Ambivalence

I'm sitting in my aunt's water-front cottage at the lake, watching the activity down at the docks and on the public beach, and it dawns on me that while I lead a good life, I'm not always happy with it.

Time alone here has given me the opportunity to reflect on what I want verses what I have and while I appreciate all I have, I can't help but feel bitter that I can't have everything I want. It's getting harder and harder to care one way or the other, I've realized.

A few weeks ago, I went out for Chinese with a friend who, recently, I started looking at as more than just a friend. For awhile, I was ambivalent about him. He was sweet and I spent a lot of time in his presence, but I couldn't say for sure that I wanted our friendship to result in anything more. When I cracked open my fortune cookie at the end of dinner that night, it read (something to the effect of) "Now is the time to go after what you want." I thought about it for a few days and I realized that flimsy little paper was referring to whatever was going on between me and him. So I confronted him about what, exactly, we were...

"What's going on," I asked him one afternoon on the phone because I couldn't bring myself to broach the subject in person.

"I don't know, why?" Uh oh, that's never a good reaction to this line of questioning. "What do you think is going on?" He turned it back around on me, but I threw his answer back in his face. I didn't know what was going on, I said. I wanted to hear from him what this was.

I can't remember the specifics of the conversation, only that I hung up the phone a few minutes later and crawled into bed feeling badly for myself. I know he pointed out that we didn't know each other all that well (Really? Because I think I know you plenty well, I wanted to say.) but he also indicated he didn't know what he wanted from me.

I was blindsided because here I thought he wanted me.

When did his feelings for me turn ambivalent? And when did I develop something akin to feelings for him?

Over the last week or so, I managed to convince myself to back off. Don't answer the phone if he calls; don't respond to his texts immediately. I've resorted to playing this stupid game of cat and mouse in an effort to spare my feelings, and as I sit here quietly contemplating my life and what I want, I realize this might not be it. You're not supposed to have to work for someone's affection, right? Love isn't supposed to be a game.

So here I sit, my phone on silent and tucked away in my suitcase, and I wonder... has he tried calling? Will I have a text message from him? I'm resisting the urge to look, but I feel it won't be for long.

Why do I care?

And how do I stop?

All you need is...love?

"Go through life with no regrets, give me love or give me death."

I heard this in a song last night and I thought, how true, but then it made me wonder: Does love even exist? That, I can't say for certain.

In my 28 years (and especially in the last 10 or 12 years during which I've been "dating"), I've met many different kinds of men and although I've had some kind of spark with a few of them, I can't say for certain that I've ever known love. Real love. The kind that makes you overlook someone's flaws and want to be with them anyway.

I've been on this stupid quest for so long, I'm not even sure at this point what it is I'm looking for. What does it look like? What does it feel like? How do you know when it's love? Is it gradual or instant?

And most importantly... where do you find it?

Life is good

I'm sitting at home tonight, on the couch with a book in hand and all I can think is.... I love my life.

The windows are open for the first time in nearly a week following five or more days of endless (sweltering) heat, and all the stale hot humidity has dissipated, replaced by a cool breeze blowing through the screen. It's raining outside and the sound envelopes the house, broken only by the occasional passing car and the hum of the trains moving along the tracks in the distance. As I sit here and listen to the world around me, it hits me: Life is good.

Admittedly, it's taken a while for me to reach this point. It's been five years since I moved here and I can count on one hand the number of times I've sat here quietly contemplating the fact that I lead a happy little life. And I do, I'll admit it. I hate loneliness, but I relish my time alone and tonight, I am enjoying it. Thoroughly. It's a luxury that, thanks to the fact that I'm not married and I don't have kids, I still possess... better enjoy it now.

When I first moved here (in 2006 — where did the time go?!), I called home virtually every night in tears about how much I hated it here and what a bad decision it was to move to Western Mass. I was 23 years old, fresh out of college living two hours away from my family and still naive enough to believe I could earn a good living doing what I loved to do: writing. For as many times as I've lamented my life decisions, I'll be the first to admit that it hasn't all been bad. I've met some interesting people along the way and have learned the value of living in a small, tight-knit community.

Today, I also understand the importance of alone time. It's great always being in the presence of others, but there's something to be said for the opportunity to do what you want, when you want to do it. Tonight, for instance, the TV has been shut off; in lieu of spending all my time in front of a stove cooking dinner, I was able to get away with simply heating up a can of soup; and the rest of the evening shall be spent on the couch with a book in hand. I may even turn my phone on silent and pour a glass of wine.

One day, I'm going to look back on my twenties, when I was single and free, with fondness. I know I'll miss having the opportunity to simply exist, without very many worries. I'll do what I can to enjoy it now. Let me just add that to tonight's To Do list:

*Read
*Relax
*Enjoy life

Done. What's not to love?

Passions

Is too much passion a problem?

According to the dictionary my computer so thoughtfully provides for work purposes, passion is defined as: strong and barely controllable emotion. Based on that description alone, I think it's fair to say I am a passionate person. A very passionate person.

I feel almost every emotion wholly and deeply; so strong it borders on painful, both physically and emotionally. I'll be the first person to admit it: I fall easily and madly in love — with everything. You name it,  people, animals, my car; it's true. More often than not, these intense emotions lead me toward heartache, yet I can't not feel them. For better or for worse, at least I feel something. There are far too many people in this world who are content to lead quiet, calm, unpassionate (and boring!) lives. I can't see myself ever existing that way.

But this passionate nature gets me into trouble. And while I thoroughly enjoy the fact that I can be so unequivocally adrenalized, I don't like the mercurial tendencies it brings. I vacillate between extreme and total happiness and utter misery. I want what I know I shouldn't and that frustrates me endlessly. I find myself toeing the line and rationalizing my desires so that they coincide with what I want as an outcome. But something always holds me back and I miss my chance to live out one fantasy or other.

Perhaps, in this respect, passion is a problem? It can make you do (or at the very least consider) things you wouldn't ordinarily do. Whether or not you actually commit to the follow-through is beside the point, isn't it? The simple fact that you'd even entertain the idea is problematic, is it not?

Sometimes, though, I can't help but wish for something I know I'm not supposed to have. Because, dammit, what's the point of living if you can't thoroughly (and passionately) enjoy your life?

Mac world

I love my Apple computer, I really do, but never fail, every time I walk into the Apple store in the mall, I feel like I'm losing a piece of my soul.

A couple months back, an old editor at my company stopped by my office to say a quick hello, and upon seeing my computer, said, "You're still using that relic?"

That relic, as she called it, is an eight or nine year old PowerBook G4. I got it around four (or five?) years ago and it was at least four years old when my company handed it over. Needless to say, it's old and it definitely acts its age.

Throughout our relationship, my PowerBook has died on me twice, both times on deadline. As a self-proclaimed control freak (I am a prime candidate for a "Neurotics Anonymous" therapy group), I had what can be classified as a moderate meltdown when my hard drive decided to stop working while I was in the midst of putting together an entire 28-page broadsheet newspaper... did I mention my editor was on vacation at the time and I was in charge? You can imagine how seamlessly that production week went... Not very! Thankfully, the powers-that-be at work decided a computer was an important tool for completing my job requirements and I received it back after a brief (read: extended) hiatus.

In the last two weeks, I went to the Apple store twice with a friend who was having problems with his iPhone and was given the opportunity to observe the different kinds of people who actually use Apple products. As an Android user (it is my firm belief that my Android far surpasses the iPhone, sorry!), I figured I wouldn't be allowed in the store, but then I realized I am also one of the Mac computers' biggest advocates, and that that fact (and that fact alone) likely removed me from the Apple Blacklist...

So there I sat, for at least 30 minutes (both visits!) waiting for one of the geniuses at the Genius Bar to help us, and I stared at all the pretty little computers I would kill to have — all of which make my relic look like it belongs in a museum. It was at that point that I realized Apple stole my soul. I absolutely did not want to have to walk out of there without either a new computer, an iPad (I still have yet to fall prey to the tablet hype) or — gasp! — an iPhone.

Luckily I have what can be classified as armored-clad will-power and resisted the temptation to spend any money, but as I sit here today, listening to my old PowerBook G4 huff and puff (literally, the fan has been running for the last 15 minutes), I can't help but wonder... will I ever upgrade to a newer Mac?

And hey, who wants to buy my (even older!) HP laptop? Now there's a relic!

What if he tries to eat me?

Look at me today and you'd never guess I used to have a debilitating fear of German shepherds, or rather, of all dogs.

After an unfortunate run-in with my neighbor's massive shepherd nearly 20 years ago, I couldn’t even look at a dog, never mind approach one. If I so much as saw one look at me, I’d succumb to a panic attack of epic proportions and lapse into an emotional meltdown.

Generally, my reaction to dogs only further piqued their interest in me, as it’s a well-documented fact that dogs can sense fear. I don’t remember when I started to get over my canine phobia or whether it was gradual or instant. I just remember one day a few years ago, my (now ex-) boyfriend and I decided it would be a good idea for us to get a puppy (why, exactly, I can’t quite say; that’s another story entirely). And while he really wanted a shepherd, I really wanted to be able to go home without fear that my dog was going to use my leg as his chew toy, and we settled on a Labrador. 

Guinness was cute, albeit slightly energetic. I spent countless hours of my day — every day — running around with him trying to expel some of his boundless energy and in the end, I only ran myself ragged. I was tired, but the exercise was working wonders for me, as I lost roughly 20 pounds chasing him in those first few months.

Guinness

When my relationship didn’t work out and I was forced to relinquish custody of Guinness to my friend’s parents, I found myself actually longing to be in the company of canines. If I saw a dog in my daily travels (especially a chocolate lab), I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. I wished fervently that my landlord would allow pets at my apartment so that I could adopt a puppy, even if it couldn’t be a large-breed dog. I always loved the West Highland white terrier, yappy as it is; I could have lived with one of those, I’m sure. I even briefly considered adopting a fully-grown young adult lab under the guise that it was a medical alert dog (I know, I know, shameful, right?) but clearly I never went through with the ruse. I don’t think my landlords would have fallen for it anyway. 

Around Valentines Day this year, I was at a party during which an acquaintance happened to mention she was going to be leaving for vacation in a few days with her family and that her primary dog-sitter was unable to stay with her lab. I joked that I’d love to stay with him, but it wasn’t until she called the next day to ask if I was serious that I started to doubt myself and my fear reared its ugly head. 

What if he tries to eat me? I wondered. I am good with dogs that are under the control of their owners, but up to that point, with the exception of my uncle’s English Springer spaniel, I had never been with one so large on my own. I feared the worst. 

I walked into the house mere hours after the family left for Florida and Smokey was waiting for me. When I saw his black body in the shadows moving toward me, I immediately felt my heart rate quicken and suppressed a flash of panic. I could tell he sensed it, but he kept all four paws on the floor. I put my hand down for him to sniff, and he turned his back, casually walking away. Success! For the next seven days, he greeted me warmly every time I walked through the door.

Smokey

Shortly thereafter, another friend asked if I’d be interested in watching her lab, Barkley, while she and her family were on vacation for a week. Again, I said yes without thinking.

Barkley

Since then, I’ve had the luxury of being in constant contact with canines of all sizes, from a French bulldog and Labrador retriever to not one but two German shepherds (yes, really!). 

Shep (aptly named, don’t you think?) is roughly 12 weeks old now. I went with a friend to pick him up from a breeder in Greenfield when he was just 8 weeks old and fell in love with him immediately. I figured if he grew up with me, he’d be less inclined to want to hurt me. Can’t argue with that logic, right?  Not so! He can sense something about me, because on at least one occasion, he’s backed me into a corner emitting low growling sounds with his puppy teeth bared. Now I know his little needle teeth can’t really do too much harm, save for a few small bruises, but this seems like ominous foreshadowing to me. 

Shep

His “older brother” of sorts, Tazer, is about a year and a half old and, while exuberant, one of the nicest dogs I think I’ve ever met. If all my interactions with shepherds were as positive as the times I’ve spent in Tazer’s presence, I wouldn’t be in the least bit apprehensive. Ever. 

I’ve been giving this a lot of thought lately because another friend asked me recently if I’d be interested in dog sitting for his shepherd. I don’t want to discriminate against him simply because of the dog's breed (and the fact that he’s large and understands German, which I do not), so I figure I’ll agree – at least tentatively, pending a meeting with him. I trust he’s a well-behaved animal, but I’m still not sure I can trust myself to fully mask the residual fear. Will he sense it? What if he tries to eat me?

Writing: It's what I do, not who I am

I've learned something about myself today: I have ADD...or some variation of it, at least as far as the Internet is concerned.

This blog has been in existence for just over a year now and although I would love to have a funky design for it, I don't have the energy to devote to creating one. I'm not a techie; I don't understand HTML. The thought of sitting at my desk trying to finagle a certain look for my blog just tires me, so I'm not about to put the effort into actually doing it. That doesn't mean I don't appreciate a nicely crafted website, however.

My friend Kristin's blog is phenomenal -- both because of its design and because of its content. Her skills as a photographer blow me out of the water and her writing is so easy to read. Add to that her ability to design a website and, well, I'm green with envy.

I barely have the motivation to write here on a consistent basis, mostly because I write for a living and sometimes I think writing for fun is more tedious than enjoyable. I love writing and I still aspire to write a book someday, so the fact that I can't work up the enthusiasm to jot down a few thoughts now and then is concerning to me.

But now that I'm thinking about it, I would like to at least attempt to come up with a new blog template.

See? Anything to keep from having to actually write. 

What's that buzzing sound I hear?

The morning air was calm and the sun's soft golden rays poked insolently through the blinds that were drawn to prevent their presence. All was quiet as I went about my morning routine when suddenly...

I shrieked. Loudly. It pierced the quiet and made even me jump. Did that sound really come from me?

I turned back towards the window and jumped again, this time without emitting any sounds. There, in front of me, were not one, but two hornets. They're plotting their attack, I just know it.

Over the course of the last couple weeks, I've found no fewer than seven of them in my apartment. Two were dead in the window, one I trapped between the windowpane and the screen, two were dead on the floor and the last two...well, they made their presence known today.

After getting over the initial shock, I did the only thing I could think of to do: I left, but not before calling my landlord to request he take care of the problem this weekend in my absence. I just hope that by the time I get back on Sunday, the place isn't overrun with wasps.

My Best Friend's Wedding...

My best friend is getting married, my brother is getting married, and suddenly, I've become the lonely girl who needs to be pitied.

This weekend, I traveled back to my hometown to attend an engagement party for Best Friend and her future husband, who became engaged over Easter. With the whirlwind that was the month of June (literally!), I hadn't been able to make it home in time to congratulate them and I was starting to feel remiss.

When I saw her Friday night for an evening of TV and gossip at her condo, it suddenly became apparent that my status as a single girl made me something akin to ... pathetic, at least in her eyes. On more than one occasion since her engagement, I've been told that her fiance has [a] cute, newly-single friend[s] and that he/they could be all mine if I'd just move home already. Thanks, but no thanks. I'm all set with moving back there and I think I can do just fine finding a man for myself. I know she means well, but I can't help but feel defensive about it.

I hate to admit it, but I was dreading having to go to the party at all, and not solely because it meant I'd have to brave the highway for the 2-hour ride back. While talking to Best Friend the night before, it was glaringly apparent why.

Case-in-Point #1: When BF was telling me about the other members of the wedding party (all of whom I knew but one), she happened to mention the fact that the one I didn't know was overweight. She asked my friend if she'd be the biggest person in the wedding party, and when BF told me that, I responded in my usual self-depricating manner that she wouldn't be with me around, to which Best Friend responded, "Oh no, she's bigger than even you."

... Say what, now?! She's bigger than even me? Exactly how big am I, then?

I let that one go, but on Saturday morning, I got a text from her, which brings us to:

Case-in-Point #2: "Hey just wanna make sure you know to dress up to the party, it's not a jeans kinda thing." Now, I know I'm not the most glamorous person in the world (I do live in a small western Massachusetts town, not New York City; here, it's not a requirement to step out of the house with a cute dress and Jimmy Choos or Louboutins), but c'mon. Doesn't that go without saying? I gathered that fact based on the semi-formal invite, did I really need to be told?

Part of the reason I don't return to town as frequently as I used to is I'm sick of constantly feeling bad about myself and never fail, whenever I'm in the presence of BF (or especially, her sister!), I leave feeling an immeasurable amount of self-loathing and resentment. I am not the type of person who counts calories; I'm not a gym fanatic; I don't own my own house/condo; I don't have someone to share my life with... these are all qualities that describe BF/Sister and for some reason, I can't help but feel like when measured against them, I fall short as a result... and not just in stature.

It's probably all in my head and I'm probably too oversensitive, but I can't help it. Ever since BF met her boyfriend — excuse me, fiance — she has become a different person. We used to talk all the time and I used to go home as often as possible to see her. Since he came into the picture, she has forgotten about our friendship... or at least forgotten how to maintain it. Sure, I may be partially to blame for that — I did move away, after all (although to my credit for the first few years, I maintained it pretty well) — but whenever I'd contact her, I'd at least acknowledge her boyfriend. If I don't solicit any details about my personal life, she doesn't ask... Isn't that what friends do? Inquire about the others' lives? 

Perhaps, though, it's better that she doesn't... Because with all the news of people getting married (and having babies), my news that I'm now single —again — isn't all that impressive, is it?