On the Horizon

I think one of the most important ways to fend off depression is always to have something to look forward to (to which to look forward). This has become a vital part of my life--planning things in the coming days that I can think about to cheer me up when I'm alone and sad. Today I have three things to look forward to, which makes me very happy.

First, tomorrow I'm meeting a friend of Rachel's at the Spiderhouse Cafe. Ever since I moved here, she's been trying to get me to hang out with him, but I always felt weird about calling someone I didn't know and saying, "Hi, be my friend." But earlier today I called him and said, "Hi, be my friend," and he was amenable (okay, it didn't actually go like that). I started reading his blog tonight, and he seems very funny and intelligent. He also knows a lot of people in town, so maybe I'll get hooked into an even larger group of intelligent, funny people.

The second thing I'm looking forward to is my mother's visit to Austin on Thursday. She's staying until Sunday and I can't wait! She's never, ever visited me just to visit me. She and my dad would sometimes come to Norman if I had to move or needed something else done, but they never came just for the sake of seeing me. Her visiting me this time all the way down here makes me feel special. :)

The final thing I'm looking forward to is meeting Lorelai and the Giles in Dallas in a few weeks to see my hero, Lewis Black. I'm extremely excited about seeing him perform; I've loved him every since my freshman year when I first heard his IHOP rant. I promptly memorized and performed it for my friends as a party trick. Truth be told, however, I'm most looking forward to seeing people I love, especially now that they are an official couple. They have both been there for me through this entire ordeal, despite the fact that they've been put some very awkward situations. Thanks, guys. I heart you both.

Earlier IM conversation:

me: good luck finding a movie [to watch w/ Lorelai]
me: like you're even going to watch it
Giles: we're not 17
me: yeah, I know, you're NC-17

Oh, he's into you, he's just into other girls, too.

I'm learning all about breakups these days. Now I see why people are always writing books about divorce and breakups; you figure out a lot of things and you think the information might be useful to other people. The problem is, of course, that no one will really care about what you wrote until they've broken up with someone, too, and then they'll learn it all themselves. I wonder if people ever really learn that much from each other, and if they ever avoid doing stupid things just because someone older and wiser told them not to. I doubt it.

Here's one of the unexpected things about breaking up with someone, and probably about loss in general: the sadness does not follow any clear pattern. When I first found out about what happened, I thought I would be very sad for a long time, but that the sadness would lessen day by day in tiny increments. I guess that's a cliche--growing a little stronger every day and such. But for me, I never know what days it will all hit me and what days I'll be okay. Today, for instance, I was very sad and still missing Elliot very much. A few days ago, I felt pretty well, like I had just narrowly escaped some horrible accident and I was relieved to have gotten away in time. Who knows how I'll feel tomorrow? I guess eventually things do go from bad to okay to good again, but that's the big picture. The day-to-day stuff is schizophrenic.

Tonight I went to a book signing/reading at a local "womyn's" book store called Book Woman. The book was titled Vaginas: An Owner's Manual, and the authors (a mother and daughter) were hilarious. I got a bit ill during the detailed discussions of abortion techniques, ovarian cysts, and the things that can happen to your vagina when you get really old (you don't want to know), but all in all I really enjoyed the presentation. I couldn't afford the book, but someday I'll buy it and learn more about my vagina. If you ladies out there want to hear some words of advice from the professionals tonight, I can tell you something very important: it's all about the Kegels.

Today we celebrated LF's (boss) birthday at a great place called Gumbo's. I likes me some cajun food--bring on the blackened catfish! Truth be told, I haven't been that happy with LF lately, especially considering she dragged us to Houston yesterday to present to our corporate sponsor for AN HOUR AND A HALF before we had to go back. That's over three hours there, and back the same way. Six and a half hours of driving for a fleeting moment in Houston. I wouldn't even drive six hours to Norman to see Elliot unless I could get an extra day off work. After that much time in a car, you start to despise everyone and start having fantasies about the car hurtling off a bridge. Anyway, I managed to celebrate LF's birthday in style, despite the trouble we've been having lately. It's been so long since I've been in a nice restaurant that I couldn't help but perk up. Food stamps are great, but they don't come with atmosphere, y'know?

I read on the Giles' blog that Elliot is having his birthday party tomorrow. I just can't believe that I won't be there, giving him some extravagant gift like I always do. I can't believe that a bunch of people I really like will be celebrating his birth right now. Shouldn't we have to go to court for custody of friends? Of course I'm kidding; I'm not really that bitter, but it helps to joke about it.

Alright, gotta stop the moany shit and get to bed. Speaking of which, I went to bed at 11 last night to see if I would still wake up at 5am (meaning that time is what wakes me up) or at 4am, meaning my body always wants to wake up after 5 hours. I woke up at 4, but I got back to sleep a little later. Here's hoping that things are improving...

Insomniacs Anonymous

My body is on an interesting new system of sleep. I don't know why it's happening, but the last few days I've gone to bed at midnight and then woken up at 5am. I toss and turn and try to get back to sleep, but my body will absolutely not cooperate until a little after 7am, when it finally decides it's time to get sleepy again. I then sleep an hour until my alarm goes off at 8, and I wake up exhausted. The funny thing is, when I wake up at 5, I feel much more awake and ready to get up then I do at 8. So this morning I stayed in bed until 6, and then decided just to get up. I might as well use the extra time to clean up my apartment or read or something. Or blog.

Since this whole Elliot nightmare began, it's been a bad idea in general to wake up in the middle of the night for any reason. I'm sure to start thinking about what happened, and then getting back to sleep is impossible. Not that it matters if I fall asleep again, because I'll just have tortuous dreams about him until I wake up. When my best friend and I cut ties our freshman year of college because her psycho boyfriend made her stop talking to all of her friends, I had recurring dreams about her for over two years. I really hope that these new dreams won't continue that long. The other night I dreamed he was carrying me through an ocean or a lake, and the water was dirty so that I couldn't see the bottom. He kept walking and getting deeper as he followed the shoreline, until only my nose was out of the water so that I could still breathe. I don't know why I couldn't let go and swim; I just knew I had to hang on for dear life so that the water didn't go over my nose. That Freud guy really knew what he was talking about, huh?

The dream ended nicely, though. We finally came to a clear, icy stream running nearby, and I swam away from him and grabbed onto some of the chunks of ice floating by. The stream's current was so fast and strong that it actually pulled me uphill away from him, and I looked down smiling and laughing at him in the ocean, and he smiled back. I haven't quite figured out that last part yet.

I've been thinking a lot lately about my self-esteem, and how I'm not sure it's in the healthiest state. Sure, it hasn't boosted my confidence that Elliot cheated on me with my friend whose new hobby is sleeping with married guys, but I don't know if my self-esteem was in that great of shape before that happened. When I was talking to Elliot the night I told him not to call me again, I brought up a time that he said the most horrible thing that anyone has ever said to me, that anyone ever could say to me, really. I won't say what it was, but let's just say it was a reason that he might not want to marry me. It was one of the lowest points of my life; I was humiliated, rejected, and sick to my stomach with rage and sadness. And yet, I didn't break up with him. Thinking back, I can only wonder, what the hell is wrong with me that I can't break up with the man who, knowing better than anyone else in the world the one thing that would break my heart, chose to use that knowledge and reject me for something I can't help and didn't choose? Who is more unhealthy, me or him? I'm really not sure. I think we both need years of therapy.

AmeriCorps, unfortunately, does not provide insurance to cover mental health claims. They tell you at orientation not to become a "case" yourself, and instead focus on helping your target population. I guess that's okay, though; I've always thought that helping other people is the best therapy you can find. Oh, and food stamps almost always cheer me up. ;)

Subterranean Anteater Test?

What does "SAT" stand for, anyway? Anyone out there know? I offered my students a big prize if they could tell me. A few tried the predictable answers (Student Achievement Test, Standard Aptitude Test, Standard Assessment Test, etc.) and then gave up. Would you like for me to tell you?

SAT = nothing

It doesn't stand for anything. Do you hear me? IT DOESN'T STAND FOR ANYTHING. It's an acronym with no meaning...does it even still count as an acronym? It began as the Scholastic Aptitude Test, until people started protesting that the test did not, in fact, measure any sort of aptitude (there are plenty of studies to back this up). So they (The College Board) changed the name to Scholastic Achievement Test. This was an ill-fated choice, because the same people who said it didn't measure aptitude were right back to say it didn't measure achievement, either. So in 1994, the letters "SAT" became a floating signifier of sorts, disconnected from any link between letter and word. They just decided to hell with it, no matter what we do, someone will always be outside picketing. From then on the "S.A.T." was just the "SAT." I think they should call it the "SIT," since with the new writing section you are sitting on your ass in a chair for 3 hours and 45 minutes.

My juniors are pretty worried about the SAT. And it's no wonder, since most of them have scores well below the national average. I thought I knew nothing about math, but in front of these kids, I'm Ms. Fucking Math Whiz. I know how to FOIL binomials and they think I'm a genius. They seem to have trouble with even the simplest algebraic problems, and trying to get them to understand the rules of exponents is quite a task. At first I was afraid I would look like a moron up there, since they were all still taking math classes and I had CLEPed my way out of any college math 5 years ago. I got a D in Algebra II; granted, that was more because I was sick and severely depressed during my junior year than anything, but still, I don't have a lot of confidence in my abilities with numbers. My sweet little simpletons, however, make me feel like a genius. Now I finally know why people teach high-schoolers; it's the only way they can feel smart. (Just kidding, Todd.)

For an update on the whole "my heart is broken" thing...it's still broken. Although I think I got a divine message the other day. I was thinking about what happened with Elliot and how completely lost I was without the future I had been building, and I opened the Bible looking for some comforting words. The passage I opened to was 1 Corinthians 7:32-39. I'll let you all look that one up for yourselves, if you're curious. It'll do you some good to read Paul, my most loved and hated biblical figure. Enjoy.

Slogging through it all...

Slogging, blogging, whatever. I just got back from Cara's place, where I participated in Vodka Monday with gusto. Unfortunately, my weakened system couldn't handle Cara's dog, so I finally had to leave at 12:30 with my allergies raging. Sometimes I feel like such an awful guest; I can't go anywhere with pets, and it's awfully depressing.

On the upside, I had a good time tonight. It's nice to know that some people in the world like me. Since the whole Elliot debacle, I've felt so worthless and ugly that I didn't even want to look at myself in the mirror. I know deep down that nothing that happened was about me, but it's hard when someone cheats on you to stop yourself from thinking, "What's wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough? Not smart enough?" And so on and so on until I drive myself nuts. When I'm surrounded by people who love me, I stop doubting myself so much and can relax for a while. This whole experience has made me realize that I actually do have people in my life that genuinely love me; I know that sounds silly, but I really don't believe that most of the time. I mean, the fact that Laura has been so nice to me through all this has made me stop and think, "Wow. She actually likes me." Yes, I am fucked up, I'm aware.

I don't have much to say right now except I love Todd Murray, who wrote me a beautiful comment that made my day and warmed my heart. There's one guy that I was sure always hated me....(j/k)

Peace two fingaz (for the Giles).

If wishes were horses beggars could ride...

No, I haven't left blogging for good, as I first thought I would a while ago. Most of you have probably heard by now (I mean, there's only four of you) that Elliot cheated on me with my friend Courtney, and we broke up. For a while, I thought I didn't want to blog anymore, since I didn't want to write about what was happening. But I suppose it's healthy to get this stuff out, even if it's only to people who are sick of hearing about it.

Things have improved a bit since I first heard the news. For the first five days or so, there was no eating, no sleeping, and no moment where I couldn't spontaneously burst into tears. Someone told me to put away all of the things that reminded me of him. To do that, unfortunately, I would have to burn my apartment down. If you spend more than two years with someone, I defy you to locate anything in your life that doesn't remind you of him. I decided instead to try and get out of my apartment. That seemed to help considerably, but coming back here was still terrifying. It's like a minefield; I'm afraid every time I open a door or a drawer there will be something else waiting to remind me of Elliot.

It's frightening when you think you know what your future will look like, and then all the plans you made disappear. Elliot and I knew what our future home would look like, what we would name our children, and where we would want to live. Now my future is a blank; I have no idea what my life will look like even six months from now. On the one hand, it's kind of a relief. I was worried about how I was going to attend a top-notch grad school while I was following Elliot to whatever random school he went after OU. I didn't want to give up all the exciting plans I had for my life, and I was secretly terrified that Elliot would do nothing but sit in his study and read and never want to travel or have great adventures. Would I have married a workaholic and then watched on the sidelines as he spent every moment of his time trying to get ahead in his career? I guess I'll never know. On the other hand, I can't deny that I truly believed we would be happy together for the rest of our lives. How often in life do you have that kind of certainty? Very rarely for me, and even more rarely for Elliot (as it turns out).

When I look back at this time later, I'll say I was saved by the bell. Elliot's Christmas gift to me was a 5 DVD set of Saved By the Bell Seasons 1 and 2. Watching one episode after another was the only thing that could keep me from losing it. I went through the entire set in no time at all, and I'm grateful that I had all those episodes to make me turn my brain off for a while. I wish I had Seasons 3 and 4, but I'm so poor I can't afford anything right now. It's very difficult to be poor when all you want to do is distract yourself by going out, drinking, watching movies, etc., all of which require money. Elliot offered me money before he left, but of course I couldn't take it, as much as I needed it. Perhaps I should have, as a divorce settlement of sorts.

I feel so alone most of the time. I don't know why you have to keep loving someone even when they do horrible things to you. I wish the love could just go away, and not build up in your chest until you can't breathe. I wish the phone would ring and it would be someone who loves me. I wish I didn't have to be afraid to fall asleep because I know I'll dream about him all night long. I wish I knew what wasn't enough about me, what's never been enough for anyone. I wish I could afford to go to a therapist. I wish...

Maybe it's time to stop wishing. I used to wish on every penny and every falling star that Elliot and I would be together forever. Maybe it's time instead to swallow hard and lie down alone in my bed. Maybe tonight I'll let my body stretch over onto his side. I'll start by reclaiming the bed; maybe the rest will follow.

500 miles

If you miss the train I'm on, you will know that I am gone
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles
A hundred miles, a hundred miles, a hundred miles, a hundred miles
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles

Lord, I'm one, Lord, I'm two, Lord, I'm three, Lord, I'm four,
Lord, I'm five hundred miles from my home
Five hundred miles, five hundred miles, five hundred miles, five hundred miles,
I'm five hundred miles from my home.

Actually, from my apartment here to my house in Tulsa, it's only about 483 miles, but I figure this song can still make my heart ache.