Surprises Around Every Corner

The best surprises are when people you love do something totally and completely unexpected. Do something that totally reinforces you and your personhood on every level.

I called my family tonight. We're talking again. It's tense, but we'll figure it out. Still I wanted to clear some of the air.

During the conversation, the fact came up that dad had called my therapist. Without asking or even notifying me. Of course she could not call him back without consulting me first. I in no way, shape or form gave her permission to talk to him. No way, no how. Not now, not never.

Tonight we talked about that. About why I felt that he had intruded on the one place that was safe and mine only. **FIRST NAME** is mine." Then I paused. "I should call her *** Dr. LAST NAME. It's disrespectful not to give her that status. I guess I'm too familiar."

And my dad responded. "Yes, **Dr. LAST NAME**. I didn't even know her name until I looked her up on the internet. She has quite the degrees. And some well-respected publishings."

"Yes, I know. She's a smart cookie. "

"And quite attractive too."

"She sure is. But don't get any ideas, dad. She's married." I laughed softly, trying to reduce the tension.

"Oh. I didn't think she was. I mean, um, she didn't look to me like, um, the kind of woman who, um, would get married."

"You thought she was a lesbian?"

"Yes, I guess I did."

"Jeez, I wish. But no, she's married."

"Wait. What? You wish?"

"Yeah, dad. You said it yourself. She's very smart and she's quite attractive. Duh."

"Oh." pause. "Okay then. Fair enough."

Okay, so it wasn't a ringing endorsement. I don't think dad is ready to know the ins and outs of my personal or intimate life. I sure shootin don't think he's gonna run out and march in a PFLAG parade. But he also didn't freak out. And that surprised me in a really, really good way.

What do YOU remember?

It's Easter Sunday and a I think I'm going to do little more to celebrate than eat a peanut butter egg. Hey, just because I'm not Christain doesn't mean I can't co-opt their chocolate rituals.

But here's the weird thing I associate with Easter: The Smurfs. Smurfette actually.

For some reason, my parents put a Smurfette figurine in my Easter basket one year. I'm not quite sure why - I've never been particularly girly or comfortable with my "feminine wiles." But, there, among the pink plastic grass, sat a little blue and blonde girl.

And, lo, I loved her! I carried her around with me the whole day. And so a tradition was born.

By the time I was in High School, I had entire shelves lined with little plastic dolls. Ballerina Smurfette, Smurfette sitting on a mushroom, cheerleader Smurfette, you name it.

I don't know what happened to those figurines. I assume that they're in a plastic bag somewhere - maybe the closet in my old bedroom or the attic. I guess it doesn't really matter where they are. Because they're really in my heart. And I guess that's where it's most important.

Time, Time, Time, See What's Become Of Me

I know that you, dear reader, are probably tired of me dredging up shit and posting about it. You get it, the plot has been laid out. The ending is obvious. Move ON (dot org.) But I still have a few things I guess I need to say in writing. Sorry. Hit the close page button if need be.

I look back on the the last two weeks and it all seems unreal... How could this all have happened in just two weeks? A short 14 days in the grand, overarching total of my existence?

I was no secret that Good Buddy was avoiding me. I knew that he was and I knew why. But that was the reason I was so upset about it. We've always been totally and completely honest with one another. I've always known where I stood and how he felt. And while it wasn't the ideal for me, I knew - absolutely, completely and unconditionally - that he promised to be there for me.

Except this time, he wasn't.

I left emails, Txt messages. Voicemails. All I said was the clear truth. I've been working my knuckles to the bone, I'm exhausted and stressed out and feeling insecure and I need someone who loves to tell me it will be okay. That I am that good, that it will be alright. That of course I've dotted every I and crossed every T.

Instead, he completely avoided me. Abandoned me. Ignored me.

The reason was simple and I knew it before he even admitted it.

That wasn't the issue. The problem was, we'd sworn to one another that, no matter what, we'd hold each other up in times of weakness. We'd love each other no matter what and be the rock of support for each other no matter why or how we needed it.

So when I realized I couldn't count on him - and I sure shooting couldn't count on my parents - and all my friends were hundreds of miles away - and then heard the news my father was facing the hospital again - I lost it.

Really and truly lost it.

I acted badly. I acted selfishly. I also acted very very REALLY. Until that kind of darkness descends, you have no idea of what it can be like.

I am blessed that I have friends - unlike my family and unlike GoodBuddy who think that everything can be handled by manning up or pulling yourself up by your bootstraps - I have friends who are willing to recognize that I was in dire pain and could call my therapist or take time off of work to drive me to the ER.

I'm not whole hearted yet, but I'm a shoot-load better. I am laughing at jokes and plotting out the future and engaging in activities that will serve to heal myself.

All is not perfect with the fam. But more on that for another time.

All is also not perfect with GoodBuddy I need some answers and I need some clarification. We both know we need to "chat" but our schedules keep missing each other. But while I can't condone nor understand all of his behavior, I also can't imagine a future that he is not in. Maybe that's an abused woman making excuses. Maybe that's a weak woman giving in to "established cultural misogyny" . But I prefer to think that it's my rational coping mechanism when I have been misunderstood all of my life and have finally found someone who - while they don't fit the image or role that I would dream of - still knows and accepts the entire universe that is me.

In short, I don't yet want to think of a future that GoodBuddy is not a part of. When we first lost each other, I spent so much time searching for him. I looked for his truck on Rt. 93, I searched for his face in the Financial District, I heard his voice in my head, I Googled for his obituary on the Internet.

When he finally came back into my life, it was too much to believe. We've both grown and changed so much. Our relationship has so completely evolved. But in the end it boils down to this. We've seen the worst in each other. The very very worst. And we still both want to wake up and say G'day Mi Love and go to sleep and text G'nite MiLove. I don't know what form that will or can take to make sure I'm still sane and healthy as time goes by.

Right now I know I can't argue with a Universe that split us up so completely and then re-united us? I can't. Not right now.

Who are you to tell me?

I've been suffering a lot lately. And a lot of it has to do with how I am navigating the new world order with GoodBuddy. My friends tell me that he treats me bad. That he's cruel. That he's no good for me. And I can see how they see that.

I also know all of the reasons that he is dear to my heart are pretty powerful and making it hard to say goodbye.

My father informed me tonight that he called my therapist and informed her - and consequently me - that me continuing this relationship was like an abused woman returning to the scene of the crime.

GoodBuddy has given me the option of how I want to progress - if at all - with our relationship. And, yes, there are lots of things that anger me and lead me to believe I should tell him to lose my number. He demeaned our relationship. He passively agressively posted things to Facebook instead of dealing with them up front and to my face. But he's also been there for me when things have been really bleak. He's been a rock of support (granted not last week) when I needed him. We've shared laughter and love and intensity and insecurity. It hasn't always been perfect. But it's been real.

He told me the next move was mine to make. And I don't know what I want. I need to think and meditate and consider. What I don't need is for my family - who has never truly understood who or what I am - to tell me what to do.

Life is complicated. It's messy. Sometimes the rational decision isn't the right decision. Sometimes the decision you make with your heart is the worst thing you can do for your soul.

I honestly don't know what's going to happen from here. I want to post nasty things to his FaceBook page. I want to send mile long emails to him outlining everything I'm going through. But I also want it to just go back to being easy, being comfortable. To him making jokes and me getting them. To knowing what each other is thinking, holding each other and letting it all ride out. I don't know if that is possible and, even if it is, I don't know that it's for the best.

Like I said, life is messy. But I need to figure this one out on my own.

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.