Birthday Wisdom – We are human and we need.

So, I apologize for my very negative post regarding my birthday. I hate sounding so sad and depressing, yet I also believe in being real, and that post, with its four sentences, was very real.

I had celebrated the day before with a group of some friends. The day was complete with champagne and dancing but as the night came, nothing awaited me. Only the morning welcomed my newly 26 year old body and all I craved was some one on one time with a close friend, lunch a movie, anything . . . but, nothing.

As my lonely birthday progresed, I received a large number of birthday wishes including a record breaking number of posts on Facebook such as “Sweet baby Jesus a lot of people love you. One more raindrop for the overflowing bucket. Happy Birthday my dear.” The disparity between my virtual snapshot of my life and my cold reality was alarmingly ironic. No one would imagine what my actual day entailed.

And this contradiction turned me inward. I am wrong to think I am not loved, because I know, I am.
I am loved, indeed. But I have created a wall to truely loving me. Liking me is allowed.
And yes, no one can dispute that I am liked. But like doesn’t allow for favors or needs or wants. Like is convenient. Like is safe. Cabalitto is like. “Like” to the point he forgot it was my birthday and didn’t call. I allowed him into my life because of a perceived safety, and we found ourselves with unwelcomed emotions. We currently tiptoe around those that are susceptible and as a result, we have nothing.

I created this. I created a bubble around my life. I live in two places. You can’t need me. I cannot need you. Like me. I am here, but I am here without strings. Nothing to pull on should you need me. Nothing for me to grab when I am falling. 

My awareness of favors also sheds light on this. I say yes, I will pick you up at the airport, I will do this and/or that. Yet, I find it impossible to ask for the same. And when I do, the response is no. As such, I am exhuasted by the favors I perform.

As I move forward into this new age, this new year, this new life, I realize I need to allow vulnerability in all relationships, including frienships. Ask, give, love. Love deeply. Step out of the comfort zone of safety. Welcome the inevitable fights that close friendships bring.

We are human and we need.


History Repeats

Written December 19th flying back to New York:

This is where I was a year ago. I know what happens next, because I have been here before. The difference is only that this time, I am only uneasy, not scared.

When history repeats itself, there is a common source. “The teacher comes when the student is ready to learn.” While, I may have always known the truth, this is the first time I am letting it in. This is the first time, I can entertain the truth, unbury it from the confines of my being. Despite this, I still don’t feel ready. My nerves heightened. My personality’s edge sharpened. An easy route is tempting, but the recurrence of events, cements that this truth, this conflict, is me. Not an egotistical boss or an inequitable situation.

I mention that my world may be changing to those close few. I refrain from saying, “It’s just like last year. “ It’s impossible to not feel as though I failed. I check my integrity. I check the truth. I scan my ethic. I dissect my focus. I review my hours.

I am good at what I do, but I still miss the mark. JR. The name, eh. A silly third party borker who dramatizes my faults, an act beyond highlighting. While his statements are an exaggeration, I suppose exaggerations are disproportionate truths. Even a lie, must have a conception. That seedling further validated by my ongoing review of my procrastination. . . .

And so it is. I know, this isn’t what I am supposed to be doing, this isn’t my passion, my career destination. At 25, err 26 in 27 hours, I have gotten so many things right, learned so much. I have adapted.

I review my last year’s resolutions, the majority of them, now true. Balance. Travel. My salary. My goals then are now the reality in which I live. If we all have a journey, a life that is aligned with who we are, I consistently get much closer. I know I am aware of the secret behind this elusive thing called legacy or passion.

Every event in my life has been a lesson that has lead me closer to such. Always a gift. Redirecting my path were it not the right one. Jim. Robbie. P. My disease. And the many lessons that have taught my empathy. I smile now for life provided me with my own equivalents for everything I couldn’t relate to:

My belief that my mother was weak, naïve.
My intolerance for drugs., alcohol.
My narrow world of ambition.

Life upset that of which I held true.

I now am intimate with loyalty, addiction, and distraction.

This flight is the first time which I have internally vocalized that there is a disparity between my career and my identity. I hate the typed words. Erase? Breathe. It is December 19th and I know something is going to change.

The unfastened ride that lies ahead

Perhaps, I was feeling slightly vulnerable yesterday. My job may be over come January 1st. My birthday is on Sunday, creating that inevitable loneliness. (Especially in PR, where my attempts to plan something were thwarted, an unfortunate evidence of my lack of footing here.) I got into a car accident the other night, and the potential loss of Caballito, was too much to bear. Not to mention the week that lies ahead with family, or lack thereof.

I saw Caballito. It wasn’t to retrieve the dresses. During the day, he simply asked if I was still grumpy. I said no. We made plans after my dinner. I went over. He got a bottle of wine. The first departure from our nights of drinking Crystal Light. I wrapped presents, we talked, we laughed, we had amazing sex. Cuddled in bed this am. And tonight, I return to New York with my companionship intact. However, the small silliness of the past few days, the acting up on my behalf, made me realize that this companionship will not live forever as-is. I can’t see someone every day, share emotions, life, missing you’s, and not be affected by our lack of relationship. I have the option to return to it in January. We have not had our good-byes. My mind saved from the post FWB break-up blues even should they be inevitable.  

Thank you for the postponement. Thank you, for my thoughts have too many appointments in the next two weeks. Ie. Lay the groundwork to survive and/or prepare myself for whatever shift is coming my way in January:

No job, different role, less money, move full-time to PR?, move out of PR? . . .
My job = where I live = friends, relationships, balance, happiness = MY LIFE

I am going for a ride. Life is changing. I reach for the seatbelt. It is missing.

Those dresses . . . inhibiting our end.

I search for rewind, erase, ctrl + D. A conversation precipitated on seeing each other. Details. You questioned why I had been so “pissy” today and yesterday . . and an hour of pointless dialogue unfolded on the telephone. I driving in circles. Us never seeing each other.

The conversation- Why so many questions? Why was I pissy? I searched and now, search, for an explanation. And the only one I can find is that our growing companionship still has needs. Yes, we are not in a relationship. Conversations regarding such do not exist in our reality. The closest resemblance of such was your stated discomfort of not knowing where this is going, wanting a plan. This statement conflicted with your actions– the actions where seeing me takes a backseat. Yet, I know you “really like me.” You ask me to stay until Sunday. Yet, you have to go to sleep. The push and pull. The dance to see each other. Our departures nearing. The pressure felt. The dance failed. The emotions, vulnerability, heightened– the core of us, the freedom, dead. 

Our words danced circles around nothingness last night. Air. Nothing created. Nothing achieved. Yet, EVERYTHING was lost. Moments after we said goodbye, I called you back. My mind realizing the damage, the silliness. Can I come lay my head? Let’s just melt into each other and realize that when we see each other none of this exists. You didn’t answer. I wrote a text. “I was just going to say can I just come over, and we can go to sleep. That conversation was horrible, and I don’t think positive . . . ” You answer, “I think we both need to chill out, and talk tomorrow . . . ” 

Chill out. The words, a dagger. They take my breathe now. Words meant to follow drama or heightened emotion. Our conversation was neither. Simply silly. Pointless. You tell me I am leaving. You may never see me again. Are you building walls? Saying good-bye. Because with that dagger, that statement “I think we both need to chill out, and talk tomorrow.” the wound is irreparable. There will be no tomorrow. 

I want to delete your number. We didn’t have the backbone to support our conversation. There is no answer. There is no repair. I can only see this working should I find REWIND. Seeded in reality, the button doesn’t exist. We are not in a movie. A goodbye without words, it would be easiest. A dissipation of all that we had.

But, those fucking dresses. Why oh why, must I have clothes hanging  . . . I leave tomorrow. Fuck. What do I do now?


Those dresses, a second chance. However, I don’t believe this saboteur, our vulnerabilities, our hearts have time and energy for the sequel, the to-be continued

Adios, mi companero. Who needs dresses?

The loneliness never really leaves.



The loneliness never really leaves.

Sometimes it subsides– but when you are a lonely being, its return is inevitable.

It is as if the void is a part of you.

When you have no constant, it is your constant. 

Temporary distractions exist, but this void has a permanent leak.

That of which fills it, always, eventually, seeps out.

I wonder if a plug exists. If I will ever find it. . . 

Or is this void just me?

Crying, dreaming, stuck

12-11 6am

I saw him through his window. I look from a foreign room, not in our house, but further up the hill. Darren, his childhood friend, and Jonathan, another name from the times of playing with sticks and building forts, are gaming. They are all almost thirty. My brother is taking a bite of pizza and a border collie is on on the bed attempting to acquire and share in the greasy delight.

My brother’s head turns towards me. I step and attempt to hide between the half open blinds. I am peering into a secret. Moments before, I was in that house. No one was aware that my brother had a dog, nor did I know that life was transpiring in his cave, that smiles existed behind his front of gruffness.

He spotted me. He comes to where I am. Now I am on the sidewalk after just attempting to park an 18-wheeler. The back tire deflates instantaneously. I am shaken, exasperated. My petulant brother is concerned. I start sobbing uncontrollably. I say, wallow, “I am stuck.” The sobs growing in their volume.

And I wake up. I am crying hard, the most genuine tears I have cried in awhile.

I write this still stunned as I have never experienced such.

I post this now. Amazed at how this feeling of being stuck/dependent has increasingly become a paralyzing source in my life. I notice internal conflict regarding my ability to ask for help, to sk for anything. There is something for me to be learned through this. Right now. I just haven’t quite grasped it yet. 

On this note, my birthday is next Sunday. i am in PR. I have no idea how to navigate the world of choosing places here and everyone celebrates largely. But, do I need to coordinate a DJ, champagne, rent out a place? I don’t have the funds to do so and no one has stepped in with suggestions and/or in agreement with my wanting to celebrate here. Alone. Someone help. Yet, I already feel silly speaking of my birthday. I being the person who downplays it. Yet, i want to collect the people I know and enjoy them. Pick a place and actually dance for once here . . . But no support. No help. This is different than the feeling of being stuck, but perhaps, the common link is poor communication. Unable to say what I want. Indirect. Hoping for my intended result sans asking the question. Mind-readers, required. I think i get the message, but am not making any progress on this one . . .