It’s just a disconnect.

I’m disconnected from what I used to write about - the people, the situations, the decisions.

I’m also physically disconnected.  While I may turn on the computer at home for a little Solitaire downtime, if I open a browser I inevitably end up at my work email, or fixing a problem with the online store, or double-checking a number from an online spreadsheet.

I’ve used my powers of the internets to create good for the sanctuary and now I am all tapped out.

I don’t want to be this way.  I took a quick trip up to Chicago to see the family and the urge to write was so great I bought a new journal there even though I had a perfectly new untouched journal waiting for me in Florida.  I filled up that little journal with eight pages in three days.  I told myself I’d put it at my bedside and write a little something - anything - every night to get back in the swing of things.

Nada.

I went to Chicago because my father into the hospital again - his third stay and his second surgery.  It was a bit frustrating because I didn’t get to see a doctor while I was there and during my trip it looked like he might be sent home only to have things change last minute.  (He has since been released with a contraption stuck in his side and then also had that contraption removed.  Things look better but we are not out of the woods yet.)

I came up on a Friday and worked a farmer’s market with my mother on Saturday.  It scares me how easy the set-up/take down is for me and how difficult it is for them.  They are too old to continue that work without help much longer.  Every time I visit and help with the lavender farm I think about Tom and I joining them.  There is more than enough land for us to build a house there.  And there is more than enough opportunities to expand (whether on the farm itself or the surrounding area) to keep us happy and busy.  This isn’t just pity for my parents or guilt or anything like that - I don’t think those emotions have ever come into play in our relationship.  I just always have a great time when I’m there and know that in general that type of lifestyle (which is not too different from our current situation) appeals.

But then I also spent most of the trip telling everyone how happy I am.  I finally found a place I belong.  Of course I always felt I belonged as a volunteer, but now the final piece of the puzzle fits - I work at a non-profit where my liberal tendencies are accepted if not embraced, and I happen to be quite good at many aspects of the non-profit office management.  Granted my hours are shit and being quite good at stuff tends to drive you a little insane when you’re called upon to perform miracles at the drop of a hat.  But I still love it.  I wake up in the morning and want to be here.  I don’t think many people can say that about their job.

When we were done with the farmer’s market, my mother drove off to the farm and I stayed at the townhome in Chicago.  I did feel a bit weird not opting to go with her, but it was how she had envisioned the weekend going and I loved her for it.  I got a little time to just unwind.  George and Francesca and I went out to dinner for Ethiopian food that night, and then I went to the zoo on Sunday.

I haven’t been to the Lincoln Park zoo in a long time.  Much of it hasn’t changed from what I remember.  A few people made rumbles about coming with me (including George and Francesca) but I was happy to be alone.  I don’t think I’m very much fun at an animal attraction.  It’s like taking a flight with a pilot as a passenger, or eating a burger with someone who works at a slaughter house.

I had two slight ulterior motives for going to the zoo.  One was that it was near a convenient meeting place for my dinner companion.  Another was that I knew two keepers there, although I had lost their phone number in my harried packing for the trip.  I managed to find one in the farm area and it was quite delightful to catch up.  They are a married couple, so when the shift ended I walked with her to their car and got to see him as well.

I wished them well and then walked a mile or so to dinner.  This was one of my favorite parts of the trip - just walking the north side (Clark Street to be exact), wearing my iPod and remembering the feel of a city.  You don’t walk places in Florida - your movement is confined and air conditioned and dependent upon lights, other travelers, and construction work.  It’s all about how little hassle you can manage to get there as soon as possible.  I miss putting one foot in front of the other and keeping myself company until however long it takes to get there.

I got there before he did, so I sat down and pulled out the journal for a few quick sentences.  Then CB walked in and we did the awkward half-stand/half-sit hug.

The Certain Boy (CB) and I had not spoken in maybe a year and a half…yeesh.  I just did a bit of email-sleuthing.  It appears perhaps 3 and a half years?  Wow.  At any rate, we had a falling out that was more about the fact that we weren’t in a place to be friends at the moment.  We had had a failed relationship (which in some ways started me blogging), then he sort of tugged on the romantic connection months later when I was just starting a new relationship, then I sort of tugged back months after that when my relationship ended and he was starting one himself.  My life spiraled a bit in the downwards direction and I was looking for things to hold on to.  I think he was looking to not be one of those things in fear of our past becoming present.

So we didn’t talk.  For three years or so.  I always felt like it wasn’t right but I also didn’t feel like I was ready to bridge any gaps.  I was busy looking forward and I just couldn’t afford to look back.

I hate to say that it took a solid relationship - a marriage even - to make me feel like it was safe to start mending fences.  But it’s true.  Before I always thought that contacting someone after you’re coupled was sort of throwing it in someone’s face.  Now I am more of the mindset that some situations call for that much black-and-white, right-and-wrong, sin-and-no-sin distinctions.

Of course, the last time I reached out to him, I was also married.  Yet another reason why I hate the social conventions and implications of a ring and a piece of paper.  Suffice to say, this time it was different.

At Christmas, I sent two cards out.  One was to my ex-husband and his new wife.  One was to CB.  In both I simply mentioned I missed them and hoped that they were well.

I heard back from CB via email.  We quickly put the past behind us by simply catching each other up to the present.  After a few back and forths, there wasn’t much else to say.  We went back to our respective corners, silent but comfortable.

So when I arranged for the trip to Chicago, I contacted the few people I still knew in the area including him.

It was good to see him.  Nothing and everything has changed - including the bond we have.  We had Indian at my request and his delight.  He had just gotten back from Glacier park and had a good time.  He had been looking for a career path and it sounds like he found one that I think suits him well.

I’d forgotten how small-minded he can make me feel at times.  Perhaps the only person in the world that can make me feel conservative and unaware.  It’s something that I relished at times - I saw it as a stretching and growing experience.  But in the end, I think it just makes me feel tired.

I was more quiet than I usually am.  I felt bad, as if I was putting pregnant pauses in our conversation.  As if we had some big elephant sitting in the corner I was waiting for him to acknowledge.

I was just a little overwhelmed from being outside around people all day, tired from my work schedule and how the trip fit into it, and enjoying a slower pace.  While I wondered and worried that the silence was awkward for him, it wasn’t for me.  And I didn’t feel compelled to change it.

He walked me back to the car, then I drove him to the El.  (Then I promptly got lost getting back on Lake Shore Drive.  But then I promptly re-traced my steps and got unlost.  But this story isn’t about my usual clutziness, is it?)

I was tempted when I got back to Florida to shoot him a little email - good to see you, glad you’re on a good path.  But what the point have been?  To get a little email back?  I am glad we are back to being friends, but how does that work exactly when one of you is married and in Florida while the other is single and in Chicago?

The truth is, I would have sent a little email to keep me connected.  To a past or a future or what I’m not sure.  So I guess that’s why I didn’t send it.  I am enjoying my present immensely.  But the trip, my family, CB, the keeper friends, and even the city itself remind me there still a whole future to figure out.

Five minutes after Tom has told me a rather raunchy story from his past…

“I’m so happy.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t think most husbands can tell their wives stories like that.”

“Uh, like what?”

(Fingers smeared under nose such as end of said story) “That story.”

“Oh.  Well, whatever.”

“I’m so lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Yup.”

“That you have a crass slut as a wife?”

“Yup.”

“Ok then.”

What level of hell do you get sent to if you plan to seduce your husband with a mix tape given to you by an ex?

I should have ended it when he called his mother to pick him up after a car accident.  At the time I was just relieved I didn’t have to actually do anything but coo sympathetically on the phone.  And a part of me was a bit excited that this meant his mother would find out about us (the accident location left no room for doubt that he was returning from an overnight rendezvous).  It wasn’t that I really wanted his family to know; I just knew that they usually didn’t know about his romantic life and I like pushing the envelope period in relationships.  I wasn’t comfortable in a relationship unless it was uncomfortable.  But seriously?  His mom?  That’s who he called? 

I should have ended things in any other way than him finding out via this blog.  I was looking at the step forward, with another man, and had my blinders on.  I never really considered he’d care that we were over – there were other women in his life, other dates, other opportunities.  He didn’t love me, and from those words on I pretty much decided he wouldn’t give a damn what happened between us.  But of course that’s crap.  I always gushed, and still do, over how well he treated me.  I felt cherished despite the other dates, other women.  He was exactly what I needed when I needed it.  I wish I had let him know in a kinder, gentler, more cherished way, that I no longer needed him.

Why didn’t we leave things the way they were?  Why has goodbye been shredded from our lips again and again?  Never getting it right, of course.  Fire and fury and entitlement fuel us towards each other over and over.  I miss my friend very much.  I knew after the last that we couldn’t try to repair anything until we were both in more stable romantic situations.  Here I am, so fucking happily married that I cannot believe it.  Where are you?  Can we say hello again, even if it’s just to get the goodbye right for once?

Apparently July is the month I tease about stories and never actually post them.  Last year it was Costa Rica.  (I’d link to the story, but, you know, I never wrote it.)  This year, it is the wedding.
 
So…the wedding that wasn’t.  There were no pictures.  No people.  I wore a blue sundress I bought at Target three years prior and he put on a clean polo when he got home from work.  We went down to the court house and after a brief crisis where I did not have my photo ID (they accepted my signature match on a Homestead Exemption Tax document that Tom had slipped into my glove compartment a few weeks prior, on the day we decided to get our butts in gear and we bought my rings actually…), we were hitched.  We used a silver ring of mine during the ceremony, and found him his ring after the fact at an antique store 3 minutes before they closed.

 
Marriage hasn’t changed us one bit, which is how we wanted it.  Of course, I have insurance now.   Both families are very happy for us. 
 
That is the exact copy I’ve sent in several emails this week, finally getting back to friends who responded to the e-card that was our “official” announcement.  (OK, the real copy had a smiley face inserted somewhere.  But I do not believe my blog and smiley faces should mix.)
 
When we played around with the idea of that Friday, neither of us had realized it was the 13^th.  Once I figured it out, I really wanted to make it happen.  So of course, we had no AC, Tom was super late from work, and I left my picture ID in my workbag.
 
Yet, here we are!  Whee!
 
I will admit that right after we got my rings, I toyed around with some of the more traditional wedding ideas.  Not an actual wedding mind you.  But…a new dress?  A small bouquet?  A little party?  Some wine at least?
 
In the end, I’m glad I nixed all of that.  We got to focus on the important things – like getting ST Chinese food for dinner.
 
And it probably doesn’t need saying here, but when I say nothing’s changed?  I mean my name as well.  I cannot describe how awesome it is for me to not go through that bullshit again.  ST has already been called “Mr. In Progress” by a telemarketer.  HA!
 
I haven’t written because life has been busy and wonderful and difficult.  Much of this week’s stress revolved around getting shit done before we leave town tomorrow.  We’ll be at the farm, then the cabin, then round off the vacation with a day of Chicago site-seeing.
 
I’ll have the laptop with me, and now that I can check my work email from wherever I will probably make a point to grab some Internet here and there.  I have definitely felt some tension that I think writing would help, so perhaps I’ll get back on the ball of regular posts. 
 
If not, see you in September!

First, someone placed a voodoo curse on my internet connection.  Then, I had a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-myself crisis.

As one does on July 4th.  Or when they agree to forever link their life with another.

OK.  The scoop on the wedding:  There won’t be one!  TG, I was so looking forward to seeing you in a cape.  And Vegas will definitely happen sometime, so please keep practicing your lip curl.  But, we’re broke.  And both of us want a marriage - not the party that is so ingrained along with it.

(Not that I think there is anything wrong with fancy-schamcy weddings.   For you.  Please, have one and invite me!  Be sure it includes an open bar so ST will dance.)

In fact, you guys, sanctuary people because they are like family and would kill me if I kept it a secret, and my grandmother because she was having a really rough night and I was wracking my brain with gossip to occupy her, are the only ones that know about the ring.

We got the marriage license today.  If we get out of work early enough on Friday, we might pop down to the court then.

Truly, this is a marriage built on love, not romance.  Love and booze.  Love, booze, and the shared enjoyment of dirt and dirt-like substances.  Oh yeah, and animals.  I can’t believe how many freakin’ animals.  We might have to have kids just so the bipeds have a fair chance.

(No, we’re not having kids.  NO KIDS.)

So…if Friday happens, I’ll let you know.  Otherwise, it will be the next day we both have off.  His mom visits in two weeks, we’re visiting my family in a month.  It would be nice to have it done with so people won’t get any sort of party-planning-pants.

As soon as we made this all official, I had quite a meltdown about my life status.

I used school as an impetus to leave my old career.  And I have enjoyed it, but I’ve pretty much decided I would rather look for job in the field than apply to grad school.  At least see what’s out there.

But.  The whole no-condo-sale has put a big wrench things.  (Why is that a bad thing?  Wrenches are tools, isn’t that good?)

Financially, I haven’t been as stable as I planned.  Which now means ST is less financially stable than he planned.

It also has tied me to this area, which puts a big crimp in job searching.

To top everything off, I was supposed to take a class starting last week that I decided to drop.  I scanned the book, attended the first lecture, and knew in my heart of hearts it wasn’t related enough to field work to be worth the money.

This started me really doubting if staying in school was the right thing either.  Is aimlessly taking a class here and there really going to help things?

Well, I’ve decided for now the answer is yes.  A selective class here or there will help prepare me.  But there is no reason to take classes for the sake of a tuition bill and an A.  I’ll stick with the true ecology stuff, work more hours, and focus on the sanctuary.  I’ll also continue with the research - the hands-on stuff is probably my best resume stuffer.

Once the condo sells, the plan will be that I go straight into job-hunting mode.  If that doesn’t pan out, it’s back to being a poor graduate student.

And what does ST think of all this?  He thinks it’s great.  But of course, you know he was insane when he wanted to marry me.

I am very lucky in that ST met me right before the big changes in my life took place.  Our second date occurred the day I returned to the sanctuary.  Within two months, I was jobless and had two International plane tickets in my hand.

He has been prepared for this roller coaster since the beginning.  And he makes me feel I was too.

It’s official.  There’s a ring on my left hand and marriage license paper work in my day planner.

It was very anti-climatic, as we’ve known it was inevitable - just something we needed to get around to doing.  On Monday, he came back from a fishing trip in time to accompany me on some chores and on a whim I looked up antique jewelry and jotted down a store that was on the way home.

(ST told me long ago that I really had to pick the ring out.  I would be the one wearing it, so I should really have the say in what it looked like.  While I get that that might bug some women, I wasn’t upset over the lack of surprise.  I’m very picky with jewelry, left-handed, and do lots of rough work in my day-to-day.  I needed to feel that the ring would hold up to the rigors of my life, and something that didn’t make me barf.)

(And a few weeks ago, I decided I really didn’t want a new ring.  They are, in my opinion, more expensive and with less personality.  Also, ever the recycler, there seems something green and less blood-on-my-hands about older diamonds.)

Anyway, the first store did not pan out but they suggested a few other places to check out.  ST was rather sore from fishing (deep sea), but wanted to soldier on since we’d gotten that far.  The second store and several beautiful pieces, but nothing that fit my lifestyle.

The last store, which it’s possible we walked past on our very first date, was more of a true jewelry store than antique.  But when I mentioned our criteria (not gold-gold and low settings), an estate piece was produced that seemed perfect.  Except the large middle stone had been removed so it was difficult to picture.  After a few fittings of gems (including a blue topaz), we chose a diamond and waited for it to be set.

He gave it to me in the kitchen when we got home.  Kitchens seem to be where I get proposed to.

On a side note, the aforementioned fishing trip meant that I had had the weekend to myself.  I had pleaded off ill from the sanctuary halfway through Saturday, but came home to do a mad cleaning as the realtor had called for a 5pm showing.

That wasn’t great fun, but it let me appreciate the condo again.  And left me with an immaculate home to veg out in for the rest of the weekend.

I enjoyed my time alone - afterall, I purchased this place for ME.  I’ve always felt comfortable, safe and happy here by myself.  And alone meant getting things done when I wanted, where I wanted.  It meant staying up until 11pm (!!).

It meant sleeping alone.  That second night, I tossed and turned.

I may be able to live with out him.  I may even be able to enjoy it.  But I certainly enjoy it a hell of a lot more when he’s here.  For other people, that may not be the greatest criteria for a lifelong relationship.  But for a loner like myself, someone who has never spent extended time with any person and not begged for a time out, it says a lot.

Maybe the pock-mark wasn’t on his left sideburn.  Maybe it was on his nose.

But I’m almost positive it was from measles.  Right?  Measles?

How is it that things I obsessed over are now no more valid than fiction?

I once kept a draft post in my email account for over a year.  It was to a boy, of course.  I believe one I wanted more from and wasn’t getting it.  I remember feeling so scared and free when I finally deleted it.  But now I could not tell you a single word it contained.  Or even who it was for with 100% certainty.

This weekend, I was contacted by the past.  My very first real boyfriend from when I was in the 7th grade.

It was through a site set up for people to connect like that, although I’ve never had anyone do that.

He’s suggested we catch up.  In offering direct email communication, he used the word “addy”.

I don’t remember him that way.  I don’t remember him in words at all.  I remember smells and touch.  I remember light brown eyes.  A jean jacket that I would rest my head on.  His digital calculator watch that I wore that summer.

I used to be the kind of person who hung on to everyone and everything in my life.  In that, I am tempted to catch up.

But I’m also scared.  Not about the present, but about how direct contact would abscure the past.  How much of what I remember is completely wrong?  How many memories will get re-written?

ST and I were on the Busch Gardens tram, heading into the park.  I looked to my right, and there he was.  NB.  It had to be.  That gelled hair.  The pock-mark under his left side-burn.

So I smiled, at first to myself as he was with a beautiful and skinny blond.  Then I smiled at him after poking him in the shoulder.

He looked at me as if I was a stranger.

I took the sun glasses off.  “NB?”

“No.  Sorry.”

“Oops!”

On reflection, the hair was too blond.  And he did not walk with the right stance when I saw him leave the tram.  But that pock-mark sure had me going.

ST slung an arm around my back, “Sorry dear.  But you can’t have dated them all!”

I was perusing a myspace account of an old fling. I don’t know why. He was also a long-time friend, but the aftermath of the fling probably makes that verb-tense just. I’d just seen two other very close long-time mutual friends. Maybe that’s what put me in the mind to check in on him.

His profile says he’s single. And in his description (or one of those random thingies you put on myspace), he said he was getting over a crappy relationship. I’m either happy or ashamed that I have no idea if this relationship was the one I knew him last to be in, or if there have been others between. As a friend, definitely ashamed. As someone glad to not have more twists and turns in her life than she has road maps, I suppose it’s a little nice to know I’ve managed to let this one slip off the radar.

But, that’s not at all my point. Which of course you knew that if you knew me and understand exactly how many paragraphs I require in order to actually say anything.

A crappy relationship. It struck me because with him in particular, well, he’s the type of guy who is always getting over a crappy relationship. Except for the time when he’s in the relationship with someone who could be “the one”. It seems that once they’re over, all his relationships were crappy. Myself included, I’m well aware. Of course there were things to make it crappy. After all, we’re not still together anymore. He’s not still with this new ex-dame. If there were no downhill, there’d be no crap. But it puzzles me. Am I the only one who doesn’t hold grudges against exes? Am I alone in the thought that hey, we weren’t made for each other but that doesn’t make you a monster?

Yes. Some relationships were definite crap. Got birthday scars and memories of rocking on the kitchen floor while the phone was ringing to prove it to myself. But for the most part, I believe it’s just two cool people coming together who turned out to be not-quite right for each other. I mean, if I were to slander all my exes and call them scum, what does that say about my taste? I heart scum?

Why do so many people love to hate the ones they once loved?