Monthly Archives: December 2007

an awkward conversation

My mom told me first that she had died.  And I have to wonder if she told any of my siblings.  Am I the only one my mom and dad go to about this?  Is it because of my bad habit of taking a topic that should remain in awkward silence and voicing it just to break the tension?  I always have to ask too many questions.

In late 1981 my dad had an affair that included having a child with the woman.  Late 1981.  I was born in July 1981, so do the math.  There were things that made me suspect something, those stupid little things that don’t escape my memory as hard as I try.  Finding a stuffed animal under my dad’s bed while I stayed with him for the weekend.  It wasn’t one that I had left there.  So I convinced myself he had left it underneath his bed for me to find.  I kept it.  My mom told me about how my dad chose my name.  He was the one who eliminated the unnecessary “l”.  So when I asked him about it, he replied with how he always wanted to name me M——, what I later found out to be the name of his other daughter.  And this is why today I ask people direct questions.  Because I’m convinced if everything is just out in the open, there is less chance of someone getting hurt by it.  Silence hurts people.

When I was 18 and visiting my sister in Florida with my dad, he commented to her how she was a young girl-version of him.  Spittin’ image of dad.  He looked over at me and asked “why do you have to be a little shit?”  He tried to pick me up the next morning so he could drive me back home, but I refused to go.  I didn’t answer the phone and I didn’t go to the door.  My sister supported me in this and she became my hero.  A few days later she drove me to the greyhound station and put me on a bus so I could get home.   I think my dad sometimes looked at me and asked himself why I wasn’t his other daughter, the one he wasn’t able to have a relationship with.

I’m not angry at my parents.  I’m not angry at my dad.  I think everyone involved did the best they could.  Being the youngest of 4 and not even 1 year old when it happened, it was easiest to hide it all from me.  Yet now it seems I’m the one they come to about it.  I know my dad misses his other daughter, but probably what he misses most is the years he didn’t have with her that he can never get back.  I saw my mom be hurt by it, then angry about it, but then she forgave him.  It took years, but she did it.  I was hurt, and I was angry.  But I watched how my mom handled it and that made the forgiving come easier.  My mom has taught me how to forgive.  And my dad has taught me that silence can hurt people.

Sometimes I worry that I’m still angry.  I’m angry at many things and that’s why I have to run because if I don’t I might get stuck in anger.  Not just at my family, but at people who don’t know things about me and make wrong assumptions, or people who think silence is less painful than confronting the truth, or just at the world in general for being extremely unfair.  But at least I have something that doesn’t keep me stuck in anger.   At least there’s that.

And there’s the fact that my dad can come to me about it.  And I appreciate that he does.  My dad’s life has been jostled by at least a year lost to a hospital bed just because a mosquito bit him.  He came through a gentler man.  And the woman he had the affair with just died.  After years of silence, she’s now gone and my dad has to face that, it can’t be easy.  So he knows he can come to me and I know that when he does it means I’m not just the daughter he lost.  I’m the daughter he will always have.

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Geeky cool

b/c my tattoo guy is in Rock Band.

Freddi Corbin Temple Tattoo.


Cool up until ex-boy gave me that sideways look and asked have you even played rock band?

no.  so I may have to strike the geeky on that, or would it be the cool…

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In need of boy friend

Not of the smushy gushy smitten variety, but more of the let’s go out to lunch, chat, and then just hang out and watch TV variety. 

I am incapable of having these kinds of boys.  I had a few in college, okay two.  But one of those friendships was complete flirtatious banter and the other came part of the package when I hung out with his girlfriend. 

So every time some new guy gets hired at work we start up conversations and I don’t know what kind of messages I send out, but it always leads to the drunken mail-room guy creepily leaving a rose on my desk or the old man telling me I’m “pretty, really really pretty,” as I look around to see if anyone heard just in case it gets creepy and I need a witness.  And all I want is a friend but then they have to cross the line and it all just gets creepy.  Like the newbie being really cool at first but then asking me what’s the deal with my glasses, why don’t I wear them all of the time (always the lead in question) and then comes the Happy New Year hug after talking to him all of 3 times and I’m thinking awww, man.  Now I have to be the bitch and explain that while ex-boy and I still hang out like all the time, and while we still aren’t dating, I am just not on the market for dating. 

And ex-boy doesn’t count as a guy friend b/c he knows me too well.  Like when he turns around and finds me with my finger in my nose or has all the right suspicions when I cut him off in the doorway and warn him you do not want to go in there, b/c I can blame that smell on Jack but the little mutt was sitting by ex-boy’s side the whole time. 

and i’m sitting here having a full conversation with Jack realizing that i studied way too hard and socialized way too little this semester.  especially considering my cable just got turned back on from having been shut off because I was studying instead of paying bills.  So maybe it’s the “I’m kind of sad because I live alone and talk to my dog” vibe that’s causing the pity flirtations.  At least I don’t have cats.

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unconditional love

Jack’s teaching me what this means.

and I had no idea it involves willingly reaching down to pet a dog behind his freshly manure clumped furry ear to let him know he’s okay.  I wiped my hand on my jeans, then ran it through my hair to pull it back in a pony tail, and continued on my way.

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Far enough away

The night I met ex-boy, we didn’t exchange a word the entire night.  When the evening was over, I remember telling my sister in the parking lot “I want to end up with someone like him.”  And that sealed the deal.  Once we did start dating and everyone got past the age disparity of a 19 yr. girl with a 30 yr. man, I didn’t want to let him go.  We kept our relationship between the two of us and shrugged our shoulders and exchanged knowing looks when people asked us about marriage and commitment.  

So I hadn’t dated anyone or kissed any other boy prior to him and I liked it that way.  And then August happened.  And it wasn’t so much August but months leading up to it where I started questioning myself.  It wasn’t just my relationship.  It started with beliefs, diet, career, motivations, and looking back it seems logical that questioning the relationship came next.  And the answers were atheist, vegan, doctor, obligation to society, and curiosity.  I never battled the urge to date anyone else until I asked myself why. 

I could have honestly believed the person in the wings ready to satisfy my curiousity was worth breaking off 6 years for or it could have been 2 people just using eachother to get past something painful.  It doesn’t matter because it was wrong either way.  Ex-boy hit his stages of grief first and what I thought I knew about him was thrown off it’s axis.  Then after things turned into nothing more than a piss fight between me and the new boy, what I thought I knew about myself was thrown off axis.  I hit the grief stage just as ex-boy was exiting his and I felt like I was drowning. 

And ex-boy was the one to call me out on it.  So it seems like the last 2 months have been recovery from the fall.  Ex-boy and I don’t really talk about what happened, it comes out in small chunks of what I feel comfortable volunteering, or what he can be sarcastic with me about without me getting that nailgun to the chest feeling.  I get paranoid over being perceived as the bitch in the situation and seeing the people that were once “our” friends and are now just “his” friends has me wanting to hang my head and leave the room.  Finally one of our friends greeted me with a hug, and it nearly made me cry b/c finally, after what seemed a long while without anyone talking to me, someone was talking to me again.

So now he just says it makes him sad.  He’s not mad, just sad.  But I’m still mad.  I can’t shake off feeling ashamed for how I went about it and not knowing where to go from here.  I know I resolved not to be so hard on myself and creating false ideals to live up to, but this seems different.  I’m stuck at mad. 

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my schizo best friend

Me: it’s different when it’s just the two of us. he gets all “hi momma” on me.

Ex-Boy: as opposed to when i’m there entertaining him?

Me: yeah.  then he’s like “back off bitch, i’m playin’!”

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Jeebus loves me.


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In Need

of a bag that can handle the daily stress of the Franklin Covey planner, monkey pencil box, occasional trade paperback, water bottle, and the ginormous 15 lb biology book or two without breaking at the seams.  And of course, dog treats. 

Because I’m on my third bag and it is quickly sliding down my hip as the seam pops loose.  And they’ve all been freebies because I am a poor student.  Suggestions welcome. 

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Perfect Match

Jack belches after every meal.  Loudly.  And usually in my face.

And that’s how I knew we were a perfect match.

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False Ideals

One year ago, I just wanted those last 10 lbs off.  They creeped on when I moved to California and hung around for 3 years.  They finally melted off this past summer up through end of September when ex-boy saw my back and said “yeah, that’s kinda gross, I can see your spine.  You might want to watch that.”  So it’s creeping back on, but I’m no longer at my ideal.  And it’s hard to separate the numbers on a scale from a healthy looking body.  And that’s the thing about imaginary ideals, they never end in happiness.

I don’t like resolutions and usually tell everyone that I do not make them.  Then I fall asleep to all the promises I make to myself floating above my pillow always slightly out of reach but never sharing them with anyone.  But here’s the one thing I want to drop completely – false ideals.  I get stuck on ideals and forget to live.  I’d watch my colleagues shine in doing what they do and then get the mic handed to me and knowing that I achieved an ideal weight wasn’t going to find my lost notes in the middle of a presentation.  Fretting to the point of exhaustion over broken relationships, a new abode, and a cell bio mid term still got me an awesome grade and probably 2.6 yrs off the end of my life.  (don’t worry, I put those years back on by decorating gingerbread train for Jesus last night.  oh, and I floss daily.)  But chasing ideals isn’t worth it to me.  I still want to help women through practicing medicine, I will want to impress my colleagues by some how learning scripting overnight and optimizing our web site because no one else wants to do it, and I still want a house with a lemon tree and a garden, and Jack, and a library with a big chair, but I’m not going to beat myself up over it if I don’t have it done tomorrow.

and I say this now.  but check back day after Christmas when my Cell Bio final is due and see if I didn’t pull an all-nighter with Santa on Christmas eve….

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