« December 2008 |
Main
| February 2009 »
Wednesday, January 28, 2009 - 18:42:15
Last Friday, I ventured to Tunica with Ben in efforts to celebrate his sister Caroline’s 22nd birthday. I’m quite superstitious so I placed too many bets on “lucky” seven’s and wound up donating to the state of Mississippi. The beer definitely isn’t “free.” Too quote Ben, “Free? I’d say your Heineken’s we’re about $30 per beer.” Ben broke even. I always thought breaking even was an urban legend. Black Jack replaced our sleep (and my common sense,) so we opted to stay the following night in Memphis as this where Ben’s sister, Caroline, lives.
After napping the majority of the afternoon, Ben, Caroline, Ben C. (Caroline’s boyfriend ,) and I decided to roam Beale Street in the frigid weather. Ben C. was visiting from Europe and had never been to Beale. One cannot visit Memphis and not walk within “ten feet off of Beale.” We arrive at Silky O’Sullivan’s where Ben orders a diver. A diver is one gallon of well, everything. Remember when bars were smoky and full of drunks? Well now they’re just full of drunks. Silky’s has an outside heated bar area for those of us with the bad smoking habit. I would smoke outside in the snow, naked. It’s that addictive. I’m the only smoker in the entourage, so I head outside alone.
Smoke break #1. While it’s cold, the bar line is also non-existent, so I order a drink while outside. Seating is limited inside the bar, so I also take this moment as an opportunity to sit down. I sit on the last stool at the far left of the bar as it appears to be the seat furthest removed from the other smokers. As I light a cigarette, a guy approximately my age sits to my right. Question one, “Are you from around here?” Without making eye contact, I state, “No.” In five minutes I learn where this stranger is from, where he lived before that, who he works for, where he traveled the previous week, etc. I generally have a friend with me in a situation of this nature, so the following is very foreign to me. In other words, I do not frequent bars alone. Dude says, “Why are you alone? Surely you’re not alone? Are you with a man?” All is stated as one long, run-on question. I tell him, “I am not alone. I am with non-smokers. I am here with a man.” He says, “Nice to meet you,” and vanishes accordingly. I make no mention of this upon returning inside.
Ben, Caroline, and Ben C. in Memphis, TN
The Diver.
Continue Reading »
Wednesday, January 14, 2009 - 18:55:31
In the madness of my constant overthinking, I discovered something precious. There is nothing more divine than “easy silence.” In the past, I would take long walks which later turned into long runs. The desire was initially sparked as I wanted to get in better shape. The first few weeks were gruesome. I would have to give myself a daily pep talk to encourage my feet to move, one foot in front of the other. As a short-legged, smoker, with shin splints, I had array of excuses. In my second month of forced motivation, something changed. Endorphins kicked in and I began to look forward, actually crave, my afternoons of “exercise.” One mile turned into three, then four, then five and I was addicted. I refused to walk with friends. I refused to join a gym. This was my time of the day, entirely mine. Eventually, I learned of why this was such a refuge for me. It was the only portion of the day where my brain would become free of thought. No obsession. No analyzing. No worry. No stress. In this absence of thought, I found peace.
As aforementioned in a previous blog, the tornado in April of ’08 destroyed my home. What I failed to note was the tornado also robbed me of neighborhood walking and running. Before, I lived in a neighborhood where I felt safe. Often times, I would run when day light was no longer and even amid the darkness, I never felt afraid. Also, it was beautiful. The trees canopied the streets and each road presented new hills, new homes, new scenery. I took this for granted, as we often do. I can’t run on a treadmill. I want to feel the pavement. I want to really sense the distance. My life is full of running in place, so I refuse to do so in the literal sense. I now live in an apartment, and though I like my new space, I miss my old street. As the old adage states, “if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it.” Since the running has halted, the desire has as well. I no longer remember the feeling as well as I should. I attempted to run (treadmill style) and grew obsessed with the calories I burned, my average “pace,” the time I’d spent running (I’m lying, I was walking) on the damn thing and the freaking time remaining before my time was “up.” I tried a few more times, hopeful of the change awaiting me, but only grew more bitter and decided to eat some cheese dip instead. Or was it ice cream? Or was it cheese dip and ice cream? Point is, treadmills are the devil!
Continue Reading »
Wednesday, January 07, 2009 - 16:29:07
“It’s not you, it’s me.” Five little bitty words feel like the weight of a million. Five words creating a passive blow off, the generic way to let someone down with ease. It’s worse than “can we still be friends?” because at least this is honest.
The few times I’ve suggested it was me rather than him, I stated this in efforts to avoid bruised feelings. It felt more appropriate rather than saying, “Hey, I really don’t know what it is, but I know you’re not the one.” It’s hard to argue with this age old excuse. Being the receiver of this message inserts doubt in myself. Am I not thin enough? Pretty enough? Smart, kind, funny, fun enough? It plants the seed of insecurity because it is vague and well, a lie. Insecurity could be avoided if “you’re not the one” replaced the “it’s not you, it’s me.” Please, shoot me straight. I prefer brutal honesty over a sugar-coated copout. The truth may sting, but eventual truth always hurts more. Vagueness creates insanity. It forces smart women to make allowances rather than owning up to the cold hard truth of “he’s just not that into you.” We (I am guilty of it) think of reasons why the feeling isn’t mutual: he’s scared, he’s been hurt, he’s busy, whatever. When it’s real, you jump in despite the fear, the hurt, the agenda, the whatever.
Continue Reading »
