes typical for the season without being questioned as well as how deep to cut to cause the biggest distraction without the biggest risk of needing medical attention. If you looked at my arms they were lean and tan as much as any other softball player’s. But, if you looked at the side of my knees, or the front of my shoulder, you would see a series of slightly raised scars. Some were over four years old; others were just under three months. Once Cam and I started using each other, he became my distraction. But the longer we used each other, the more I knew I was starting to depend on him. And the longer that was in my mind, the more appealing my old option became.

But each night I had the internal debate and each night I found myself in bed with Cameron. Because I knew that it wasn’t just me using him; he was using me as well. And if I decided to stop, he was losing a distraction for no reason, and I couldn’t be that selfish. So even when I’ve taken the box out and been poised for the first cut, I’ve always found myself putting with back without marring my skin and tapping on his window.

It had been a bad night. After work I had gotten home and my dad was already there but my brother was not. I was about to make a split second decision to keep driving past my house and pretend I got caught up at work when I saw my mom look out the window and smile when she saw my car. So I had to park and slowly climb up the stairs to the front door where she greeted me with open arms. “Elaina! You’re just in time; your father is getting the chicken off the grill!” She had a tone about her voice that she was excited about our family dinner. I still don’t understand her optimism.

I walked through the house. “Where’s Eli?”

“Oh he’s just running a bit late,” she replied. “Why don’t you go change out of your work clothes and come back down, and then your brother will be back and then we’ll eat!”

I start trudging up the stairs without responding. Even though I wasn’t surprised by my brother’s absence, it unnerved me. Edward was slightly more tolerable when Eli was around. I heard the back door slam shut and a hoarse male voice call for my mother. Yep, it was going to be a long night.

We had a mostly silent dinner up until when Eli came banging through the front door. Both of my parents looked up at him, but only one was welcoming. “Eli, honey, come and grab—“

“Where the HELL do you think you’ve been!?” My father boomed. “You knew dinner started a half an hour ago and you were expected to be here.”

Eli just shrugged and headed for the stairs. “Wasn’t hungry” was all he said and then he disappeared to his room.

Edward was turning puce and looked like a vein was about to burst in his forehead. “If I had a right mind I’d go up there and whip his ass…”

My mother turned to her husband and pats his hand. “He had asked to go out and I let him. So he’s a little late; he’s home now. No harm, no fowl.”

Edward jerked away from her touch. “You’re a terrible parent if you think that behavior is acceptable. Every time he disobeys you, you need to whip him. See if he comes home late after that…”

I looked down at my plate. I knew I was pale and my appetite was completely dissolved. Keeping my head bowed I took it to the sink and cleaned it quickly and quietly, slipping away to my room as soon as possible, where I was now trying not to open that top drawer of my desk.

I was sitting on my hands and slightly rocking on my bed to keep me from jumping up and opening the drawer. I was trying to think of every single Spanish verb conjugation I knew to distract me. I was trying to remember all the logic behind not cutting myself and promoting a healthier lifestyle. All of these distractors were barely keep me from cutting, adding the reminder of my father’s abuse to me as a child, and then it became near impossible. Tears were brimming on my eyelids and I was almost at a breaking point when my phone buzzed, illuminating the small part of my bed as it did so. I looked at the screen:

Resistance is futile ;-) -Cam

And just like that, I saw nothing else. My tunnel vision was only on my phone and my next destination: his window.

A Modest Engagement

So we just got done eating little Irish babies and I noticed more and more the comments that my husband would make about my weight. Each day I looked in the mirror and I didn't notice anything different from the previous days. And of course, my friends tried exceedingly hard to get the idea out of my mind that I was indeed gaining weight. It got to the point where I would stand on the scale daily just to have the empirical evidence if I was gaining weight or not. There was some gain here, some loss there, but it was never something bad enough that I thought deserved the comments my husband was making. After several months of this, I couldn't go a day without wondering if maybe there was some truth to my husband's claims.

Ok, so I had had a bad spell where I was eating maybe a bit more babies that I used to. Actually I had been doing pretty well about not eating a lot, but one day I just gorged myself. That was my fault, I'll admit, but I worked hard to show that it was a one time thing, not a new normal. But then, I noticed when my husband made babies he would put more on my plate than I would normally give myself. As he was on the one serving me I didn't want to be disrespectful and not eat them. Yet, even though he was the one that was serving me, he would still make the comments about my weight. You'd think that someone who felt that strongly about my weight would either go out of his way to keep me from consuming that much food, or at least let me take control of the situation so I could monitor it all myself. But no, instead he was heaping all the meat on my plate, and then still complaining about how much weight I was gaining!

My husband made me fat.

It soon became an extremely sore subject. If he made a comment I tried to tune him out, which then spawned an argument about how disrespectful I was being, especially since he was being so generous, going out of his way to make sure I had more than enough to eat. I mean, how can you spitefully say "WELL WHY ARE YOU MAKING SURE I DON'T STARVE"? You just don't, you know? But I didn't ask for it and who knows? Maybe a little starving would have done me some good...

Now I'm trying to take control of how much meat I'm eating. I've just now gotten down to a weight that is acceptable for both me and my husband. Except if I've had a long day and want to treat myself, maybe put a tiny bit more on my plate than I had in previous nights, or maybe go all out and heap it on but vow not to do that for another three months...we get into another argument. He absolutely won't hear me when I say it's a one-off, not the start to a pattern. "They all start as one-offs", he'll say, "and then you have so many one-offs they'll accumulate and you'll be back to being as fat as you were!" I mean, how can I prove to him that I can control myself and lead a normal life without him bringing up my past? Yes, I understand my past is rocky, but I didn't ask him to help the way he did, he made that decision on his own! I would have figured it out on my own, but he just took it upon himself to serve my meals and look where it got us.

Men...am I right?

Having Fun with French Idioms

I am having exceedingly too much fun working with online comics and making scenarios for French idioms. Really it should be illegal how much fun I'm having. Think Amelia Bedilia, but French. It's amazing. Now I want to share my fun!

 

If you want to check out my strips feel free to click here!

CENSORSHIP!

I am in a pickle.

Not literally, of course. Although that might be pretty delicious...

Anyway, I'm trying to censor all of my social media to be "school appropriate". Now it's not like my media has been necessarily INappropriate, but just making sure that if a teacher or principal were to google me they wouldn't find anything that could cost me a job.

Everything has been pretty easy to just tighten the privacy settings and go from there. But then I get to this blog, and I don't know what to do. This blog is an outlet for me to say what's on my mind in a safe and constructive (at least more so than yelling at someone) manner.

There are parts of this blog that are raw 100% pieces of me. There are also parts that are one time feelings and emotions that do not reflect how I see things generally but it was necessary for me to express what I was feeling at the time. Is it possible that something in here could make or break a teaching opportunity for me?

These are the questions I need answers to...

Holy Shit

Pardon my French...

...even though it was English...

But seriously, take a few minutes to watch this video. Legitimately, this is almost a necessary task. Your mind will be blown and you will not know what to do, except maybe rewatch this video and then tell the world about it.

The Innovation of Loneliness from Shimi Cohen on Vimeo.

Take a minute for it to digest, I've got time.

Ready? Ok good.



...like seriously this makes me want to delete all social media.

On Facebook I have 648 "Friends"
On Twitter I have 93 "Followers"
On Instagram I have 60 "Followers"
Start adding the lesser medias like my blogs, google plus, youtube, skype, and god knows what, and I have multiple social circles that don't completely overlap any of the others. Of course then you have your contacts in your phone for texting, e-mailing, facetiming, etc and so forth and we've got even more circles and even fewer real connections.

My mind is blown. Blown completely away. I've made the realization before that I don't know what I'd do without my phone, and I've always been fine with it because I knew I'd never live in a society again where I wasn't expected to have one. It just seems silly to have a pile of things like a book, and a crossword, and a newspaper, and an allotted time slot to catch up with friends, and a deck of cards, an address book, a map, an alarm clock, and everything we use it for...when we could just have a smart phone BOOM it's all there and takes up less room than a TV remote control.

I think there are some unconscious parts of me that are trying to get back to the basics of it all. I'm in the beginning parts of a relationship with this guy and I haven't made it public knowledge because I want this relationship to be built on how we perceive each other and our feelings and emotions that surround it, not based on how others perceive us and what they can view through social media. I have friends that post every gory detail of their lives, personal and otherwise, on social media. I have friends who consider it a past time to look up these gory details of others' lives, personal or otherwise. I mean, come on, how in the world is it ok to "Facebook Stalk" someone. Can we get virtual restraining orders, is that a thing now? Oh wait, it's just called changing your privacy settings and only being friends with the people that you actually consider friends, not ones you're acquainted with and want to put your nose in their business just for the sake of doing so.

I'm a total control freak that feels better when I know everything. I could never be the "blissfully ignorant" one...not in a million years. That makes me hesitate actually deleting all social media. But then again...if I could make myself believe that I could be happier without it, maybe it would be something to look into.