Things with Bruce dissolved akin to a lump of pure sodium in water, and I didn’t see him again after January 13th, which was also the first Friday the 13th of the year. He brought me to a party where I later found him making out with another girl in an empty room. Eh. That’s life. He wasn’t the one anyway, and this train wreck was running on chemistry alone – nothing substantial.

I met a guy named Chad – also a blonde metal headed guy with a quirk. Will I never learn? That ended before it even began, when he decided I wasn’t inspiring enough to ground him (said more politely, but this was the subtext). And with a baby mama, probably for the better.

Met another guy, J (a different J than previous Js) Quieter yes, but more substantial. More human. Things kicked off at the end of February and took off quickly. Neither of us were overly concerned about anyone else’s judgement of proper timing of when to do what in a relationship, so I haven’t put much thought into it. J is definitely not the type of guy I’ve been known to go after of late, but definitely a good match. He’s soft spoken, nerdy but socially acceptable, whip smart and not bad on the eyes either. He’s got a good heart and we’re definitely similar in personality and the way we view ourselves and other people. It’s good. In a lineup with his predecessors, it’s a bit like comparing a short-sprint runner to cross-country runners. We’ll be dating three months on May 14th.

I moved in with two girlfriends in early March, and literally before I’d even finished getting my belongings in the door, one roommate aired a complaint: with your new beau, you aren’t spending enough time with, or properly committing enough time to your girlfriends. I promised to dedicate equal time between girlfriends and boyfriends, and thought that was the end of it. WRONG. When it became apparent that J was going to stick around and would be occupying my allotted portion of our house as well as the common areas when he was over visiting me, she began to air other complaints: she wasn’t comfortable with J around the house, she didn’t like him, she thought he was creepy, he’s here too often/and so on/and so on/scooby dooby dooby. I tried to listen to her complaints, but her idea of “communicating” is to rant and rant around in circles, never quite coming to the point until one is eventually forced to give up and leave in exasperation. Which naturally makes her angry and makes her feel like she’s not being heard. At this point, she feels “discounted”, like I haven’t fully listened to her litany of complaints. At this point, I feel I have, and am not going to bend over backwards to meet her endless demands.

She decided the appropriate course of action was to treat me with hostility and a general condescending and demeaning attitude while I was home. It’s gotten so bad I literally haven’t spent the night in my own bed in over a month.

This was once my best friend, someone I’ve relied on and who has relied on me numerous times for support through various life dramas. But, what could have been ended by a rational adult conversation was made infinitely and irreparably worse by her narcissistic, egocentric behavior and complete inability to see from anyone else’s viewpoint but her own. I say irreparably because she even went to posting on Facebook about me, and muttered, “Dumbass!” at me when my back was turned at one point. This is not something I would ever do to someone I loved and considered a friend. Nor could I ever turn on a friend as quickly as she did. You don’t want people like that in your life. So I am moving out of my house and away from this poisonous atmosphere STAT. I’ve been feeling physically sick lately from the stress of it all. This girl’s behavior has been bordering on psychopathic.

On the job front, the summer drop in the hospital census has cut a disastrous chunk in my paycheck, so outings have been nixed somewhat. I’m hearing rumblings that things will pick up again in June. In the meantime, I’m watching the bank accounts nervously, hoping the savings account is going to survive the summer. On a brighter note, I got a “Daisy Award” at work from a patient nominating me. Which means I’ve got a little Daisy pin on my badge that says, “I rock most hard!”

Well, not literally. But it did renew my enthusiasm for my job for a bit there!

Life lessons. Learned through explosions and humorous special effects.

-j

Dad taught me, through one of the most dramatic examples I’ve ever seen, to value those I love and love them as hard as I can… because in an instant, without warning… they could be gone. And there are no second chances, no going back in time to tell them how much you love them, apologize for past grievances. So do it NOW.

Jeff taught me, at the end of it all, to stop settling for okay, for the mediocre, for people who aren’t really THAT into you. He taught me, through no intention of his own, to start valuing myself more.

Bruce. What did Bruce teach me? Bruce taught me that it pays to go after what you want, to the bulldog go the spoils. But the winnings were like a coke high: brilliant and beautiful initially until the high wears off… then you realize the beauty and bright colors were artificial. Fake. Full of manic professions of happiness. Then, when you wake up in the morning, you’re left feeling even worse than before, with a hangover that makes all the good times from a few moments ago seem nearly pointless. You wish you could erase the whole thing. And the headache.

But Bruce ALSO taught me something else. I haven’t quite processed it yet. It’s something more abstract than that. I found a new side of my personality with him. A more outgoing, more open minded side that didn’t feel guilty about partaking in excess, living life by the second and just… enjoying. Bruce is one of those bright personalities that blaze up in a spectacular display for a moment and burn out just as much so. And you’re left with quite an impression.

Russell and I got together recently and I learned something from that too. Russell is steadfast and stable. He’s reasonable and has the uncanny knack of pinning down my various neurosis. Whereas I can usually tell WHAT I’m feeling, he’s always had the ability to see WHY. He’s also nonjudgemental, and I realized that there’s something very comforting in that.

Yvie has taught me grace. She’s resilient and smarter than people give her credit for. Through her own trials and various life crises, she’s taught me some wisdom here and there. We’ve each leaned on the other more than once through our respective heartbreaks and miseries, and it’s good to have a friend like that around when you need them.

The last few months have been so riddled with angst, but in the last week or so, I’ve finally found a nice quiet patch. I don’t mind that Bruce has pretty much replaced me with a redheaded sub and has all but stopped communicating with me. There’s very little I can do about that, and I realize now that fickle people don’t have much thought for you. They’ll be back if the mood strikes. If not, probably for the best.

Thankfully, the rest of the clan is much more loyal, and I’m glad to have them around. With Dad’s passing I’ve found I depend on them much more for support. You can’t buy that with any amount of money and I would gladly take a bullet for any of them.

More pointless blathering, maybe. Off to bed.

-j

In this corner, in the pink stiletto platforms, is Miss party girl… facing off against wallflower hippie child in the other corner, which could be an issue as she is barefoot…

This weekend, I was on the former continent, dressing up, staying out late, sleeping in until noon, imbibing and ruining my lung tissues. Then as inevitably always, I start swinging the other direction when sleep deprivation (or rather, lack of quality) sleep starts causing the blahs.

I am both of these things, but how to play nicely with each other?

It’s times like these that I’m reminded of my brother: completely mentally, behaviorally, psycosocially nonfunctional, prone to severe periods of mania. He sees himself as this proverbial superhero. I think he even thinks he’s stronger than the average guy. He’s in jail now… this is where his mental illness has gotten him.

And so, when faced with the reality that I’m not completely mentally intact… it’s a little scary. I do my best to compensate, and I have the lucidity to realize when I’m on an “upswing” or “downswing”. It’s controlling or coping with these two radical opposites that’s the rub.

It’s also on days like this that I realize I may never quit smoking without chemical help and possibly therapy. My poor brain is too hooked on downers.

Considering the therapy option. But, with no health insurance at the moment, it gets a little sticky. Will continue to plod on.

-j

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We found a house downtown in the historic area, in a neighborhood that may as well be called Suburbia, USA, surrounded by other houses that were just as old and just as amazing. The house was exactly as I had imagined it, with wood flooring and that ancient feel to it. The floors have a thud to them when they’ve been around a while. The house smells vaguely musty like an old library. The revamping that’s been done to the house doesn’t take away from the vintage feel of it, and so I’ve got my hopes up that this goes through, because I feel like this would be a good home for a while.

So sitting around later that night back at Jeff’s place, I had a conversation with Dad. Thanks for putting me through my first years of college and providing me with some of the tools I’ll need in the coming years. And what terrible timing to have left us all before we were ready to let you go. We still need you and miss you. Yes, we’ll survive. I’ve got a full-time job and my first car and hopefully soon, a nice little place that seemed to have been built out of my own imagination. However, that doesn’t take away the feeling that it still wasn’t the time and it just wasn’t right. Thanks for helping to shape me into the person that I am today. Thanks for leaving me with some of your best qualities. Thanks for being my role model and setting the bar high in the caliber of man to look for.

But it’s hard to think about a world without Dad in it. Nature abhors a vacuum, huh? Well, this vacuum is going to take a while to fill. I think the reason some little place in the back of my mind refuses to believe he’s gone is that he’s not actually gone. His body has relocated to somewhere else, but I feel like he’s still keeping an eye on me wherever I go. So these days, instead of making a phone call or calling out hello as I come in the door, I’m getting into the habit of just saying whatever it is I want to say to him and hoping that on some level he’s getting the message. I don’t particularly believe in heaven on any level. But I do hope that when the end of MY life comes, I’ll be able to say hi to my good old Dad again.

So, if we manage to get into that neat old house downtown, the first thing I’m going to think is, see this, Dad? Look at my house. Look at what I have done. Couldn’t have done it without ya.

I’m coming around. I’ve given up on the tears (except when a little drunk) and settled for the continuous stomach ache in my brain and ridiculous wish that one day I’ll turn around and there he’ll be. I guess it was right that the casket stayed closed for the funeral, because in my mind’s eye I’ll always remember my last image of Dad as he was; strong and healthy as a horse, leukemia be damed! And always with a smile (sometimes bemused when dealing with ME) on his face. And on that note, good night.

-j

I tell people about it and barely bat an eyelash. I was expecting something more raw than the emotions I’ve actually been experiencing, something like a horrible, gut-wrenching breakdown. But that’s never happened. We all process in different ways, they say. And it feels more to me like it stays pretty well smothered most of the time, then like a bad smell seeps back in and what I feel is this lonely, wistful, achy sadness.

Shelly is gone most of the time and it’s just me in the house. I’ve been taking advil pm in the evenings, earlier and earlier, and sleeping most of the time between shifts. There’s nothing really else to do. The weekend is here after tomorrow and all I can really think of that I want to do is sit around and put chemicals in myself to make up for the hard week.

And, that’s basically all there is to update.

-j

My subconscious is not so easily fooled by the upper layers of my brain’s attempts to throw some sand over what must be eventually faced. While the voluntary parts of my brain process and crank out bits of usefulness during the day, when I’m dreaming my subconscious refuses to behave itself and pulls all sorts of fun stuff out of the closet. And lately, it’s been all Dad. My rational brain still believes it’s all a really bad joke and that Dad’s just out on some extended vacation. I wonder how long it’s going to take until my rational mind believes what the rest of it knows.

In the meantime, the pattern seems to be business and all manner of preoccupation during the day, and during the quieter times in the evening when the dishes are done and the leftovers put away, we each go to our seperate hiding spots of the house. And me, I have a drink or two and proceed with the waterworks.

It’s a horrible ache like I can’t even describe. You don’t actually feel it, but it’s still there, burning a hole in your insides that there’s really no cure for. I’d give just about anything right now just to have my dad back. That sounds really emo, but it’s the goddamned truth. There’s a vacuum in Me-land right now.

How could this ever have happened? We all needed him. Now what are we supposed to do? We’re all wandering around lost. Dad was stability and patience, and this world has lost all of its good things.

-j

I don’t even know what to make of this new situation. It’s just too different and too new. I don’t think Shelley knows what to make of it either. I’m sure we’ll settle down into a pattern in time, but for right now, it all feels weird.

I haven’t been thinking about it. My coping mechanism has been to block it out, not think about it. I think the irrational parts of my mind still think Dad will come home one day, and that’s been the only thing that’s kept me from hysterics from the moment I walk through the door. Meanwhile the rational and reasonable parts know that that’s bullshit.

As I get closer to rational thinking again I start thinking it’s probably better that I move out this summer. This house has nothing left in it. Shelley will go to Prescott, I downtown to live with Jeff. Too many memories and loss in this house. Better to burn it all down and leave it behind.

-j

Dad’s ghost follows me around the house, taking up space in all the spots Dad used to occupy, scattering his various belongings all over. The spot at the kitchen table and the rocking bench outside on the back porch. The bike shed and the laundry room with the collection of tools, saws and other doodads. That damned ghost is in the closet with all of his flannel shirts, the hiking boots and backpacking supplies all collecting dust. The big old motorcycle sits out on the back porch covered by a tarp, and one of the exhaust pipes is peeking out, reminding us that we can’t keep it hidden forever. Tuesday is coming, and with it, responsibilities, obligations, arrangements.

What will we do with all this stuff now? I don’t want to sell the Triumph. I want to take it with me wherever I go. And I don’t know if I want to stay in this house any longer than it takes to get Shelley settled wherever she wants to be, Prescott or elsewhere. There’s nothing left in this shell of a place anymore. The house even sounds like it’s aged a hundred years. It creaks even more than usual, seems drier, dustier than usual. This is not my home anymore.

I feel like a lost soul who doesn’t know what they’re looking for.

-j