Fresh Tears

I am trying to take advantage of next two days of pure holiday - that is for me spending as much time as humanly possible in bed, sleeping, reading or more often than not on my computer watching movies. I just completed Sex and the City's movie version. I was addicted to the show when it was on HBO/Bravo and eventually TBS - I used to wait up late on Saturdays to watch it. The writing and the characters do have so many real life qualities, foibles, weakness, addictions and so on that it does mirror, reiterate and reassure me so often. I know finding TV as a place of reassurance... for me it's the place where they are as honest as my friends would be, if they had great writers articulating their thoughts into movie lines.

The movie had so many moments of real life resemblance to this last year - so much so that well I cried - I cried throughout the whole thing - in bits and spurts - it made me realize seeing Carrie go through similar emotions that I did about the amazing support I had and have. The friends who held me fast to life when all I wanted to do was let go, to never feel again, to never hope again, to never do anything but labor on through until God was merciful enough to take me away. I don't know how to thank any of you to the depth of which you are owed - to thank you for loving me, for putting up with me, for feeding me, for holding me, for pushing me, for letting me be, for every little and big step you were there for and still are there for. For all those times when in your wordlessness, when my pain and grief took your words away, that you still showed compassion, grace and love to a wreck of a life. You made me human again - you gave me back my pain, my tears, my joy, my love, my hope and my future. I don't know how to thank you other then for you - and you know who you are - to know you changed this life. These tears are for you - and it's a good thing. Life's a good thing and so is love. Maybe that's why PC's here - to remind me we do get our happily ever after in some way, shape or form - with or without PC - love is all around us.

In honor of the first group of ladies to hold my hand through loves first deep losses:

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Write

As I laid down last night, the story started to unfold. I remained in bed and I lost it. I remained because there is this paranoia I have that if I get up it's going to leave anyways. I think honestly I am going to do vastly better if I just get a Dictaphone and start rambling to myself at 11pm.

So tonight when faced with 3 hours of free time on my hands and a city completely horrible to travel in - I managed to dig myself back into my house after two days of being gone - with the help of my dad - I decided to write. I started to try and dig out the stories, the original stories of K and the feelings that started all this. Because the thing was he was not it, he was a fixture, but there were dozens of other all consuming, life enthralling crushes - secret and public before, during and after him and none, not a single one was him. Maybe he was just too old, maybe he was just too untouchable - he was after all the significantly older brother of a girl I was just barely remaining friends with. She was skyrocketing up the social order and I was not so keen to do so, seeing what it required of her.

Two paragraphs:

"I remember passing the Sunday pot roast staring past him at the velvet striped wallpaper, trying to figure out what it was that was different about him than J, the boy that was currently occupying just about every girl to girl confidential discussion and plan. I wanted to kiss J. I wanted to find a way to steal him away from the Grade 5 harlot, and capture his rugged heart. I didn’t want K anymore then I wanted the water chestnuts in the mayonnaise, pea and iceberg lettuce layered salad, but somehow I was supposed to, I just could not understand why. Not yet. I remember being captivated by a feeling far deeper then all the excitement my Grade 4, Barbie doll playing heart could understand. Maybe that was because I was still of the belief a kiss could change my world forever, that a kiss would transform me. Who cared if I kissed a frog? Who cared if he was ever going to be a prince? He sure wasn’t going to be at this age, and I would be lucky if he didn’t publicly embarrass me after the kiss. I believed, I absorbed, I consumed the notion that a kiss would make me a woman or at least a teenager, maybe make me beautiful, maybe even make K look at me other then is baby sister’s awkward Sunday lunch tagalong friend. Every chance I could I would be there at the large round table with the assortment of adults and teens and C and me."

"C eventually altogether ditched me, and as much as I wanted our mothers to hold us together, my mother’s friendship held me to a girl who believed that kisses were an unnecessary part of life. A girl for whom the finesse of boy corralling and coercion had never been learned, just like she had never learned that tying your bathing suit straps together with a hair elastic was social suicide for us cuspers." So my chance at getting to K through C was forever lost, lost like innocence we thought we still had. "

Yes, this does reflect real life for me, with child perceived, memory solidified indulgence, but if C, K or even bathing suit massacring S were to read this they would see themselves, through my eyes of course. I would add some kind of post-amble about if this is you and you take offense comment, but hey I know C and S don't read and if K did well I would be surprised and concerned given the fact that well nothing has been said about it.

PS - I've found our PC related theme song - check her out, it's been on here before, but well I was listening to her again and it fits.

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Will It Never Stop!!!

Oh Bloody Hell (I know I know - one of the things on the resolution list - tone down the unladylike language), it just keeps coming and coming and coming - I managed to get to Donald's relatively fine as the snow was not blowing in my face and it was mostly downhill - getting home made me regret not waiting in Donald's buying more food I didn't really need just so my dad could take me home.

(Leaha if you care to know the steps in the back don't exist (as of one hour ago) - that's how much snow there was today alone)

On another note, it's been brought to my attention that the whole PC is apparently too direct/specific. I've been thinking about it - had lots of time in the aforementioned snow to try and compose this blog.

Yes PC was a flesh and blood person, I mean don't mean that he does not currently live, as far as I am aware he is alive. I mean that in the sense that while a discussion around him with a fellow single started a literary adventure. This person has a similar person in her life - it's not a person who her life is surrounded around it is rather as stated before a measurement for everyone else. The why and who and all that is what we are doing here - we were both, and others after her faced with the fact that we all had this kind of person in our psyche - they haven't left through years and years of change and the consensus was why, why the hell is this ghost, this fantasy, (regardless of the fact that it is associated with a flesh and blood person) hanging around in my brain and popping up whenever I think I'm ready, or in my case starting to talk about the day I'll be ready, to start dating.

Do I like PC's real alter ego (if that makes sense) who knows - don't really know him, none of us know ours and that is in part why they can hold that position - Leah is starting to know hers and it's been a bit of a shock, I'm sure the same could be for all of us. I do not have visions of even talking with this person - as we've already noted it would be disastrous. But I do wish to get to a day where he's not It and there is no other It person - real or imaginary of any form in his place.

And of course if it needs to be further stated as mentioned before he's not the only literary character to take up residence in my brain - they are all floating around these days thankfully as they weave themselves into a book of some form.

So there you have it - PC originated with a live flesh and blood person, a person who may or may not read this, but he is not the PC discussed here - which I hope comes across more as a mutual person - the same PC in the end for all female or male readers who identify.

Now back to your regularly scheduled holiday message:

Photos - if you don't believe me about the snow - of course they aren't mine - no camera

The Dethroning

I've been tossing and turning for the last hour - partly because there has been a blog rolling around in my head and my Internet was not working and partly because I had a nap late this afternoon - I had to - well I had to do that or have a strong drink and since my stomach was a little churny I opted for the nap. Why the decision - I shopped at Walmart today... Wait! I can explain - I had to, seriously - I have spent the last week and a bit searching desperately for cellophane to wrap my boss' gift in and I could not find it - and well I found where it's been hiding. Walmart. Gah, I should have stocked up while I was there but I couldn't stomach it.

I am officially a stalker with a non stalker purpose if you can call it that. Christmas Presence is on Sunday and I know that PC will be playing the drums for one of the artists. I knew that long ago so when I was offered a ticket and a chance to not attend alone I jumped at the opportunity. Not so that I could gaze longingly, but rather so I could once and for all give myself the gift of a PC vacated throne. I want to know, to see that me now can do that - can look and objectively walk away or walk towards - more effective and say Merry Christmas and casually walk away.

This is how I see it and this is how I feel it will go down. If I have the nerve and or opportunity to walk haltingly towards PC, I will likely groan/mutter/crackle out a Merry Christmas and then stand there getting increasingly red while he stands perplexed at my embarrassed/stressed demeanor, asks the standard familial questions - which this year I get the added complexity of dancing around, before trying to desperately make my exit before my mouth goes completely dry and my palms start to drip. Horror of all horrors he will be a current reader of this blog and that will enter the conversation at which time, I will likely start bursting capillaries in my face from the flushing of my complexion and attempt to make a graceful yet hasty exit.

Fairy tales however dictate that the following will happen. I will have the nerve to walk with a sexy yet demure strut towards PC, I will strike up a conversation with composure and grace or make a polite ass of myself - the later actually is better for the sake of the story and make a hasty exit to the snow covered parking lot (a guarantee right now) in an attempt to flee said situation only to be followed by PC expressing his long held secret love.

I must confess I was almost gaging during the typing of the last situation - though I have to say in true perfectly me fashion I believe it would be the first situation with the last line of the last situation - crimson face, stomach turning, mumbling embarrassment coupled with redemption - if only.

But at the end of the day all I hope to accomplish is no fall, no stumbling and an empty throne - my Christmas gift to my relationship/emotional health and sanity - but it's all too much isn't it? Maybe I should have opted for a manicure gift certificate instead.

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Prince Charming

I have a Prince Charming, sort of. He's the pinnacle, the reigning prince of perfect, he's the one every man out there on a white horse or vintage 10 speed is competing with whether he knows it or not.

He's my Mennonite, talented musician, Rook playing, active, world traveled, adventurous, gentle, fun loving man. And he's not mine, nor does he even know me to be honest. I doubt Arielle really knew the Prince. She knew enough to somehow want him, to believe he was better then the Mermen of the Sea with their rippling chests and shiny scaled tails. So sure they were equal on the chests front, but were lungs and legs enough to sway her heart? I guess so. Apparently his talent with the Rook and drums is enough to give this girl's heart over.

I'm not sure when he took control of the spot, or maybe it has always been his, which would not surprise me, I knew him before I liked boys. Which would mean he took up residence before I knew of his mad organ playing skills or his bike ride across Canada. He functions like Carrie's Mr. Big, unattainable, unavailable and yet the attachment was unbreakable. I would love to dethrone this one, but I am unsure of how, of how to have him abdicate his throne for another, a real and non-mystical love for all time.

In the interim, I feel like Sleeping Beauty, paralyzed, in this limbo of waiting. However mine of course is more metaphorical, and is in some way of my own choosing, and is in my hands to control, sort of. There is still his tether to the floral platform of blissful bondage. My waiting is not like hers, my life is still going on, I'm aging - she did not apparently or she waited a really short time. I'm getting to experience emotions and life and all those twist the tether and chafe me, but here I am trying to start my own emotional and intellectual coup, an internal act of treason just so I can move on to another and start the process all over again.



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