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...

 

"Million reasons"

My favorite song right now is Lady Gaga's "Million Reasons." I'm sure I've said this before about songs, but what I love most about them is that even though I didn't write them (I have no talent to write a song. A overly descripted novel sure, but not a song) you can always take the lyrics of a song and make it about you. You can apply it to your life. You're not the artist. You don't always know WHY they wrote it or what they mean by it, unless they've shared it in an interview. But you know what it means to you. I love that about them, because music speaks to all of us differently and on so many levels. And even if it is apparent what they are talking about in a song, I usually just take my favorite line from it and make it about what's going on in my own life. I don't need to know that the first verse clearly alludes that it's about a boy and I'm making it about my life... which never includes a boy. Which brings me to my point, well not brings me, but here it is. I love this song because of its rawness and plea for a sign, for a reason not "to walk away." Maybe she's talking about a relationship or maybe she's talking about the music business and her specific career, or maybe something totally different. But since artists give us songs so that we can relate to them how we choose and give us a creative outlet to sing it at the top of our tune-deaf lungs; this song is about just going on... it's about living. It's about finding a reason to keep going; to live. I don't really feel like I have that. I don't really think that finding out how they end the show The Walking Dead, is a good enough reason. This song begs, it has a plea, in this case to God. "I bow down to pray, I try to make the worst seem better. Lord show me the way, to cut through all the worn out leather..." Yeah been there Lady Gaga. I try and try to just see the good in my life and what I have. I try to just hang in there, but I'm worn out. I'm tired of not being special. I'm tired of feeling unloved, not beautiful, not desired by anyone in the physical or literal sense. To not feel desirable... I don't need someone to tell me it everyday but I do need someone that chooses to walk in this daily life with me. Someone that wants to fight for me/with me. Someone who makes me want to improve, to be a better person. Because I love that person and I would do it for them as much as I would for myself. But JUST for myself? Nah. I'm good. Life: "you're giving me a million reasons to let you go. You're giving me a million reasons to quit the show...I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away. But baby I just need one good one to stay." But I get to choose what that one reason is. And that one reason is a partner in life. Not a friend I see twice a year or every few years or next to never. That's not enough. That's not enough for anybody I don't think. Maybe for some animal that mates once a year and then checks out and comes back a year later to do it all over again. But I'm not a freaking animal. "Oh baby I'm bleedn' bleedn.' Stay. Can't you give me what I'm needn' needn'? Every heart break makes it hard to keep the faith. But baby I just need one good one... Baby I just need one good one to stay..." Whether that means one person to want to stay with you, to want to commit to you, or if it means one good "one" meaning "reason" to stay here on Earth, I feel it all. I get it all. It's both, for me. Why "God" or the "Universe" or Mary freaking Poppins won't give me someone in my life is beyond me. But I know that I can't do it anymore. I can't try. I heard about this convention in Las Vegas that is about LGBT women in media and entertainment. There's going to be panels with speakers in these fields and guest celebrities, 2 of whom I am HUGE fans of and would never get to meet otherwise. And even more importantly one of the panels is called "Breaking into Print," specifically lesbian fiction. And I've literally already written a book. But before I even did the math to see how much it would cost me, I was already talking myself out of going because I knew nothing would from it. I wouldn't meet anybody. I wouldn't even make a friend, a connection. Because that's not who I am anymore. I'm a shell of a person, I guess. At least that's how people make me feel by not wanting me in their life basically at all. It really is way too expensive of a trip anyway, but if an actual real relationship were to come out of this, or even a lead that ended up getting my book published, then Hell yeah! This thousand  dollar trip or whatever the exact amount is (but that's pretty accurate) would TOTALLY be worth it. Worth every single penny if one of those 2 things were to happen. But I can't even talk myself into believing that that is even the remotest of possibilities, not nowadays. I used to have even the slightest bit of hope that something could come out of all my efforts, but once it doesn't, for the 12 hundredth time... it just starts to feel like you're pushing something that's never going to happen. Maybe if I had friends encouraging me, believing in me, cheering me on to do it. But I really don't even have that anymore. I think they've all given up on me. I'm 35. If it was going to happen, it would've happened by now, right? Which brings me back to the million reasons. I don't think you always need a reason to stay, to go on. I think you sometimes just need to CHOOSE to. The easy way out is to take your own life. But that would be your legacy. It wouldn't matter if you cured AIDS or fed the homeless, people would most remember you for doing that. I'm sorry but it's true. You can get a pass if you have some horrible sickness that you were going to die from anyway, then it's out of mercy, but other than that, it's just taking the easy way out. Life is hard. Life sucks. I am always alone every single day of my life. It literally never happens that someone asks ME out of the blue to hang out, and then it actually happens. I'm the one that asks people to hang and 99% of the time they have a valid reason why they can't, but it still stings. It still makes me feel like I'm not even the least bit important to them. Or even if they do ask, something falls through and they end up cancelling, literally every single time. I'm not even that important to my parents because I didn't marry a guy and have children like literally every other female in their 30s does. But it doesn't mean that I can't go on. I may not be normal. I may not do things the way every one else my age does them, but I can still hang in there. Hanging in there is better than nothing. Writing is better than keeping it inside. Eating pizza is better than drugs. Technically they can both kill you if you overdose, but there's a greater chance with the latter, plus your brain gets pretty fucked up on them.
So in conclusion, there is no conclusion. You keep finding your reasons or you keep hanging in there. You can also fight and try and maybe you'll get lucky, but I've never been one of the lucky ones.

"That's all I have to say about that."

Between the reality of the "leaders" of our fair country and the reality of my own personal life... it's no wonder I escape into my stories, both the fictional ones I write and the fictional ones I watch. One cannot possibly roll their eyes any higher, when talking about our President and all his little minions. I still haven't accepted it and think we're being Punk'd by some other country. We're just gonna wake up one day and realize this whole nightmare was just another fake reality TV show. Only we're not... it's real. When I think about the voters and how I personally voted as well in this election, fearing that it was the most important election in my 35 years on this planet and I HAD to, it wasn't even a choice; in the end, although popular vote dictated the opposite way, it really didn't matter that I voted. Some secret club or some hacking job or whatever you want to believe is the cause, were going to have their way no matter what. That's kind of how it feels with our President. I can't even say his name, but you'd have to be literally not figuratively, living under a rock on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean, to not know who I am talking about. It feels like he's this highly mentally unstable toddler who will not just throw a tantrum to get his way, but will also use his "words" which are actually lies, to convince a certain population of Americans, that what he says is the god honest truth. I'm starting to realize that he might in fact think that everything he says is the truth, which is much more disturbing than if he knew he was lying, but just wanted people to like him... to me that ship has not only sailed but was never docked at the port to begin with, but obviously there are people that like him or we wouldn't be where we are. And then I hear about people calling their state representatives to openly oppose a certain candidate, something I've never heard people being that invested in, in my entire life. But did it matter? Did they convince anyone? No. It's starting to feel like an "it's my way or the highway" Presidency and not at all what America was built on, what it stands for. But I guess at least there are some people of Authority not under his tiny thumbs... for instance the Supreme Court. They might be the only ones and something tells me our President could literally not figuratively sic dogs on them and they just wouldn't exist anymore. It feels like he could do anything. A big fat bully could do anything he wanted. It's feeling more and more reminiscent of a certain leader who shall remain nameless but who was around back in the day and took out an entire culture of people... well, anywho. This will be my one and only "political" blog, if you can even call it that. It's more of my revulsion of one person...and I guess everyone who backs him too, than it is of an entire party or of politics in general... although if I'm being honest, it all disgusts me, so who am I kidding? That's all I'm going to say about that.
But one of the points I was going to make is just that it feels like one person can't change something as big of a scale as this. Even many people can't change all of this. So many people have tried to make their voice known and it didn't matter. That's extremely disconcerting and extremely un-American. To have this state of helplessness just feels like piling on an already high pile of personal helplessness. Sure people will disagree and say you always gotta try no matter what and yeah I guess you do, but at what point do you give up? I'm not one of those people who think they have an amazing voice and will audition year after year on American Idol even after the judges and all of America have made fun of them and told them they are awful and need to stop singing, at least in public. I know my limits I know my abilities. I know when to stop. I can stop binge watching a show, I don't watch all 13 episodes in one day. That's crazy town to me. I don't eat any entire carton of ice cream in one sitting. And when it comes to trying to meet people and get out there, I have my limits. I don't have a certain number and I haven't counted them all up, but when you've tried for years with not only not making a new friendship that lasts, but not even making a connection with one person that turns into a real dating experience....I just feel like I've reached it, my breaking point. The end of the road. Whatever road that is. It's not just difficult, it feels impossible. I think that's why when I write these stories in which I ALWAYS meet a girl and connect with her and end up in a serious relationship that makes it; there is also always a "fantastical" element to them. There's always something else to them that's not possible. There's alternate universes, wormholes, a 1995 me that was not my actual life, a response to a letter I wrote someone that doesn't even know me. Or events in which I find myself in with the "Hollywood crowd" which to me are people like Kate McKinnon, Amy Poehler, Kristin Wiig ect. (all the funny women of Hollywood). I include these things to make me feel better about the normal part of meeting a woman: connecting, dating, relationship part NOT happening in my real life. I'm like, well all those other things which led to me meeting the love of my life can't possibly happen, so in essence finding HER can't possibly happen either. They are interconnected. Of course I know that isn't true or how the world works. People meet and connect and fall in love and choose to spend their lives together every single day, without something like a wormhole opening up in order to find them or she literally dropping down from the sky. But to me, meeting someone that wants to get to know me longer than like a couple times seems just as impossible as all that other stuff. Sometimes thinking that that celebrity you sent a letter to, will respond to you, makes more sense than me meeting someone on a dating site, at a meet up group, out in the normal people world any given day. Why? Because I've tried all those things dozens of times and came up flat. And I've only tried the letter thing...twice. I'm a perfectly pleasant, funny, kind, loving person who works with special needs babies. So what's your problem "other women"? Or God? Or Universe?
And so to quote Forrest Gump: "That's all I have to say about that."

Eggs: not the kind you eat.

It's late Friday night and I find myself Googling "freezing your eggs." Not in a really realistic way, but in a 'I recently heard this one-half of this female comedy duo that I love, did it when she was 34,' way and so I'm going to read about her and like one more article about it and that's it. Of course she has money, which is a huge part of it. It led me to an article about these parties these fertility companies throw, convincing women in their 20s and 30s to freeze their eggs. And it reminded me again about an episode of The Mindy Project, where her fertility clinic did just that and called it "Later, baby." And then that made me think of an episode of New Girl, where Jess and Cece both get tested to see how many eggs they have left, thus telling them how many child bearing years they have left. In the end Jess has a ton of eggs left, given her more years to wait it out till she finds the right guy. TV shows are basically where I get all my information... that's a good idea, right? Man, growing up it just seemed so easy. You meet a guy in your early 20s and get married and have like all this freaking time with just the 2 of you, like actual years, many of them. And then you easily get pregnant and 4 kids later you're like barely in your 30s and you're done having kids. And you're not old and tired chasing around a toddler. And you get these beautiful children that look half like you and half like your husband, the love of your life. Probably the hardest, well really the only hard part of me coming to terms with my sexuality, was the part about giving up just that. The family I had always envisioned for myself. Specifically the children that are half me and half the person I chose to spend my life with. I guess the closest I can get to this now is if the woman I marry has a brother and that brother is healthy and a good guy and is close with his sister and wouldn't mind donating his sperm to me and if none of us felt that was weird and if everything worked out perfectly... then I could have basically a baby half me and half my "wife" well at least her genes... bearing in mind that her brother is her mom and dad's full child, just as she is. Have I lost anyone yet? But that's a lot of "ifs" and that most likely won't happen. Everyday, couples get pregnant, so fucking easy. It's not fair. But I don't think I want to know what my egg count is, like Jess on New Girl. I like to think I'm super fertile for reasons I don't need to go into on a blog, but I don't know for sure. And I just can't see myself spending thousands of dollars and injecting myself with hormones and being an emotional wreck all by myself through that time and then matching it up with some sperm donor I don't know and only I had a say in picking, because I have no partner to weigh in.... all just to have a 2-12 percent chance that one will lead to an eventual baby. Maybe that's just one articles information from 2014, but still. I don't think the odds are that great. All these other couples having babies without even trying and 100% "free" in the making of them, and I have to go through all that and spend all the money I don't have, just for the slight chance of one. Again, not fair. But nothing ever is for me. And then there's Friends. Monica and Chandler were best friends so long and then fell in love and got married and they couldn't have kids of their own, so they adopted. Monica always wanted a kid and I remember those episodes of her being sad that she still hadn't found anyone and she wasn't getting any younger. And then to have the sting of her best friend and brother accidentally getting pregnant. But in this fictional world that I'm acting like is real, they didn't see those twins (they didn't realize they were having till they came out) as anything but their very own children. And maybe that's what adoption is like. I don't think I could truly know until I experienced it for myself. Maybe you'd get as lucky as they did, the girl that got pregnant was just young and not ready. But a lot of the babies given up for adoption or taken away, are born addicted to drugs or alcohol and just because I help families with children who now have developmental delays because of those very reasons, doesn't mean I want a child that has those problems. No it's not the baby's fault and I could very well birth my own child and they could have Down Syndrome or something else, but I can tell you right now there's no way they'd have fetal alcohol syndrome or be addicted to crack when they were born. And I'm not saying all of those babies will have significant delays, but the majority do... or at least behavior or learning problems. That's what it seems to affect the most. Again, other kids not drug exposed could have learning and behavior problems too, I know. But you get what I'm saying.
I guess not every straight married couple gets to have their very own baby. So even if I was straight and married, it doesn't necessarily mean I would have a child half me and half my husband's right now. It just sucks though. I don't know that I'll ever be able to give that up; not truly. I don't know for sure, but I think when you fall in love with someone and choose to spend your life with them, then all this baby stuff just fades away. I don't mean you don't think about it or worry about it happening at all. But I think the "how" doesn't matter anymore. You have that person who loves you and accepts you and you're going to go through this together, so the child will be the both of yours, regardless of how it entered the world. All that matters is that you have each other. And the child will come to you however the child comes to you. It doesn't matter how, it just matters that he or she is loved by the both of you. And that's a nice thought to end on...

this is the last blog about the lake, I swear.

I grabbed a cinnamon sugar twisty donut this morning at my local donut shop and headed to my lake. My side. The side I always go to. But when I got to the fork in the road I could go left or right. Right would be where I always go, so I decided in a split second to go left. I took it down and realized it was where I was yesterday. Yep back with the birds. Except this time there was only one white pelican. One. He looked as if he was saying, “uh…Mike? Stan? Lila? Hey where are you guys?” He was left. Or they asked him to go but he said “nah bro, I’m good.” It’s fun to make animals talk…
So I headed back to my side, my spot. There’s a hill here that overlooks the lake. I don’t think I’ve been here at this exact time before because today I noticed how the sun silhouetted off the lake, making it shimmer as if it were full of diamonds. It sparkled and it was gorgeous. Early this morning around 530am it was storming. I awoke to thunder, lightning and heavy rain. But now it’s clear blue skies and sun, a perfect 65. I wish it never got warmer than this. But this is Texas and I know better than that. I’ll just appreciate what we have currently- a cool breeze. Oh look! I just noticed a pelican gliding by! Oh good. Carl’s friend is coming back. Or girlfriend…or boyfriend, I don’t judge. Good for him. Oops or not. He’s detoured it out into the lake and not back where they were all hanging out yesterday, in the little cove where I just saw our friend all alone. Pelican commentary aside, this has been a pleasant 10 days. I’ve enjoyed having something to do every day on my 10 days off. It’s given me something to look forward to and I’m grateful for that. I certainly wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t live 2 mintues away, so I’m blessed to live so close. Just like life, these days at the lake have all been different. Some days it was clear blue skies and sun, perfect temperatures. Some days it was extremely windy and cold, cloudy and it even rained a little one day. This lake is like a metaphor for life, for yourself. There are so many sides to life, to you. Don’t be afraid to explore them and to go outside your comfort zone. If I continued to come to this same spot I always did because it was so close to my house, I would never have known about the migrating white pelicans. Or the statue of the shirtless man who helped to build this great lake. I wouldn’t have seen those Christmas red berries or that dock that was in the shape of a T. I wouldn’t have seen that light that broke through the clouds and shined down onto the lake and inspired a new story. Or that cloud shaped like a whale with the pink orange sun as its eye, which ate up my anger. Exploration is good for the soul. It’s good for the mind, the body and the heart. I liked walking the shores, never staying on the concrete path, but on the uneven grasses that kinda hurt my feet. Plus looking at large open waters is just so extremely peaceful. I like wide open spaces. I’m a little claustrophobic, so if I have to be around people, I’d prefer it in a setting like this. There were days when there were quite a few people out, due to the perfect weather. But they were spread out. Even when they were near me, they were still in their own world and I in mine. I kinda like it that way. I think I kinda like being left alone. I know I do. I still would like that one person to come into my little world and want to live in it with me. I would go into hers and I would let her take me out into the world, but I like my world and I like my home. I like my lake.

As I got back into my car and drove away, my favorite song of all time, came on the radio. It’s even been my ringtone for literally the length of time Mollie’s been alive, so 4 years. Before I had her, it was just about me and my life, but once I got her and it was playing in the car on the way to the vet right after I picked her up, it became our song. The lyrics will always hold true. They are about my life and what I desire…I just make it about Mollie for the time being, but deep down I’ll always know what it really means to me. *“I’ve been trying to do it right. I’ve been living a lonely life. I’ve been sleepin’ here instead. I’ve been sleepin’ in my bed. So show me family. All the blood that I will bleed. I don’t know where I belong. I don’t know where I went wrong. But I can write a song” or a story…or a blog. And so I shall. So that’s the end of the 10 day journey around the lake and through my head. I’ll be taking a little break and go back to writing the blog whenever something sparks or I need to work through something. I know it kind of felt forced at times, so thanks for sticking with me.

So stay tuned for your local programming…aka my old blog. See ya again in a month or so…for non-lake related blogging. Peace out. Don’t forget to tip your waitress.

*lyrics by The Lumineers- "Ho Hey"