Rock Star Hour

And Now, a Few Words to Fill Your Ego

I kinda miss you, dude. I feel weird saying that. How could you miss someone you never really hung out with?

And now, I'm going to tell you a secret, which may or may not make you write me off as some crazy chick: I had a dream about you once. More than once, well, a couple times. I don't know why I'm telling you this, except I've never told anyone, not a soul, so maybe in return you could keep it to yourself as well, as one of those silly little stories I tell to amuse you.

I don't remember the second one really, except I suppose it was much like the first. We were on a date or something. This was a very long time ago. I don't really remember where we went in the dream; all I remember is being on the way home. You were driving, and I was in the passenger seat. We were having this really long talk. We finally got to where were going. Maybe you were taking me home, but at last, you stopped the car. I think you'd been driving for awhile, and finally, you just stopped.

We sat in that car and kept talking -- you in the driver's seat, and me, in the passenger seat -- and that was it, for what seemed like so many hours.

And I don't know why, but ever since that dream I have felt like I've known you, or have wanted to know you.

I don't remember what we talked about. I only remember what a good time it was, and the feeling of knowing you so well when I woke up, really knowing you.

Whether dreams are self-created, or some Freudian shit, whether you were just filling some role my brain conjured up and necessitated in my sleep, I still have nothing but gratitude.

I guess, however silly it may sound, I just want so badly to thank you for what was and still remains one of the greatest dreams I have ever dreamed in my life.

So, thank you.

Moment of Truth

Do you believe in psychic hearing? Ha.

Not long ago, I was in the middle of making what may or may not have been a mistake. But anyway, this song came into my head, just one or two lines repeating, right then. It was so weird.

And I just looked it up, and this is what it said:

"You’ve Got to Learn to Live with What You Are"

By Ben Folds

I know that you’re in there
I can see you
You’re saying you’re okay
I don’t believe you

And now that gig is up, the spell is broken
The fat lady’s sung, the president has spoken
These days that you were waiting for will come and go
Like any day, just another day

There’s never gonna be a moment of truth for you
While the world is watching, ohh ohh
Ohh, all you need is the thing you’ve forgotten
And that’s to learn to live with what you are

So freak out if you wanna
And I’ll still be here
Don’t call me for years and when you do
Yeah, I’ll still be here

And I’m not saying that the effort is a waste of time, but I
Just love you for the things you couldn’t change, though you’ve tried
These hours of confusion they will soon expire like
Everything does

There’s never gonna be a moment of truth for you
While the world is watching, ohh ohh
Ohh, all you need is the thing you’ve forgotten
And that’s to learn to live with what you are

Sometimes everything you’ve ever wanted floats above
It’s stickin’ out its tongue and laughing while
Everything that anyone could ever need is down below
Waiting for you, know this

There’s never gonna be a moment of truth for you
While the world is watching, ohh ohh
’Cause all you need is the thing you’ve forgotten
And that’s to learn to live with what you are
You’ve got to learn to live with what you are
You’ve got to learn to live with what you...

Are

Labels: Ben Folds, Music

Postergrrl

I hate Sex in the City. I hate how it portrays these successful middle-aged women as lonely and desperate, and they drink too much. And they buy designer shoes to make themselves feel better.

I tell myself at times that the point of the show is to center on that one area of their lives -- sex or relationships, or the lack thereof. I tell myself that is what the show is about, and that, in the off-screen time, maybe, just maybe, the girls get together and talk about social issues and their families, and other stuff that's happening.

But it's annoying and disheartening. Are these supposed to be some kind of role models for women in their late 20s to aspire to be? Seriously. Or is it some kind of remade 80s Thirty-something feminist backlash thing. And I wonder if there is an air of feminism to the show at all. An inverted air, if anything.

Now that my sisters all have children, I am asked more often about what I want. The only answer is, "Sure, if it fits, I guess."

I love children and of course, having them, although terrifying at the moment as an idea, is great. But I also love helping them in large groups, like at camp, or if I became a teacher, so that's rewarding in itself.

I met this girl the other day who was about my age, and we were talking about this a little.

My spiel is this: If I met someone and we fell completely in love, a love so profound that we could decide together it was enough to want to stay together and make babies, sure, maybe then, in that situation, cool. But I've never really had that, so how the fuck should I know?

And if I did find it, I'm not sure what I would be ready to do with it.

And even if I did know, I would still want to enjoy that love on its own for awhile, before deciding to bring a kid into it.

And so comes the issue of longevity again -- staring me in the face alongside my age and all my other dreams. And I guess it just leaves me with a lot of question marks, or maybe just one huge question mark.

Sometimes I feel like it's just around the corner, waiting for me, and other times, I feel like it's just not meant for me. And most of the time, I try to be OK with both: it is a hope as well as a fear. Another hope is that no matter what I will be happy with myself, with my path, with where I'm at -- when the time comes.

Ellen Willis wrote this column about living alone for several years in her thirties, and feeling this tension between the marrieds and the not-marrieds, among other things. The tension between herself and people who lived their lives differently, and all the negative associations others had about people like her who chose to live their lives their own way.

I don't judge people, or try not to, especially when they are happy. Then if they're happy I'm happy. But I do get so tired of explaining myself.

Only, in Willis' case at least, she had strong opinions about institutions and relationships within them, and how they fell into her own personal thoughts and wants and needs.

Sometimes I'm not even sure I have that, or if so, I've never been truly faced with the question, and so the answer lies deeply buried, just waiting to be dug up.

"I am a postergirl with no poster," Ani D said once.

Yeah, Ani, I know exactly what you mean.

Labels: Ani Difranco, Ellen Willis, Movies

Rarr

You know what I hate about getting older?

Getting jaded-er.

Can't help it. You experience this and that and then when seemingly similar things happen, you suspect they might turn out the same.

Or whatever.

Suppose I'm thinking about other things, and I don't just quite want to spit them out yet. Not a crime to vent without venting, yes?

You know what it's like to have a best friend that you could go months or years with out seeing and then just randomly pick up without even missing a beat? What the crap is that? I've got friends who live in other cities, and some states, where we could do that, and we can be even closer than the people I talk to regularly.

A certain easiness comes with it. A certain knowing as well.

It's not just a best friend thing, though. What about these people that are always crossing your path? You know, the ones that make you smile. The ones that make you raise an eyebrow. Can't help feeling like they only do that when you see them because you don't see them. But what if you did?

It's like a riddle I can't solve.

Good News for People Who Love Good News

I got some really good news the last couple days, and I almost feel like I should be waiting for lightning to strike er somethin, but you know what? I'm not.

My big sis gave birth the night before last to a healthy, 8-plus pounds boy. Ashton Scott, I can't wait to meet you!

I also got a call from my mother today. She followed up with her oncologist, and it looks like they might stop the chemo early. This is great news. So great, I can't even tell you how great. I wanted to cry I was so happy, but I was on my lunch hour just outside my building at work, and I was eating, and I was happy.

She may need another surgery; the doctors are going to talk and do some more tests. They might remove the parts of her liver that were occupied by the cancer, I guess to decrease the chance that much more of the cells growing back.

But my mom says she would prefer another surgery to any more chemo, so we're all for it.

Then after that they will do follow-up tests, about once every three months, then six, I think, to make sure.

My mom weighs 100 pounds now, she told me. But she's tough.

My grandpa is doing okay, she says. The weakness from the chemo is already starting to effect him, but when it does, he rests.

I also had this weird feeling sweep over me earlier this afternoon. Maybe it was the news. It was, I'm sure. But something told me I am doing okay. Something told me that even with everything that has happened since October, with my mom's diagnosis and the surgery and other things, that even then, we were all okay.

And I'm going to go see my mom this weekend. And I'm going to see my nephew soon.

And the semester is almost over, but I've got a whole, whole lot to look forward to, and a whole lot more to be thankful for.

We still have things to go through, and I'm scared a lot still, so I have to acknowledge that, but for now. Just for now. Just for this moment: I'll take it.

Labels: Cancer

A Song to ‘Kick Start My Rockin’ Rollin’ Heart

Jimmy Eat World went pop in 2001, or at least, that is when the band got its first break. A third full-length release, Bleed American, named after its opening title track (although re-released as self-titled after 9/11), hit record stores in July that year, courtesy of Dreamworks Records.

I had never heard of the band before, when my editor passed it on to me to review. But on first listen I instantly became a fan. The album’s positive lyrics, driving drum-beats, sweet vocal harmonies, and heavy baselines were enough to lure even the most skeptical listener to a completely rockin’ good time.

As a Dreamworks release, it was definitely mass marketed. The record received rave reviews in major publications, such as Rolling Stone, and the band began appearing on shows such as Total Request Line on MTV. The hit song of the year -- which seemed to play on every radio station in town, and that eventually brought a houseful of teenagers and college coeds to the Verizon Wireless the following fall -- was “The Middle.”

“The Middle”, however, although catchy and wonderfully upbeat, is not the song that engages me the most. My favorite on the album, the one that makes me want to turn the radio up and sing along out loud, whether I’m washing the dishes, driving someplace with my boyfriend, taking a shower, or hanging out with friends on a Friday night, is “A Praise Chorus,” the third track on the album.

The lyrics are articulate, but they are not political. Written in second person, it perfectly speaks to individual persons in a positive manner. The lyrics ask questions of the listener, such as “Are you gonna live your life wondering, standing in the back, looking around? Are you gonna waste your time thinking, how you’ve grown up, or how you missed out?”

The song is definitely formulaic, in that is uses merely four power guitar chords: A, D, and E Major, which are standard pop chords and appear in a number of popular songs, as well as F sharp minor, a secondary though still common sound choice. These exact four chords have appeared together in pop songs across generations, including “Maybe Baby” by Buddy Holly; “Please Mister Postman” by the Beatles; “Jimmy Jazz” by The Clash; and “Message in a Bottle,” by The Police.

The song structure is also typical. It utilizes the verse-prechorus-chorus style, with one slight alteration: the song has a bridge, rather than a solo instrumentation. This is incredibly effective for the song, because by providing a bridge, that is, a one-part alternative perspective on the lyrics and music containing the same message, the band created space to allow for two lyrical hooks, which work well together.

One repeated phrase throughout the song is “Wanna fall in love tonight.” The chorus ends with this, while the bridge is a repetition of the words “Crimson and clover, over and over.” The bridge’s catch phrase is repeated as dynamics build, and lead vocalist Jim Adkins raises his voice over the refrain to fully shout in singing tune, “Don’t, don’t, don’t let’s start! Why did we ever part? Kick start my rockin’ rollin’ heart!”

With a line like that, containing all the energy, positivity, and momentum brought from the first half of the song, it becomes time get up, turn it up, dance around, and sing along as loud as you can: “I’m on my feet/ I’m on the floor/ I’m good to go/ So, come on, Davey/ Sing me something that I know/ Wanna always feel like part of this was mine/ Wanna fall in love tonight.”

Labels: Jimmy Eat World, Music, Sociology

50 Years and So Many Songs! No Other Band Could Last So Long!

A student of media effects claimed today that after a week of tracking media messages, whether selectively sought or passively observed, one could not escape them unless he were asleep. Billboards, commercials, music, magazine covers in check out lines: they pervade our daily existence.

One could say that if media messages do shine so on through window panes --which is to say, they perforate us, willingly or not-so-willingly – then, whatsoever they provide for our days, The Beatles similarly yet thankfully do for our lives.

This four-piece 1960s version of a boy band was initially taken about as seriously as New Kids on the Block was nearly 20 years ago. This is clearly demonstrated in the 1964 New York Times article by Theordore Strongin: “The age of 15 or 16 or 14 or 13 is essential in a Beatles expert,” he wrote.

Strongin’s words would almost make it easy enough to subscribe to that line of thinking, if nearly 50 years later, we didn’t know any better. However, in sharp contrast, and just two weeks earlier, William Mann of the London Times saw things another way. He wrote, on inkling, an article that seemed to gather the not yet understood electricity in the air, and mimic a familiar theme to what had once been the title of a popular 1957 song: “Something’s Coming.”

For Mann, the fact that the Beatles took back the crown from all the American rock bands, who had been so lovingly worshipped in England for decades previously, was the icing on the cake. His excitement, however, seemed swept over by a slight veil of nervousness, which upon describing the phenomenon and everything positive to be found within the music, he stopped to make a bold, precautionary, and telling statement:

“These are some of the qualities that make one wonder with interest what The Beatles, and particularly Lennon and McCartney, will do next, and if America will spoil them or hold on to them, and if their next record will wear as well as the others. They have brought a distinctive and exhilarating flavor into a genre of music that was in danger of ceasing to be music at all.”

Insofar as anticipation, with the masses’ breathless attention so penetrating even skeptics could not deny it, all eyes were on the Beatles. A Hard Day’s Night, the band’s third album, along with its first movie of the same title, paved the yellow brick road for the Beatles. For the first time, critics were starting to wake up and smell the coffee, and Trix wasn’t just for kids anymore.

The rest is history, and today the chronology of Beatles albums is often muddled when downloaded in mp3 format, or when Number Ones are compiled onto one smashing album. Most important is that by the time they got to Revolver and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles, with credit also to those nameless predecessors of “acid-buddhist imagery and rock beat,” acknowledged in passing by Village Voice writer Richard Goldstein, in combination with seemingly endless new production possibilities provided by the technologically advantageous four-track, forged a new genre, one that no one has ever come close to be able to do better.

For the love of pop music, everyone must love the Beatles on some level. Yes, I’ve encountered a few prunes who swore up and down they hated them, but they’re just jealous. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. By and large, what I’ve always found uniquely interesting about the Beatles is that, although fans and pop critics may not always agree which Beatles album was ever the best, the point is that everyone has a favorite: Revolver, I’ve heard countless times. Sgt. Pepper’s, for the daring. The White Album, for the sentimental, which I’ll admit, includes me.

Being that the White Album is my favorite, I must say that Ellen Willis’ backhanded scoff at the title got me a little sore. But then, it has me laughing in a sense, like Mann was at bittersweet goods, since I do so want to know what her thoughts were on Weezer’s Blue Album, or Green Album, or Jay-Z’s Black Album, or better yet, the Gray Album: Danger Mouse’s online, legally suspect yet not-for-profit, brilliantly presented mix of The White Album’s beats and orchestrated strings serving as the backdrop for The Black Album’s punchy hip-hop lyrics. Then again, I think she would have enjoyed it; she did admit to harboring a rebellious, screaming teenager in her head.

Mania, recording innovations, and all aside, I can’t recall when I heard the Beatles first because they have always existed: in my lifetime, in the life before mine, and will afterward as well. But I can tell you the two things that make me pay attention: The first is that someone once told me if I wanted to learn how to play guitar I needed to play the Beatles. They never barred anything; they played all the chords the way they were supposed to be played. They didn’t cheat. I once heard they rode a bus for four hours one day just to find a rumored man who knew how to play the B7.

Besides that, I’ve always heard the Beatles never stressed about writing lyrics. That’s debatable, but I can say honestly I’ve never stressed too much about why I like their lyrics. To me, it seems like the lyrically complex are equally as entertaining and thoughtful as the more poppy ones, silly and catchy rhyme schemes and all -- so catchy I’ll bet you a dollar that whether you like a Beatles song, you could sing one, and with your eyes closed.

Labels: College, Music, Sociology, The Beatles

And She's in Love with the Information Age (Yeah)

Something positive to say. This thing has been building up inside me, and it's finally snuck up and said hey. What I'm talking about is my love of writing. My love for new music. My love for discovering new things. Man, it's fantastic.

So, this semester, I went back to write at the Cougar. I decided I could definitely use more practice. Didn't even realize I took a four- or five-year hiatus. And a big break from writing, altogether, actually. But it's like I woke up, and I have so much more to say. And I look at things differently. It never gets old anymore.

I set out to write about anything and everything. I explained to my editor that I'd be easygoing, and would pretty much take whatever she'd throw at me, even the stuff other writers didn't want to do. And it's benefited me more than I could even imagine.

I missed being part of a scene. I missed getting inspired. And it's all coming back. More than I ever even knew was missing.

I took several assignments, but I've also taken tons of initiative. Basically, anything from Web searches of new albums for 2008, to contacting labels directly for advances and press info.

The response has been overwhelming. I'm making ties with people who love music all over -- musicians, publicists, in Orlando and lots in New York City, in Seattle ... all over.

For the first time, I really see a future in this. It's grown to be more than a hobby. It's an adventure. I also realized how much I love research. I do way more reporting than I used to, and I've done more interviews. I'm experimenting with anecdotal leads, and incorporating a lot more quotes into my writing. I've been proud of every article I've turned in; even the ones where I felt pressed for time, or maybe played phone tag and couldn't get the interview I wanted. I've made due. I've really sat and listened, and read, and thought about things.

In the past two days, I've lined up six stories for the next two months. I'm getting free tickets to three shows, and eight new albums!

If you are interested at all in what I've been listening to, you've got to check this stuff out:

1. The Diggs -- Ctrl-Alt-Del -- Stream the new album here.

2. The Oaks -- Songs for Waiting -- Stream it here!

3. Also, my reviews for The Whigs, Carlene Carter, Peachcake, and Meg & Dia are all here, if you are interested. I've loved everything so far. Meg & Dia weren't my favorite, but I made the best of things. The Oaks review is coming Friday, and The Diggs should run after spring break.

***

Not only has my love for listening returned, but so has my passion for playing and performing. I've been playing an open mic at Bohemio's almost every week for a few weeks, and the people there are just fantastic.

I'm trying to get a show together there with a couple of other acts. Getting the line-up ready and trying to come up with a date to propose, but am thinking of practicing some more and maybe waiting until after finals. Not sure, though.

I started out playing covers there, because playing my own shit makes me so nervous. Because it's all so personal. But I play my covers in a way that is intensely personal to me as well.

I have made a point to arrange them however I want, and really make them mine. And sometimes in the moment, I'll throw in a chorus or an extra round of my favorite verse. I've really been experimenting with the dynamics of a song. It has always been one of my favorite things when making/experiencing music. To take a simple verse or song structure and spice it up by making tempo or strumming changes, or taking the last chorus up an octave, adding crescendos, things like that.

Some covers I've been playing:

"Oil and Water" by Incubus
"Brand New Colony" by The Postal Service
"Memory by Sugarcult"
"One" -- the Johnny Cash version

Those are the newest, or the ones I've really been working on. Then there's some Bright Eyes and Azure Ray stuff I've known for awhile and love to play. I also still play "Linger" by The Cranberries, which people either love or hate equally, but it's the most popular song I know, so it's got its positives, too.

You know what's weird? How when you play music, people will never hear what you do. It's a funny thing. Like how I think all the covers I play are completely amazing songs, and then many people tell me they like my originals more. Or how one of the silliest songs I ever wrote is probably the most favorite one of all my friends, and strangers I play for. It's this song I wrote about four years ago, about growing up, and all these stages I went through, and reflecting back on this one summer that seems to sum up everything that's past. It's about how my friend Guillermo and I used to play Goldeneye for hours at night the summer after graduation. It's about how no matter what changes, we'll always have that. I hope that when people listen to it, maybe they'll think of what Goldeneye was for them. But I'll never really know what that is.

I'm just really grateful inside.

-c

Superhero

That song's been in my head for about the last hour today, and I haven't listened to that CD in forever. I've got some things to say, but before I do, I just want to say that on the whole I have been doing very well lately. Staying very busy. Grades are good. Graduation is coming. Home is home. But I've got some things I need to say, for the fact that maybe writing them could make sense of them in my own mind.

My grandpa was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer a few weeks ago. I'm doing OK, but I'm not. I haven't called my grandma in two weeks. I want to call, but I'm afraid to because I am afraid of bad news, I'm afraid of the tone in her voice that has of course changed, and most of all, I'm afraid of crying.

First off, my family has this issue with crying. We have to bear our pain on our own. It's not that we can't talk about it. We, meaning my sisters and I, sometimes me and my dad, my grandmother and I, would talk about things in solitary phone calls.

At least, that's what we would do after my mom got sick. And it would help. But now with my grandfather things are even more difficult. I can't look to my grandmother for strength and comfort, and to be able to just talk, and cry if I need to, about my mother, because now it's my grandfather too, and everyone is so sad.

I can't imagine how she must feel. How everyone individually must feel. And my mother, trying to stay strong through all the chemo and remain positive and heal, has suddenly taken this emotional turn, where she knows exactly, more than anyone, what her own father is about to experience.

Do you know what it is like to go home and not even recognize your own mother?

I don't know how to talk about it, to explain it enough. Only a few of my friends who have gone through it can truly understand, and even then, everyone has their own story of grieving and coping and healing, and what it feels like to stand on the sidelines and feeling so helpless in the face of seeing someone weakened and put through all this agony, someone you love so much.

My mother, last I heard, weighed 108 lbs. That was a couple weeks ago, and judging by how quickly the weight has been dropping, she probably weighs even less. And that's less than what I weigh also, and she is two-and-a-half inches taller than me and has had three kids.

Her hair is less and less. The light in her eyes, less. They say the cancer did not show up on her last radiology report, so I'm trying to keep a positive perspective, but she still has to brave two more months of chemo. In the beginning, six months of chemo did not sound so long.

But in the beginning, I had no idea what to expect. How much she would change. Instead of looking forward to the end of the therapy, it is hard not to be so scared of what can happen in that seemingly short time.

The chemo causes ulcers to form in the throat. It also changes her nerves and the way things taste. So, she can't eat, really. She refuses to try new things, but does, when pressed. She watches food shows on tv, though, and talks about what she's going to eat and where, when she gets better. It makes her happy, and gives her something else to look forward to.

A couple weeks ago I went to visit her, and she had gone to the store earlier that day. She's not really supposed to go anywhere or drive, for a couple of reasons.

The first is that she is so weak, no one thinks driving would be a good activity for her.

Second, her immune system is so low she has been advised to go out in public as little as possible. She cannot be around school-aged children. She can't even go to church, too many people there.

She had gone to the store and she was so weak when she got home, just from that. She said she did the best she could. She carried all the food in so that it wouldn't go bad, but could I get the rest of the things she bought, out in the car?

Of course. I brought the items in and put them away. It just broke my heart, though.

Yesterday, I went to the house and we all watched a movie. My mom switched the TV mode from Satellite so we could watch the DVD. When it was over, my dad gave me the remote to turn it back, but I did something wrong.

I haven't thought about this much. It didn't really bother me, but my mom got frustrated and snapped at me for a second. She got on the phone with the Satellite company to figure out how to fix it, and within a few minutes it was back on.

My dad said it happened all the time, so that's why he didn't even try anymore.

And my mom kept apologizing to me. She kept saying, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I shouldn't have said ..."

But it didn't even matter to me. It didn't even phase me. I just told her it was all right, and okay.

I guess that story to me just didn't add up. She just seemed overly apologetic. I didn't understand. Maybe it would just take a lot more than that to make me upset with my mother right now.

I don't know.

***

I remember a few years ago, I wrote this blog about a couple of friends that I knew, who were slightly older -- the town mouse and the city mouse -- and how they were trying to have a relationship, but knew they weren't willing to compromise.

I actually admired it at the time. I thought they knew something I didn't. I thought things were lighter than they actually were. Looking back, I remember them each talking to me about it, and I remember the expressions on their faces, both when they were together, and when they were apart.

There's different kinds of heartbreak, you know. There's the all-encompassing, tear your heart out, lose your shit, drink too much kind. There's the cut off from the world and throw yourself into a book kind. There's the grab a new instrument and play it six hours a day, or whenever your not asleep or at work kind. There's the black coffee and cigarettes kind. There's the shrug your shoulders and hang out with your friends kind.

I guess there's no point in trying to figure out which ones are better, or easier to get over. For me, I'm trying to figure out what I'd like to do with the present.

I asked myself and the other person in question several, several months ago.

I told him about volunteering in order to take care of my community service as part of my sentence. I told him how, not everyone was just parties and hanging out. Some people work out. Some people volunteer. Some people find passions and causes. And I said, "How do you want to spend your time?" I asked myself the same thing.

I'm still asking myself the same thing.

So many things point to "No," in this situation. But it's not just been a relationship for a year. He's been my best friend for this whole year. And it hasn't always been great, but it's never been bad. Yes, we've fought. We've disappointed each other. He's let me down countless times. Flaking on plans. Not taking much of what I say as important. Not considering my feelings in certain situations. If I keep listing these I won't be able to continue my point, so I just won't.

But for some reason, it is beyond me why something that seems so doomed to work does work. We don't have anything in common. Very little. That does become more and more apparent.

At the same time, I make compromises. I'll go places to be with him, or I'll watch movies he wants to watch, or I'll listen to the music he wants to listen to. I've gotten to know all of his friends pretty well. I've been to lots of the major social things, and countless times for the mundane. He does not do any of these things on his side, nor does he see them as important, or relevant to our relationship.

I know all this, and more, and yet I still persist to spend time with him. And when we do spend time together, things are okay. We had a lot of fun together over the weekend. We did spend a Saturday together, the whole day, for the first time in since as long as I can remember. We ran errands, we had lunch, we saw a movie. It was pretty good.

But overall, I keep asking myself if this is healthy. There's no pressure anymore, because he knows and I know that the relationship is over. And from that perspective I can rest easy, because I don't make a point to depend on him or have expectations about anything. And when I catch myself doing so, and if he does disappoint me, or if we disagree like we do about many, many things, I just tell myself I made the right decision.

But what decision have I made really, when we still see each other or at least talk nearly every day?

I'm confused. I go in and out of thinking things are right and wrong. Right for now. Wrong for later. Better now. Unhealthy now. I know once again, I'm going to have to figure it out for myself. And I know when I feel I can be more articulate about it, a conversation will take place. I feel almost like writing this is not right. A long time ago I wouldn't have batted an eye. But as I said, if it will help me make things make sense a little more, I'm all for that.

Labels: Ani Difranco, Breaking Up, Cancer, Relationships

Babe, this will not be the first time.

I've been feeling down the last couple days, but I've been feeling strong.

I just ended a relationship after a year of feeling more alone than when I actually was alone, much of the time.

Now lately I feel this void, but it's the same void that's been there all along. The person is gone most of the time, unless I make an exception. But then after that, I'm alone again and the exception is always less than exceptional.

I'm just trying to figure out how to do it again. Be alone. But I've been alone. That's the whole point. That's why it never worked.

When our anniversary came, I thought to myself why it was worth celebrating at all. It was more a fact that we had not yet broken up than the fact that we were actually ever together.

I keep reminding myself of that.

And when I forget, and when I remember, I think of how the good parts were at best mediocre, and think about how mediocrity has never really been close to anything I've ever wanted.

I used to ask myself why I kept it going. "Am I that afraid of being alone?"

Maybe. Because I don't trust myself. It's not about getting hurt again. It's about the mistakes I'll make in between. It's about filling my life with friends and hobbies, but then not being okay with the silence when it creeps in.

But someone to hold isn't anyone at all. It isn't always. And the things I'll miss are just regular old generic run-of-the mill relationship things.

Even now, there's nothing specific about "us" or him that really made things great, or wonderful, or worthwhile.

I guess maybe the hard part, too, is knowing all this, and feeling guilty for having to fight with myself about it for so long.

I don't want to just be somebody's sounding board. I don't want to just be your "baby." Not if I'm not the one you want to see in the morning, or spend a Saturday with, even.

It's been so long since I've felt that. A friend of mine told me recently that for some it is even longer in between, and that I'll be okay. And I know.

But this is the hard part. Minor adjustments. He wasn't around much, and not much when I needed him, and could never really say anything I needed him to say, or be there when I needed him to be, so adjusting should be seemingly easy because in my head I don't feel like I've lost very much.

It's not like in the past when you did everything with a person and then all the sudden they're not there. It wasn't like that. Most of the time, it was me doing things and making compromises and sacrifices and going lots of places I didn't want to go. Things like that.

And never just being excited to see each other so much. And never really doing things I loved to do ever. Never went to the park or the beach. Only had a truly nice dinner once. Never really cooking together. Never watching old movies. Never losing ourselves in uncontrollable laughter. Never truly making love. Maybe once, in the beginning.

Never growing. Never making plans. Never getting much in return.

Never, never, I guess. Lots of nevers. Never getting to see my friends. Never, not even on new years or for Christmas parties. Or going but going alone.

That's how things have been.

Why can't I be angry. Truly angry, when all my friends can't stand him and think he's a huge douche.

I tell myself all this stuff. Over and over. And try to be strong. And try to hold on.

At least I won't have to be bored anymore. Because through all this, I eventually lost interest. In his worries and his self-deprecation and all his opinions and the things he would say. And now he just goes on and on sometimes, and I realize I just don't give a shit. At least, not enough.

So I'm at this crossroads, and this time, there's nothing waiting in the wings but me.

Labels: Breaking Up