It’s always have and never hold
You’ve begun to feel like home
What’s mine is yours to leave or take
What’s mine is yours to make your own

(The Fray)

It’s that time again- where spring wins the battle over the snow and the clearance of Easter Dresses and shelves of over-stocked candy diminish. I’ve somewhat settled into the numb routine of pout/participate, pout/participate, (wash, rinse and continue.) Well- the decision of selling out has turned to be non-fruitful as even in settling out- I found myself alone. I’m somewhat resilient and somewhat growing more aware of this bastard plan to strip me of all my comfortableness and self-loathing, to complete and utter-alone-ness. If you asked me, what my greatest fear was? It would be- facing it all, alone. <p>Those Pollyanna’s that reside in my circle always remind me that one can –never- truly be alone with a potty training toddler and a small, furry, puppy, plus the benefit of good friends and people that want to bang you… However? Attending the wedding/class reunion from hell alone is going to be about the scariest thing I’ve ever done. (Ever.) –I’ve given birth. This terrifies me more.

Did I do anything I wanted for the Easter Season? I gave up swearing for about 2 days. I somewhat allowed myself to feel and inspire to be someone who wasn’t mopey or delinquent about her social life- but I kinda died. Maybe- I’ve been dead for a while. I’m not really sure. This must come across as increasingly depressed- but I have to tell you- I don’t think I’m depressed, and I wouldn’t even call it marginally pissed off, either. I’ve become indifferent, and increasingly, increasingly determined. (Under the radar- internal batcave and whatnot.) I think the period, of refusing to date, or relying on an ex who is wholly un-reliable, is over. With spring and summer- come different opportunities. I feel ready, and about 2% optimistic that should something bright come out of this darkness, it might not burn me to a crisp, black, shedding, mess. (Nice, huh?)

I used to think, that right after Bre and I would have another epic fight, the fact that something bizarre and emergenic- (it’s totally a new word,) would fling itself up at my face- the fact that he was always there to wipe it off- meant something. But then- it would die down, and I would interrupt him, or take something out of context, (surprise- I do it a lot,) and he would tell me that I was horrible, or an unfit person- and some nights- mostly when I was alone, I wondered, was it true? Was that what this is all about? That the hero has to rescue the incompetent wrench? I re-examined. He has no friends that don’t involve cyberspace. And then I thought about how if I was feeling independent or went out to do something by myself, he’d cut me down, (or dig through my personal belongings.) I think- (I do it too,) that we place the real faces of who we are, or what we can’t get past in ourselves- on others, who we think could wear it. We don’t want to face the idiosyncrasies of who we are- It’s scary knowing what you lack. Sometimes- it’s too much to handle, so we can pretend to rescue, and re-submit our weaknesses on those who seem inferior. We paint everyone else- and somewhat- for a while- we pick people who fit that description perfectly. I’ll be honest- after Josh- he was there, for everything. You hear stories and read books, that it means something if someone is there. But for whatever agenda we both had- it wasn’t love- it was something else. And for a while- thank the lord- there was a distraction- which turned into a bloody mess.

It’s been almost a year since Josh and Kaeyla. Had I not met them- would I have met my other friends, or built something that was most important? The things in between- the distractions, the epic failures, all point to something else. I have no idea if there’s a plan. (I border daily on praying, or not believing in anything- but in moments- more than others- the sun hits my face on the busride in and seems to whisper, “only a little longer.”

I come into work, and I’m blessed with the ability to muli-task my arce off, and think in-between.

The floating period is finally over. I think I felt it most when I didn’t want to sink slowly at the top of the water anymore. I rested, my arms are no longer tired, and I’ve been wanting to kick for what’s seemed like years.

With each busride, and each warm kiss from something I don’t quite understand- I’m becoming more optimistic. Maybe that’s why on the walk in, my favorite valet guy winked and told me he “missed seeing me.” I had my head down for months, and I scrambled with the weight of my own feelings, and misconceptions about who I really was. I had seen him, but he- stopped seeing me. I think everyone did.

Sometimes, blogging is like touching on a different piece of a whole thought. One week it’s the preposition, one week it’s the verb, and slowly- we crescendo to the semi-colon or period. We start new sentances, and figure out new things- and ultimately- become all too wordy in the process. Right?