Burke

Old photo, new favorite person in the world.

My Crimmis

Quelle Christmas! I spent basically the whole of Christmas Day in bed. I was sick, and all I could do was sleep. Some kind of cold/flu/upper respiratory bug invaded my body over the weekend prior to Crimmis, and once I got on some antibiotics it was like I had taken a sleeping pill, so I missed most of the day. I did drag myself out of bed for 1. Santa, and 2. lunch and the opening of the presents. Somehow my camera stayed in bed, it seems, so all I have to show are these pictures from Christmas Eve, when I was still awake.

My mom's tree. We protested but she's at the age where all she can handle is a 'little tree.' I don't know why it matters, since she has a handyman who puts it up and takes it down, and I honestly think he even decorates it for her. But oh well.

Let the unwrapping begin!

Just what every 13-year old boy dreams of...monogrammed towels! My mom, what a riot.

Oh, that's much better...

The artist, making a painting for Santa. He ate the cookies she made and left for him, but he didn't take the painting, much to her chagrin.

And Claudine got a mouse. I mean, "Mouse? What mouse? I don't see anything. Yawn."

So that was my Christmas. I'm not in any of the pictures because I had on pajamas and dirty hair. Mom somehow isn't either, though she was clean and in nice clothes. But take my word for it, I got some fabulous presents...boots, a scarf, some silver hoop earrings and a crock pot. I'll take pictures of those later.

So what did all of you get from Santa?

Unseen photos

Man, there's nothing like trying to get over a love, being pitifully unable to do so, and suddenly having someone post photos of the two of you that you'd never seen before. I was in FB today, and saw a note that Jackie had tagged me in three of her pics. As soon as I saw the title of the album they were in, "Halloweens over the years," I knew it was gonna be pics of me and Paul. And I was right. These two:


Plus another one of him I hadn't seen, from the same party. I think I must have taken it.


I remember this night so well. It was what proved to be our last Halloween together, 2007. I had found a dress at Rebecca's house that looked just like a playing card, and I decided to be the Queen of Hearts. Paul didn't want to dress up, of course, but he'd do anything for me so he agreed to be the King of Hearts. On our way to the party, which was at Rebecca and Jackie's friends house, we stopped at the liquor store on LaVista, across from McDonald's. Afterwards Paul and I later had a running joke about the guy who worked there, cause when we went up to pay, he looked at my costume and said "Oh! What are you tonight?" or something, in kind of broken English (Paul, do you remember what he said exactly? I can't...) and I said "The Queen of Hearts." He nodded exhuberantly and said "Oh yes, yes! The mother of Jesus!" and we bout died laughing. I'm still unsure what the disconnect was, but it was priceless.

We cut out all the little hearts and I safety pinned them to our clothes in the hotel room before leaving for the party. Paul (or did I?) painted the hearts on my face with an old lipstick, but he wouldn't let me put any on his face...had to draw the line somewhere. We had so much fun at that party, mainly because it was seriously the dullest party either of us could remember ever going to. We kept waiting for the fun to start, then realized that, um, this was it. After finishing all our vodka or whatever we had brought, we left. It was seriously that boring (I apologize if Jackie or Reb are reading this...it was!) We went back to the room and I remember having a fight about something, then making up and having passionate make-up sex for hours and hours.

It was a typical night for us, and I miss it so. I'm happy and very sad at the same time to have seen these pics of the two of us. I remember Paul and I had brought his mother's really old digital camera to the party for some reason (where was my regular camera? How did we get his mom's? And why?) and we took several pics, but never could get them uploaded. I'd always wanted to see the two of us as the King and Queen of Hearts, and I guess I got my wish. A little late, but there's something cosmic in the fact that they just now showed up.

It kind of kills me a little to look at these, especially that second one, where I'm tucked up underneath his arm, his hand on my hip. He always said that we fit together perfectly, and indeed, our body language speaks everything that there was between us. We were very close, in every way, and I have no idea where all that went. We were a part of each other, and that part of me that was his is just all broken to hell. How is it that he doesn't feel this split, this shattered-ness, too? This wasn't just a fling, it was the real deal. These pics verify that for me. Odd that they showed up today, when I've been feeling some things so incredibly strongly about him and me. I'll wait to see what it might mean.

Tree decorating

Tonight I'm decorating the tree but my heart's just not in it. Normally nothing can spoil this season for me. I love Christmas, even last year when I was all heartbroken and miserable, I still really enjoyed the parties and dressing up and seeing people. But this year I just feel old. I've gained too much weight and don't ever to go out, not to mention that no one's invited me anywhere, I'm really really sad for some reason and I just don't feel the spirit at all. But life goes on.

So I am pulling out ornaments and putting them on the tree, and I came across a box with my favorite ones inside. You can easily guess why these are my faves:

At top left is Rosie's reindeer, from I believe the three-year old class at Glenn School. Next to that is Nick's pine cone sprinkled with glitter from the baby room at Glenn. Next is Rosie's rice wreath, from first grade. Next to that is a beautiful stained glass window from her kindergarten class. Next is a teeny tiny pine cone with glitter, also from Nick's baby room days at Glenn. And last on that row is Rosie's Thanksgiving leaf from third grade, I think, where she wrote what she was thankful for. It says "I'm thankful for my parnets for taking care of me. Rosemary :)" Next is a beautiful globe made by Nick in about third grade. Underneath is a pine cone tree, all decorated and with a star on top, made by Nick in about the four-year-old room at Glenn. Next is a popsicle stick star made by Rosie at Glenn school. Then come my two very favorites.


This is Nicholas' first Christmas, when he was only four months old. We went to see Santa at Lenox Mall and Nick wore his Micky Mouse Christmas long john outfit with little white and red socks. They gave us this gingerbread frame/ornament holder to put the pic in. I just love this picture cause he is soooooo tiny and Santa is sooooo big...it looks to me like he's a little football in Santa's arms!


And this is Rosie from the Glenn School two-year-old class. This was her favorite Christmas dress that year, and her teachers took the picture and made it into a CD ornament and she gave it to us as the Christmas gift that SHE made. I love her little happy yet forced smile and her sweet face. Every time I look at this ornament I remember this year and what a cute, sweet little baby Rosie was.

These kid-made ornaments should actuallly make me more melancholy yet, on the contrary, they make it all better. I love my little guys; they're amazingly sweet, smart, handsome and good, and I'm lucky to have them. They love Christmas so I'm gonna love it this year too, for them. Plus the house looks beautiful, and next weekend is the big party! It's all good, just a bit lonely this year.

Reading and other grownup activities

Thanks to my good friend, Mike in Austin, I have discovered this cool site and have invited many of you to join. Ahem. It's really a nice diversion, since I've got NOTHING I SHOULD BE DOING. Well at least it's literary, and it makes me feel smart. It's called Goodreads, and it's an online community of readers. Go check it out, it's fun.

I'm having a funky funk of a week. I don't know what to do about my life. It's all a jumbledmess and now I'm feeling like I'm a total selfish bitch for fixating on what I want when others are involved and I fear I'm no longer respecting their needs. I can't seem to find boundaries or direction anymore. Gah. So I'm burying myself in reading. I've just finished American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis. It was a damn rollercoaster ride of a book...scary, compelling, funny, horrible. I love a serial killer, but this was something totally different. Upsetting, but in a good way, which makes it even more upsetting. Now I'm getting into my next book, Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco, a total change of pace. It's difficulte to navigate, but really worth the headache. I'll keep you posted.

Tell me something, people, how do you make decisions? Faced with a really hard decision, where there are two options, both of which will result in a lot of pain, how do you decide? Vague, I know, but I can't get into it. So just speaking generally...how do you proceed with painful decisions?

Jobs and love

I got the job! It's very exciting, but also a little nerve-wracking. I have three sections to teach each semester, but luckily only two preps. But even so, that's more than I've ever had before. I get to put together a film class, and I'm thinking a cross-cultural film noir American-French kind of thing. That will be loads of fun, provided they have a decent projector in my classroom. Their facilities are less than the style to which I have become accustomed.

Now, onto something that is really bothering me, my ongoing murky relationship with this man I'm crazy about. Here's what keeps happening that puzzles me: He and I make contact, by email, text, phone, whatever. We have a lovely series of emails, texts, or a lovely four-hour chat. I feel close to him and I think he's feeling close to me. Then the next day, he pulls away again, is busy, has no time, or just isn't around. I feel okay with it, cause we had the night before and I know that he is whatever he is, and needs some space. Then the next day, ditto. I make an attempt to contact him, he replies, in a friendly, non-committal way. That's fine. Kind of. Then nothing. Then I get worried, cause my insecurities pop up to say "Are you crazy? He's obviously hiding something from you!" Then I get past that, cause I am wiser now, and think "Give him a break. He loves you, this is just all he can handle right now. Remember you're not IN a relationship." And everything is fine again. Then he calls, we have another four-hour conversation, he tells me he loves me and it starts all over again.

The problem is that we are in a relationship, just one that has no real name. Or parameters. Or touching. That's actually okay. What bothers me is that there's a big gap that I'm afraid is not going away, like EVER. I can handle waiting. I can handle weirdness. I understand how hard it is for him. But I feel like I'm in Groundhog Day a little bit. Is this what he meant when he used to tell me "You'll get tired of my shit too, like they all do"? Does he push people (women) away until they finally have no other choice but to actually GO away? Is this the "we drifted apart" I've heard about...in truth a self-fulfilling prophecy kind of drift? Intentional but not intentional..? I want to stay around, I miss him when he's not in my life, but I guess I'm beginning to feel the strain. Sunday he completely blew me off in a very cold way, and I have to ask myself if he's not trying to tell me to go away without having to tell me.

Well I'm not going anywhere. We're gonna have to figure out how to work this friend-/relationship, cause I am not giving up on us. It's too important.

And he's the best.

Why does love got to be so sad?

You know, I've always loved the show, Cheaters. It never fails to make me laugh, the incredibly bad writing ("they disappear into their love recluse, to emerge hours later in a snug, clandestine embrace"), the funny confrontations ("Who's this bitch? Say! Who's this? Did you know he lives with me???") and the reassuring sense of at least my life isn't that bad. But I'm sitting here tonight watching it, just wanting to cry. These poor people who suspect their significant other of cheating...they're people just like me (pardon the really bad cliche), going along in their sad lives, trying to be with another person, giving them the benefit of the doubt when something odd happens, hearing their end of a phone conversation and having no idea what the they are really doing, trusting even when their rational mind is screaming what the hell???

Tonight, instead of being amused, it strikes me how really sad these stories are. From the moment they realize something is wrong, and meet with Joey Greco to learn what the 'investigators' found out, they have that worried but still hopeful look on their faces. Then as they watch the video proof of the cheating, which can be pretty damn upsetting, their expressions just fall. And then after the 'confrontation', during which time they're angry and pissed and screaming, they climb into the the Cheaters van, and it all falls away and they just cry and cry.

What kind of pitiful world is it where the person with whom you share your innermost secrets, emotions and fears can close that all off and pursue a relationship with someone else? Don't get me wrong, I know I wasn't cheated on...I just lost him somehow...but even so, that sense that you can never know what's going on in another person's heart is becoming more and more clear to me. It shouldn't be threatening - we're all individuals with complex histories and secrets - but nonetheless, it scares me how, in the end, you can't rely on anything.

We're all so trusting and hopeful, when the truth is that nothing ever works out the way we want it to, if it works out at all. As it says in one of my favorite Baudelaire/Robert Smith lines "No one ever knows or loves another..."

Sex and the City (of Atlanta)

Though I sincerely wish I was coming in here to write about the fabulous sex I had last night, alas, I am not. I am instead going to tell you about the fabulous dinner I had last night, which is a close second. Okay, not so close, but enjoyable nonetheless.

I had been working at the library all day, and planned to meet Domenica at Starbuck's or something afterwards, cause we needed to catch up.

Domenica:God, I love her. Anyway, I called her as I was leaving, and she said (in a much more roundabout way, as she is wont to do): "I'm leaving the Fox Theatre now and am stopping at a restaurant to get a to-go salad for lunch tomorrow. Do you want to meet at Apres Diem for dinner?" Though technically I had my evening planned out...go home, eat with kids, bathtime, Extreme Home Makeover...this sounded so much more fun and, well, slightly decadent. So I accepted.

Now, I have a theory about Atlanta which is this: poor old Atlanta has tried for so long to carve out an identity for itself that it lost any inherent natural charm it ever had in the first place. But somehow, once the push to be an 'international' city ended, once city planners stopped insisting that some slogan would give it character and personality, it acquired something resembling cosmopolitanism all on its own. And last night at Diem just brought that fact home to me once again.

It was a lovely, balmy night. I walked through the outdoor cafe and into the restaurant. The cafe was completely full of real city-dwellers - artists, families, dogs, couples - and amazingly enough, the vibe was totally European. I felt like I had arrived at a neighborhood bistro in a particularly interesting part of Paris. Fabulous.

Inside it was a bit quieter, but no less interesting. Professor-types, young women celebrating birthdays, gay couples, another family (this one speaking French)...very fun. I made my way to a corner table by the window, ordered a Cosmo and waited for Domenica. Sitting there alone, I had a distinct feeling of being in a real city, a part of some kind of buzz. It was nice, because most of my life I spend in the same old circle of kids' schools, my school, and our neighborhood, with an occasional exciting foray into the wilds of downtown Decatur. But to come to Midtown and rub elbows with the elite and the well-heeled intelligensia, now that was something new.

My girl finally arrived, cell phone in hand, wearing a leather jacket and red velvet pants, and of course, no makeup. She's 30 and beautiful, what can I say? She sat down and we gnoshed and talked well into the night, mainly about our love lives: her unexpectedly complicated one and my unexpectedly amazing new one. It felt very Sex and the City...you know how they're always eating salads and drinking alcohol and generally being fabulous as they talk about men and sex and stuff? That was me and Domenica last night.


Sometimes, life is unbelieveably good. It's kind of been that way for me for the last four weeks. Last night brought it all home.

Charlotte and Harry Get Hitched

I absolutely love this episode of "Sex and the City." Charlotte loves Harry so much, and he loves her even more, and they click like nobody's business, even though she's totally WASP and he's totally Jewish. They absolutely don't belong together, and that's what makes it perfect.

The two of them give me an ache in my heart. Here it is - Valentine's Day - and Channel 36 has decided it's time to re-run this particular episode. It's times like this that I know God hates me. Last year I was with my Harry, this year it turns out he was all a figment of my imagination. All the beautiful Charlotte/Harry moments are gone. Were they even real at all, or just a fog I lived in for two and a half years? I have no idea. It sure felt real, and forever, and perfect.

Anyway, beautiful neurotic Charlotte has the most cursed wedding imaginable: she and Harry get into the wedding section of the NY Times, which is quite the coup, but in the published photo she has smudge on her upper lip, making her look like Hitler. Samantha breaks her pearl bracelet in the middle of the wedding ceremony...pearls go everywhere and later cause Charlotte to nearly fall as she leaves the altar. Harry spills red wine on Charlotte's beautiful wedding dress, creating an awkward moment of messy silence. And Carrie's fling from the previous night, under the impression that she used him just for sex, mouths obscenities at her during the ceremony. At the reception, the paper from which Miranda is reading catches fire on one of the candles and someone dumps a glass of water on her to put it out. But in the end, it's all perfect, because of the love, baby, because of the love.

These final episodes of SATC are truly poignant. Each of the four women ends up with her one true love. It's a beautiful thing, even if it's pure fiction. We can still hope for love, and believe it's out there somewhere.

Happy Valentine's Day, for those of you who are celebrating it. Be in love, be happy, and know how lucky you are.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Today is my mother's birthday. I won't say how old she is, because she is a genuine Southern belle, and we don't tell our ages.

Mom is celebrating her birthday without my dad for the second time, and she's come such a long way since his death. Last year my brother and I threw her a very big birthday bash, having a private party in a fancy restaurant on Paces Ferry Road in Buckhead, getting all gussied up for photos, serving champagne (maybe I'm making that part up...seems a tad decadent at lunch, even for my family...) but this year she is feeling much more like her old self, and the celebration was more real and laid back. The kids and I invited her to spend the night at our house Friday night. We met my brother and his family at Longhorn Steak, had a fabulous dinner, the waiters sang happy birthday to her, we had cake, and mom was genuinely happy. She only got teary when we sang; I could tell she was thinking about Dad. Afterwards we came home, opened presents, then put on our pajamas and did some genealogical research on the internet, cause mom doesn't know how to use a computer and needed my help researching her paternal side of the family so she can get in the DAR. It was a nice, un self-conscious celebration, and I am very proud of her for being so strong so quickly after my dad's death.

My mom is a musician. She plays piano beautifully and has been a piano teacher ever since I was little. She's still at it, and says it keeps her on her toes. No doubt. She is a very sensitive person, a caring person, and she loves her kids and grandchildren with a calm honesty that I wish I possessed. She worries about silly things - being late to an event, wearing the right outfit, driving on the interstate - but she doesn't worry about the real important stuff. I've never seen her upset about anything when dealing with my children, for example. Things they do that make me want to pull out my hair, she treats with warmth and hugs, and gets much better results, I might add.
I am happy we spent her birthday weekend together, and I am lucky to call her Mom.

Love is a Losing Game

Well, I've fallen into a hole. I can't stop listening to this song. It's not just that the lyrics are so right on target, or the imagery is so perfect. The beauty of this song is that everything -melody, voice, instruments, rhythm - does exactly what it's supposed to do at exactly the right time. I've already slathered my Myspace page with it, now it's my blog's turn.

Amy Winehouse, Love is a Losing Game



For you I was a flame,
Love is a losing game
Five story fire as you came,
Love is losing game

One I wish I never played,
Oh, what a mess we made
And now the final frame,
Love is a losing game

Played out by the band,
Love is a losing hand
More than I could stand,
Love is a losing hand

Self professed profound
Til' the chips were down
Know you’re a gambling man
Love is a losing hand

Though I battled blind,
Love is a fate resigned
Memories mar my mind,
Love is a fate resigned

Over futile odds,
And laughed at by the gods
And now the final frame,
Love is a losing game.


Yes, I've arrived late to the Winehouse party, but I'm here. And the timing couldn't be better, for me, anyway. I've downloaded about five songs off her last album, and am in newfound favorite heaven. Just wanted to share.

Love! Yay!

Look at my horoscope for this week. It's like they really know what's going on in my life or something!

Your Lovescope - Week of January 7, 2008
Nothing you can say or do will ever change the past, so don't even bother worrying about it. Don't clutter your mind or your conversation with old memories about how things never work out for you in the love department. Instead, you need to replace this train of thought with complete optimism for the future. Have faith in the new year ahead instead of sitting in the same old muddle puddle and complaining about the past year. This week the time to get to the core of your true emotions starts on Tuesday, when lunar energy helps you cut to the core of the real issue at hand. Maybe you feel as if you aren't worthy of love. Maybe you still need to learn to accept and love yourself for who you really are. Infusing yourself with self-love will help bring fresh, new love and romance to your bedside during the upcoming year. Love yourself and the world will love you.

Tribute to Claudine Housecat

No, she hasn't died. On the contrary she is very healthy and happy. I just felt it was time to dedicate a post to my wonnerful kitteh, Claudine.

Not a whole lot to say, except that Claudie is a good kitty. She makes us laugh.

She sleeps a lot.


She takes care of us when we feel bad.


All in all she is a very important part of the family. When we got her from the Humane Society, we were told that she had been brought back by the first family who took her in. They said she "didn't get along with their other pets." I suspect something much worse than that had happened to the sweet kitty, cause for the first month we had her she hid underneath a big desk, refusing to come out unless we were all asleep. She was very timid. At night I knew she was sneaking out, eating a little cat food and using the litter box, but she wouldn't do it when we were around.

After a while, though, if I sat very very still on the floor by her food, she would come out and eat while I sat there, stopping occasionally to check me out. I guess she was getting lonely by that time, and she could sense a cat person was nearby. Then one day she let me pet her head and tickle her flanks. Finally one day she climbed up in my lap and started making biscuits on my legs. She had finally let her guard down, and I was so happy. I've been her mom ever since.

She gradually got braver and braver, sometimes letting the kids be in the room with her and occasionally even playing in their (or other humans') presence. One day I decided to see what would happen if I let her outside. It was scary at first. I opened the back door (our yard is very large and is fenced in, so she was safe) and let her sniff the air to begin with. She seemed very interested. Then I went outside and sat on the ground and she sat in the doorway and watched. In a minute she tiptoed out, with those incredibly slow cat steps they take when you want them to come in, or go out, or move for some reason. She was very curious about the wind, the smells, the sun. Finally she came over and joined me where I sat, still very cautious but wanting so badly to be a part of this delicious warm breezy world. Every day we would go out for a little while together, then I began going back in sometimes and leaving her out, but keeping the back door open. One day I looked out and she was tiptoeing through the grass, heading up the hill in the yard. The next day she went a little further. Pretty soon she could stay out for hours on end all by her lonesome. Then Max, the neighbor cat, started hanging around, and they were an 'item' for a while. I think they've broken up now. But outside is still her favorite place to be, besides my bed.



Now Claudine has no fear, even going so far as to stay in the playroom when we open the backdoor to let Jazzy pup into her crate at night. She lets me pick her up and toss her over my shoulder, she joins us in the middle of noisy Christmas parties, and once she even sat on the couch without running away during a noisy and frightening (aren't they all?) session of vacuuming. Now THAT's a brave kitteh! Claudine also has an amazing knack for knowing when someone is making a sandwich, no matter where she is or what she's doing. Open a crackly sandwich meat wrapper and *zing*! Within two minutes, here she comes. Such a talented cat.

Here she is hard at work foraging water from my toilet. Like I said, multi-talented. Watch this till the end...it's funny.

My Claudie. I think I'll keep her.

What is Love?

My daughter just asked me a difficult question. Recently she has become interested in Zac Ephron and those twins from "The Suite Life of Zac and Cody" and some other cute boys from t.v. and movies. She's decided she wants to be famous so she can be a guest star on "Hannah Montana."

So tonight as I'm kissing her goodnight, she says "Mom, what sort of things does a boy say to you when he likes you?"

Wow. You're asking the wrong person, girl! Immediately I think of all those things, so many things: "I love you in ways that I don't even understand." "I want to be your man so badly that it tears me up inside." "We have only hinted as to what potentially lies ahead for us." "You are such a catch. So beautiful, smart and loving." "I want a life with you...day to day, you know, routine stuff." "Kitten - I love you like I've never loved another living soul."

Those are the things a guy says to you when he "likes you." Or at least I thought that was what they meant. But it didn't really turn out to be the case, did it? How can I advise my daughter on something so big as "how do I know when a boy likes me?" when I've been so wrong at judging another's true feelings, his intentions, his character?

Well, I have to try. I tell her, "Honey, he might say anything, really. Like 'You are such a good friend,' or 'I always have fun when we're together.'"

"What if we're out on a date? What would he say then?"

A date...hmmm, let me try to remember..."Well, he might say, 'I am so happy to go with you to the dance!' or 'You look very pretty tonight."

To which she added, "Or he might say, 'It's okay, darling, I'll buy the popcorn.'" Yes exactly.

But I felt it important to add, "Just make sure you always feel good when you're with him. If he ever makes you feel bad, or is mean to you, just don't go out with him anymore." There. Bases covered, right?

Wrong. Do you know what she said then, my little psychic one? "But what if I love him?"

Yes, honey. Exactly. What if you love him? That is kind of the mother of all relationship questions. I forge on, determined to win this battle, a battle more with myself than with anyone else. "Well, you just have to decide. If you feel bad more than you feel good when you're around him, then you have to stop seeing him."

"But what if I really, REALLY love him?"

I had no answer.

What This Blog Needs is More Woody Allen

Damn, I'm living a Woody Allen movie.

Here's another, that has nothing to do with my life whatsoever. Except that I am writing fiction, and I love New York:



I never thought about how important the openings to Woody Allen's movies are. These are my two favorites, maybe because of the neat and tidy openings and the equally orderly, tie-it-all-up-in-a-ribbon endings.

If only life would come full circle and have everything make sense.

Peripheral Paul

I last spoke to Paul on the phone on Tuesday, December 4. That’s three weeks and three days ago. I haven’t called him. I haven’t texted him. I haven’t emailed him. I haven’t seen him. I have no idea what he is doing with his life. Does it feel good? Sometimes. Do I still miss the hell out of him? Of course. Do I still think about him? Um…what do you think? But lately I catch myself spending actual time spans not thinking about him at all. So far I’m up to about 20 minutes of uninterrupted no-Paul time. It is amazing. I am able to enjoy spending time with someone, going to lunch with my kids, shopping with my mom. I am making real strides in myself and how I see and treat others. It’s an uphill battle, full of tears and regret, but I am coming out of the darkness.

My dear friend C. told me today when I gave her this exciting “three weeks and three days” news that popular wisdom says it takes 21 days to form a habit. So what does this mean for me? Though I am not over him, I am now in the habit of not having contact with Paul. I am living my own life and I am healing. Soon I’ll make it to an hour without thinking about him. One day I’ll get to a whole afternoon without thinking about him. Then maybe an entire day. I look forward to that time. But these three weeks mark a turning point for me. Paul is moving to the periphery of my life, of my reality, of my soul. I still love him. Duh. I always will. But I can live life without him, as unnatural and weird as it seems. I don’t want to, but I have to. It is what it is, as someone used to always tell me.

I have a new love interest in my life. He will remain nameless, because I really don’t know where any of this is going, or if I even want it to, but I have a thing for someone. That is huge. I have to be sure it isn’t some kind of rebound, however, so I am not going to say anything more. Except that I refuse to pursue a relationship until I know that I can do it cleanly and honestly. I refuse to put anyone else through the confusion and lack of direct communication that I threw at Paul. This time I am going to do things right. So I am taking my time and not really doing anything with him, except watching. Having never been a “keep calm and don’t push it” kind of gal, this feels very freaky. But it’s the only way to live. I can’t make anything happen; I can’t make anything not happen. I am getting very good at going with the flow, and seeing where it leads. It’s too late for the person I wish I could have done it with, but it’s not too late for me. And maybe for my new man.

But you know what? It's total rebound. I don't even have to think about it. I can't pursue something new when I still miss Paul like a runaway freight train. I was browsing photos looking for one to put on this post and just seeing this one, taken in December 2004 in Athens, fills me with amourousness and warm feelings for him. He's my soul mate and it's gonna take a lot longer than three weeks to start anew with someone else. So the love interest may just have to chill for a while. Oh well, he won't know the difference anyway.

Happy Friday, peeps.

"If life were only like this..."

My apologies to Gray Charles, who used this clip on his blog not long ago. It's such a perfect scene, and reflects exactly how I wish the world operated. We should always have an expert on hand, hidden behind a giant posterboard, waiting to prove that we are right, and that the other asshole is wrong. I'm so tired of wanting someone to verify my side of things, to give proof that I didn't imagine the last three years. As that sexy bastard Taylor Hicks said, "I just wanna have my voice heard." Indeed.

Death and rebirth

My greatest fear came true, and I survived it. Well, so far. My summer of waiting, anticipating, working hard to get to the end, looking forward to the time when I'd be reunited with my love, mentally and emotionally planning our future...all that is over. I arrived at my destination - I AM DIVORCED - and saw a vast nothing. There was no man at the end. There was no passionate reunion. There was no kiss and planning our future. There was a wall with a stranger standing behind it, looking at me with cold shielded eyes. I'm shocked, astounded and very, very hurt.

All I want is to listen to Jimmy Cliff, Ahmad Jamal and the Modern Jazz Quartet. How odd is that? All other music makes me kind of feel sick.

I am going to California (with an aching...in my heart, for real) next week. Years ago when I had a huge breakup that bruised my heart, I went to Frisco to see an old boyfriend. We went out walking in the sunny cold air, took a ride across the Golden Gate Bridge on his BSA, and sat on the beach somewhere up there on that coast. I cried and cried. He made love to me, which in truth only complicated the situation. But all in all it was a rejuvenating, cleansing trip. California represents that to me: clarity, freedom, life.

This time I am going to visit my dear, dear, dear friends, Leslie and Bob. They are the most California people I know. Leslie has a psychic, earth mother spirit that not only heals you, but makes you feel like you're the most beautiful creature on the planet. Plus she only wears green and orange, which makes me love her even more. Bob is just Bob. He's funny and kind. They have a beautiful garden and sweet cuddly cats and dogs. And I've been told, now a fish. So that feels so good.

I am also going to see my dear, dear, dear friends Bug, Sandy and Daba. These are my Taylor Hicks friends who, along with me, are the only sane Taylor Hicks fans on the planet. But that's not why I love them. They are the kind of people that you meet and you just say to yourself "We're gonna be close friends forever." They are so excited about my trip that it makes me cry a little.

Speaking of friends, this whole bullshit fucking ridiculous experience has shown me lots of things about life and love and how I put myself out there in the world and how I treat those I love, which is not good, let me admit that first. But mainly it's shown me that I have the most kind, giving and supportive friends in the world.

I guess the moral of this story is multiple: Never trust that things will turn out the way you want and expect them to. When your heart tells you something isn't right, it isn't. Love, no matter how strong-and I'm talking STRONG- can and does die. The universe changes every day...embrace that and let it go. You can't control anything. Ask yourself "What do I want" and go with that, cause it's all you got.

I am very angry, but I'm letting it pass through me. I'm also going to walk up Stone Mountain today - the steep side. When I am very sad, I cry and beat the shit out of my mattress and it fades. Somewhat. But weirdly enough, I still love this man. A lot. More than a lot. How do you deal with that? I guess love is what it's all about, whether it "works out" or not.

The truth is that I will survive. But sometimes I just don't want to. If I could live in this photograph forever, I would. This is the best it gets, and thank God I lived there, even for a short while.

Therapy

Well I've decided to go back into therapy on a regular basis. I've been feeling very scattered, very scared, kind of like my heart is being ripped out over and over. I realized things were getting out of control and that I couldn't handle them by myself; I was going to make a bigger mess of things than they already were. I called for help.

It was a wise move on my part. I like my new therapist. She is young, pretty, has fabulous warm eyes and great shoes. She told me lots of good stuff that I hadn't even thought of. First thing: "You are holding up remarkably well given all the crap you're going through." Thank you for noticing. She also said that this was a period of real loss, and lots of it. I told her I hadn't looked at it that way but she was totally right. The loss of my dad still hasn't worn off, and I don't think I've really grieved for him. The loss of P. is downright tangible, and the ways he reminds me of Dad make that loss double. The fact that I have no real friend network - actual physical friends in town who I can stop in on and just talk, not you fabulous online friends - make the loss of P. triple, in fact, since he's been my person to lean on for so long. And lastly, the divorce, as much as I want it and am honestly looking forward to it, is nevertheless a loss. The family structure, fucked as it is, will be gone. The children will experience a loss. The entire experience is new and frightening. But that is where the good part comes in. She told me "You feel completely powerless. You can't do anything about P.'s decision. You can't stop the children from feeling hurt and scared. But you do have power. Be conscious of everything you do today and make it a moment of power. You chose to come here. You will choose to go to the lawyer today. View everything you do in a positive light, and don't forget you hold all the power over yourself." Then she told me to remember to eat, since I haven't been able to in about two weeks. She said to pamper myself, treat myself to stuff, go swimming, ask a friend to sit and talk with me. She said "Tomorrow I want you to go get a massage." I like her.

So as freaky as my life is right now, it's much better than it has been the last two months. Things are actually progressing. I am going to have my own family, a real, honest family. I will be able to say "my ex-husband" and have it be true. The strained and false family outings and dinners will be over. I will be single and clear of all deceit, and that feels wonderful. It's a whole new direction and a whole new life.

Oh. And I've hidden my cell phone. It is turned off and in a drawer in my bedroom. When I have gotten control of my texting compulsion I may take it back out. Or I may wait till the divorce hearing is over and I'm single. I haven't decided. But all you fans out there who may have tried to call me, you ain't gonna get me! Send an email, will ya?

Strength in love

All you lucky people out there who love someone, I have some advice. It's simple and non-earthshattering, but so important.

Count yourselves among the luckiest people in the world. Embrace the gifts given to you by that person every day. Be patient with them, respect them, honor them and never forget that their love is God's way of telling you how important you are. Reciprocally, your love and your treatment of them is how they know their own importance in the world. The way we act towards another person should not be taken lightly, for it is a powerful tool which can be used to lift them up or push them down. Never take love for granted. Treat it as the fragile, precious, beautiful gift that it is, for it can be gone in an instant.

We are all lost in this world. Giving kindness and understanding is a way of making each other less lost. Embrace your power and use it wisely.