The Moxie Files

I watched Say Anything again last night-from my personal collection. I am so Lloyd Dobbler right now. I still love that girl, hard. I've been thinking of virtual ways to hoist a boom box over my head outside her window. We're in limbo. We text sometimes, but I feel like I'm annoying her so I should probably stop. J. says she's not sure we can be friends, but that she needs more time; she hasn't thought about our situation. I agree on the friends front.

I know I deserve so much more than this, but I have given up on the giving up. I will find someone else when I'm supposed to find someone else. That is the only way to boot her out of the vista view she currently holds in my heart. Eventually, she will be sent off to the ghetto (because my heart is the hotel CA), but she'll have good company. I was just thinking about A. this morning and how I used to live for weekends--for sex, for laughter, for that incredible joy of easy co-habitation. I remember thinking at the time that being with her was the happiest I had ever been and aside for a few stolen moments with J., that still holds true. I'm so at peace about A.--have been for many years--and our friendship is appreciated. I know there was a time when I wasn't at peace with her, but the source of the comfort comes from knowing that we both tried. We gave it all we could and it did not work out. I can't say that for J. and I let that eat away at me. I guess I really have a problem with unrealized potential--with running away. When it comes to fight or flight, I ALWAYS fight.

Dad came for a visit last week. He has gout in his knee that was flaring up so we couldn't do the usual tennis/hiking thing. I took him down to Santa Barbara for his bday. He'd never been to CA. I miss him already, although we did have one fight which I'm still having trouble dealing with. On the eve of his departure, I thought I'd make it through a visit without him mentioning my weight. In the past, I usually get comments like, "you're chunky," which always makes me yell and cry in his general direction and he always responds by saying I'm too sensitive. We were driving home from my soccer game when he said I would be faster on the field if I lost some weight. I lost my cool instead. Flipped out on him in the car. Told him he always does this and he should never comment on a woman's weight, much less his daughter's. I ranted about the beauty myth. I told him I could easily get an eating disorder just like the one my mother had. He apologized, then said I was too sensitive.

Tonight, at my first therapy appointment in months, my therapist said, "I have some tools that will help make you more happy." Isn't that a lovely turn of phrase? First, an important recognition from someone I trust; I am happy. Second, practical ways to find self-improvement and more happiness. Yes! I haven't done any research yet, but there are some classes in dialectical behavioral therapy that she thinks will be good for me. She also sent me off with two books to borrow. I loves me some good therapy books. I'm still digesting the last one she gave me that pretty much unlocked the mystery of my childhood and gave me the..."oh, so that's why I was drawn to my current profession" moment. (I used to think I'm in PR because that was what looked most interesting at the theater where I started my working life. Puhlease...I've been in PR since the teething ring, people.)

We spoke at length about J. and I'm taking baby steps. She asked me to explain why I was afraid to really let go of her, as opposed to just handing the baton over to someone new, the way I've always done. I said I was scared because I didn't know how. Thus, the tools discussion. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say I don't WANT to meet someone right now because I finally realize that I'm not ready. She didn't say I wasn't ready of course, but that's what I'm gathering. I'm a regular Gollum, wanting to hoard my single time, only I want to use the ring for good.

One of the particular things that J. said to me the last time we spoke was that "I needed a girlfriend I could call at 3 a.m." That made me so angry because it was wrong. I've never done that and I likely never will. But now I realize that she actually came close to hitting the mark; it was just flip-flopped. For years, I have wanted a girlfriend that would call me at three in the morning, who would let me take care of her completely. I've always thought this quality about me (which my dad has in abundance)was fabulous. Now I see the dark side of it. I do this so that I don't have to focus on myself because I don't know how to take care of myself so it is far better not to look. Pay no attention to the Irish-Cuban behind the curtain!

Of course, I'm being too hard on myself here. I'm also better than the average fighter at life's basics, i.e. providing for myself. Yet, I put off the inner-world by cloaking it in hours of Grey's Anatomy (or consuming great characters), over-working, over-scheduling and my favorite, taking care of my girlfriend which is, in truth, reason number one why I have heretofore disliked being single so much. The trick will be to preserve that tender, generous quality in me and balance it with an equal love of self. Meanwhile, you can find me by the river Brandywine chatting with Yang, Frodo, Starbuck and the gang.

Don't know what it is, but I'm feeling better about the girl. No where near ready to be friends, but healthier. For all my certainty, I really should follow my freakin' therapist's advice and get to know her (or anyone) over time before I go all Izzy Stevens. We dated for a total of a few weeks and that is a stretch. Truth is, I don't know her. My intuition knows her and that is nothing to sneeze at, but one of these days I'm going to take my time, like a Jason Mraz song or the bubbles in a Vernor's ginger ale.

It still hurts. She's still all I think about when I go to sleep and when I wake up. Better though. And I'm still right about her because I'm stubborn, like Dolly Parton working nine to five, damn it.

I'm starting to cave...I miss her. I want to know how her family time was spent and what's next at school. I want to know if the drive back was as terrible as some friends who were in CA say it was. I want to know what she had for dinner. I want to hear her voice. And the cold turkey is my fault, yet I keep telling myself it is the only way I will get over her; the only chance we have to truly start fresh as friends when the right time for me arrives.

In the meantime, I want to tell her about the application process, the incredible letter Oliver wrote for me, the fact that Stanford is likely a no go as each professor I contact will either be absent or focused on a non-related area of research, the fact that I am only mildly discouraged by this, the fact that I know I will find my place through preparation, intuition and prayer, yes, prayer. I want to tell her how much I adore this dog that is at my feet on his back, hoping I will rub his belly; this dog she brought into my life. I want to tell her I say "oopsie," and walked around Vancouver wondering if she likes Blendz mochas and if she ever went to the places I went when she was a student there.

I won't tell her any of these things and I won't ask her any questions. I will remain silent for now. I will tell my heart to get over it. I will learn the lesson of letting go...again, and hopefully better this time.

Excellent trip to Canada with a friend for the long weekend...got my mind off of her for one and was just plain fun for two. Now I'm home. There is not enough Ben and Jerry's on the planet to help me get over her. I think I'm going to write down every warm or silly memory that keeps flooding my head in a special book and then put that book in a shoe box and not take it out for months. I could burn it, but that's too harsh. I'd rather not watch my love go up in flames, but I can't sleep with it right now, either. I want to tell her all about my trip and ask about her family time. I will not do this. Right girl, wrong time. Repeat until I can breath normally and tell time.

Tonight, while discussing a big choice I have in front of me, dad assured me that I was following the right path, despite the fact that this path will require many sacrifices in the short-term and may not lead to the same rewards I currently appreciate. He quoted Spinoza and told me that my choice was pre-destined. He told me he was proud of me. I believed him.

On a seemingly tangential note, he told me about a show with Gwenyth Paltrow, a Spanish woman and a chef that documents them eating and traveling their way through Spain. He enthused about how this Spanish woman told her friends that bread and oil was the essence of life, as she dipped a hunk of bread into the perfect amount of oil. My dad's nickname growing up was "pan con aceite" or bread with oil...he liked it that much.

He admires the Spanish woman more than the famous actress. He says Spanish women have an unmatched confidence; that when they believe something, there is nothing that can shake them off course. I laughed and pondered the half of me that is Spanish. I bemoan my besotted nature, yet in conversations like these I realize how ancient my convictions are, how deep my loyalty to friends, family and my lovers runs. I am sure about J. in that intense way that I sometimes despise, in that way I've known twice before in my life. I wasn't wrong before and I am not wrong now. She changed her mind. I will never change mine. I may find someone better for me someday, but I will never change my mind. I am as certain as bread and oil.

I sent her an email yesterday that basically told her I finally give up on us (as a couple). I told her I thought she was making a mistake by not choosing me and told her why, by way of example from her own experience. Uh, she didn't like that too much. In fact, she doesn't want to speak to me, maybe ever again.

This was not my intention, of course, but I stand by every word of it and her reply has angered me to the level I apparently angered her--ah, the pissing match. I felt resigned when I wrote it, resigned to the process of getting over her, of letting go. Now, I feel the resignation mixed with a deeper sadness. I guess I was naive in thinking we could stay friends. The very real possibility that she won't be in my life, in any time frame, makes me want to vomit. The regrets I had about our early courtship loom larger now. We were very foolish then and in the end, our actions may have cost us a great friendship.

The optimist in me wonders if this is just an inevitable part of the process, that in order to rebuild the way we need to in order to have a friendship, we must first demolish the old frame. Of course, even as I type that I'm reminded of the few people that are no longer in my life, by either their choice, my choice or mutual choice. G., E., and R. are gone. I wish I could say that I'm grateful the definite three are out of my life, but even with E., I still look back and wonder. I suppose I should accept this as a natural part of life and be glad for those that stayed put in my heart and life through some rough odds. A., T. and D. continue to bring me joy and I think they would say the same about me. We had some rocky roads and we did not have to stand by each other, but in the end, we did. The three of them give me hope that she and I will work this out in time. I care about her so much and maybe I should've thought about that more before I wrote my letter, but I felt the need to stand up for myself and I do not regreat that choice. Email was a bad choice, but telling her how I feel in honest terms was the right call, if we are ever to have a real friendship. The ball is in her court. Although I have a lot of healing to do in the meantime...I might have my whole life to do it. Sad.

I'm reminded of a lyric from a Fiona Apple song: "I don't believe in the wasting of time, and I don't believe that I've wasted mine."

Finley is having surgery tomorrow to remove stones out of his bladder. He should pull through, but not without a heaping side of anxiety for his mother and over 2k from the check book. He's old, but young to me and likely to have a good seven years with me yet so I must spend the money, but it still knocks the wind out of you. I love him too much not to give him the best care. Nasty surprise for both of us, I'm sure.

To add to the day's fun, I finally had the inevitable talk with her and convinced her to tell me the real reason she does not want to be with me. She thinks I would get lost in the relationship and be willing to make way more sacrifices than she would and that she didn't want that. She wants someone who is more independent.

It is hard to describe the kick in the gut of that, although she tried her best to soften the blow and make me realize that I didn't "screw anything up." How do you take it when the woman you want to be with more than anything in the world tells you that it is me, not her. Of course, she didn't say that, but that's the way it is and the way it usually is. I want to change and be the kind of woman that would be with a woman like her. She says I deserve better than her. I find this so laughable. She is probably right in her description of what our relationship would be like and I do not want to be that girl and I would be that girl with almost anyone right now.

So how do I change? Going back to school and falling in love, so to speak, with my studies will be a great start. My work with my therapist has certainly taught me that this habit of getting lost in what someone else wants was a coping mechanism to deal with my primary parent. I learned, at a younge age, that pleasing my parent or taking care of my parent resulted in dividends like more harmony, material rewards, praise, etc. I learned the hard way that being selfish (which you should do a fair amount when you're a kid) was a fast ticket to punishment and disonnance. This dysfunction is not unique, nor do I blame my parent, but I do recognize that it is responsible for this pattern that I have. I lose myself in my relationships because I associate selfish (remember, in a healthy way) acts with bad results.

The irony is that if I were more selfish, I'd probably have the partner and loving relationship I've longed for. Also, this is one of the fucked up reasons why I am so great at my job. I figure out what every person wants in a scenario and set about trying to make everyone happy. I have so many years of experience at doing this very thing. They should ask incoming PR applicants if they are good at being selfish. If the answer is yes, they might want to interview someone else. I digress.

As for our friendship, it is a bit of a sham and we are not sure what to do about it. We both care about each other, but the situation is bad for both of us. So we're not speaking until about a month from now. She was graceful and kind about it, but it is what it is.

I feel like a blitzed quarterback eating turf and aching from the blow of a 300lb lineman. I'm the quarterback and the lineman. I want to change. I am tired of this happening to me over and over again. I need to read the defense better, or at least get some new plays.

I am so manic I should charge for emotional ride tickets. This morning and this afternoon I was filled with gratitude and love. Every song on the radio made me chair dance. My dog, my friends, my family and my city were all fabulous.

Tonight, a nasty crash for no apparent reason. My dad called to tell me he can't make it out here for Christmas. I will be alone on Christmas for the first time in my life. Well, I'll have Finley. He will get a plain Whopper Jr. under the tree. Truth is, I was bummed out even before dad called.

I'm exhausted. I cry out of no where and frequently. I'm sure I should go see my therapist, but I'm not motivated. It is a theme. I'm making a lot of changes in my life, yet I still feel like I'm behind a bus on Holgate. My love life continues to be a disaster. I continue to do extremely well at work even in the face of my rejection of it.

And on the love life topic, I'm still not free of her. It would seem she has turned off her once intense feelings for me. She still calls me when she needs comforting and I still call her for the same, but she avoids the topic of "us" and I practically bark on the phone. My devotion to her is just that transparent. And I'm angry with her, so very angry and not for the reasons she'd expect. She took our plans, hearts carved in trees and pulped them.

She said long ago that she didn't want to be responsible for someone else, that she didn't want to care. She only wanted to care about herself. She said that feeling scared her. I rationalized it with her and now I want to take it back and scream. You already care about me, it's too late! But then I remember most people don't work like me. Most people run away. I should just buy the next woman I fall for a pair of Nikes so we can get it over with.