Spoiled by Kristin Chenoweth

I don’t know how to be, anymore. I often find myself unable to move, paralyzed by an inability to live in this reality. In my reality. I want to hide away in my bedroom on my way too expensive mattress, and just melt into it. Just become one with it and let it wrap itself around me. Let it hug me, let it become me.
It’s very lonely being isolated like I am. It’s very easy to get lost. It’s easy to believe that no one in this world understands you or cares about you and maybe you don’t care about anyone either. Sometimes I want to shake people and be like- why don’t you like me? Why don’t you love me? Why won’t you give me a chance? Why won’t you let me love you and make you the most important person in my life?
But instead I just lose a fighting battle I have with myself over taking a trip, where I could be around new people again, because I just can’t believe that anything will happen, that I’ll meet anyone; didn’t the last 10 times, so why would I now? At least I finally made the decision. I was on the fence for so long that I was about to drive myself crazy, being so indecisive.
I’m not usually like that. If I want to do something, I do it. Whether or not I have someone to go with, scratch that, I never have anyone to go with, so usually I just do it if I want to do it! But this time I both wanted to go and didn’t want to go, so I couldn’t be swayed one way or the other. A big part of it was whether or not I could believe I could possibly meet someone that will mean something to me and vice versa, at said place. Whenever I take a trip or go somewhere I always think it’s a possibility, even if I say: ‘it’s definitely not going to happen.’ I most definitely try to talk to people and connect to them. But I just couldn’t talk myself into it this time. I couldn’t do it. I can’t do it. So I pulled the trigger by putting down the gun altogether, or more accurately throwing it away. I’m not going. But it is also Portland in January which it says online is the rainiest and coldest month. There could be ice and snow too, so not really beach and waterfall gazing weather. But it is also when The Walking Dead convention is being held, which is why I was going in January. There’s still Nashville and Chicago, so maybe I’ll go to one of those cities for it later in the year; because I do want to meet the actress that plays Tara. Even if it would be lackluster and not some amazing moment, like it was the first time I met someone I was a huge fan of. I was spoiled by Kristin Chenoweth. She was the first celebrity I stood in line to meet ever in my life and she was by far the best and most rewarding. I have the pictures to prove it. She was amazing. She was expressive and took the time to really talk to everyone. She acted/looked shocked and humbled when I said she was my favorite person in the whole world. She definitely was. Is. She helped me discover my true self, even if she had no idea what she did and I wouldn’t even know it myself for another 5 months, after meeting her. I’m so glad I have the pictures of her expressions as she talked to me. This was 6 years ago, before video on the phone, but the lady that took pictures for me, kept pushing the camera button over and over, so I have all these amazing pictures taken so if you were to print them out you could flip through them and see her move, like a comic strip. I love that so much. I’d like to thank that lady again, who took those pictures, because my mom would’ve messed that whole thing up if she had been the one to take it. She was there, but I think she was using the actual camera at the time. Ever since then, whenever I’ve met someone that I admire and love from her work, in my favorite shows, it’s just been…eh. But that’s how it goes I guess. Kristin is an enigma. She’s one of a kind. She’s special. She’s Southern and you see that hospitality in her. Also I just think she’s a happy peppy person for the most part, grateful for what she gets to do with her life, her love- music. I admire her and look up to her so much. I love how she went after her dreams full force and didn’t compromise. I love that she’s dedicated to it. I don’t know if she ever wanted kids, but she never had them and she’s not married and I hope she does have love in her life always, I know she has before, but it’s comforting knowing that someone else out there is making it work…all on her own. She doesn’t need a man, just like I don’t need a woman to complete me. I don’t need a better half, because I’m already an amazing whole.

 

 

 

 

 

let's do the math

It’s really hard for me to have any kind of hope anymore and that makes me sadder than the absence of that person I hope for in the first place.

I saw this post from 8 years ago. You know how Facebook does that. I quoted a line from Garden State, still one of my all-time favorite movies. I said, “You gotta hear this one song, it’ll change your life I promise you.” The song I was referring to was, “Hold Onto hope” by Amy Stroup. She has one of the most beautiful voices on the planet. These are the lyrics she sings over and over in the song: “Hold onto hope love I’ve searched high and low for you, for you. Each day gets closer so hold on stronger to me and you. Someday soon I’ll find you. Someday soon I’ll know you.” There was a time, and more recently than 8 years ago, where I could still do this. I could still hold on hope. But I can’t anymore and like I said, losing hope is the worst thing you could possibly lose. I wish I could have hope. But the fact is, I’ve tried to hold on to hope for 11 years and that’s just since my last relationship, I had to hold on for many years before that as well. Let’s just say since when I was 18, about the time I really wanted that first relationship. I’m 36, so do the math, that’s nearly 20 years. That’s a crazy amount of time to hold on to hope. Maybe I should look at the shortest number: 5. well 5 and a half if we’re being technical. That’s how long since I realized that I had been looking the wrong direction. That’s how long since I realized who I truly was. Who I’ve been my whole life but never knew. I’m into girls. Women. You get what I mean. So should I do the math and pretend I’m really 23? That’s 5 years from 18. So in lesbian years I’m like 23. And 23 year olds aren’t necessarily married off yet. Well most of my straight friends were by that age, but that’s neither here nor there. I can try to make myself feel better in saying it’s only been 5 years (that I’ve been looking in the right direction) but it doesn’t really make me feel that great because if we do the math again- if we get to my lesbian 36, I’ll be 49. And I don’t want to be 49 and finally find love. That’s too late. Maybe it worked for Ellen Degeneres. She was 50 when she married Portia, but let’s face it, I’m no Ellen. I guess it doesn’t matter in length of years you’re with someone, but in quality time spent. Man, if I had a girlfriend right now, we’d cram so much into our shortened years together. I have a long list of things I want to do with her and places I want to go. Pretty much everywhere I’ve already been. I want to do all those things again, but this time with the love of my life. I hated that I had to do it all alone. I didn’t want to. I wanted to GO to all those places and I’m glad I did, but they would’ve been a thousand times better if I had her to share those experiences with. Particularly the hotel beds.

But back to the hope thing. I mean, fuck. How can I be expected to have hope after all these years of waiting and trying and putting myself out there and putting my energy out there and believing that it will happen and going places and doing things with intentions of being open to anyone out there? Taking any connection and running with it, testing the waters, seeing if there’s anything really there with that person. I’ve done that. I have. A lot. I’m not saying I won’t ever again, but I can tell you the number has gone way down, like to single digits. I’m also at a loss and out of ideas too. I don’t know why this is so hard for me. I don’t know why it seems so easy for everyone else and I don’t mean maintaining a relationship, of course that is hard for everyone. But the meeting. The clicking, the dates to get to the point of relationship- that’s impossible for me. At least that’s what it seems. I literally don’t know what else to do, that’s why I do nothing. That’s why I don’t try anymore. That’s why I write stories of a reincarnated ghost lady coming down from heaven, gliding over the water at my lake to me, to be my soulmate. That’s why I write stories of being with characters from TV shows because they are all that I have in my life. Or even taking it another step further and writing stories of being with the actual actress herself. I do that to make up for the fact that as a human being supposedly being capable of connection-I suck at it. It’s like I’m not even human. I’m an alien. And I don’t understand the rules. At least that’s what people make me feel like. I do wish that friends would set me up with someone, but that’s never happened. Maybe they don’t know any lesbians but me or maybe they don’t think I’m capable either.

This wind out on this hill overlooking the lake is strong. So strong it feels like it takes my breath from me at times. It’s sucking the life out of me, like people do. My day job is 100% giving, compromising. And that’s fine. I get paid to do it. I couldn’t do that for free, at least not 40 hours a week. 90% of my job is compromising for others, rearranging and making it work for them. But that’s how it goes and I love what I do. So when I get home the only thing that fills me up and gives me what I need, is my cat sleeping on my lap and my shows. Seeing these characters that I either wish I could have what they have, or be them, or be loved by them, or in some cases they just make me feel better that I’m NOT them because the lives that they are portraying are 100 times worse than the one I live. THAT'S how I vicariously live.

Well, I’ve been pelted by leaves and acorns from the tree above me and I think the wind’s taking all it can out of me now. Gotta go back inside. Be with my people…and by people I mean my cat Mollie and my actresses. Let's leave the math lessons to the math teachers.  

poem from night hammocking

What if you could reach out and touch the clouds? And what if you could eat them and they tasted like cotton candy. What if you could pluck the moon right out of the sky and it use it as the big marble, rolling it into all the little marbles, watching them scatter across the floor.

And what if you were ok. What if you were ok with how your life is. right. now. And that if it remained exactly the same for the rest of your life, you’d be ok with that too. It didn’t matter what you didn’t have. It didn’t matter if you were alone. If you were ugly or broke or childless or homeless or loveless. You were alive. You could still choose to love others, even if it’s in the smallest of ways and even if that person you loved by smiling at them when most people ignored them, or held the door for someone who always does the door holding, or saying a nice thank you to drive thru attendant that gives you your food; even if they all didn’t even seem to care. What if that was enough. Not for them because you can’t control them and what they find as meaningful to them. But it was enough for YOU. It was enough that YOU chose to look up from your phone and love and spread something other than hate and bad vibes from behind that very phone. I’m not saying I do or the proverbial “you,” but some do...too many, sometimes.

What if you accepted life as it is and that it’s ok that it’s not what you thought it would be. It’s ok that it looks nothing like the thousands of women your very own age. But at the same time you can believe that anything is possible. That soulmate, that child, that Home, that love you crave. It’s both impossible and possible. 

Just like that cotton candy cloud and marble in the sky, you can both know that it’s impossible and yet hope in even the smallest of ways...that it is.

when you want it to mean something

I first heard this song, or more accurately- spoken word poem by Mary Lambert, when I was walking the streets of Hollywood. I don't know if that means anything or not, but I kid you not, just now, right now when I started writing that first sentence about this "song," it began to play on my shuffled music on my Amazon app! I always find it cool when little things like that happen. I used to think it was a sign, but I don't anymore. I still do find it pretty cool, though. Like how when I was writing my own version of Orange is the new Black and when I wrote the ending about my character and Poussey's life together after prison and how she met this old rich white lady named Fran who helped her when she first got out. And then when I did too, we helped take care of her when she was dying and she left us money for Poussey to open her own restaurant and then when we had our own daughter, we named her Frannie, after her namesake. Well when I was looking up the meaning of her name, wanting it to be something cool and special, that means something, I found out it did! It means "free one." And we were the free ones, being that we were out of prison and I had already talked about that and how we were raising her to be a free-spirit. It just feels so cool and weird when things like that happen. Almost as if your brain knows something that you don't. Your sub-conscious is SO strong that it tells you to do things you shouldn't know to do. I wish that when I went to places that sort of just fall into my lap and just how I go and do things and take opportunities that come to me, that it would mean something too! That because I went to L.A., a place I would never just choose to go to, but because I won tickets to The Walking Dead premiere; that it would just MEAN something. It would mean I went because I was supposed to meet someone important in my life. I was supposed to met THE ONE. The girl that would change my life forever. Sometimes I feel like I live in a movie or fantasy world, but then I look at all the couples around me and they met "the one." It's not a fantasy, it's not a movie, it's real life. They met someone that changed their life and that loves them so much that they can't imagine a life without that person. They are their whole world. And there's no better word to describe that it hasn't happened for me and I'm almost positive that it won't, than the word- "sucks." It fucking sucks. It sucks balls. Of which I hate, both literally and figuratively. It more than sucks but even as a writer, I can't find the word to describe what it feels like. I feel hopeless, but not in a sad way. I literally feel like there's no hope left of me ever meeting someone. And that's just a fact. It's not a depressing, sad thing. I mean I don't feel great about it, but I feel like I have to accept it and I do to a degree. Because I don't live my life locked away in my house just because I don't have anyone to do things or go places or take vacations with. I go everywhere and I do everything by myself and that's fine. I'm used to it. I know plenty of people that would not go practically anywhere by themselves. Certainly not a vacation. They would drag a friend who they haven't even been friends with for a decade, only to torture them with making them do everything that they wanted to do and not letting the other person just chill out at the hotel. No way. They couldn't possibly go have a meal or go to the zoo by themselves. Those people are actually the ones that probably will have somebody someday. Because they can't function alone, so they'll rope some lonely guy in who is just happy to be noticed. And THAT is what's sad and depressing. It's like because I'm so good at being alone, I don't get the option of having someone to love, to hold me to kiss me, to be there in that hotel room on my 10th trip alone. And that really really fucking sucks. Just because I'm good at it, doesn't mean I don't want that partner. That lover. That girlfriend. That wife. Man if I could have somebody that feels about me the way this spoken word poem song says... I could die. 'Cause I'd already be in heaven. I want to feel about a girl the way Mary Lambert does in her song, "Dear One."
"Where did you come from, bright star. What heaven did you leap from, dear love. How can I spell your name without the sound of Autumn underneath my tongue. Without acknowledging the lovers who bent me in half. Bless them for bringing me to you. How can I say your name without also breathing the words, 'my God, I found you.' How can I ever speak again with this mouth when it has found where it belongs. When you touch me I am a bed of calla lilies. I will make a house for you and fill it with evergreens. I will paint sunsets on every wall so you can only see beautiful things. How can I say 'love' without wanting to fold myself into you, like a thousand paper cranes, dear one. I was halved the moment I was born. The other piece of me is inside of your mouth. And I was found whole the moment you spoke."
Isn't that the most beautiful thing you've ever read? Its even better to listen to, so get on that. I listened to it over and over while I walked the streets of L.A. Passing the Grauman's Chinese theater and the tourists taking pictures of cement hands. Passing the constant smell of cigarette and pot smoke that fills the air that I walked through. It was chaos, but in my mind, it was peace. I was floating, walking in slow-motion past a blur of faces that I would never talk to, nor would they ever talk to me. I think I wanted the crowds to part and for her to be standing there. For once for this moment, of hearing this spoken word song for the first time, despite the whole album being in my music playlist for weeks, to mean something. For it to come true. For life to imitate art for once. For MY life to imitate art for once, instead of the other way around. Instead of me creating art from a life I want. A life I dream of. A life I see on TV even though it's not real. I could make it real. I wish for it to be real. But here I sit. Still here. Still alone. Still unable to reach out and touch anyone. I've always felt invisible. I've always felt different and out of place growing up, although I didn't know why at the time. I thought I was like everyone else. I thought I was going to be like all my girlfriends growing up. I thought I'd be just like them, marry a guy and have some kids, all before 30. But 30 is long gone in the rearview mirror and I'm not attracted to guys. I'm attracted to the life. The normal life of marrying your best friend, whom you love with all your heart and having a child that is a piece of both of you. But it's not what I'm given. It's not what I can make come true. To quote another Mary Lambert song, "I can't change. Even if I tried. Even if I wanted to." But the line I really want to come true is her next line in that song- "My love my love my love, she keeps me warm. She keeps me warm." That would be the best life I could ever imagine.
I know we all want to find meaning in things. It's a Universal Desire. We want things to have meaning. We want to know that our life, even when it doesn't feel like we are the ones making the choices, still have a reason. They mean something. I feel like in the last 10 years nothing has meant anything. Nothing has changed anything. No decision I made, no path I followed, no "going with the flow." Nothing. Nothing has mattered and nothing has changed for me. But it doesn't mean I sit in a dark room and do nothing. I still try. I still look for meaning. I don't know that I take signs seriously anymore or take them at all, but I still try. And that's all that matters. All that matters is that I still choose to live and I still choose to not sit in a dark room and no nothing. Everything else is up to... well, I don't know who, but it's up for grabs I guess! If only I could get my hands around it...

REAL

I need somebody to replace her. I need somebody real. She is a real live human being but she might as well be a unicorn. She might as well be a mermaid. Not real, but real enough for many many stories to be written about them. Or maybe Sasquatch or the Loch Ness monster. Real enough for many many people to claim they saw them. 

But she's not real to me and that fucking sucks. I even met her once. Face to face, but it's not like I got to really talk to her and it's not like it would've mattered even if I did. She wouldn't have fallen for me. She's got a girlfriend... I'm pretty sure. If I knew how to spell out a frustrating cry I would. I am so small. I am so stupid. I am so invisible. But I need someone to see me. I need someone to want me, for once in my life. For forever in my life. I can't go on liking unrealistic women. It's so pointless and not healthy. I need a girl to draw me out. I need her to pull me to her and make me forget about every unattainable girl I've ever desired, for whatever the reason. Every real but not real woman I've ever written into my stories, pretending that they fell for me, that they liked me and saw something in me that made them want to get to know me more. That didn't judge me on how I looked or how I dressed or how my hair color was or how my face was makeup-less. 

I feel like I'm a pretty normal person. Weird enough to be a little interesting. I have stories. I have trips and crazy little things I've done and weird places I've been to, and even ones not most people have gone to or done before. I'm not needy. I don't beg for attention . I'm perfectly content being alone...until I'm not. Until I need somebody to hold me to tell me they love me and kiss me and want me in their arms and don't want to let go. Want me to call in sick the next day so we can stay in bed together and binge orange is the new black.

I'm extremely independent. I go everywhere all on my own. I do everything all by myself. I'm not afraid. Well I get a little nervous sometimes, or I used to, but just like with anything, practice makes perfect and I am the perfect single person after more than a decade of practice. 

If I knew what to do, I'd do it. If I knew how to be, I'd be it. Is this really it? Is this all there is? Why are so many songs and shows and movies and musicals and books and commercials and literally everything to do with life, all about having someone? Someone to call their own. That is EVERYTHING. That's what it's all about. Not the hokey pokey; love. Connection. A partner or whatever you want to label it. That's it. That's all there is. That's THE THING. And I'm like some kind of alien, not from this planet, so I can't possibly have that. It's reserved for humans. I'm not compatible with it. At least that's what it feels like to me. I mean besides nuns who choose that lifestyle, is there literally anybody my age on the face of this earth that's been single as long as I have? I don't think so. I'd dare you to find somebody who is. And she can't have been in a coma for a decade either. It's just embarrassing at this point. It's like at this point if I did meet a girl who was really into me, if I told her how long I'd been single and how she was my first, there is no way she'd stick around. She'd find an excuse to leave. Why wouldn't she? It would freak her out. It's weird. I know. It's really weird. It's not sad; it's on a whole other level, that doesn't have a word for it. 

That's why I've given up. Not that I don't still have some hope left, buried deep down. Like I do before any trip or anything I choose to go to and be social at, a small part of me hopes I meet someone, anyone. A freaking friend, something. Anything that's real. Real is what I need right now. Real would be nice. But even if I try to not get my hopes up, a small part of me still does. And then nothing happens, I meet no one, no one connects with me, or I think they do but it doesn't end up going anywhere and I'm right back where I started. Giving up again and then another opportunity presents itself and the cycle repeats itself. I'm not going to meet a single person in L.A. At the walking dead premiere. I'm not going to talk to a single person. I'm saying all this now, so that I don't get my hopes up again, because even when I don't consciously think about it, I somehow still do. I still think I will meet someone that I connect with. Someone that lasts. Someone real. And if I can convince myself it definitely won't happen, then there's a chance I won't be disappointed when I'm right. And if I'm wrong, then I can be pleasantly surprised. Or more like a witness to a miracle. Because the parting of the Red Sea and Lazarus being raised from the dead is on par with me actually getting a girl to really like me. Like, like me like me. In a real way. Real is best, not fake. We all know that.

i am a rock. i am an island. i am an alien, but i'm still human

Sometimes I feel like an alien. Like I don't fit in on this planet. Like I'm walking around in human skin, looking like everyone else, enough to not draw attention, enough to not get noticed, but yet I am not like everyone else. And I don't mean that in a "the way you look or dress" kind of way. I mean it in a "conforming to the invisible rules of the land,"  that everyone seems to get but me. And that's the "couple up and have a family" rule. Families are fucking everywhere and it's super annoying... when you don't have one yourself and you're the only single loser you know (in your opinion). And it's not that I should return to my home planet, where I would fit in with "my people." I don't HAVE people. I just don't. That's a fact. Maybe everyone feels this way at some point in their life, but when you have your own family, when you have a partner that is choosing to be with you, choosing to live in the same house and talk to you and be intimate with you both physically and emotionally, that is EVERYTHING and i'm pretty sure most people who have that, take it for granted. I'm pretty sure at some point they wish they didn't have kids that wanted to be with them all the time. I'm sure they want a nights sleep without their better half cuddling up to them, when all they want is to be left alone and sleep in peace. Oh poor them. They have people that want to be with them. If I could roll my eyes in words, I would. I guess I just did by spelling it out. And I'm sure I'll be one of those people, someday. Well let me correct that. I THOUGHT I'd be one of those people. I don't now. Now I see myself on the outside. One day I'll die and my cat will probably eat me, because there won't be anyone to check on me. That's a morbid thought, but it feels more likely than me ever connecting to another human being on a deep level that spawns intimacy both the physical and emotional kind. Every day I play therapist to Moms with babies with special needs and that's fine. I get paid for that and I could pay someone to listen to me talk as well, they're called counselors or therapists or whatever they want to call themselves and I've been to them. I don't want someone that HAS to listen to me. I want someone to WANT to listen to me. And I want to listen to them too. Is that so wrong?? I feel like whenever I hear about someone moving forward in their lives whether it be marriage or having a baby, I feel like I've being left even further behind. As if their moving forward is causing me to move backwards. Also that there's something's wrong with me. There has to be. But there's something wrong with all of us and many messed up people are still in healthy relationships with their spouse. We all have problems. It's called life. And I don't have one. I really don't. I really really wish that I didn't want that. That I could be some emotionless robot who doesn't have feelings and lives their life doing whatever it is they were created to do, but it didn't involve another person. I wish so badly I could be that person. But it's not a person. People aren't created to be alone, but I've managed to survive this long, basically alone. Over 10 years without anyone. Nothing. No kiss, no being held by someone (well minus that cuddle party I went to twice, which was amazing the first time and the absolute worst thing ever, the second time). I may as well be that robot. Since robots can't be kissed or held, well unless they're some fancy high tech kind with skin and sensors. But I digress. I wish I felt nothing when people around me move forward in their lives, get married, have children. I wish it didn't bother me. I wish I felt nothing but happiness for them, I do. I wish that. I wish I could be one of those people that could go out and just have a good time and hook up with whoever they meet and have one night stands. I do. But that will never be me, I just can't do it. But at least it would mean I had some kind of connection with someone, anyone, to have made it past the first meeting and into that night together. Instead of how I am now, void of human connections. I'm sure it's me. I'm sure I'm not giving off the right vibe, but I am who I am. I'm not going to change. I'm a kind, decent person. I recycle. I pay taxes. I help babies for crying out loud. I am ALWAYS nice to food service people, because I feel like their job sucks the most and they deserve human kindness, because I know for a fact that most people are going to be rude to them, taking out their own crap on them. And sure they can be rude on their own, but I still will say thank you with a smile. It's called human decency. I think at one point I was probably coming off desperate with people. Friends. I tried so hard to hang on to college friendships that were never going to last. I tried to force it. I wanted to hang out with them still, but they were already married and had begun their real life. And now mostly I'm just like- eh. Why even bother? And even if I do try, I'm not really that open to it. I mean I'll talk to people, but I can read people really well, too well. I know whether or not they are at all interested in talking to me, within like 2 seconds of meeting them. I don't push relationships. If I do feel something, I do try. I really do. I got out of my way to make some sort of contact with them or gesture or anything to let them know that I think they're cool and want to get to know them more. But guess what? It doesn't go anywhere. It doesn't get any response back, or maybe like am email or 2 and then nothing. And then I forget their names and what they look like and I move on, because if anything, I'm consistent. I'm consistent at being alone. I'm consistent at going places and on trips all over the place, alone. I'm used to it by now. I always end up feeling like I wish I had someone there to share the experience, the hotel bed with in particular, but I still have a great time. That other part would just be nice. It would be more than nice, it would be amazing. It would send a great trip over the top. But oh well. It's just not going to be me. I wish there was someone to blame, like God. But I've blamed him long enough and it's gotten me nowhere. I heard that song again recently. The one about the volcano who is all alone but has hope and wishes or prays every day for someone and then when he is beaten down by the endless weight of nothing happening, he starts to sink into the ocean, but little did he know, his girl was under him in the water, listening to his song. And then she rises up there finally, but doesn't see him and he's down below and can't sing his song anymore because he doesn't have anymore lava. And then for reasons that aren't explained, he bursts out of the ocean once again and finally meets her above the sea, and they live together and their song changes the dream line to "growing old together." If you don't know that song, it's called Lava. And it is a very hopeful song. Even when he gives up and even though technically he couldn't move and look for anyone, but she was right under his nose, which is what they always say. (insert rolling eyes here). I said I was going to print the lyrics and sing the song every day like he did, as if it were some sort of magical formula that will present my volcano gal right in front of my eyes. Well...I have tried everything else, so why not this? So here goes nothing: "I have a dream, I hope will come true. That you're here with me and I'm here with you. I wish that the earth, sea, and the sky up above will send me someone to lava." Did it work did it work?? (insert silly emoji here)

I wrote most of that several days ago and even though I still agree with it, I'm not then nor am now, depressed over it. I'm just stating the facts of my life. I'm not going to pretend that it doesn't bother me that I'm left out of something I feel that everyone who is, we'll just say "typical," has in their life. And again I don't mean typical in the sense of straight. I just mean typical, tax paying, job holding, human beings. Take that for what you will. You know what I mean. I do take a bit of comfort when I find out that my favorite female actors (because really, there are no other kind) who are also my age, are also single and childless like me. Of course they probably have their eggs frozen, but still, straight or gay, I feel a camaraderie that they are still single with me. As if that really matters. But it's just nice to not feel so alone in it. Especially if that someone is someone I feel something for, even if it's stupid and pointless and will never be reciprocated. And if they do find someone... well then they're dead to me. I'm kidding. Stars deserve love just like anybody else. I don't know that anybody doesn't "deserve" love. Maybe not Hitler or certain serial killers... but how did they get that way in the first place? Lack of love? Yeah let's not tug at that shoestring. Or we'll start tripping down stairs.
Go sing your Lava song, Christie... and go live vicariously in your stories you right. Anything else that happens will be a miracle, but miracles do happen... to some people... surely...

a poem by a not-poet

I am defeated, but that doesn't define me
I am alone but I am not lonely
I may be invisible but I see me
I may be ignored but I am still here
I reach up but no one is there to touch me
I jump down but there is no one there to catch me
I will make it on my own
I will not back away quietly into the dark
I am the lightning bug in the night sky
I am the sun at high noon
I will be ok
I will be ok
Even if I go unnoticed
Even if I fail at everything
Even if I don't connect
Even if I can't make a friend
I will keep my head held high
I will be my own friend
I am still important
I am still loved
I define me
I surprise me
I get up everyday
I dance
I sing
I write
I help
I don't lie down
I don't give up
Because I am awesome
Because I am amazing
Because I am me
I am Christie
And Christie, I will forever be

I already have the greatest love of all, so do I really need more?

I feel like I spent most of today in silence. Even when I did have the TV on I wasn't really into anything that was going on, on it. And Mollie, my cat, spent most of today under the bed, which did piss me off and I told her so. I was off work today and wanted her to want to be with me. But she really didn't care. The day flew by and nothing was really done or even watched. I literally had nothing left to watch on Netflix or anywhere and nothing new of interest that I wanted to watch. I did finally go to the grocery store, so I could feel somewhat productive. People from work texted and I responded but if they called, I didn't answer. That could wait till tomorrow. I had spent the weekend and the whole week before, going through my belongings, getting rid of stuff I didn't want. I was real cut throat about it. If it didn't bring me joy the moment I looked at it, I threw it into the donate pile. I threw away all my movie DVD cases and put them into a storage album and did the same with most of my CDs. I sold some too for a ridiculously low amount at Movie Trading Company. Those people are basically pirates. 25 cents for a movie is ridiculous, but they prey on the lazy like me who isn't about to try to sell them online. I got rid of a large bookshelf and got a much smaller and skinnier one to hold my POP FUNKO figures (which are all women characters from shows and movie). It really made my living room feel even larger, with that bookshelf gone. It was the right move. But I did feel like I was trying to do anything and everything to avoid what I thought I should do or need to do, and that's rejoin the dating scene, join a new dating site and try again... for the hundredth time, but who's counting? I didn't want to. So why am I? I thought. I don't know why. I see all these couples everywhere and I suddenly think I'm missing out on something. I write all these stories and I see all these shows and I think- I should have this, I WANT this. But the truth is, I don't. I want to be held by someone that I love and to be kissed and to make love to that person, of course I do, that's something that's never going to go away. That's a desire that's on its own level, but it's not a need like water and food are needs. I don't need it to survive. I want it, and again, on a totally different level than other wants like a million dollars or to go to Alaska. The desire to be physically loved isn't a want or a need, it's something that doesn't have a word to describe it. Well other than "desire" I guess. But that word can have an undesirable (no pun intended) connotation to it, because it can be dirty or evil even. So I don't really want to use it in association to what I'm talking about. But my point being- I want all that, but without all the work. I don't want to suffer through all the boring conversations with people who have no interest in me or I in them. I want to already be with that person. But also do I really want to dedicate my free time to finding that? To maintaining that with someone even the right someone? Do I want to give up MY alone time? No not particularly. Do I want to fall in love and then have it ripped way when they got bored or wanted to move on? no definitely not. I guess no one wants that. The problem is, it's been too long for me. I've been single for over a decade now, so to have someone in my daily life who I have to really BE with day in and day out through all the boring times and everything in else, I don't know if I could even do that really at this point, if I'm being honest. It's been too long without. I'm used to how things are now for me, in charge of all my free time outside of work and other obligations. I might resent them for hijacking all my free time. All day long at my job I give. I care, even when I don't care, I have to pretend to care. Because it's literally my job. If I came in and half-assed a session with a baby and a Mom, then I'd probably get in trouble or fired. They would see I didn't want to be there, I didn't help them with their child and that would be a problem. I'm not perfect, I've gotten frustrated with a child or a Mom and it's probably showed or it definitely has showed, on my face and in my words, but I don't make it a habit. And I do love helping them so it's not faked... the majority of the time, but we all have days. I just can't hide it behind a computer screen at a desk, like other people do at their jobs. So as much as I would love to have someone, I'd have to care about them all the time and it would be like my job, I would want to do it and like it but some days I wouldn't be feeling it. And I guess that's just life but I don't know... wouldn't someone just leave if they didn't feel cared about all the time? Maybe it's about picking the right person. I don't know what that feels like. I kind of feel like I'm writing about some anthropological experience I've never had. Something that took place thousands of years ago and I just can't relate anymore. I'm lacking, to say the least. It's been too long. I can't remember what it feels like for someone to want to be with me. It's like I can't even comprehend it anymore. I guess I could copy what I see in some show, like some robot trying to come across as human. It would take a special girl to stick with me and does that type of girl even exist on a dating website? I don't know. I honestly don't know the statistics when it comes to lesbians meeting the love of their life online. It happens like every minute on Eharmony, but this isn't Eharmony and I'm not a straight girl looking for a quiet, quirky guy who is just awkwardly social and just wants a girl to adore and love and take care of for the rest of his loyal life. I feel isolated here, even if it is a big city. I feel like I've been out in it for years and it's not for me and the lesbian women aren't for me. I don't know who is. If I did finally join a dating website again, a different one, would it be any different? My best friend made a good point to extend the area to reach out across the states. As much as I was against long-distance relationships in the past, because I need to put my hands on that person, this is a luxury I can't afford anymore. It's this or nothing. I'm not willing to try any more of the avenues Dallas has for me, which they are few and far between anyway and I'm not a bar girl, so this is the choice I have: try a bigger dating app (I did a little research and HER seems to get the best reviews) or remain alone for the remainder of my life. Those are my 2 choices, cuz let's face it, I don't look like the kind of girl you approach at Target and strike up a conversation with and end up asking out on a date. That will never be me. So this is it. A part of me ( a much bigger part) wants to continue living out my days in this "giving up" stage. Where I live my life and enjoy my life alone, with no one, not even friends. My friends have all moved on and even though I will always have my best friend, she doesn't live here and has 4 kids so it's never going to be what I want it to be. I had a dream that a friend I used to be close to said, "we just don't have anything in common anymore" and she's not wrong. We're in completely different places in our lives, all my friends I've ever had, are. They are all in the same place together- married to a guy and they have young children together. And that will never be my life. I don't want it to be. But sometimes I just want someone to care about me. To ask me how I'm doing and mean it. To ask what it's like to be alone in all this, not having anyone who gets me. Who understands why I sort of obsess over these female actors and over these shows that have lesbian characters in them. They feed me. They give me life. They live out what I can't. Or what I'm too afraid to live out. They represent me and they are the only ones that understand me and yet I don't know them personally, or they don't exist, they are a character in a TV show. But I can write myself into that show, as a character and live out something that's greater than a fantasy, a reality. Not MY reality, but A reality. I don't need to fly or have magical powers or travel through space and time. I sometimes do in my stories, especially the ones where I play exactly me. I feel like I have to add that Sci-Fi aspect to it, otherwise it's just weird. It's too real life, but not my life, so it's just sad. So I add that into it, to be like- "well this could never happen because we don't have wormholes that take you to alternate universes" (or maybe we do, but the point is there's no proof). I sometimes wonder if I'd stop writing if I had someone in my life. It would be kind of weird and not okay to write out what I wish that person would do or say, because right now I do, but there's no one in my life, so it's not like it's hurting anyone. But I think I'd be very cautious before I let a girlfriend read my stories. I don't want them to think that they are failing if they aren't that girl. I'll never stop writing though, but I would write different stuff if I already had someone.

Last night I was thinking about the song by Whitney Houston- Greatest Love of all. I was thinking about how much it must have impacted my life as a child, even without fully knowing it. It definitely struck a cord with me because I remember vividly singing along to it on my Kids Incorporated  cassette tape, with such passion, such commitment, such...conviction. I probably didn't fully understand it, every lyric. I was young when I used to watch that show on Disney Channel. Kids Incorporated was a musical variety type show, but with more of a storyline than say The New Mickey Mouse club, which I also loved. I don't remember watching it a lot because I'm pretty sure we didn't always have the Disney Channel, but I do remember these free preview weekends, and bingeing on it. I had the cassette tape of the kids from that show singing popular songs at the time, this was the mid to late 80s. And that was by far my favorite song on the tape. I'd sing along, loudly, pumping my fists in the air, and then rewind it and do it again. I was a quiet, shy kid, but not in that moment. Not in my room alone, as if no one could hear me. Maybe my parents saw the value in the song and didn't care if I sang along to it loudly. It's such a powerful song. I'm sure what drew me to it was the "Children are our future" line. Because I was a child and I liked being recognized in a song for once. But I know that I loved singing this line the most- "I decided long ago, never to walk in anyone's shadows. If I fail, if I succeed, at least I'll live as I believe. No matter what they take from me, they can't take away my dignity. Because the greatest love of all, is happening to me. I found the greatest, love of all inside of me...Learning to love yourself, it is the greatest love of all." I didn't know how true this line would be in my life. Maybe it soaked into my being as a child and helped me become who I am today. I'd like to think it had a hand in it. It does still help me to this day. When I hear it, I still sing as passionately as I did when I was that little girl in my room.

Burning...?

15 years. That's how long I had that shoebox for. I brought it home last night from my parent's house. I kept it taped up and in their closet for 2 reasons: one being, so I wouldn't be tempted to open it and two, in case of a fire at my house. Of course there could've been a fire at their house too. Written on the box was "stuff for when I get married." The only thing that I knew was in there for sure were letters I wrote more than 15 years ago to "my future husband." But I figured it would still translate over to the opposite gender, when that time came. But it was the night of my 36th birthday and I was like fuck it I'm done. I wanted to open it and see what was in there and be done with it all. I was pretty sure none of it was relevant anymore. I don't see myself ever getting married. Most definitely not to a dude (thank God), but I don't see myself ever connecting with a woman in a way that leads to that kind of a commitment. Maybe it's just not for me. Maybe I'm just meant to write about it endlessly but never to experience it. I was reminded recently of a book written by a guy who wrote of his experiences as a drug addict. He was even on Oprah back in the day. But then after it became a hit and everything, we all discovered it was a lie. He hadn't experienced it and the world called him a fraud. The book was A Million Little Pieces. I think I meant to read it only because the cover looked so cool with all those tiny sprinkles on a hand. I haven't researched why he did it but if he wanted people to take the book seriously and see it as truth and not fiction, I guess I can understand that. I mean I guess he didn't think it would sell if he wrote it but said "I've never actually been a drug addict." No one would've taken it seriously. I heard it sounds very realistic. If I ever sold one of my lesbian stories I wonder if I would have to lie and say "Oh yeah I've been with a girl before. I've had girlfriends." I write as if I have. I write as if I know what I'm talking about. Maybe no one would read it if they thought I was a liar. But my stories are fiction and I've never said otherwise. I mean they have science fiction in them so clearly they are not non-fiction or biographies.
But that tangent aside, I videoed myself opening the box for my reaction. I immediately saw the first letter I wrote back in April of 1998. I was a Junior in High School and I had just watched the movie Dirty Dancing and I wanted someone to dance with me like Johnny danced with Baby. Ironically later when I discovered I was gay and that I particularly had a pension for naturally curly haired girls, I thought back on that movie and how I was always watching Baby. Like in those close-up dance montages where they show her in like a sports bra and tights and you see her stomach. Or when she's on the floor crawling up towards Johnny. I don't remember ever paying attention to him and what he was doing... the things you realize a million years later. But anyway. I wrote "when I get married, I want to dance with you like they did on that movie. It's one of my favorite movies." That line still holds true today. Except I want to dance with my "Baby" and not a "Johnny." The other letters were from college. All in 2000 and 2002. There weren't as many as I thought. I have written more since then but they are in a different, not taped box. I discovered the common denominator in all of them- GOD. I was raised on church 3 times a week and True Love Waits campaigns and all Christian rock music even though also ironically, my favorite artist was Jennifer Knapp. And she ended up realizing she was gay after some many years out on tour and retreated to Australia after the Christian music scene shunned her. But thank God she's back and she's been to Dallas 3 times in as many years, so it's pretty sweet to see her again. I even got to meet her in person.
In all these letter I wrote, I talked about all this bullshit I was fed in those formative teen years. I thought about how I wrote about keeping Christ at the center of our marriage and remaining pure to our wedding night and I was 18 and prayed that God would give me someone soon because even then all my close friends had boyfriends in our Freshman year of college and they all ended up marrying them. And I also wrote things like "if God chooses me to have you." I rolled my eyes at least 15 times in reading those letters. All that belief. All that trust. All that devotion and dedication to Him and for what? What a waste. I'm sure God appreciates it but he's gonna do what he's gonna do. You have no say in it. Or you do, if you don't believe in him. But things still happen to you even if you don't believe it's any one entity allowing it or causing it or whatever. I was glad I burned that shit. Those letters were not me. Not the me now. I was some quiet, shy, followed the rules little perfect Christian girl. I was the one that did what I was asked to do. I was the one the choir director asked to be friends with the girl with special needs. Asking a popular girl would've made more sense because she would've been able to get her to meet everyone, but I would be polite and nice to her and popular, even in Church, doesn't necessarily mean those things. It's crazy that I believed all that I wrote. I do remember that girl, the one that wrote those letters, but just barely. She's like this meek, lanky girl I can barely picture. She's like the one the girls in the show The Handmaid's Tale pretend to be. All routinely spouting "praised be" and "blessed be the fruit." In all their meekness and quiet obedience. But who I really am are the ones the girls really are, underneath that Pilgrim's bonnet and red floor- length dress. I am the one that says "Nolite Te Bastardes Carborundorum" which loosely translated means: "Don't let the Bastards grind you down." That's the real me. The me that was under there, buried deep under politeness and shyness and Biblical theology and a desire to both be invisible and be seen. The girl who followed her friends. Mimicked their lives, because it was the only example of a life I had. I wasn't told I could be anything. I could love anyone. I could be single. I could not wear makeup. I could not look "nice" which translates to dresses. So I mimicked them and everyone I ever met in college went down the same path. And I thought, what else is there to life? Husband and kids. There can't be any other life worth living, can there? I certainly hadn't heard of it. Or been exposed to it. I met my first lesbian in Colorado at my job there. In 2005. I was 24 years old. A very sweet older lady who loves horses as much if not more than the babies we worked with. She's the exact same age as my Dad, to the day. And she kind of became my mentor for awhile there... years later... not when I actually lived there. Because I still didn't know back then. I was still focused on mimicry.

So this box had more than just letters. It was heavy, I knew that, but I didn't know why. After the letters on top there was a cacophony of heart themed and more so "Christian love themed" paraphernalia. Candles and tissue paper and stickers and note cards. And weird stuff like a VHS copy of "An officer and a gentleman." Why? I have no idea. I can't even recall ever watching that movie. I must've associated it with getting married, though. There was a lame-o book I actually remembering buying in college with my first boyfriend at the time. Because we were so sure at 19 that we'd get married. Well he was 21. The book was called "Saving your marriage before it starts." I kind of hoped the couple wasn't still married but I didn't see anything in my 30 second Google search to state otherwise. There was also a plague with that Corinthians 13 verse everyone uses at every single wedding ever. (More eye rolling ensued). And a heart shaped candy dish and a weird framed drawing of a cartoon bride. All of it went into the trash. Except for the letters. Those I burned in the shoe box. It caught fire more quickly than I thought even though duh, it was paper. But the box didn't burn and held it in nicely until I poured water on it. I burned it in my backyard night. The light of the fire and the smell of burnt paper was intoxicating and oddly cathartic. I wasn't necessarily burning away the idea of a "husband" cause I've known for years I didn't want that and when I realized I was gay it was like a sigh of relief I didn't have to have sex with a guy. As if I HAD to, because it was what everyone else I knew, did. And it was what was normal. Of course finally knowing who you are and what you truly want, didn't make it any easier. Girls are mysterious and I think a million times harder to connect with. Men are simple beings who all want the same thing and don't necessarily care about the deep complexities of a person. I mean men do have lines they draw, of course. Well, some of them do. The good ones.
Regardless, I don't know that I even know what exactly I was burning last night on my birthday. I didn't get a cake with candles, so maybe I just wanted to see a fire burn. Who knows. I'm glad that box is gone...I do have another one though. It's not taped up. But each letter is sealed. There are still some letters in this box that I'm sure were written to a husband that doesn't exist, but I don't feel the need to burn this box quite yet. These letters are post-college by several years and there's even my first lesbian letter in there as well. I write to her sometimes in a journal on my tablet more so than hand-written, but I will give her all the letters if she does exist (husband ones included). If not, maybe I'll burn this box in another 15 years. We'll see. Only time will tell.

Our dreams take place in alternate universes. *That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.

These are excerpts from my journal titled: Semi-daily musings to a love that may or may not exist 

May 1, 2017

I wish I knew that someone might read this but even if I do meet a girl one day, she’s not gonna want to read all this, well this Word document journal is only 31 pages, which is nothing compared to my stories which are almost always over 100 pages each. But it would take her months to read all my stories. I mean I kinda hope she would want to, because to read my stories is to know who I truly am. I’m vulnerable in them because they are an alternate version of myself. They are sometimes quite close to the actual me, but since the experiences in them I have never actually experienced before; this alternate reality christie is just that: not real. I can only speculate what I would do or say in the situations I’m in, in them. But the situations are fantasy. Comparatively, I feel that traveling through a wormhole to an alternate universe with my girlfriend who came down from heaven and previously died in the 1940s, is as far-fetched as the part about me having a girlfriend in the first place and having sex with that girlfriend. Those are equally improbable, at least in my mind. But I have this theory which has no scientific background other than “I wish for it to be true,” but I’m going to convince myself that in my dreams when I’m asleep, I’m actually crossing over into one of those alternate universes. Who’s to say that’s not true? Millions of people believe in heaven with absolutely no scientific proof that it exists. No one has come back from it to say for sure. Sure some have “seen a bright light.” So? I see bright lights too, like when I gave blood and passed out. I didn’t die, but if your blood pressure bottoms out or something like that, you’d most likely see bright lights anyway. Your body’s reaction. If that’s all heaven is: a bright light and people who died before you- bore snore. I’d rather go to my place. So when I dreamt a couple nights ago that I was hanging out with Kate Mckinnon at a house and I was helping her with some project in which I was handing her cutouts of letters; that was actually me in another Universe. And when she sat on my lap and she was wearing a t-shirt and just panties and I looked down and saw her creamy white thigh and felt her smooth skin with my hand, that was actually another me doing that. I was that “other me” for a time, being that I was taking her place in that other Universe for the time being. But then something pulled me back as I was trying to get the courage to talk to her. I knew what I was going to say. But I didn’t get it out before I was sucked back to THIS Universe and was awoken. Maybe it was because I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was taking that other Christie’s place for a second. But what I was going to say was: “Sometimes all it takes is one incredible moment, to make all the other boring, un-special moments, worth having in the first place.” And then hopefully she would look down into my eyes, from my lap, wrapping her arms around me and kiss me. That’s what she’d do, if I could’ve stayed in that alternate Universe a little longer. Well, at least one of the versions of myself is having a fun, sexually rewarding life. One of the Christie’s should.

June 3, 2017

I had another dream about Kate Mckinnon last night. We finally made out. Finished what was started back a month earlier I guess. We were in bed and we were full on kissing. I think I could feel her lips, taste them, even in my dream. A day has gone by now since I woke from that dream early this morning, so I’m already starting to forget the details but when I woke I remember thinking I did it! I can die now. I got to make out with Kate in a dream. I’m good. I’ve accomplished everything I wanted to accomplish. That’s really sad I know. My life is so freaking pointless and depressing that just by merely having a dream where I got to make out with my dream girl, I’ve made it. I’ve reached as far as I can go. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, or I guess I don’t think it could get any better than that for me. That dream is the best it can get. Since I’ve never been one to be able to make myself dream something that I’ve wanted to dream, just the fact that I dreamt it all on my own, without forcing it to happen, I feel “accomplished” or something. That’s really depressing, but it’s the truth. We hadn’t made it to the sex part before I woke up. But maybe that’s for another night. At least I got to kiss her. And it wasn’t something I wrote in one of my stories. It was real. Well it was a dream, but it was as real as anything could ever be for me. My stories are literally all I have, where I make things happen in them that I wish would happen in real life. I write them into existence. Into MY existence. But my dreams are not something I can control. Much like my real life. I had a dream a few weeks back that was terrifying and involved monsters and melting faces. It was so weird you would’ve thought I was on drugs. So I know that I can’t control what I dream. Sure things come up from what you saw on TV that day or something that’s bothering you or just your most deepest desires, but you still can’t “make” yourself dream something and make all the details exactly how you like them, just like you can’t in real life. So, I’m taking this as a win. Score one for team Christie.

 

Live YOUR life, not someone else's.

Sometimes you just have to decide that, “you’re fine.” That this life is enough. If I were living in a cabin in the woods and I had my animals, cats, dogs, deer, rabbits whatever the heck was out there and I had food and I had my imagination, my writing as I do now, I might still create worlds outside that cabin, but I would be content. Maybe I wouldn’t even know that people are supposed to have a companion, a partner. Maybe I would think I was the only person on Earth. I think I would be happy though. If I had a roof over my head and food and animals to talk to. Last weekend, I kinda just decided that I don’t really need anybody, I’m fine alone. And I don't mean that in a bitter way. Or an "I give up" kind of way. I mean, I spent the whole weekend writing mostly, didn’t see anyone or talk to anyone and I didn’t even notice. It seems as if the only reason I get sad over not having someone is when I see others “having someone.” It’s the truth! If Facebook didn’t exist or I wasn’t reminded of others, friend or otherwise having that one person, that husband or wife, then I really wouldn’t care. I mean I’m totally self-sufficient, I don’t need anyone to take care of me or provide for me. I entertain myself, I have my writings to provide worlds in which I can travel to in my mind. I’m not unhappy. I’m fulfilled in my life. I only seem to be really bothered about being alone whenever I’m reminded that most people in the world have someone. Whether or not that relationship is a good or healthy one, I can’t attest to that, but most people couple up in this world. I felt pressured by society and the world in general and watching every single friend I made since grade school meet the love of their life or the person they are spending it with (which I hope is one of the same). If I took all that away, if I spent my entire life away from the knowledge that people couple up, it wouldn’t even cross my mind that I “needed” someone to spend my life with. I hope my point is coming across and that makes sense. It’s been more about being “normal” and doing what everyone else does in this society, this world, than it is about what’s best for me or what I want. I mean sure, yeah I’d love to have someone to kiss and hold me and hold my hand in public as we walk down the street and share life with, but that also means I can’t do whatever I want to do close to 100% of my free time, which is how I live now. I couldn’t spend entire weekends, burying myself away, entering worlds completely unlike my own through shows or my stories I write. I could maybe do that an hour every once in awhile, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t take my attention and my focus off my girl, off maybe any children we would have together, at least not for an entire weekend. Although I’d probably try to get a weekend away from everyone every so often. Whether or not that's reality, I don't' know. At least at this point I’ve been alone far too long that if I ever did meet someone it would be a huge and overwhelming transition for me. I’d probably go get a hotel room all by myself every once in awhile, pretend I'm single again. I’d tell them of course where I was going. I think all mothers and wives should make time for themselves in order to BE good mothers and wives, otherwise you stretch yourself thin and you’re suddenly snapping over spilled milk. My Mom would always gasp and make a big deal over spilt milk. It always made me feel small, like I had done something awful. It was probably just a knee jerk reaction, but when I grew up and I thought about it I was like geez, it was only spilled milk! If it were red fruit punch on white carpet, well then that’s more understandable. But that blame really goes on the mom for giving their child red fruit punch and having white carpet to begin with. All that nonsense aside, ever since last weekend when I just decided that I was ok, that if this was it, then this was it; I didn’t “need” someone  just to feel like I fit into society better (or to prove I was in fact a real lesbian) I have become a more content person. It was like suddenly the pressure was off me to "find the one" and to have children. That weight was off my shoulders, like it was when I figured out who I truly was (kind of later in life than most).  I’m ok with me. I’m ok alone. I wouldn’t turn down a girl that came along who actually responded to me and didn’t ignore me after meeting and thinking there was a connection, because well she responded once or twice, but then that was it! If it happens it happens, I’m just not willing to seek it out anymore. I’m not willing to spend my free time doing things I don’t want to do, only because I feel like I have to in order to “meet someone.” When you take away that pressure to “be like everyone else” even though that ship has already sailed in terms of being in a heteronormative relationship, you suddenly feel free. You feel free to live your life how you see fit. What makes YOU happy. Fuck everyone else. If you think they are out there thinking “oh poor girl, she’ll never get married and have a baby and be as happy as me,” you’re right. You won’t. You’ll be HAPPIER than them, because their life is NOT YOUR LIFE. Their life is theirs and your life is yours. (Plus happiness isn't measurable any way).

It’s human nature to compare: our houses, our children, our husbands or wives, our lives. But if everyone had the exact same life, it would be one boring ass world. There would be nothing to talk about. “Oh your husband plays golf on Sundays. Yeah mine does too…” bore snore. We’re all here on this Earth to tell our own stories and to help others. Anyone. Help anyone. So that that ONE person you helped can have a better story to tell…and then the cycle will continue.

smitten smile

I was thinking about those little times I’ve been smitten. Most recently with someone I only met briefly but have since emailed a few times with. If anything I was thinking maybe I’d gain a friend like me. One that gets the same references to my favorite characters on shows, or who just agrees that Kate McKinnon is the greatest gay gal in our generation. Regardless, I just felt myself gain a little bit of hope when she replied to me that first time. And then when she replied back a second time, I felt a little smile creep up on my face. That little smitten smile. One I’ve very rarely ever had. She responded in a timely matter, it became a back and forth thing, even if just for the better part of a week. I felt a little bit of hope, a little bit of excitement of where it could lead. It wasn’t a full blown crush or a full blown anything. It was just a little bit, but it was enough. And when she didn’t reply a couple days later, like she had with the previous ones, I knew this was probably it, the end. But I still gave her the benefit of the doubt. She was probably just busy. But then when a week went by with no response, I knew for sure that that was it. She wasn’t busy. She just wasn’t interested. And that’s ok. I mean it has to be, right? People either feel a connection or they don’t. People don’t invest in what they aren’t interested in. People don’t engage if they don’t feel there’s a reason to. People might respond out of politeness a few times but that’s it. They aren’t going to keep it going if they don’t see the relationship going anywhere. I like to think I give people more of a chance than I’m given. You have to get to know someone in order to get to know them. Well that’s a redundant statement. But I’m glad I tried. I’m glad I reached out. I’m glad I didn’t just cast aside following up on a chance meeting of someone that I thought was interesting and had similar interests as me. Maybe it had nothing to do with me at all, she’s just already maxed out on the number of people in her life that she can invest time in. That’s understandable. I feel I have all the time in the world, but no one to give it to. Even when I do try, it’s not reciprocated. Not because that friend doesn’t like me anymore, but simply because they’re at capacity in the relationship category. They have their husband, their children and their one best friend and that’s the cap. They’ve reached their limit and the lights are flashing that there is no more room for anyone else in their life. Not in a real way, at least. It is what it is. As sad as this may sound, I love writing because it always has time for me. Never once have I not been able to write. Even if I don’t have a pad and paper or my tablet, I always have my phone and the notes section in it. It’s rare that I don’t have anything. But I guess when I don’t, I have my brain. I have my thoughts and I can stare out and just write away in my mind. I might not necessarily remember all of it later to write it down, but sometimes you don’t need to. I don’t need to re-read it. I just needed it in that moment. Writing is definitely better than thinking and like I said, who doesn’t ever not have their phone on them nowadays? There’s always a place to jot down what you’re thinking.

And this was what I was thinking about today by the lake. On this shore. In this picture.

I’m glad I had that moment of smitten-ness. Even if it was fleeting. Because it meant I was alive. It meant I still had a sliver of hope left buried down deep in the depths of my soul. I still believed that meeting someone could turn into something more than a few seconds of my life.

And that’s it. Short and sweet blog. Much like how that encounter was.

A story. THE story.

She lay on her side in the fetal position. She hated that word “fetal.” It sounded so medical, so impersonal…plus it reminded her of the baby she’d never have. So she hated the word for many reasons. She buried herself under her white down comforter that was cool in the summer, but provided enough warmth in the mild Texas winters. She burrowed into the mattress, wanting to sink down into it. She cried so hard that her body shook with each wail. Her audible cries probably carried throughout the room to the adjoining utility room and out the door to the backyard that was ajar by the help of a bird-shaped pillow, which was purposely placed there so her cat Mollie could come in and out as she pleased, in the evening hours after she got home from work. But she didn’t care who heard. Let the whole neighborhood hear. They probably heard her screaming and cussing earlier over god knows what, so why not this too, now? Who cares? It’s not like they didn’t already think she was the weird cat lady who would call to her cat as if she were a human child, saying phrases like “Mollie don’t make me come find you!” and “Why don’t you ever listen?” They knew she clearly lived alone and had no friends, seeing as no one ever came over to her house. They’d seen her come home every day about 5, carrying a brown sack from whatever fast-food restaurant she chose that night. So was her crying really that unexpected? If that was her life I just described, did it really surprise anyone that she’d be crying?

She was facing away from the door, her comforter still encompassing her, cocooning her body. She left just her face out so she could breathe, because from all the shallow breaths she was trying to catch amongst the crying, it was making it difficult to breathe, especially under a comforter. She was listening to music on her TV screen through Amazon. The words of Beck called out- “True love will find you in the end. You’ll find out just who was your friend. Don’t be sad, I know you will. Don’t give up until true love finds you in the end.” She cried harder and tried to hug herself but it didn’t work, so she envisioned someone holding her, squeezing her tightly. It had worked years ago when she was maybe 20. She actually felt arms and the tight embrace. Of course it was a trick of the mind, but the important thing is that it worked. But it didn’t work this time. She couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t envision it. She couldn’t trick herself into believing that it was happening in that moment, as much as she wanted to. She closed her eyes tight and kept thinking “I can’t do it anymore. I want this to be over. I don’t want to live anymore.” She had reached her breaking point before, so I won’t call this a breaking point. Even though deep down she knew she’d move past this moment, that didn’t matter, because this moment would come again…and again…and again. And she didn’t want to keep living this moment over and over again. She wanted it to all end. She was dying, both inside and out. Her body was disintegrating. If you blew lightly on her skin, her dusty bones would crumble before you and there would be nothing left but ash. If it happened outdoors then all it would take would be for one gust of wind to blown through and her entire being would be gone. As if she was never here. And why would she break down so easily you ask? Is she getting enough calcium? Why yes, yes she is. On her 13^th birthday she broke her femur in half and when they did surgery they said they had never seen anything like it. There was calcium leaking from bones, she had too much. They were super strong, but yet she broke the biggest bone in your body, in half. No easy feat. So it would make complete sense for someone who hasn’t felt the embrace of even basic human touch in months; who hasn’t been held on tightly and securely, body to body locking in as one, in over a decade. It would make sense that someone who has been missing out on something everybody else takes for granted, would fall apart so easily. Not quickly, but easily. There’s nothing quick about it. It had taken years to break down to this point. Years.

But then something miraculous happened, something that was impossible and can’t be explained, yet she wasn’t startled by it, which she probably should have been. She would’ve heard the creak of the box spring, if she still had her old one. Or she would’ve felt the mattress shift, if it was one of those older, lumpy mattresses, but it wasn’t, so she didn’t. She only felt arms wrap around her, scoop her up, not off the bed, but into the arms of another. Her fatigue from her crying spell left her limp, but she remained in the fetal position, a perfect little spoon for a big spoon to fit. She thought about her hair clinging to her wet face from all her crying. That’s what she thought about in this moment, not who or what or how anyone could possibly be spooning her right now. She considered reaching up to move her hair from her face when right then, the hand attached to the arms that were holding her tightly, let go for a second and moved the hair from her face, gently and methodically pushing it behind her ears. This made her cry again. Not full on cry, but she felt the tears escape from her eyes and fall. This was what she wanted for as long as she could remember. Someone to hold her and to push her fallen hair behind her ears. I mean nobody does that unless you’re in an intimate relationship with them. Friends don’t just push the hair that’s fallen in your face behind your ears. She turned her face into the mattress as if embarrassed that she was crying again. But this only made the arms hold her that much tighter. She reached her hands up in front of her body to grasp the hands as if to make sure they weren’t planning on letting her go. But they weren’t and she knew it. The hands felt soft and delicate. The fingers felt long and elegant and the hands felt no bigger than her own. But the strength of them felt ten times stronger than her own. Suddenly another song playing on her TV in front of her came on. It was a familiar one. One of her favorites. She opened her eyes to read the words along with the artist. But as soon as the first verse began, the mysterious hands grew a voice. Well more accurately a voice from behind her began to sing: “You with the sad eyes. Don’t be discouraged oh I realize it’s hard to take courage. In a world full of people, you can lose sight of it all and the darkness inside you make you feel so small. But I see your true colors shining through. I see your true colors and that’s why I love you. So don’t be afraid to let them show, your true colors, true colors are beautiful, like a rainbow.” Her voice was methodical. It sounded like what cotton candy looks and tastes like. Light, fluffy and sweet. It was a beautiful voice. The voice of an angel. Only she hoped it wasn’t a real angel. Because angels don’t stick around…or have real bodies…or are visible to the human eye. She felt the body of the big spoon move in and join her little spoon, and they fit together like the most perfect puzzle piece. With the simplest of ease. They were now One. The hands that become the voice that became the body, when she felt it bond with hers, was definitely female. She began to hum the rest of the song, in a way that lulled the once crying girl into a trance. She felt the whole body still holding her, yet the bed below seemed to have dropped from existence. It felt like she was floating, but still very much being held on to. She didn’t open her eyes for fear that she would discover she really was hovering and that would be too much for her to comprehend, even more than the mystical female being that was in her room holding her in this moment. When she felt that the voice was about to speak again, the girl felt her body rejoin the bed and the plane of existence they were currently on. Her eyes opened wide when she felt the breath of the other, on her ear. She had leaned in and began to whisper in her ear- “Don’t give up hope.” Then gently she kissed the little spoon’s cheek and as quickly as she had come, she left. She was gone. The girl knew it, but yet she could still feel the other’s arms, even if for a fleeting second. She could feel the after-effects of her warmth, of her embrace. The aftershock was powerful and she clung to it and whispered back to herself as if she had been the one to say it the first time- “Don’t give up hope.” And maybe it was just the girl all along…who’s to say really.

Lesbian-con

Sunday night I was standing by one of those moving sidewalk type things they have at the airport. Only it wasn't moving, it was broken. I was on a literal high from my weekend in Las Vegas. And no I didn't win any money. In fact I didn't gamble at all. It took all I could just to walk through the casino to the elevator to get to my room, or to get out of the hotel. Cigarette smoke is literally the worst. It gives me a headache and makes me want to vomit. Vegas is kinda lost on me. I don't drink, smoke or gamble... not because I think those things are inherently evil (like the people on the street corners yelling on their microphones: "Beer guzzlers repent" or whatever the hell they were saying, do). I just don't get the appeal and don't like to partake in them. I don't like the taste and I like my money to be spent on things I love... like button homages to my favorite lesbian characters (but more on that later). However, Las Vegas was where this convention was being held, and the suffering was well worth it. It was a convention that gave me this high. (Coincidentally I was told later that there was a Cannabis Cup going on in Vegas at the same time. But no, still wrong high).

I was on a high from the energy I felt from being surrounded by women that were like me. They liked the same things as me, the same actresses and characters in TV and film. But at the same time, I felt apart from them. I know that sounds contradicting, but it's true. These women liked the same TV shows as me and got my "Orphan Cat" t-shirt reference. But individually I still felt a disconnect from them, wherein as a whole and specifically in these panels I went to, I definitely felt the community there. The vibe, the high-energy was palpable in those panels. I listened as Ali Liebert, who is a Canadian actress who has played many a lesbian character role, and who only came out herself fairly recently, talked of her experiences, specifically on Bomb Girls, where she played the iconic and SO gay, Betty McRae. Ali wasn't ever hiding. She just realized "late" that she was gay. She called herself a "late bloomer" in the panel and I don't know her specific timeline or personal relationships, but I believe she has a girlfriend... and that factor right there is why I felt out of place or disconnected from the other individual lesbians. Minus maybe some of the underage teenagers who newly identify as queer, I'm sure I was the only lesbian there who has never even kissed a girl, but knows without a shadow of a doubt that they are gay. But even despite that difference, I still felt a connection to Ali, like maybe she knows where I'm coming from, or at least partly. Ali and I are the same age. As for me, I only journeyed through my self-exploration to my sexual identity 5 years ago. It will be 5 years this May. It really wasn't a long journey once it got sparked. I've already talked about all that in a blog titled: This is Me. It's from 4 years ago. It was that February when I wrote about that journey to self-discovery and came out to the blogosphere world. I got to meet Ali briefly at the autograph table and I got to give her a handwritten card and tell her how much her character Betty meant to me and how often the things she said in the show, mirrored what was on my heart and in my head. I'm sure she'd heard that a million times before. But it wasn't until the panel the next day, that I felt that connection to her again. Her slight nervousness and bashfulness as she spoke about her newfound self wasn't weird or awkward or off-putting. It was endearing. She reminded me of someone... oh yeah, it was me. I kinda kicked myself for not telling her...well I don't know what, exactly. As if anything I could have said to her would've made her be like- "Oh this Christie chick is interesting. I want to get to know her more." Why on earth would that ever happen? She's in Canada and I'm in Texas. But it's not even about that anyway. It's not about a relationship forming, but more so, about a connection being made. A REAL conversation being shared. Being heard and understood and seen by someone is everything. All I wanted was to just have a honest conversation with someone that I felt like maybe "got me." That knew where I was coming from, maybe. I too am 35, like her. I too am a late bloomer. It was a lot of years coming for me too; I just think that so many girls know early on and I was just so oblivious to all that when I was younger. I was really naïve and grew up a church girl. Also I think Ali could be a little shy in real life, despite her amazing ability to act and take on a character SO well. I can't do that part, but I am shy and awkward too (she called herself awkward in the panel). I just felt like she understood where I was coming from and her journey to self-discovery might've been similar to mine. And that maybe even just by talking to her, in a real way, it would've helped me out in some way; maybe not feel so alone in all this. That's all I wanted from that conversation. But of course I didn't tell her my story at the autograph table. I don't think I could've ever done that in person. I'm a writer, not a great talker. I have to grow on people and unfortunately there's not always time for that. But she did like my Orange is the new black tote, with all the characters drawn on it, that I bought from a vendor there, so that was kind of fun.

But this blog was supposed to be about the high I felt by being there and not about just one person, so I'll move on to explain that more. First of all: the buttons. Oh my god. I got the most amazing buttons/pins/whatever you want to call them, at this vendor's table. Her business name is Glorious Weirdo, and I love it. She's got a Facebook page and an Etsy store, so check her out. I'll post a picture of the buttons I got. I love them so much. From Lost Girl to Bomb Girls. From referencing a character that was killed off (and who inspired my own story) on The Walking Dead, to endless Kate McKinnon as Holtzmann on Ghostbusters, this chick had it all. I already collect pins/buttons and put them on this lamp shade I have, so I was in heaven with all these to look through. I went to her table 3 times and spent a significant amount of time looking through them all. Nowhere else on the planet would there be someone that would make these obscure references to lesbians on TV shows and put them on buttons. Man I love it so much. THAT'S one of the things I loved about being there. All these women watched the same shows as me and loved them for the same reasons as I did- for the lesbian characters in them. To see someone that is like you, on screen, it's just EVERYTHING. And to see someone relatable, means the world. Also the panels. Oh my god the panels. I laughed so hard till my cheeks were hurting, at the Lost Girl panel. And I was moved by the women on the LBGT actresses in TV and Film panel. These women that you loved because of how well they portrayed a character that you saw yourself in, is one thing, but to hear them say how they fight for us...they fight to have more lesbian roles and not just the sidekick, but leading roles and roles that mean something, means the world to all of us. They want to tell our stories and that right there is inspiring. I want to write those stories. I already do write those stories. I may not have experienced these exact relationships in real life, but I've experienced them in my stories. I have been in significant relationships before, even if they've been with the opposite gender... ok just 2, but still, I'm not completely living under a rock over here. I've written many a tale of girl meets girl (and zero of boy meets girl, in my past life, so that should tell you something. And I've been writing my whole life). Also I'm most proud of the detail I put in and of the characters (one of whom is always me in some fictional way) and how they process their feelings and work through all the emotions that come up when you're finding your true self and when you're falling in love... or I guess in my case "wanting to fall in love." It's obviously a wonderful therapeutic exercise for me, just to write it all out. So I got to go to this "Breaking into Print" panel and the lady who spoke at it, who is an Author and Teacher herself- Alex Westmore, was the most inspiring and passionate speaker I think I've ever heard. She made me believe that I could actually become a published author. I scribbled down notes at lightning speed, on the pad of paper I stole from my hotel room. I soaked up every word she said. She gave us the tools and the encouragement to go and get it! And between that, seeing Sara Ramirez (who played Callie on Grey's Anatomy) walk by me in the lobby, and hearing Ali speak at the panel, all back to back; I jetted out of there towards the end of that panel suitcase in hand and literally floated to the airport. Ok not literally. I actually took a Lyft car. But I was on Cloud9. I stood there by that broken down walking sidewalk in the middle of the McCarran International Airport, talking a mile a minute on the phone to my best friend, recounting the events of the past 2 days at the first ever Media and Entertainment Convention for LGBTQ Women and Allies. Also called ClexaCon, which is based off of 2 lesbian characters in a show I do not watch, one of whom was killed off and sparked this whole discussion about killing off lesbian characters in TV shows, an important discussion of course. It pushed a whole community into action, holding those in charge of making these shows accountable for what they are allowing to happen in them. I mean I get it. I may not have watched The 100, but I understand the death of a lesbian character. I was inconsolable after Poussey died on Orange is the new black. That mainly had to do with the fact that I saw myself in her SO much. She said things I've said out loud and thought alone in my head. It felt like they were killing me. But again, that's in a whole other blog from last June. It's a good one. Check it out. And poor Denise on The Walking Dead. Doesn't Tara deserve to be happy??! Now I'm just waiting for them to kill Tara off and I'm not going to be ok with it, but I'm trying to mentally prepare myself. At least in this show it isn't about "killing off a lesbian." Literally everyone dies on this show. It's the zombie apocalypse. What do you expect?

I know I have a habit of going off on tangents, relatable tangents, but still. And here I go again: So I almost didn't go on this trip. I literally changed my mind from an absolute no, to me booking everything, a couple hours later. It was a lot of money, all added up and I was afraid I'd go and literally nothing would happen, I would meet no one and feel like it was a waste of money. But I also knew that if I didn't try, then I would never know. I knew I would regret it. And I'm SO glad I went. Did I meet a girl and make a connection and have a new friend now or even hopes of it being more? Nope. But that's ok. I felt the power of camaraderie in that place. I felt the energy and the light of women that were like me, even if I still feel separate and different than them in some ways. Maybe that's the Gemini in me. Maybe I'm too much of "twins." I'm not two-faced at all, but I sometimes feel 2 opposite ways at the same time. But anyway, it was well worth it. Most definitely. The panels are probably what did it for me the most. I don't have friends that I can talk to about girls, even though they are girls, they are straight and they don't get it and can't pretend to. But in that room, the women would laugh at the same jokes that I would laugh at. Lesbian jokes. I felt connected when we were all together in that big panel room. It felt like we were one and not individual lesbians or bisexuals or queer or questioning or whatever. We were just ONE entity. And that was an amazing feeling. A feeling I want to chase for some time. I want to go again next year. Even if it's in smoky Las Vegas again. At least they have the fountains. The Fountains at Bellagio were fucking incredible. I could've watched them for hours...

Like what I wanted with Ali, we all want that with someone. To feel that connection. To feel understood. To not feel weird or alone. We just want to know that someone 'gets you,' and understands exactly what you've been through to get to this place and it's ok that it took awhile (for me it was a month before I turned 31) because it took them a long time to get there too. So even if in this case, this connection I feel is one-sided, and Ali will probably never even know about it, that's ok. I mean I still hope I meet someone that is like me, but I'm good at waiting. I kinda have to be, right?

Well, regardless of what did or did not happen, I'm still proud of myself for going all alone. I am used to going on trips by myself, since my friends are all married with kids now, because if I really want to do something or go somewhere, I do it. I don't let the fact that I'll be alone while doing it, stop me. I know my friends have told me that they admire that about me and I admire it about myself as well! Not everyone is brave enough to do things like that all alone, like I am. I did talk to many nice women here and there, in lines or panels for a few minutes. I guess I'll have to continue to leave the meet-cutes for my stories... for now. Maybe one day it will happen for me, but until then, at least I have the ability to write them out, and live vicariously through my cloned-self, in said stories. And maybe one day those stories will be turned into a published book that someone other than a close friend or two will read. For the first time in a long time, I actually want to grow old. If it means that I have more time to write and try to get published, then I am all for it. And THAT is something I couldn't fathom for many years. Growing old meant being alone longer and I didn't want to live that life. Sometimes your life looks differently than you thought it would when you were younger. And that's ok. It's yours, not anyone else's.

Well, thanks for bearing with me through tangents and repetition. I know I said "gets me," on a loop and I do apologize. Believe it or not this blog took several evening attempts to write it all out and edit it (yes it's actually been read through several hundred times. This is what I've landed on as the final draft). My blog posts are always written in an hour or two and posted on the same day. But I think I'm still processing through what this weekend was for me, and this blog has helped... or confused me even more; one of the two. No, I'm kidding, it's been good. I think though, that I'm going to be reflecting back on this weekend and the conversations and the inspirations I experienced, for a really really long time. And I hope I get to go back next year... and maybe I'll have someone to take with me this time... or maybe not. Either way, I know that my journey is mine and my experiences are mine and how I got to where I am is MY story. I'm willing to share it with anyone who will listen. I'm ok with me and my inexperienced-lesbian self. Because it's who I am. I finally know who I am and I'm so incredibly happy to know my true self. It's an amazing feeling. And I have to believe that there is a girl out there that is going to be so thrilled and honored to be my first and is going to take that seriously and to heart. And I'm probably never gonna let her go... but that's a story for another time...