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30 Oct


I had the morning off today and I took a long walk along the peer and looked at the water. It was a beautiful beginning-of-fall day, with a bit a wind, grayish skies, and a gloominess that makes you reminiscent and somehow pleasantly melancholy. I love this type of weather. I can sit for hours watching the waves and contemplating life, arriving at endless conclusions that have no practical implications on my life.

I stood there, leaning on the railing, looking at the horizon, and as always felt overwhelmed by the vastness of it all, so many possibilities, so many opportunities, an openness that the future seems to hold when you take time off work and stare into the ocean. It filled me with such hope and happiness that I had to take a picture, so I pulled out my phone.

Then I took a step back, and I noticed the railing, which was actually a fence, a barrier installed to keep people from falling or jumping into the water. A barrier keeping people from that vastness, from that openness, narrowing down possibilities and opportunities. I suddenly felt held back, constrained, angry even.

And there you have it. Like everything else, the peer on a fall morning is a completely different experience, depending on your perspective, and the narrative you choose to to organize your story in. You can look at the horizon, or you can choose to see the railing. You can allow the foamy waves to fill your heart with prospects and opportunities, or you can take in the impossibilities, the constraints.


It’s not you, it’s me.

5 Jul

It’s not you it’s me.

It’s not who you are. It’s not your sweetness or your intelligence, or your sensitivity. It’s not your looks, or how good you are in bed. It’s not your gorgeous red curls. It’s not your naive perspective of life. It’s not your ideology. It’s not your crushing arms and the way they used to hold me. It’s not the way you started it. It’s not the way you ended it. It’s not your response to my text telling me to let go.

It’s not you, it’s me. It’s my self doubts. It’s my need of affirmation. It’s my yearning for affection. It’s my loneliness. It’s my childishness. It’s my motherhood. It’s my horniness. It’s how I interpreted your love for me as proof of my worth.

It’s not how you kissed my shoulder, it’s how my shoulder met your lips. It’s not how your lashes fluttered over your big brown eyes, it’s how I looked into those eyes and saw myself reflected in them, it’s not how you loved me, it’s how badly I needed to be loved.

It’s not you, it’s me. It’s not your goodbye, it’s my fear of letting you go, in case I never find anyone who can see me again, love me for who I am, simply, wholy.


Back to My Future

31 May

Back to the Future

Baby has been sick this week, and I was home with him, cleaning his vomit, coaxing him to drink water and consoling all 11 kilos of him in my arms for hours… This morning, when he finally went down for his nap, I collapsed in bed and fell asleep at once.

Suddenly, I was on the set of Back to the Future, and it was being filmed. I wasn’t really taking part in the movie, but I was more than an observer, it’s like I was an extra, just there. I remember thinking to myself, hey, I’ve seen this, it’s a great movie. Yes, I know that’s weird since it was just being filmed, but you know, it’s a dream. Then Baby woke up and nap time was over.

This past month has been a trip back to the past for me, and it hasn’t been easy. I know I’m having a hard time when I have a need to blog every single day, and I’ve had times like that. But I also know I’m having a horrible time when I don’t blog at all, and I haven’t been. I was doing much better, getting used to my new life as a single mom, thinking about the future, making plans, living as I wanted to live. This couple’s therapy thing with BD is really getting to me. It’s making me feel like I’m regressing. I’m sad again, I feel less in control of my life, I get to the end of every day feeling like I need a drink, or make that three. Last night I stared at the TV for an hour. I know most people do that on a regular basis, but I don’t. It wasn’t even a show I enjoyed, it was just some stupid reality show that I hate and find degrading towards women.

I’ve made a decision to keep this up for two months (one down, one to go), and I hope I get what I’m looking for at the end of this process: closure, certainty, confidence that I’m doing the right thing. But in the meantime, I’m craving that future that just a short while ago seemed so close and now seems farther than ever.


Naked Bathroom Search and Party of Five

11 May

party of five

The Dream

So in this one I was in BD’s old apartment, where he lived with his parents when we just started dating. And he and I were having sex for the first time in his bedroom, only he wasn’t really BD, he kind of looked like him, but he was different. I remember thinking, OK, he’s not really amazing… but there’s potential there. Then we were done and I wanted to go to the bathroom, but his parents were home, and for some reason the option of putting my clothes back on did not occur to me. So I tried to sneak out into the hallway naked and find the bathroom.

Then, suddenly, I was at a red carpet event, and weirdly, talking to the cast of Party of Five (Yeah, I know). They were all there and they were as young as they’d been when the show aired. I remember specifically Neve Campbell and Jennifer Love Hewitt were talking about this other series they had done before Party of Five, and how this one was so much better.

Finally, there I was at BD’s parents’ house again, looking for the bathroom. I met his mom in the hall, and she directed me, thankfully ignoring the fact that I was totally naked. Once I got to the bathroom though, I realized that there was a door directly from BD’s bedroom to the bathroom. It was weird, because the bathroom was tiny, but still had two doors, and I realized that BD probably had it put in specially.


Working on it with BD means that he’s going to have to change, just as I’ve changed dramatically these past almost-eight-months that we’ve been a apart. So the BD whose bedroom I entered in the dream was different, but he also resembled more of the BD I fell in love with in the year 2000, when I was hooked on Party of Five, BTW.

Why Party of Five? I don’t know. I guess the show represents a nontraditional family to me, one that can still find happiness despite facing great difficulty. So maybe they represent not getting back together with BD, but rather pursuing a different road, a road to nontraditional happiness. After all, this show is much better than the previous one, at least Neve and Jennifer think so.

But if BD and I do get back together, I need to  know that things will be different. Maybe not dramatically. He won’t become a different person. He’ll still be him, just like his old room was still pretty much the same in the dream, just like the bathroom was still tiny, and there were still a lot of inconveniences. But – he might have a door put in specially, to make my life easier. He might make more of an effort to accommodate my needs.


Working at it with BD is turning out to be harder than I thought, especially since, well, we’re NOT working on it. He’s still on his business trip, we hardly even talk on the phone, and I’m basically spending most of my time moping around and missing SG. The more I think about it, the more it confuses me. Every day I find it more difficult still to explain to myself why on earth I gave up something that made me so happy for something that so far, has only brought me misery.  The weird thing is that all my life I’ve been a super decisive person. I don’t remember EVER debating over a decision like this. I always know what I want, and I’m also aware that my decisions may not always be right, but that at least I’m making them and moving on. And here, for the first time in my life, I am truly unable to make a decision. It’s so fucking hard, it really feels like it’s tearing my up inside. To be honest, I’ve never had much empathy for BD’s indecisiveness. It always drove me nuts that he couldn’t make up his mind about anything. And now, for the first time, I get it. At least, I kind of get it.

But I also don’t think I’d be having such a hard time with this if he were here, and we were actually working at it, rather than keeping things on hold, which is BD’s specialty.

Part of the reason I want to give BD a shot, is that I want Baby to have a traditional mother-father-child family. I want him to have a brother or a sister. I want to have big family dinners with grandparents, and uncles and aunts and cousins. But going back to that, means going back to that tiny bedroom. It means going back to a relationship that confines my happiness. It might be more convenient this time, I might be more comfortable than I had been. But if I’m brave, I can say FUCK EVERYTHING, and continue living my fabulously difficult life. So I guess that’s the decision really. isn’t it?

Hit Me.

27 Feb

I’m not arguing with life anymore, I said to my therapist yesterday. I feel like I used to argue with life a lot. If something, even petty and insignificant didn’t go according to plan, I’d lose my inner peace and balance, I’d be genuinely upset. But I’m not arguing anymore. Life is full of twists and turns, it’s unpredictable as hell. But I have a sort of confidence that I can take it. So it’s not with anger, but with a sense of capability that I find myself telling life, OK, hit me.

Some unsettling news entirely unrelated to my boy-drama has kind of smacked me on the head, and made me remember, once again, that life has its own plans for us, like an overbearing mother who thinks she knows best, and we’re left sitting there, wide eyed, screaming our heads off in a fit, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! But life, just stares you down, doesn’t it? And I think we all know who’s going to blink first. Crying out, protesting, denying, throwing a fit, these will get me nowhere. So I’m not playing that game anymore. There will be no more NOOOOOOOs. If life wants to smack me on the head, maybe I need a good smacking.

INTERPRETATION. Like a recovering alcoholic, I’m beginning to learn to accept the things I cannot change, and summon the courage to change the things I can. The dry facts cannot be changed. The narrative can. And we do not live for dry facts, we live for narrative. What we’re not always aware of is how much capacity we have to write and rewrite, and rewrite our narratives again and again. This was mine, only a few months ago: Surviving betrayal. Or Ah ah ah ah staying alive. It’s the story of a single mom, who’s been abandoned by a man she loved and trusted, but managed to survive the flood, to function as a mother, and discovered she had a stronger backbone than she ever imagined, and an amazing support system.

Then, when it became clear that I was going to survive, the narrative became useless. I didn’t need it anymore as a way of explaining to myself what had happened to me. So I wrote a new narrative, and it was called: A New Me Or Take these broken wings and learn to fly. This was the story of a woman, who’s not just a mother, but an entire person, who discovered that she was more than a caretaker. She had wants and needs and they deserved to be met. But, lo and behold. This too soon became irrelevant. Lesson learned.

Finally, a third narrative is being constructed as I write these lines. This one takes the dry facts of my separation, my boy-drama, and the difficulties of a close friend and tells a completely different story. It’s called: Hit Me. It’s called: I don’t know why the fuck this has to happen, but as long as it’s happening, let me see if I can achieve something along the way. 

I think I’ve quoted Einstein in this blog before, saying that crisis is sometimes a necessity for growth. So here’s a brand new narrative, and M, if you’re reading, I’m sharing this one with you. There was once a girl who had some bad shit happen to her, and it wasn’t fair. She was able to overcome a lot of it, and she reached a better place in life, but some of that shit was still troubling her, it was holding her back. Then, one day, this completely bullshit, cock-sucking, donkey-fucking piece of crap happened to her and smacked her hard on the head, in a way that only such dramatic events can. She took a moment to breathe and recover from the shock, and then she quoted Dürrenmatt’s old lady from that play and said: “If the world turned me into a whore, I shall turn the world into a brothel.” Or some other less vulgar way of saying I’m ready to fight back.

Now, just in case this girl isn’t able to see that far yet, I want to make sure she knows how this story ends. Not far down this road this whole mess is behind her. Except now, she is stronger and more capable than she’s ever been before. She feels like she can face anything, do anything, and live a life that fulfills her and makes her truly happy. And when she gets there she celebrates her rebirth with her closest friends eating waffles with sour cream and apple sauce and a dash of cinnamon.