continuing theme

In the last post I seemed to be doing alright. I was proud of my house and the fact that I have a home.

Let's keep going with that okay theme.

Guys, I'm okay. I might even be happy. I mean, I'm scared to say that, but today I had a moment looking in the mirror as I washed my hands and I just stared into my reflection and asked myself, a little shocked, "wait, am I happy?"

So what's brought about this newfound happiness? I can't say that it's totally appeared out of nowhere. I mean, look at the last post. I have a home. That has to make me happy.

But there's more. And my happiness and journey towards it has been kicked into overdrive since last Friday. The more is that there's a someone. Let's call her J.

I don't know. I don't know what to say.

I'm just gonna try to get some of it out there. I just have to write and have an outlet.

We have really good sex. She makes me feel beautiful and amazing. I haven't had any nightmares since I started sleeping with her. (Yeah, we've slept together every night. Oh, and when I said Friday up there, I didn't mean the day after Thanksgiving, I meant the Friday from a week before that.)

It's just good. It's helping my friendships and my psyche. My writing is over the top. I've written poems and it's just amazing.

We aren't defined and choose to be that way. We're both not ready to have The Talk. We'll talk about that.

Last night was such a good night. I hung out with her and of course there's never enough time for anything we want to do and then her (I really would now say "our") friends K and M came and told us that they got engaged and we were the first (at least one of the first) people they told. What!!!!! I got to share in that with them. We hung out and talked and laughed and joked and I got along with them and J and I could hold hands and K and I had moments of understanding and our own talks and it was so amazing and wonderful. We went back to their house and ate their chili and cornbread and J and M practiced because they're both big rock stars and even though they'd cancelled band practice earlier in the night, they decided to play for like half an hour once we got back to their house.

I know there's drama. I'm queer and living in a relatively small town in the midwest. How many cute queer girls from the ages 20 to 26 can there be? Not many. So there's the ex factor. It's compounded by the fact that we're queer so I'm semi-friends with the ex and she's friends with my friends. Plus I'm friends with J's ex's new girlfriend which turns out to be the reason J and ex broke up. d.r.a.m.a. But y'know what? It doesn't matter.

J helped to give me the best Thanksgiving I've ever had.

But you know what else? This happiness is not entirely due to her. I'm doing this. I'm making myself happy. I know that she only "helped me" to have the best Thanksgiving ever. She didn't give it to me and it's not because of her. It's because of me too. I'm opening up with my writing and almost telling everything to Stefania and before I didn't even think about sharing those things. Seriously, this whateverI'mdoingwithJ has helped my friendship with Stefania move up so grandly and it's awesome. It's because I now have the opportunity to tell her everything and ask for her advice with new stuff and it's awesome.

I'm going to channel Tina: I have my autonomy. I have power over this whateverI'mdoingwithJ and so does she and it's great. I'm not saying that I can't be hurt, indeed of course I can, but it's great. I'm being me and I think she's being her and we're getting to know each other and it's not too serious which is what both of us need and we can make each other happy right now. I don't think it needs to be defined, even though if I was the reader of this I'd think, "come on, you're only setting yourself up to be hurt." And maybe I am. But right now I'm getting what I need and what I want and I may even be happy.

How could I ask for more than that? I'm not even thinking about the ex. The capital-H Her. I'm thinking about J's ex because of the slight awkwardness, but mine only in the sense of "why didn't it feel like this with Her?" or "Wow. This is what it feels like to hold hands at Shakespeare's. This is what it feels like to sit across the table from a couple so in love who just shared their HUGE news with us and even though they aren't my best friends and I only learned their ages and last names last night, have them know what's going on with my relationship." This is being able to explain to my boss why I'm late every morning without having to lie. It's shitty and awkward and embarassing (I have to take time out and tell this story:
Me: Hi, sorry I'm late.
Him: (Pause.) Um, can I ask you a question?
M: Yeah, sure. (A little worried inside my head, because I didn't think being late was that big of a deal.)
H:(My name), are you okay? You've been coming in late and really tired a lot lately. Is everything alright with you?
M: Oh. No. I'm fine. I'm good. Ummmmmm. It's a good tired. Uh. I have a distraction, um, that's keeping me from sleep. Um, I'm just, uh, spending a lot of time with someone and, uh, I haven't been getting a lot of sleep, and uh, no, everything's fine. Thank you for checking. Um. I don't really know what it is or what to call it so I haven't been saying anything. Yep. Everything's good.)

How awkward is that? But the point is, I told him. And then I ran upstairs and told L about how embarassed I am and she laughed at me and planned a joke on him and it's all okay. I didn't have to lie. I didn't have to come up with an excuse and be fucking filled with anxiety all day long and have fear about having to tell Her about that talk and whatever lie I came up with for being late that clearly wasn't good enough and on and on and on and on and on and on and on...

It's just good. I'm getting what I need and I think J is getting what she needs and we're having fun and it's great. I'm going to enjoy this before we really get attached and into each other and she sees more of the crazy and I have to tell her all these things I hate telling people and she sees me cry and gets pissed off when I turn away for my own fucked up reasons. Right now, we're still okay and happy with each other and excited to get to know one another and figuring out what it's like to be with and around one another and well, I don't know.

I get to be the annoying couple who holds hands on top of the table and squeezes legs under the table and gets giggly at a phone call and, man, I like it.

I may even be happy, and y'know what, I deserve it.

edited post

I wrote this post a while ago but couldn't figure out an ending. So, here it is without one.


From my last post, 10/31/05: "At least when she was there I could pretend she cared. I could easily convince myself that I wasn't alone and I was understood and I'd be okay again. I don't know how to do that in an empty bed in an empty apartment."

But somehow I did do it. I planned ahead and when she asked me if I wanted to stay over, I said no. I told her in all of my be-proud-of-me-in-therapy, I'm-openly-communicating-my-needs glory that it wouldn't be healthy for me to be around her. I made arrangements to stay at a friends place when I finally did get back into town because that fear of an empty bed and no one to go home to I thought just might drive me to stay with her that night.

I called that friend when my delayed flight finally arrived and told her that I just wanted to go home. I got picked up from the airport by Her and after a brief stop in her apartment, I headed home. She tried to have a status-of-our-relationship/friendship talk, but I bypassed it, not with as much open honesty as a perfect person would have, but not with as much avoidance as is my usual style.

I've made a home for myself. I like my bed. It's warm and I keep an extra blanket on it and it's just how I want it. No one steals the covers and I have about a thousand books next to me which I can pick through to find exactly what I'm looking for. My DVD collection is growing. I have my political posters on the wall. I have my soccer poster up in the living room. I have pens all over the house so it's easy for me to write something down whenever inspiration strikes. My old, heavy typewriter always has a piece of paper in it, and usually bits of emotion displayed in the unevenness of my makeshift replacement ribbon.

My apartment is not clean, but I like to leave my lamps on the lowest of the three settings and buy vanilla candles to put on my huge window sill. In my bedroom there's a wall with things I've taped onto it. A postcard from Holly; a detailed, but nervous doodle from Mandi; a quote from Marla's writing that calms me inside when I read it; a declaration about beauty; my imperfect translation of our favorite Spanish pop song; and a lot of blank space open for more.

My medal hangs in between my bedroom windows, watching over me at night, and inspiring me as I sit at my typewriter. I have shoes in a pile in the corner, below a bookcase of writing that's all mine. Old journals, and notebooks from class where I took the margins as my own,; creative writing portfolios, and a history of the times I felt like writing.