Saturday, September 13, 2014

Missing You

I miss you.  I want to text you so bad.  I want to talk to you.  I can't tell you again how much you mean to me.  You know.  I guess that's why you pushed me way so stupidly and so brutally.  You have to know that I get it, that you did what you did because for some reason you felt you had to.   I just wish you had gone the honest route instead of the cowardly one.  I hope it didn't feel good to hurt me so badly.  If it did, don't ever tell me so because that takes it to a whole new level of pain.

People in the know are glad, glad you have taken yourself out of my life.  But I never listened to anyone before and I'm not going to start now and I'm not glad.  I don't feel relieved.  I don't feel a weight lifted because you're gone.  I just feel sad, and empty and that something is missing.  You.  You're missing.  And I hate it.

How could you turn your back on me so easily?   Friends since 1987.  That is a long time.  Was it easy?  In retrospect if all feels so forced, planned.  That night, you were looking for anything to fight about.  What you settled on and what ultimately ended our friendship and whatever else we had is not something that would end a 27 year friendship.  And when I think about it, sometimes I'm crushed, other times I'm just angry.  So so angry that you turned your back on me.

It's been a month.  It's taken me this long to put these feelings on paper.  It's taken me this long trying to make sense of a senseless situation to realize there never will be any sense to it.  It took me 2 minutes after our fight to realize it was purposeful.  At the time, I was so shocked and going on instinct to fight you back, to try and hurt you back.  And I hate that I stooped to that level.  I hate that I said some of the things I said.  I was so upset, so crushed.  So decimated by you, again.  I console myself with that old saying.... you always hurt the ones you love.

No matter how many times I tell myself that I'm better off, my heart won't listen.  My heart wants you in my life.  My heart wants your friendship back.  You weren't always a good friend but at times you were the best friend.   At times you would say something to me that was so insightful, so right into my soul, that I thought there could be no one on this earth who knows me the way you do.  How you did that always blew my mind.  And no matter how many times you told me you're a dick, I didn't fully believe it until that night.  It was like an image you tried to keep going, but it never fooled me.  I saw that side of you that you don't show too many people.  And I still believe that, but I also will know that despite that other side, you're truly a dick too.  And that's ok.  A lot of times I feel like a total asshole.  But you saw the other side.  

You brought things out of me that I didn't know were there.  You were encouraging and supportive of me when I needed it most.  You made me love you again, not that I ever stopped.  And then you tore it away, again.  I didn't think I could ever live through the pain of losing you a second time.  But I guess I have.  But it's a pain that lingers.

Life is short.... I hope it doesn't take too long for you to find your way back, again.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Ask Me If I Care

More and more I find myself thinking, "ask me if I care" about any and everything.   I suppose that's a byproduct of the unhappiness I find myself unable to break out of.  At the same time it's troubling, yet liberating.  Troubling because it makes me think I've become cold and unfeeling.  Liberating because the reality is that I have stopped giving a shit about the people who don't give a shit about me.

Example, I saw today on Facebook that the man's niece got engaged.  Ask me if I care.  I don't.  Over the years it has become more and more clear to me that these two girls (the nieces) don't give a shit about me at all.  I have been in their lives since they were 5 and 6 years old.  I gave them gifts for every birthday and Christmas for all of those years until a few years ago when they started having kids and instead bought for the kids.  I have always been kind to them.  Have always treated them well.  But over the past few years I have backed away from them (and most of the man's family) because I never felt the same kind of care/respect in return.  For my 40th birthday the two nieces and their boyfriends gave me a single $2 instant lottery ticket.  I'm not saying they should shower me with gifts.  It's an example of the lack of interest/care that I feel from the man's family.   And when my dad passed away this past January, I heard nothing from them.   Oh I take that back, one of them posted on my Facebook.  The other did not, nor did she call me, nor did she send me a card, nor did she even acknowledge the fact that I lost my dad when I saw her two weeks later.  So excuse me if I'm not jumping up and down with glee over your engagement.


But it's more than just that, it's a lot of things.  I just can't muster caring about much of anything.  How is that liberating?  Well, I wasted a lot of time, a lot of heartache, a lot of energy on caring about things that in the big scheme ended up not mattering at all.  Friends who turned out not to be.  Situations that I should have avoided.  Family members who are assholes.  So to get to a point where I can say, "ask me if I care"?  Yeah, it feels liberating in a way.

Don't get me wrong, I still care about the people in my life that I know care about me.  I still love.  I still will do anything for the people who matter most.  Maybe when things change, when I finally get my life moving in the direction I want it moving in I will care again.  And hopefully I've learned enough lessons to spot those insincere phony people without investing too much of my precious time and the enormous amounts of love and friendship I have to give.

Or maybe it's my hormones.

Monday, June 23, 2014

Jobless Revisited

Having just received my gazillionth rejection from a job I applied for, I'm feeling like a big fucking loser.  I hate feeling that way.  I hate a "woe is me" attitude.  I hate feeling sorry for myself.  But it's so hard not to when I've been looking for 2 years.  Two years, no job, over 20 years of experience.   What is the problem?  Why will no one hire me?  What is it about my resume or me in general, that is off putting?  I don't know.  I had my resume analyzed and got a pretty good affective rating.  So what's going on?  The economy is supposedly improving.

I feel like I am very professional on the phone and in interviews, when I have them.  Am I too old at 48 to be hired?   Do I have too much experience, therefore leading prospective employers to assume I will want too much money?  Or am I totally fooling myself into believing that I have marketable skills at all?  I really don't have the answers.

This most recent rejection really hurt.  I applied to it and two days later received an email with a test in it.  There was an editing test (it was a few paragraphs describing the business that needed grammar, spelling, punctuation etc. corrections) and a composition test (a lot of information in no format and asked to compose a business letter out of it).  I received this test early in the afternoon on the Friday before Memorial Day and asked to return the test completed within 24 hours.   Quite frankly I thought this bullshit mainly because I really doubt anyone would be looking at it before Tuesday of the next week.  But I did it.  I sat down and very carefully completed the tasks they asked of me and sent it back before end of business on that same day.

Not only did I not get the job, I never even got a call for an interview.  Nothing.  I completed their stupid convoluted task and they didn't even bring me in for an interview.  I didn't send it in blind either.  I had the man look over everything I did before sending it.  I received zero feedback on what they thought of the way I completed these tasks.  I received nothing at all but a brief note that said the company hired someone this past Friday and thanks for your interest.

When things like this happen, this is how I feel...

I try very hard to get to the "everything happens for a reason" place.  To that "when one door closes, another opens" place.  To remember that I'm smart, skilled and that any prospective employer should be thrilled to have me in their employ.  But sometimes, even if it's for a few hours or a few minutes, I just have to wallow in the idea that I may never work again and that is unacceptable.  I have a very strong desire to change several aspects of my life and I cannot do that without a job.  So as much as I'd like to, at this moment, give up and come to terms with joblessness forevermore, I won't.  I can't.  The rest of my life is waiting.

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Ode to the Former Friend

Sometimes I really miss you.  I want you to know that.  I do.  And sometimes I wonder why we are former friends and not friends.  Were the issues really that severe that you had to cut yourself off from me?  And while we're at it, what were those issues?  With some former friends, I don't have a clue why things fell apart.  When I think about that I can't help but think how stupid it all is.  How does someone who you know cares about you, who you had no argument with, who you shared so much with, suddenly become persona non grata?  And how do you not even give them the courtesy of telling them why?  That pretty much tells me the friendship didn't mean much to you at all.  That's kind of sad.  I'm not talking about a natural transition, a drifting apart.  I'm talking a sudden abrupt change with no explanation.

Is it wasted time?  Did I waste my time being your friend, calling you, talking to you, listening to you and letting you listen to me?  Was it a big mistake confiding my innermost secrets with you?  Is there something somewhere that you will hold over my head somewhere down the road?  Something I said that can be used against me?  Granted I don't have a lot of secrets and at this point, I'm not sure what you know and what you don't know.  But I felt so close to you that I may have said something, sometime that I shouldn't have.  Eh, I can't worry about it.  I will just have to assume that since you decided I suck, that you will disregard everything I ever said.

Was it a waste of time?  There is a saying that people come into our lives at certain times to fulfill a certain purpose.  I'd like to believe that but I'm having a hard time figuring out what the purpose is in these cases.  Cases, plural.  It's happened to me more than once.  Which of course, makes me think it's me.  I'm doing something to drive people away.  I curse too much.  I talk about sex too much.  Are those actual reasons to dump a friend?  Seems petty.  But I know I have never intentionally maliciously hurt someone.  Not to my knowledge anyway.  If I had, I would definitely hope that the person wronged would say something so that I could right that wrong.  Since they haven't, I again go back to assuming I just suck.  Suck as a human being.  Suck as a friend.  Suck to the highest heights of suckage.

I don't want to think of you as a waste of time but I'm grasping at straws for the lesson in the friendship.  Maybe I learned more about myself.  Yes that's probably true.  That right there makes the relationship not a waste of time.

You know what former friend?   I'm starting to wonder why I miss you.  YOU dumped me.  YOU didn't tell me why.   YOU took away your friendship and threw away mine.  And you know what, I don't suck as a friend or a human being.  It just so happens that I'm not perfect.  I make mistakes.  I say fuck and cunt when I feel like it.  I like talking about sex, reading about sex and engaging in sex. I love my tattoos.  I love dying my hair weird ass colors.  I'm 48 years old and I can do whatever the fuck I want and I should never ever be made to feel less than because of someone else.  I fucking rock!  I'm a great friend and would always be there for my friends no matter what.  I'm not afraid to express my opinion, even if it differs from yours.  A true friend respects that and doesn't stop being your friend because of it.

I guess this wasn't much of an ode to you former friend.  Sorry about that.  Well no, I'm not.  This is my exorcism.  To once and for all remove you from my thoughts, remove you from my life the way you removed me from yours.  Sorry you're going to miss out on all the fun, humor, and friendship I still have left to give.

Monday, March 3, 2014

Continuing to Comtemplate

There were so many things that were said the night I met my friend R for drinks.  And so many things I keep thinking about.  So many questions that he asked me that I am now asking myself.  He knows of my unhappiness and my desire to change my life.  But knowing that leads to more questions.   Questions like, are you prepared to be alone for the rest of your life?  And I wonder, am I?  Because that's a possibility I have to face.

On a daily basis I feel bad for feeling how I do.  For wanting this big change knowing it's going to hurt someone who doesn't deserve to be hurt.  That nagging guilt for wanting more punishes me.  I wonder if I can ever truly move on when I feel this way.  Questions lead to more questions and none of them have answers.  Will I punish myself forever for being dissatisfied?  Is it better to live a life you are unhappy in than to hurt someone else?  Do I need to sacrifice forever for the happiness of someone else?   Is it selfish that I want to make myself happy?

A strange thing happened this weekend.  We were at our accountants office to hand in our tax information.  As we talked to him about what's been happening in our lives this past year I started to feel incredibly trapped.  We were talking about my job search and how I've been unable to find a job for so long.  He was encouraging and sweet, as he always is.   And the more he talked the more trapped I started to feel until I really thought I was just going to burst into tears right in his office.   I felt it coming on.  My eyes started to water.  I felt my face flush.  I kept taking deep breaths to keep the tears at bay.  It was really difficult.  I kept wiping my eyes over and over and over.   I don't know if anyone else in the room saw that this was happening, but bursting into tears in my accountants office is not something I wanted to happen.

Trapped.  It's how I felt in that moment and it's how I've felt for far too many years now.  Trapped is not a good feeling.  Nowhere to go.  Nowhere to turn.  No help to be had.  No means to make my life better.  Trapped sucks.  Trapped hurts.

But don't get me wrong, this isn't constant.  I still experience good things.  I still have wonderful friends who are there for me in the best ways they can be.  I still have family who are as supportive as anyone can hope for.  I still have fun and I still laugh.  And the one I don't want to hurt loves me with all his heart and would do anything for me.  But wait, there is it is again… the guilt.  Because he would do anything for me and it's not enough.  That guilt.  That self doubt.  Those moments when I hate myself for feeling how I feel.  They creep back in.

I hate that I have no answers.  I hate that years go by without answers.  And I have to keep asking myself, is being content and complacent the best I can hope for and should I just suck it up and make the best of it?

Tuesday, February 25, 2014


Last week I went out for drinks with an old friend.  More and more I realize that old friends are the best friends.  Which is not to say newer friends suck, they don't!   But old friends, there is something special about them.  They know you better than anyone else and they love you and have loved you for so long that it's probably never going to change.  There's comfort in that.  If you get into an argument it's so much easier to get past it because you know how much you love that person and how the argument is inconsequential to the big scheme of things.  What I mean is, an old friend isn't going to read this blog and say, I don't know, decide they can no longer be my friend because I write something risqué or I write something they don't agree with.  They will tell me they don't agree with it and we'll discuss the whys and the hows over a cocktail or a whatever.  But in the end the friend will realize that I'm still the person they have always known and it doesn't matter if I write about sex or sadness, or love, or hate or whatever I write about.  Like I said, there's comfort in that.

That's a bit of a digress from where I was going with this entry, but hey don't hate me because I digress! lol   As I was saying, I was out for drinks with an old friend and there was a lot of discussion about what I want in life.  And I didn't have a solid answer.  Maybe because I'm at a standstill.  I can't go up, I can't go down.  I have nowhere to go at the moment.  I have no job and that limits any kind of plan I can ever make for a future.  But since that day, I have been thinking about that question over and over and over. "What is it that you want?"  

This is what I've come up with. I want joy.  I want a life lived.  I want more than getting by week after week and doing the same things.  I want to be happy.  I want good sex.   I want to create great dishes and eat fine food.  I want to laugh and laugh and then laugh some more.  I want to listen to great music.  I want to take pride in what I'm doing for a living and not just exist in a job.  I want to travel and see things I've never seen.  I want more great tattoos.  I want to give love and get love in return.  

Maybe thats a big order to fill, but I don't think it's impossible.  Time probably isn't on my side unfortunately.  I am 48 years old.  Is it too late to live the life I want and think I deserve?  Is it too late to start living for me and not everyone else?  

Monday, February 17, 2014

Nessun Dorma

Nessun Dorma, "none shall sleep."  It was my dad's favorite, when done by Pavarotti.  It's one of the things that will always remind me of him in such a good way.  He wept whenever he heard it, and now I do as well.  He passed away on January 7.  I've been wanting to write about him since it happened, but quite frankly I didn't know where to begin, what to say, how to pay tribute.  I'm not sure this will end up being a tribute but I hope you can read the love I had for this man despite some very shaky years.

In those shaky years it was very apparent that my dad and I could not relate to each other.  He didn't understand me and I didn't understand him.  He had good camaraderie with my brothers and my sister because they all loved sports.  Me, not so much.  I guess maybe I was a little resentful of that, mainly because my mom used to say things like, "learn to like sports and you will have a bond with him."  Well why couldn't he learn to love something that I was into and bond with me?  It's that stubbornness that I inherited from him I guess.  So growing up I really didn't have much of a relationship with my dad.  In fact, it wasn't until after I moved out at 21 that I even really remember having many conversations with him.  When I came back home to do laundry or visit or have dinner, we talked.  Actual conversations.  We found common ground.  We both loved nature shows.  We both dreamed of going to Alaska.  He never did, but I hope I get to someday, for both of us.  And when I was 30, I got my very first "I love you" from him.

I guess when someone passes away you aren't supposed to talk about the bad times.  When my brother spoke at the funeral, he spoke of family vacations, sports, and Saturday morning breakfasts my dad used to make for all of us kids.  And those are good memories.  But the truth is there are a lot more bad memories than there are good.  I'll leave those for another time though, because the fact is he's gone and I miss him.  So instead I'll tell you about his last day.

My dad was ill, and he had been for a long time.  He had lost a leg to diabetes seven years ago, and while recuperating from that surgery, he had a stroke.  The stroke affected his ability to speak clearly.  He knew what he was trying to say, but he often was garbled in his speech and no amount of therapy seemed to help.  In addition, his amputation was so far up he had difficulty ever walking again even with a prosthetic.  He did, with the help of a walker, but it was difficult and he spent a lot of time in and out of rehab.  In addition to all this, he had already had atrial fibrillation, or a-fib, an irregular heartbeat, and received a pacemaker/defibrillator several years ago to treat this.  So yeah, he wasn't in good shape.

Since I haven't worked in forever and still can't seem to find a job, I was looked to often to help out with him.  I was glad to do it, most of the time.  My mother could not handle him on her own all the time.  We went to many doctors, many hospitals, over the years.  It seemed to be never ending.  It was frustrating to say the least, most of the time because as years passed he got less and less interested in doing much to help himself.  No amount of talking to him, reasoning with him, telling him how it was, didn't help.  And it became apparent that he would have to go into a nursing home.  My mom fought us on it, but there was really no other way.  He was no longer walking at all and at 82, my mother couldn't care for him herself anymore.

At the time, he was in rehab and they were trying to help him walk.  It wasn't going well at all.  He had a toe amputated off his remaining foot and since then he didn't want to get up at all.  He was in bed, in rehab for 3 months when we got the call saying he was unresponsive.  Off we went back to the hospital to meet him in the ER.  My mom was beside herself but I have grown accustomed to being solid, the rock, the strong one and I told her that dad has nine lives.  And it was true.  There had been several times over the years when I thought he was not going to make it.  The most recent was Christmas, when he was in the hospital with pneumonia and a staph infection.  But he bounced back, just like he always had.  I told my mom that when we got to the ER he'd be sitting up in bed and saying, "what took you so long to get here??"  And you know, it was almost like that.  He was sitting up, he was talking.  He was not right, and we could see that, but he was making sense mostly, talking sports with my brother.  As the doctors came and went, we were told very little but informed they would be admitting him to ICU.  At this time they weren't sure but they thought he may have had a heart attack.  Dad was looking tired so mom told him to go to sleep if he wanted to since we didn't know how long it would take to get him into a room.  Soon after, he did sleep and we decided to go grab a quick bite to eat, not knowing how long we would be at the hospital.

Things felt different, in retrospect, but at the time, we were feeling it was business as usual.  When we got back to the ER, he was still there, still sleeping.  And my aunt and uncle (dad's brother) had arrived.  The nurse tried to wake him at this point and was unable to.   He was still breathing though and the room up in ICU was ready.  While they were moving him I went to the ER parking lot and moved my car to the hospital lot.  It's winter and cold and I figured it would be a shorter walk when we left the hospital.  When I got up to ICU, my family was still in the waiting room but my mom was crying and my aunt was comforting her.  What did I miss??  The ICU doctor had come out while the nurses were getting dad settled and he said he saw very little hope for him and there was nothing they could do.  Dad had a DNR and all they could do for him was keep him comfortable.  Was this really happening?  This moment that I had been preparing myself for for years, was it really here?  I wasn't prepared at all.

It was about 6 pm, and my brother and I took turns calling my sister and my other brother who live out of state, updating them on what was happening.  My sister had called our aunt (dad's sister) to tell her what was going on and then my aunt phoned me and asked me if I thought she should come to the hospital. I told her yes, so she and her husband came.

Now we are waiting.  Waiting for him to die and it feels strange.  He is unconscious the whole time and unaware of what is happening and that's a blessing.  My mom wanted a priest from her church to come and administer Last Rights, so I called and before I could leave a message my sister phoned me.  So after talking to her I asked her to call the church back for me and ask a priest to come.  She did, and the priest called me not even five minutes later to say he was on his way.  He said prayers and anointed him and it was all quite beautiful.

The nurses there were extremely kind and brought us a cart with coffee, sodas, cookies and other snacks.  And chairs.   ICU rooms don't have chairs for visitors because they don't want visitors to stay in the ICU long.  But they brought us, all seven of us, chairs.  And we sat, or paced.  Cried, and talked.  Even had some laughs.  For instance, before we got chairs, my uncle broke down crying and sat down on the toilet.  It's a toilet in the room, with a big pad over it to make it look like a chair.  My mother went to him to comfort him and as she leaned down to hug him, she leaned up against the flusher and WOOSH! She flushed the toilet!   Yes, we did all laugh.  And it felt good because we were all so wound up and nervous.

Another moment was when the priest left.  He was a very young, very handsome priest.  And when he left I turned to my mom and I said, "he's young!"   She said yes, he was one of the newer priests at her church.  I told my family, "we had a name for priests like him when I was in school…. Fr. WhatAWaste!"  And we laughed again.  You need those moments because staring at my dad and counting how long it is between breaths can drive you mad.  So we had those moments, and others as we talked and reminisced and told stories about him.  And then, at 10:10 pm, all was silent.  He was gone.  It took about 6 hours from the time he went to sleep for him to stop breathing.  A blessing really. The doctor came in and declared him gone, and we said our goodbyes.  Now we had to go home and go about the task of getting on with life.  I spent that night with my mom.  I just couldn't leave her alone.  She lost the man she'd spent 57 years with.  It was going to hit her, and hit her hard at some point.  So I stayed.   Again being the rock.  Holding in my tears, holding in my sorrow, so she could have hers.  I've been doing it for so long I don't really know how not to.

I miss him.  But the truth is, I've missed him for years.   He hasn't been the guy I knew for quite some time.  He stopped caring about anything.  He stopped wanting to do anything.  He existed but had very little quality of life these past few years.  So I'm glad he's free.  And hope wherever he is, he found his joy again.  Love you forever dad.  xoxo