Tag Archives: dating

wish list ’09

Around this time last year, I wrote a wish list of things I would like, if only I had people buying me holiday presents. I figured I might as well see what I want this year.

Sheets. I would like sheets. Soft sheets, that properly fit the bed I sleep in. I am tired of rough, too-big sheets.

A light table! My art often requires me to trace things repeatedly. Without a light table, I am forced to tape things to windows on sunny days, pushing through discomfort and shaking the ink back toward the tip of my pen. If I just had a light table, these steps would be SO much easier.

A sequined skirt. I would love one in silver, but I’d totally take one in black. Along with this, I really, really want someplace to wear it to on new years.

Beyond that (and trust me, even this short list has been a stretch) I don’t want things.

I want my mom to move the damn green table out of this place, so I can de-cramp my studio.

I want all of her stuff out of here, actually, but that’s like wishing for the taj mahal.

I want to get into grad school.

I want a job.

I want to be able to get coffee with the scientist. I want it to be casual and pleasant.

Unfortunately, I don’t think those are things any Santa could really deliver on. A team of movers, an admissions board, and cupid, maybe. But not Santa.


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Facebook taunts me.

I think facebook is out to get me.

Just now I am playing farmville (ok, yes, I play farmville) and a notification pops up that the scientist likes my photo.

I freak. Ever so slightly, I freak. “what photo, what?” I think as I hit the link repeatedly, impatient to see what he has liked, conscious that such a notification means that, at that moment, he was on my profile, remembering me, thinking of me-

I get to the photo, and there’s no evidence that anyone has ever even seen it. I check my notifications, but it shows no such event. I go to his page, thinking maybe it will tell me his activity, but it does not. I check the photo again, and my notifications, again. Nothing.

Lately I’ve been realizing that I have a very specific lack in my life, people-wise. I lack people I feel safe with. I have people I am uncomfortable with, people I feel unsafe with, but those aren’t people I want to be around. I want people whom I feel safe around. With this realization comes the acknowledgment that I never felt unsafe with him. Not even just that- I always felt safe with him. So I’ve been tempted, very tempted, to suck up my fear and pride, and try again to reconnect, if only for the chance to stand next to someone again without the anxiety I am getting used to. I don’t know if this is a good idea or not.

And then fbook goes and gives me a fake notification that he liked another picture of me. When I’m trying to not think of him.

F you, facebook.

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What Timing.

I just watched one of my favorite movies, one I am usually embarrassed to admit liking: Where the Heart Is. It’s something I would usually scoff at- you know, tear-jerking, heart-warming romance. It’s what you might call a chick flick- and I don’t go for those.

This one, though, somehow I just love, and tonight, after watching it, I felt that it arrived from netflix at a rather appropriate time.

I don’t think I’m going to get into grad school.

The deadline for the major application is the 1st. I haven’t finished filling it out yet, because I need some information from my undergrad university. I’ve had a month to get it. Every day I sleep late, then pass away the early afternoon doing nothing. Some days I remember, when it’s far too late to call an office back east, that I needed to do so. I resolve that the next day it will happen- and then repeat the pattern. By now, I have one last chance- get the information (which I’m not even entirely sure I can get) on the 30th or accept that I’ve gone and fucked it up. And I haven’t even written my essays and things, which are due in two weeks. I’ve merely over-thought them until I find everything I have to say worthy of rejection.

Also, I just got my official GRE scores in the mail today, and never before have I felt so fucking mediocre. Let me repeat: mediocre. I don’t feel smart. I don’t feel overly talented. I feel like my impression of myself as an intelligent person, capable and worthy of getting into this school, has perhaps been… off-target. Like when your mother tells you something you’ve cooked is the best thing she’s ever tasted, so with a big head you serve it to others, and find out that it’s really not impressive at all- I feel like that, only I, and my intelligence, my capability, my worth, are the dish.

This really doesn’t feel good.

But! This is an entry about why that sappy film felt appropriate tonight.

Tom hasn’t left my life, but refuses to actually be in it. Every time I think he’s gone, he goes and does something like ‘liking’ a photo of me smiling on fbook. Small, nothing things, but enough to remind me he exists. I’ve realized that- that I don’t feel like I’m good enough for him. I was dating this guy recently whom I found to be undereducated, and felt better than him for it. Tom is far better educated than I. Thus I feel – yes, like I’m not good enough for him. Especially today, when I see my stupidly mediocre scores and wonder if I’ll even pull off an application the day before it’s deadline or not- he’s getting his PHD at this school, and I don’t think I’ll even be able to get into one of the smaller, uncompetitive programs. So I don’t think I’m good enough for the type of person I want to be with. In gist.

The protagonist of this film is a young single mother living through her hardships with the help and love of friends she makes along the way. There is, of course, a romance. The man of the romance is well educated, and, she thinks, too good for her. Or rather, she thinks that she isn’t good enough for him. So (hey spoilers!) she sends him off with a lie that she doesn’t love him.

But then! She realizes that she really does, and drives to his fancy university to tell him: she lied. She lied because she doesn’t think she is good enough for him. And he tells her- get this- there is nothing better than her. They kiss, cut to the wedding, cut to credits.

So as I’m feeling really shitty about myself, like I’m not worth the things I want in life, here comes this film in which a girl who feels similarly is told that she is full of worth. I can’t quite make the leap to applying her lesson to myself- afterall, life ain’t the movies, even the tear-jerkers- but it’s still a timely thing.

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An Open Letter

To a Man who is Not Yet in My Life:

I wish you were already, because I’m sick of being alone, sick of eating all my meals alone, sick of drinking two glasses of wine alone and having no one to talk to. Sick of it being late in the night and having no one to be on the phone with in a loose, relaxed manner. Sick of having no one to rough and tumble with.

I wish I could meet and trust you.


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The Ninteen Year Old

After a while, I forget how nice it is to be liked, to be wanted.

This past week I met a version of my first ex-boyfriend, 6 years younger and improved. This one was cuter, shared more of my interests, was pursuing an education, and wanted to move to an interesting city. (This as opposed to the older version I had, who had few interests, pursued hardly anything, and wanted to move nowhere.) This one, like the older version, was but a puppy of a man, eager, sincere, excitable and distractable.

And he liked me. This is how I knew:
He put on music he thought I’d like. He stood there chatting with me, almost unaware of all the work to be done. He sat so close behind me that my hair would brush his crossed arms, and extend them out on either side of me like in an embrace we’d pretend not to notice. He called me epic. (Epic!) He giggled and blushed. He brought me snacks and drinks. He squeezed in a chair so I could sit by him, and gave me his so I could see better. He very casually slipped his arm around my chair in the dark. He carefully leaned his arm against mine. He delicately plucked bits of fuzz from my bangs. When given a chance to work on my project, he concentrated harder than on anything else, as if he’d make his brain bust to do a good job. He checked me out when he thought I wasn’t looking. He tried to please me without looking like he was trying. It was cute.

And he made me feel like I was going to boil over in a fit of lust, of totally inappropriate lust. I wanted to take him backstage and do things I would normally never dream of doing in those circumstances. But of course, I didn’t, because I was only in town for a week, was staying with my friend his boss, and because, oh yes, he’s a teenager. But he was so cute, and seemed so sweet and harmless, and made me smile and laugh, and even if I couldn’t let myself do any of the things I wanted to do, I still let myself think them, if only because it was just so nice to have someone trying to please me.

And I’m letting him serve as a reminder of something I apparently need reminding of- that is, of how nice it is to have someone wanting to be nice to you, to please you, to see you, to touch you in little heart racing ways, to be sweet to you. I forget this, and I bend over backwards to do that for those who will not do that for me. I forget how nice it is to be on the receiving end. I forget that I deserve to be on the receiving end, that I oughtn’t have any time for those who wouldn’t give me that. Even if I like them- if they won’t give me that happiness, it’s they’re not worth it.

Reminder noted.

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Focus Focus

I don’t think Tom knows how to be friends with me.


This is what’s going on: I have no idea what happened with my body. It turns out I can’t get tested without an appointment, which will take weeks. By the time I’ll get to see a doctor all symptoms will be gone. Meanwhile, what happened to me looks nothing like anything I’ve ever googled. All I know is that things seem to be almost back to normal again. There really isn’t anything I can do right now but keep on living until I have the opportunity to investigate this further, so that’s the plan.

With that in mind, I shall begin again: I don’t think Tom knows how to be friends with me. This is the conclusion I have come to based on the evidence of our interactions since reuniting as “friends.” In sum, he comes on to me and then runs away, comes on, runs, comes on, runs. I don’t think it is a matter of him saying a false “hey babe, let’s be ‘friends,’ yeahhhhh.” I believe him to be sincere in his desire to be friends- I just don’t think he knows how to handle being just friends with me.

I’m the queen of being just friends with someone I’ve got feelings for. It’s not really a skill I am proud of, but it one I’m good at. I don’t think he has this skill. I think that, when he tries to act like my friend, he finds himself attracted to me. When he finds himself attracted to me, he begins to act on it. When he finds himself acting on it, he- well, he freaks out. When he freaks out he gets distant until the desire to have me around in some manner, to “be friends,” grows up again. I think this is what is happening.

What I do now is hope for hope. I would like things to improve, but I don’t know if they will. As such, again, there isn’t much to do but keep on living in the meantime. I’ll focus on applying to grad school. In a few days I’m going back east for a visit with friends and the pursuit of recommendation letters. I have about a month- two, really, but I’d prefer not to wait until the last minute deadline- to collect all necessary materials, to take the GREs, to write my essays and register for prerequisites, and have everything sent and received by the proper departments. Seems to me that’s all I should really focus on right now. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to focus on just that, but I can try.

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Three-Banded Armadillo

“The jungles of South America are a dangerous place, and when you don’t have any teeth and can’t run very fast, you have to get creative in order to evade predators. The three-banded armadillo solves the avoid-getting-eaten conundrum by turning into a basketball. “The most unique thing about three-banded armadillos is their ability to completely encase their bodies in their leathery kind of protective shell,” says Senior Animal Keeper Kelley Greene. “They can cover every body part; everything is tucked in.”

Does this tactic really keep the armadillo safe from predation? “I think it does protect them,” Greene says. “A really persistent maned wolf or other predator might be able to get past it with some patience, but the animal would really have to work at it, and they’d probably rather move on to something else.” ”


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