Fairy Tales

In the past month, probably longer, I've put myself at risk by digging up emotions and memories I thought I had buried in order to feel them all over again. I've taken to hoping madly that I can live in my past again, forgetting that so much has changed and no one can ever return from where they grew. To couple this, I have also been desperately trying to learn how to let go of the good times to make room for better times. I get so worried that what I had before I will never again see the likeness of, and that scares me so much. If I can't deal with remembering, a step back from emotion, what if I don't ever find that life or that love or that friendship or that laughter or that adventure again? What if, when I let it all go and tell myself it's okay to embrace anew, life comes up short? There is no guarantee that life will get better, that tomorrow will bring me more happiness than yesterday. My mind is closed, I've convinced myself that all I have is yesterday.

This might have come because of the giant upheaval of life that will be this summer. I'm feeling a bit too overwhelmed, and my strategy for dealing with all of it is to forget that it is happening and live as usual. I have come to the point where that is no longer possible. My little world is changing as we speak, and I am terrified.

I don't plan. I don't prepare. Because that will be recognizing there is something to plan and prepare for. Lots of somethings.

And I don't know if I can do that.

I don't know if I'll be ready to leave people and memories and how things used to be and the people you used to be. If I'll be ready to deal with the people I have now and how the old has changed and how I have changed, and will change, forever and ever and ever and ever.

I hate missing what is out of my reach. Longing and wishing and planning for a fairy tale. There is a life to deal with, mine, and it isn't holding back because I don't want it.

I guess I just have to learn to deal with it.

I'll get myself in trouble one day. Ah well.

Okay. I don't know what's up with me. My stomach has decided to throw a tantrum. And it hurts. So much.

Anyway.

I'm trying to think of something that inspires me so I can share it with you.

I can't.

My music is just enjoyable, but hardly inspiring. I haven't read any poems lately. I finished 1984 (the book) yesterday and I kind of hated it. It was so damned depressing. Winston fails at everything. He gives up Julia. The evil people win. It sucked.

I also liked it.

Doublethink, I suppose.

My main interest at the moment is bar work and making cocktails. I effing love it. I don't effing love my boss. Good thing I don't have to see him that much. But mark my words--the next time he speaks to me like he did last Saturday he is gonna get it. Me or any of my coworkers. How men like him are allowed to exist is beyond me. Ah well. He pays my wage. His bar makes money. I have fun. We're all winners.

I'm also rather interested in Zach, but that's a given (:

Oh, and my sister had a run in with an awful boss the other week. I don't know how anyone thinks they have the right to get mad at her. Because they don't. Not her. Particularly not men in positions of authority who are mainly taking out their frustrations about things that have nothing to do with her or the work she is doing her best at.

This particular man.....there are a few choice words I'd like to whisper in his oh-so-privileged ear.

Some people need a solid punch in the kidney. Preferably with knuckle dusters.

Quite a lot of people, actually.

Hey. I like this song.

Love so good

My thoughts are travelling too fast for my fingers at the moment, and I can't write what I want to.

Why does this always happen?

Hold tight for my usual late-night roller coaster of angst, dashed dreams, and discord with the present.

Here it comes.

I get a thrill from telling you my secrets. So I'll tell you another one. I was engaged when I was 18. Some may call it more of an understanding than an engagement, but there were promises and a ring--an engagement in my book. I was giddy, but we didn't tell anybody. We were going to get married after his mission. And then I changed and thought it unfair to hold him to an eternal promise made to a different Danielle. Off came the ring.

Three weeks later I was dating someone else who pretended to love me, at moments so tenderly and raw that I didn't see the deception until he came clean.

And two weeks after his confession I was dating someone else, heart still stinging. I fell harder and deeper and faster in love than I had ever imagined possible. Three weeks later I moved to another continent without him. In the natural chaos that comes from such a drastic change, this love unraveled in a fit of insecurity and misunderstandings and frustration.

I was briefly in love with an older man who must have thought I was nothing more than infatuated. But I did love him. He won't ever know that. I won't ever know it for sure.

Now I have a love that is real, have for four months. It is paced. A slow mornings and fried bacon love. An afternoon coffee love. A long walks by the river love. Love existent together and apart, in our present and our future. It is not uncomfortable or suspicious or odd. I am finally in love the way normal people fall in love. Yes, I miss parts of my other pairings, but this is the first to feel solid. I love my man. That will be truer tomorrow. Truer next week. Truer in the coming months. I wouldn't go back to any of the others in place of him.

It feels so good.