It's Not About the Bike

There are some things you can't argue with. Like if you stick your hand on a hot stove, you're going to get burned. There's other things you can argue with. Like whether the toilet paper should roll over or under. (Over, btw) And there are other things that part of your mind WANTS to argue with but another part - your mental big bully - won't let you argue with. It just slams any rationality or common sense up against the school locker and lets everyone know that these are HIS hallways.

That's kinda like what a manic episode is like. Except you only realize it after the fact. Usually after the Ativan kicks in.

Here's another thing you can't argue with. When you're averaging three hours of sleep a night, stressed out to the hilt, being barraged by a 48 year-0ld infant who can't survive without you, and dealing with the loss of a friend, your body will shut down. Somehow, someway, it's gonna find a way to crash and burn.

And that's all I'm gonna say about March 23.

Somewhere around 9:30 pm (I'd been asleep since about 6), I woke up and realized I was hungry. For a moment I thought abuout just rolling back over, closing my eyes, and falling back into the wonderful, sweet world of dreams. But I didn't. I padded down the hallway to the kitchenette and made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I sat on a hard plastic chair and ate the world's most delicious sandwich ever.

When I read Lance Armstong's "It's Not About the Bike," one comment stuck with me. Everyday, during his entire cancer ordeal, he would get up and get on his bike. Sometimes he coould go ten miles, sometimes only one. But he said to himself each day, "As long as I can still get on this bike, I'm going to live."

A peanut butter sandwich is probably not as impressive as riding a bike ten miles while suffering through testicular cancer. But sometimes you gotta grasp whatever straw is in front of you.

What's to say?

I want to say something profound. Something meaningful. I want to say that I've finally stood up for myself, found my center, asserted my dignity.

But all I want is for him to call me.

And he won't.

I hate being a cliche.

Long Time Coming

I posted just the other day about being harsh with Yoga Girl and giving her cold, hard facts.

It's time I drank my own KoolAid.

For weeks - months? - GoodBuddy has been really, seriously, taking me for granted. I get phonecalls that consist of him ranting, raving and justifying for 20 minutes. And then hanging up. Without once asking me how I am or what's going on in my life.

And if I had nothing to report, that might not be so bad.

But I've got lots to report.

1) I'm on my way to happiness. And despite my hesitancy to rely on medication, and despite so many people insisting that depression and/or mental illness could be cured by willpower and determination, I am not going to argue with science, much less tangible success.(For more on this, download the BBC "World Have Your Say" or check out The Happiness Project.)

2) I've gotten a promotion, a raise, and a new hire who reports to me. This is daunting, scary, uplifting and challenging, all at once.

3) The biggest tradeshow of our year is next week

4) Various and sundry other life issues that someone who loves me should care about.

He's told me he realizes he's been neglecting me. He's apologized. He's told me he loves me. And he's done it all in that tone of voice that makes me melt. And, he's called me "baby" and "love" more times than I can count.

But that and $1.91 will get you a medium coffee.

When he does ask me what's going on, his comments are usually on the order of telling me what to do and how I should act. Me: "I gotta get moving. It's bed time." Him: "Yeah, you need your sleep. You need to be on your A Game. Be sharp. You've got a job to do." To which I think, "uh, yeah. Duh.." He acts like my own decisions and my good judgements haven't gotten me this far. I know what I'm doing and sometimes I make mistakes but, in general, I'm doing a damn good job. See point 2.

I need - no, deserve - to be with someone who truly cares about me. Who wants to know what's going on in my life. Who cares. Who wants to be something more to me than the person who judges my choices and dictates my actions. In short, someone who realizes that I'm valuable, intelligent, funny, caring and and a person who has a heart capable of a lot of love.

I used to know I could rely on GoodBuddy for that assurance. Just being with him made me feel whole, special, wanted, at peace. But lately I've felt like I was little more than a microphone. Here to absorb what he said and then be shut off.

I just can't live with that anymore.

so it breaks my heart, but I have to say goodbye. At least until things change. Until he stops taking me for granted. Until he starts caring about me as much as I care for him.

I deserve that much.

Back on the mat

You may have noticed that I haven't posted about yoga in awhile. That's because I haven't been on the mat in ages. I even stopped wearing my Om necklace because I felt hypocritical. How could I claim to be a yogini when I hadn't done a downward dog in months?

Tonight, I practiced. I've been using a million reasons to talk myself out of taking a class. Too tired, too cold, too much work to do. But the reality is, I couldn't fathom spending an hour and a half facing my true self. Cuz that's what yoga is really about. Yea, the postures make you strong and lean and improve your body through alignment, stretching and detoxification. But in the end it's all about finding the stillness amidst the activity, the mind race, the chatter. How could I endure that for an hour and a half?

Well, today, I did it. I didn't give myself the chance to second guess myself. At 5:30, I shut off the computer, packed up and walked down the street.

I'm going to be sore sore sore tomorrow. But it felt like coming home. My practice has declined a lot - poses that used to be a cake walk I struggled with. But they felt good and they felt right. And, during Sivasana, I found that brief, clear, moment of stillness. Namaste!

Lessons Learned and Learning Lessons

Last night, YogaGirl called. She was technically calling me back about my anxiety over my new hire starting Monday. I hadn't slept a wink and dream land wasn't looking too promising. Fuck, it was the first time I'd managed someone, I don't have my MBA and I've been fucked over enough to know that a bad manager can screw an impressionable mind for a good long time.

I wound up listening to about 45 minutes of YogaGirl going off about her partner. Usually, she's really balanced about this stuff: "I have stuff to share, but you need me to listen to you, so go...' But last night she clearly had a lot of stuff to get off her chest. And, as a friend, I listened to it, openly and honestly.

And then I told her the cold, hard truth. I'd been listening to this same complaint for three years. And if I had a tape recorder, she would not sound like a woman in love. She would sound like a bitter, jaded old married woman. Relationships are hard, but they shouldn't be this hard. After three months of the same old argument - damn! shit or get off the pot.

And then tonight, I called her about my stress with GoodBuddy. He's been in a rough place rfecently, and really needing my validation. But our conversations tend to go like this: "Him. Him. Him. Him. Gotta Go, Bye,"

In case you haven't noticed, I've had a lot going on myself. On the road to recovery from bi-polar disorder. Managing a person, which essentially mean forming a department. Learning how to deal healthfully with CBL. Navigating the possibility of moving to London, Not to mention the big one ---- Re-integrating with the world around me.

And through all of this, GoodBuddy was for all intents and purposed MIA. He did a fair bit of apologizing and making amends tonight when I finally got him on the phone.

But still I realized an important truth when YogaGirl said this, "I know you had the best intentions when you told me this, and so I trust you will understand it when I say: "I've been hearing the same complaint over and over. Girlfriend, shit or get off the pot."

I know she's right. I know I'm right. But there is a large gap between knowing and acting. And that gap is called fear of being alone.