Archive for September, 2013

…and I’m happy to report that I have. (Cue chorus of “awwws” here.) Actually, my ex introduced me to him a while back, but it’s only recently that I’ve become, well, kind of obsessed. He’s clever, introspective, and extremely funny, and we seem to share similar views on things like the environment and dating. He has two kids, both girls, and he’s very involved in raising them; he’s also helped me cheer up some of my girl friends recently when they needed it.

And I happen to love his freckled gingerness… just sayin’.

I mean, none of this is in real life — but that’s not necessary when I can harbor a silly crush on an awesome comedian. (You guys did know I was talking about Louis CK, right?) I’ve been pacing myself through watching the 3rd season of Louie, because it’s kinda like a really delicious chocolate chip cookie that I want to last longer. Since I apparently can’t get enough, I dreamt last night that he had moved into my parents’ small-town neighborhood. Obviously, I was very excited to get over there and say hello.

So, of course, here’s a video of him being funny about banks and their wily ways. Oh, and there are a lotta cuss words in this, for those of you who give a shit.

Rainy-Day Ride

Posted: September 16, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

I heard the first patters of rain on the skylight as I pumped up my bike’s tires. I was feeling a bit low, myself, but I thought that getting outside for a bit in the quiet of a Sunday downtown would do me some good. A little light precipitation wouldn’t be so bad.

As I turned off the street onto the bike path, I thought about the things that have been going wrong lately. Frustration and discouragement have been hanging about; more than a few things haven’t gone as planned….

Then, the splash of the rain on my face, bicycle, and the asphalt reminded me of the sprint duathlon I raced in this summer. (Fortunately, it didn’t rain during my bike ride then — things tend to get very slippery with bikes and rain — though it did before the race and again while I ran the last 2.5 or so miles.) Who do you personally know who has done that? a voice inside prodded. It was tough and insistent, like a coach trying to revive a discouraged player. No one, I admitted to that inner coach.

That’s right. You’ve done something no one else you know has done. And those are the kinds of things you do now. You’ll do that again, and even better, or move on up to something else.

When I got back home, I felt refreshed, my spirits renewed. That duathlon will always be a part of my journey now. But it’s not a laurel to rest on; it’s a foothold to help me keep moving. Having achieved something like that, some challenge I simply set my mind to, makes me feel more confident about what I’ll be able to accomplish from here.

My friends mean well, with the comments that I should just move on and the gleeful declarations of solidarity from the single ones that I’m “back on the market,” back in the club with them. But they have not gone through this, not been in long-term relationships that eventually dissolved, not gone from having a partner to having to do without.

Everybody means well; not everybody helps. I don’t mind, because I know they don’t have a real frame of reference for my experience, just as I don’t have one for theirs.

One of the things I’ve learned, having loved and lost, and loved and lost, and… is that no one gets to tell me when to move on. That’s not an aggressive statement, just a statement of fact. I decide when I am ready to abandon all hope, to go through the next stage of grieving, to hide or display my grief, to stop leaving the door open a tiny sliver just in case things can work back out with the passage of some time, to be friends in the meantime. I am in charge of how I process this. I am not hanging onto a fantasy; I see this clearly for what it is — and in the way that only I can, having walked around inside it for more than five years.

The thing about rigor mortis is that it sets in after the organism dies, and then after a while it lapses. It is natural, and it is only temporary. Though it may appear I’m stuck, frozen, death-grip on the deflated hope of what’s already lost, I’m not; already my muscles are relaxing. But only I get to decide if or when my feelings change from what they are to something they could be.

I’m not in the habit of giving unsolicited advice, but that’s kind of the point of this post: nobody wants a backseat doctor giving a second opinion on a relationship autopsy.