So many of these are accurate. 

I envied the literary couples as I left Barnes & Noble.  There were at least three pair of them (and a man in a skirt running, but that’s a different blog).  Holding hands and having conversations I couldn’t hear.  I have always wanted to be one-half of a literary couple.  What does that feel like?  What conversations do they have?  Do they split up and go to different sections once inside the store, like a divide and conquer concept? They look so happy.  I mean, duh, they are obviously part of the world population that is getting laid and walking into a store that sells coffee and books.  Why the hell wouldn’t they smile?! My best friend Barry and I used to go to bookstores all the time together in high school and college. That’s the closest I’ve ever had to sharing the bookstore with someone.  This has always been a desire and yet unfulfilled.  I want to hold hands and and not be alone in the store with both coffee and books.  

I watched them and wondered about their relationship and how they came to be such happy, cute literary couples. And then, as I unlocked my car door, I smirked.  The irony of this world is that you have no idea who may be watching you and envying your life.  I stood apart from these other patrons in the parking lot.  Not simply because I was single, but they all looked as if they had not been to work today (or they don’t dress like I do for work) and here I was looking uber professional.  So it here was that the girl in a dress that was originally marked well over $100, a beautiful and originally exorbitantly priced blazer, cubic zirconia jewelry (no one knows that) (ok, now everyone knows that), a $6,000 watch, dress pumps, and a plastic bag containing the poetry of Charles Bukowski was eyeing these people in awe.

I don’t mean to sound like “hey look at me, I’m the only pretty girl in Gulfport”–not at all, we all know that’s false–but I mean if you’d look around at us and had to guess what was going through our minds, it probably wasn’t that.  In fact, seeing as how life works so oddly, it would not surprise me at all if one of the couples wasn’t discussing how pathetic my life must be to have to dress up everyday and wear a tub of makeup.  And now I’ve gone off in a whole tangent of a paragraph feeling the need to justify what I felt was ironic.  Kinda takes away from the irony doesn’t it?

Anywho, I’m leaving the desire to meet a guy who wants to go to the bookstore with me on the bucket list.  But for now, diving into my Bukowski.  He gets it.  Me and Bukowski in the bookstore….there’s a novella waiting to happen.

“Is this real?” he had asked her. She didn’t know. But the question kept her up that night long after he was gone. Was it real? Her reality had been cosmetic and she no longer dabbled in the deep end of the universe. Experience is a cruel and persistent instructor. Like the slap of a ruler across knuckles, it had in the harshest and swiftest of blows thrown her to the shallow waters. Given her ample reason to believe that she had no business believing in things that drove the poets, artists and musicians mad. 

Hours in the middle of the night turned over into a day and she stared at a mosquito and asked it, “Well, do you know?…was it real?” A mosquito flying around while the heater noisily skyrockets the utility bills! What nerve. While the survival skills of the mosquito impressed her, she couldn’t let it live. She watched it fall to the cold ground and sighed. 

She liked numbers. Numbers and figures are safe. Though many a man has died because of them, it was usually a bad bet or some sort of emotional charge that killed not the numbers themselves. They were rational. They made sense. But as she looked at the mosquito she couldn’t help but think, “are the numbers really real or do we just believe they are and accept that the math makes sense when the truth is we can call a 2 anything and as long we believe it is what we call it, it’s real to us.”

I spoke of you today. Did your ears burn? Does that work when you’re half the world away? Oh wait, you may be stateside again. I had not considered that until just now. I prefer you far, far away in a foreign and magical land. Or was the magic something inside me? No, I think it was partially the magic of the Italian countryside. After I know you have vacated the beautiful foreign land, I want to go back. I want to go the house I took pictures of and write about the scars inside me. And how I managed to gather a few on the outside in trying to heal those within. 

I said the words today to someone.  I told him how you managed to break my heart not once but twice in a single lifetime. My throat closed up. The words were hard to form and even harder to get out of my mouth. But you see, this man said he deals strictly in truths. And you are the beginning and the end of my truth. No one can know me without knowing that part of the story. And he listened to the few sentences I could form about you. He listened with kind, knowing eyes. Had we not been in public I may have used his sweater to wipe the tears away, but that’s not much like me. 

It felt good to be honest and perhaps in a small way, just maybe, possibly by looking into his kind, knowing eyes and releasing the truth to him, it freed me from you just a bit. I wanted to run, but I didn’t. I stayed and I finally said –in a vague way though–how it killed a part of me. It isn’t that I don’t believe in love. Oh quite the contrary. I know it’s real. I have the scars to prove it, inside and out. I told this man about the scars on my hands. He shares a love of Bukowski. You wouldn’t like Bukowski. 

Or would you? That’s the problem with the truth, I fell for your lies and so it troubles me not knowing what was real and what exactly was false. What’s truth? How much was honest and how much was just a game?  

It’s all grey matter now. Whatever I thought was black and white got all mixed up. A giant, dusty pile of greyness. When everything collapsed, a cloud of dust filled parts of my soul and, as the man with kind eyes and sexy shoes noted, women are notorious for being messy. I just keep it in the corner of my soul and don’t look there anymore. I haven’t looked in a couple of years now. It’s not safe over there. It hurts to get near it.

And now I wonder, does pain beget pain? It’s quite impressive how I have subsequently managed to pick out a couple of the absolute worst people on the planet to trust. Miserable failures. It’s like your ghost is here helping me create more pain. Maybe it’s the dusty, grey debris field clouding everything. I tiptoe around it, trying not to stir anything, afraid what might happen if I look at it. 

The attractive man with those kind eyes that pulled me in like magnets said he believes it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. 

Maybe one day I will go to the house in Italy and write. Maybe there I can pick through the collapsed parts and see if anything is salvageable. 

  
 Walking down an Italian road, we came across this vacant property and I dreamt of renting it and writing a novel there.   
    
 

Sitting on the patio with a cup of decaf and listening to leaves rustle as Sadie checks the perimeter of the yard. The moon is a perfect crescent that looks like something should be hung from it. For some unknown reason the term “Prince Charming” came to mind. As I sip my coffee, it occurs to me that Prince Charming really isn’t my kind of guy. 

I’m not attracted to the perfectly polished type with proper poses and charm. I prefer much more grit in my man. I want someone who has been through some messy times and came out ahead. I like wit, humor, and of course some good looks (who doesn’t?) but I prefer above all a man with a story. I can’t tolerate a complainer. The narcissist phase has ended (once was quite enough, thank you). 

Not that any of this really matters. It’s not like I’m on The Coast Bachlorette or anything. My calendar is full, but none of it with dates.  I just find it odd how the older my taste changes. Certainly for the better next time. 

My 37th birthday is in six weeks. I’m not taking it well. AT ALL. Apparently the heavens agree because it’s been nothing but grey and rainy since I realized that yesterday. And since I counted it up, the dooming thought of turning 37 is eating me up. I painted my toe nails about half an hour ago. I looked down just now and realized this color is not 37 years old appropriate. I’m not sure this bright purple is 36 years old appropriate! But I’m too lazy to change it now. 

This aging thing isn’t depressing because of nail color; that’s simply a reminder of bigger issues. One day I was 30 and had all the time in the world to find someone and start a family. Now? Well, it’s kinda creeping up on me fast. And I’m smart enough not to chase after any old person just to do it before it’s too late. But that leads to the issue of, “might be time to accept it isn’t happening.” And that is what can be depressing if I let it. I’ve always been stubborn and had visions of the way things should be and slow to let that go. I can do it…it’s just gonna take a minute so please bear with me over the next six weeks. 

One helpful thing is asking myself what would I do differently? Any step off the course I have taken would not have given me the fabulous life I have now. So would I change anything? Maybe. Maybe not. I would tell a younger me to not waste time with people who don’t deserve me. That’s the biggest one. I’d tell the younger me to be alone than with people who suck the life and the good out of me. I’d have learned sooner the difference between alone, lonely, and identifying people who make me feel lonely in their presence. There were many times I put people I loved and their needs far ahead of mine. I’d do less of that if I could turn back time. 

I’d spend less time in bad places, saved a crap ton more money when I could have, and spent more money on experiences and not on useless things. I would have gone out into the world quicker. Found kickboxing sooner!! Quit smoking. Fearlessly be me before now.

Oh the “what ifs” in life will break you down if you let it. So I just won’t let it. I can either be sad things are not the way I thought it would look at 37 or celebrate a life full of lessons. A lot of people didn’t make it this far with me; they too had lots of stuff still left to do and no clue they didn’t have enough time. I might not make it six weeks. Would I rather enjoy the days or mourn what’s already passed? I think I know the answer to that! 

You know, I can only count one person on the planet I can’t forgive. I realized that this morning after spewing out an angry text. Even I didn’t know I could be that mean. But hey, it’s true.  It’s my truth anyway.  I know certain people–like this one–show everyone a different side and then have so many little images built up that depending on who they are around depends on what guy you see. And if he’d just leave me alone, it would probably make forgiveness come sooner. But more likely, the universe is trying to teach me something. 

Am I happy after I spit fire and feel nothing but ice in my veins? No. 😕 The guilt of being hateful eats me up …and swiftly. You know what else eats me up? Someone with no respect for me, for boundaries and who will gamble in one night the entire sum of money he owes me. If it weren’t for that, I’d block him entirely. Pathetic, but I guess he keeps that hanging over my head as his way of making contact with me. And I know the person behind all the masks. I know he’s a bad person who has nothing nice to say about anyone. And I stoop to his level every time we come in contact. It’s still toxic months after it’s over. And, if I could afford it, I would find a way to pay the loan without his money and then I could block him. 

But like I said, maybe this isn’t about him as much as it is about me. Of all the things I could name and this is the one person I can’t forgive in 36 years. I keep thing of the prayer of Saint Francis. I think my answer is there. It’s the how can I do it that trips me up. How can I find away to thank him for treating me so bad and continuing to do so? What can I do inside me to just let that shit go? 

For now, I shall repeat this until I figure it out. 

Yesterday I was having very deep thoughts as I rode the escalator up and down at work. Something occurred to me–no idea now what sparked it–but as I watched the bodies around me it hit me that there are some things we should chase after and some we should not. As the meme correctly states, affection, love and attention are in the “never chase” column. That hit me hard yesterday. I want to be liked and respected in my new career. And then it hit me: if I chase after my dreams and my desires the right kind of attention will come my way. 

Forget asking any more guys out. Naw. Things ain’t nobody got time for–chasing down a dude. Hey, I’m here. I’m the epitome of single. You wanna go out? Ask. Funny thing is I admitted to one person on the planet that I do have a mild crush. You know, that overly interested in what he’s doing and when I run into him find it hard to speak thing. This confidant was all, “Oh my gosh he is so freaking cute and super sweet you guys would be so…” I’m like whoa there sista, don’t get my hopes up! But we did talk about how if anyone could understand the fact that I enjoy my job and its my passion, it would be someone like him. 

I’m chasing my dreams, folks. It’s not going to be easy–if even possible–for someone to understand that. And I don’t blame him. It would take serious maturity and confidence to spend little time together and have patience with a demanding schedule. My conclusion is that I am better off not chasing down anyone right now. Besides, as I pointed out to the confidant, we work together. I pointed out reasons this is a bad idea to even ponder and she countered with why that may be an excellent thing and how her relationship lasted a decade under similar constructs. No, I’m happy watching from afar. He makes me smile and he’s busy. Maybe he knows my name–maybe NOT!–but either way, not chasing that down. 

I know many love the morning videos, but they are glimpses and not the whole picture. For one thing, my dry wit doesn’t come across well. I’m not entirely sure you all are laughing at the same things I am when I re-watch them. My sense of humor is skewed and I like to make fun of myself more than anyone. (Note that I have mad respect for Ghetto Ninja)  Writing is my thing. It’s what I do. Twice this week I have been reminded of journalistic milestones that never made the resume. If I focus on what makes me happy and being patient with myself as I learn a new industry and culture, everything will happen like it should. I firmly believe if we chase what’s in our hearts, that life will put even more than we expected before us. 

Chase dreams. Chase friends when they try to board the crazy train. Chase fun. Chase hope. Chase the things that make you smile and don’t have too much attachment to them. Enjoy the moment and the one after that and the one after that and the one after that….. Chase coffee so you can chase a new idea 😊 

Do you ever wonder what the history books are going to say about our lives long after we are gone? That question came about after I was laying here awake [shocking!] and began thinking of the history of the resort where I work. It started its life as a super-exclusive, Southern getaway for the rich and/or famous to blow their money. When it was conceptualized in the cyber boom, that was fantastic and conceivable. But as all Roaring 20’s must, 2008 brought an end to the pornographic anyone-&-everyone-is-a-celebrity and America’s eagerness to give their money to such lost causes. 

And what should have been a quick reaction to immediately save as many jobs as possible and appeal to less exclusive clientele and perhaps just those who can keep the lights on, simply wasn’t. The resort was part of new ownership when the financial drought hit. Personally speaking, my house was worth less than half in December 2008 what it has been that summer when I bought it. I know, once again an illustration of my magical ability to pick the worst case scenario before it even appears. The resort was now part of the leading conglomerate and it was pretty much, “Vegas will tell you what to do and until then don’t do anything unless we tell you.” And then the line goes silent because Vegas is dealing with Vegas and the Southern beauty housing 4,000 of the 76,000 employees was not priority. They had to pull the entire family out of poverty–news copters were hovering at the headquarters to film the moment the company had to fold (It didn’t.)–so the kid away at boarding school didn’t really matter.  

And while that’s a great story about the company and industry (and by all means I feel Leo DiCaprio should get the lead in the film), it’s not the behind the scenes struggle of my resort or this place I call home. I wish someone had stepped in with big enough balls to do what we wanted down here without Mommy and Daddy’s permission. A leader should have been born in that year. But is the Gulf Coast so laid back and easy going that it’s contagious? Even if you aren’t from here, stepping up and breaking free of the crowd–you can do that without drawing attention to yourself you know!–is like a concept no one gets. Hell, maybe that’s why I stick around! 

Before I get off track and say things to get me fired, let me back off and make this less business and more about me because that’s really how this crazy thought train got started. Who is going to remember the tiny, normal details and attitudes about our day and age long after it is gone? Are you going to document that by the end of 2015 you could walk anywhere in America and in a sea of people they were all looking down at their phones? 

My 37th birthday is eight weeks away. I won’t be mid-30’s; I’ll undeniably be upper-30’s. What happened to my people? We came up during a time cordless phones were about as connected as you were and when you went out for the night, the only people who knew where you were and what you did were with you. If you wanted all 20 of your pals to know you met a hot guy or drank too much, they had to be there to find out. Nowadays, 600+ people have that info immediately with one selfie. Is history going to fully tell the story of our disconnect? Suicide rates? Bullying? Obesity? Stress addiction? Cancer? 

I guess that’s up to the writers like me. And the task seems so daunting when added to getting through a day in this mess, we table that for later.