Game Over...?

"I had forgotten that time wasn't fixed like concrete but in fact was fluid as sand, or water. I had forgotten that even misery can end. " - Joyce Carol Oates

My whole life, I've struggled with the idea of finality. Or finality brought on abruptly, I should say. I've never truly been able to conceptualize it.

I've experienced lots of death, starting at an early age and in greater amounts than any one person should. I've even been in an apartment with a dead person in the next room. And in spite of this, some part of me never fully accepts that the person is really gone. It's like my mind sets it up like a bad dream or places it as some sort of sub-reality within me; treats it like some sort of out-of-body experience.

With those who are still among the living, it's also a struggle. In college I was known as, among other things, the bitch. The mean girl who could cut you off before you could blink your eyes...if you pissed her off enough. I always felt that the reputation was off base. I wasn't a bitch...just socially awkward and guarded. But I would cut people off. I've oft used the line, "S/he is just too stupid, and I don't have time for it" in reference to a number of people, a few of whom were completely deserving. (One day I'll share the story of the roommate who was taking our rent money and using it to pay her personal bills instead, which I found out when our management company called me demanding immediate payment or threatening eviction...two days before I was to graduate and had 35 family members coming into town.) And with many I was able to move past it. I recently attended the wedding of a friend whom I used to absolutely loathe. Could not stand him. Now? Love him. Super happy for him. So proud of who he's become. But even with the people with whom things were beyond repair, a part of me always feels...sad and slightly bewildered that in one second we were good friends and the next - nothing, even if I was the one who decided the "nothing" was necessary.

When I graduated college, I was left with an overwhelming feeling of "That's it?" A part of me couldn't believe that it was just...over. One rained-out ceremony with Wynton Marsalis, a walk across the stage in Cahn Auditorium and it was what...over? Just like that? Really? And that lasted for about a year. (Still bugs me out every now and then that I'm done with undergrad).

And the source of finality plaguing me now? A guy, of course. I've been lucky enough to bypass a lot of hurt in that department. For whatever reason, it's usually been the case where I have an upper hand. Things end on my terms, pretty amicably and with a friendship in tact, if I so choose. But in this latest run, it started out with more of an equal playing field. I wasn't really running the show, and neither w as he, or so I thought. One of those world-oyster situations, and I treated it as such. But in the last week everything kind of bombed. And I'm really not handling it so well. It sucks for different reasons, but it hurts the most because once again, I'm left  asking, It's over? Just like that? Really? He became a part of my routine. Filtered himself into my brain space. Made me laugh. Made me feel...understood in all of my randomness and weirdo tendencies. And now, everything has changed. And more than what he did. More than the fact that it bruised my feelings up real good. What I'm most bothered by, is the fact that it's...done. That "done" is hard for me.

Change has always been one of my harder pills. Much easier than it used to be in lots of respects, but on this particular front, I don't seem to be budging. I attach myself to people and situations and become comfortable with them, so when they don't work out and shift suddenly, for the worse, I'm completely thrown off. I know death is a part of life, that you can't just be in undergrad forever and that some people are only in your life for a season or particular reason. What I don't know is how I can be fully aware of all that...that life goes on and does so everyday, and yet still deal so poorly when these situations occur. This heart-to-head disconnect I have lacks any and all coolness.

I guess my question, dear void, is why? Why do I have such a difficult time with emotional adjustment? Is it a chick thing? Is it a sensitive chick thing? Is it a people thing in general? Is there a chance that I'm completely normal and that this is the status quo? And further, what can be done to bring about resolution? Make me feel a little bit better? Am I just disguising what is really denial in fancy clothing? Do I use too many words to make my point(s)? Is it far too late for me to still be up writing this with work in the morning?

Tonight all I've got is a heart full of feelings and a mind full of inquiries. I hope tomorrow is different.

Due Time vs. My Time

 "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." - Matthew 6:34, NIV

When I'm watching a movie, I like to know the ending before it happens. If I'm with someone who's seen it, I beg them to tell me what's going to happen. If I'm alone, I Google it, searching for a site that will give me the specific details, start to finish.

If I have a craving for something, I want it right then and there, or soon thereafter. I'll drive across town for the key lime cupcake or ice cream cone. No problem.

If I get the urge to write something down, I have to do it right away (even if it cuts into my study time for a big important test that's just days away...as is the case right now).

Point is, I'm not a very patient person. I sometimes pretend to be, and I can recognize when a situation calls for the particular virtue, but that doesn't mean I like it.

These days I'm feeling incredibly impatient. It's like my life is the destination for the family vacation, and I'm the kid in the backseat of the station wagon shouting, "Are we there yet?! Are we there yet?!"

The ball is moving on my transition back to Chicago, which is a blessing, but I would love to just be there already. Snap my fingers, click my ruby-slipper clad heels together, wrinkle my nose - whatever it takes to put me there, here and now. I think about my apartment. How much I'm gonna love decorating it, cooking in it, walking around naked (don't act like you don't do it). About my new job. Getting up and driving down Lakeshore or downtown every morning. Complaining with the general population when winter comes back around and it's freezing, but secretly smiling to myself and loving every blistering cold, wind chilled minute of it. I even fondly think about missing my mother and brother to the point of heartache, because I'm there and not home and can't see them everyday.

I think about the future with me in law school and being a lawyer. I'm not afraid of the hard work it will take to add that "Esq" to the end of my title, but I want it now. I'm studying for the LSAT and wrapping my brain around logic games and Kaplan strategies, but I'd love to pound a gavel and be magically seated in the first row of a torts class, handling a cold call and absorbing tons of knowledge or representing a client in my awesome power suits.

I think about guys...guy...singular...at the moment, I suppose. You XYs are a headache, and this topic could be an entry in and of itself. So I won't go there. I'll just say that I spend a lot of time saying "I'll just have to see what happens," but wishing I could just know, right now. How something will turn out. Hoping it works out. That I'm making the right decisions. So on and so forth. It's crazy.

I know that there's some level of freedom and beauty in the unknown. That's essentially what my last two years have been about, but that time hasn't erased the itch I've always had for immediate answers. I know myself and that patience is not one of my innate qualities. And sometimes it would just be nice to know, or have or be, right way. 

Instant gratification is not an option for everything, this I know. And I'd like to believe that some of the more rewarding things in life come in time. So as with everything else I write on here, *cue broken record* this is something I'm working on.

Less Head, More Heart

"And you know I can't promise you things will turn out fine. But I have to be honest, I want you to be mine." - Corinne Bailey Rae, "Breathlesss"

As I've already admitted, I'm an Olympic-level over-thinker. All of my life, I've first rehearsed in my head what I'm about to say out loud. And a lot of what is said to me? Some of it loops for years, depending on its poignancy. As this is a completely exhausting practice and because my life right now is all about evolution, I'm working on it. Or working on working it, as I told a friend a while back. But this isn't the point. 

Not only do I over-think, but I also talk myself out of things. Doing things. Saying things. I'd like to say I'm choosing my battles wisely, or investing only in situations that are truly worth it, so on and so forth. And sometimes that really is the case, but a more honest me will admit that I talk myself off of ledges, too afraid and having intellectualized and over-analyzed to the point where I can't see the wood for the trees. 

But I'm growing. Little by little, trading in some of that reactivity and just doing; still with consideration, but not enough to squelch the action altogether. I hope, trust and believe that in the long run, it works out in my favor, but further resolve that even if it doesn't, it's still a win because I took the risk.

I had a "caution to the wind" moment earlier this week. I made a true confession of sorts that I'd been contemplating and weighing the consequences of for months. I finally just spoke up. Secretly I hoped it would yield my desired results and silently I've since dealt with the fact that it did not. Has it sucked a little lot? Yeah. (I've done a respectable amount of emotional eating this week...lots of ice cream cones and fancy cupcakes). But what is also true is that the part of me that's proud for actually doing it, is bigger than the part that is disappointed in the outcome. Maybe that's crazy...I never really know. What I do know is that it's nice, this little bit of self-liberation. 

In "The One with the Fake Monica" episode of Friends, Monica's identity gets stolen by this woman who she comes to envy because of how gregarious and full of spontaneity the woman is. Monica, who is so much so the opposite...neat freak, tightly wound, controlling (ring any bells?), wishes she could be more like her. At the end of the episode, she goes to a tap dancing class that her impostor had been attending and she is awful. She can't nail the choreography or stay in rhythm - she's completely lost. The instructor yells to her, "You in the back! You're getting it all wrong!" And Monica replies, "Yeah, but at least I'm doing it!"

Consider me an amateur and floundering, but still committed tap dancer.