Of the mess you left when you went away....

I've been feeling extremely unraveled today. It's been an Alanis Morissette and Garden State kind of day. Jagged Little Pill was such an amazing album. I just feel a need to run. A need to escape. I need to get away from myself for awhile.

I was talking to one of my best friends today, telling her how I haven't felt loneliness like this in a long time. For the first time in I don't know how long I want to open up to someone. It feels so strange feeling like I'm ready to let someone else in. I don't remember what it feels like to want to give part of myself away. All I know is I want to feel loved again, and want to love again. Life feels so empty and pointless without it.

I'd love nothing more than to nuzzle into the crook of his arm, sweetly kiss his ear-lobe like he likes and just breath him in...

Oh the messes we make. 

The Truth and The Fairy Tale

I will be 27 years old this up coming March, just five short days before my daughter turns 2. Raising a child, and trying to teach them everything can really make a person take a hard look at their opinions, ideals, morals, beliefs. I've always been a person who sees things as black and white, cut and dry. I can't help it. When you are in the grey there is too much uncertainty. I don't like illusions.

One illusion that I have had to really reassess, regrettably, is the childhood ideal that "love is all you need." I hate admitting that love isn't always enough. Just because you love someone, or because you miss someone doesn't mean that the person is good for you. I've been in love three times in my life, really TRULY in love and none of them where healthy relationships for me. Honestly, I can't really remember any healthy relationships. But I didn't exactly have a role model for faithful, devoted relationships that were rooted in loyalty and mutual respect.

I want better for her. I don't want her to see the kind of relationships I have with men, and think that it is the only way a relationship can be. I want her to be strong and defiant and loving. I want her to expect more. One thing I IDOLIZE about my best friend, and Evelyn's god-mother, Kathryn is the fact that she is so strongly set in her standards. She will not settle for anything less than she deserves. She wants to be chased, and her mother has instilled in her not to settle for anyone who won't. I LOVE that about her family. I LOVE that about her and can only pray Evelyn picks up on some of it.

So now how do I teach her all the wonders of the world and still let her believe in the fairytale?

What doesn't kill you...

People who build you up. People who inspire you. People who break you. People who enter and exit your life without you noticing. People who shape you. People who you help create.

The other night I was conversing with a dear friend of mine when he said, "... I am a master at keeping people well past an arms length from my heart... She not only broke my heart, but my soul as well..." This conversation, these words have lingered in my bones for days. They have dangled like chandelier earrings while I brush my teeth in the mirror each morning. They have massaged my scalp, repeating as I wash, rinse, repeat. It's not the notion, the idea of being broken by someone. I am more than experienced with the devastation rooted in a broken heart. It's the idea that has wedged itself in between the curve of the B, lounging like James Dean on the T. People, and how a person can effect us.

It is wildly debated, does a person have power over us or do we ALLOW them to have power over us. I really don't know how I feel about that. I know that even though I walk around daily with a false bravado and confidence brushing my shoulders like my red curls what people say haunts me. Is that because I ALLOW it to, or because the truth is people are what makes the person?

I can think, without strain, of at least five people who have helped shape me into the woman I am today. A neighbor who let me borrow her sexy romance novels when I was 12. A man who I was too scared to call "Dad." A teacher who taught me to read. A man who engulfed every ounce of me like a Cuban cigar, letting me stain his fingertips and make a home of his lungs, just close enough to his heart to make me feel warm before releasing me into the stale, cool air. Women who inspire me. Women who encourage me. Women who are better than me.

A person is the company they keep. A person is the experiences they have.

I think people need to focus more on what is going on, instead of what is ahead. The stranger sitting two seats in front of you on the bus, the girl who brings you your pasta bowl refill, the boy who rotates your tires... who is the judge on what is significant? Who decides what is significant, and what will or won't effect you years down the line.

I know I carry with me far more than I ever expected from the people who I have crossed paths with. But, at the end of the day it is those things I carry that create the creative, loving, affectionate, ambitious, ruthless woman I am today.

I feel no shame in that. Maybe hesitation. Perhaps a little fear. Even a little resistance. But no shame.

Inches from falling I catch myself...

... sugary sweet words
lingering on the tip
of his tongue
as he brushes
paintstrokes
across my lips
my cheek
my ear. 
Intoxicatingly disarming
stripping layer upon layer
of bared wire and stone
from my core
like pieces of clothing 
ripped and strung
across broken lamp shades...


It's a work in progress. Man I love things with promise... :)

Not That Girl

Last night I was hanging out with a friend of mine when a conversation began about how I've never been a "pampered" woman. It never bothered me before now, I always felt that girls who were spoiled and pampered like princesses were needy, and difficult. I was different, self sufficient and independent and understanding.

Once you get a taste of what it is like to be pampered though, even for just a second, it is easy to see why women love it. Why they desire the ease and adoration that comes from being taken care of, even when they are able to take care of themselves.

It feels odd to want romantic gestures like flowers or surprises. I've never liked surprises. I've always despised them. But now, it's almost like something inside of me is craving that kind of determination. Something inside of me is craving that kind of effort.

It's uncharted territory, and I doubt it will last long.

But who knows... maybe

I'd had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded that for me it isn't over...

I am loving Adele's new CD, 21 this morning. It has kept a permanent spot in my CD player for months, and it just gets better every time I listen to it.

So, I have a date Saturday night. And I'm really considering canceling it. I have been on exactly three dates since Rick and I split over a year ago. Three, and only one of those was with someone I didn't know. The other two were people I had known for years. Three... and all of those first dates. One hung out once or twice after, the other two not so much. Regardless, I can't seem to get past date two with anyone. I just don't seem to have it in me. They either have some small feature that I loving refer to as a "Scottonism", meaning some aspect of their personality reminds me of Rick rather it be good or bad and that leaves me feeling sick to my stomach or I just can't make the time.Actually, the more I think about it... they ALL had Scottonisms. :-/

And it's not that I'm not ready. I've been over the whole separation/divorce thing for awhile. I'm just nervous. I'm ten times more guarded then I was three years ago when I met Rick. I'm not as open to the possibility, or hope of good things. I don't know if I even really know how to let a guy be nice to me. I still don't feel like myself.

My best friend Kat asks why I want to date then, if I'm so anxious and nervous and nauseous over the idea. It's really simple. It's not that I want a relationship, or to replace Rick, or find Evelyn a "new daddy" as some people joke about. I would just really love to meet some new people. Being a single mom, and working two jobs I really have no time for me, and so the thought of sitting down for a nice dinner and adult conversation with someone I'm trying to get to know excites me. And he does seem like a very sweet guy who I would get along with really well.

I just wish I wasn't so burnt out on the idea of being involved with someone. I wish it didn't feel so pointless.

Independence

3 years.
1,095 days.
1,576,800 minutes.

Today I breath a very calm sigh of relief. The freedom makes my head a little dizzy realizing and remembering. And I will allow myself one moment of sadness. I will close my eyes, and count 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... and embrace the sorrow and the pain and the harsh reality, and once I reach five I will exhale and release all of it. And I will take my daughter to the parade and surround myself with her cackle. I will watch in awe as fireworks light up the clear night sky. I will embrace the possibilities of tomorrow. And I will be happy.

It is my independence day.

Divorce, the Devil and a dying idea.

I've been thinking a lot lately about marriage, and commitment. Perhaps it is because of the number of broken relationships I see around me. Friends who are stuck in loveless marriages, friends who are on the verge of separation, friends who have found out their spouses have been having long standing affairs. A once solid, and eternal idea is now becoming temporary.

And this makes me wonder, why? If people lie, and cheat, and break hearts what is the purpose of entering into something permanent like a marriage? Why enter into a relationship with someone, and willing stay in the relationship with them if it's not where you want to be? Married or not. I see it in my friends who are just dating. The same idea, I can't leave... I can't move on... it was good once it can be good again.

I understand the importance of stability. I hear a lot, "I can't leave because of the kids," but don't you think that watching your parents indulge in affairs, and fight, and harbor resentment and disdain for each other is equally detrimental to their development as growing up in a broken home.

I was thrilled when my parents divorced, not because I didn't want them together but because for the first time in years my parents were happy. My mother met and entered into a relationship with the man who she still calls the love of her life, 4 years after his death.

I guess my point is I don't understand why it's so hard to just be happy? If a relationship isn't working... then it's not working. As cliched as it may be, it's called a break up because it's broken. It's a cheesy self-help book, but the title is accurate.



And I realize I might get some backlash for this. Marriage is a sanctity. Marriage is suppose to be forever. Divorce is the Devil. Yeah, it is. I would completely agree with that. But too many people enter into relationships, and marriages lightly. To many times people get married for the wrong reasons (trust me, I could write a book on the subject). Why stay in it if it's broken. Life is too short to be anything less than happy.


So be happy. It really is just.that.simple.

Clarity

The date is fast approaching. I found a piggy bank, painted it red white and blue and named him Clarity. Once he reaches $300 I'll officially file for my divorce against Rick. The ghost of the past relationship has been left behind to linger in the floor boards of other homes. My heart has let go. My heart has moved on. I realized I was completely over it the day I finally got rid of my engagement ring. That was my stepping stone, that moment of no return. And I must say, I'm happy.

I love living on my own, just Evelyn and me. I love watching her grow and learn. How she cackles and runs and plays. The child is so goofy. It's hard to not be completely mesmerized by her. And that is all that I am left with when it comes to Rick. Sadness that he is choosing to miss out on her. His loss. Pity because he's never going to be more than he is, because he chooses not to be. I've fought my way here... and he won't take that from me.

He refused me my one request. The truth. Closure. So I got the facts, and I saw him for the kind of man he really is, I set him straight, and I stole my own closure. And now I'm done. And that is one of the most refreshing feelings in the world.

And not a moment to late. Because I know what I want. Because I know what I deserve. And I've already seen the possibilities that lay before me...

Needless to say. I'm a happy girl. I'm a whole girl. And all the things he told me: he'd break me, he'd make me hate him, he'd make me regret everything that ever happened between us: he was wrong.

I'm not that kind of girl, who clings to the past and braces it to myself like a shield, an excuse to avoid the good things in life. I'm not the kind of person to hold grudges.

And so, I make this my official last Rick Scotton related entry. Maybe more so for his benefit than mine (since he cyber stalks my blog). I don't wish bad on him, I don't wish anything at all.

Like the song goes, "I'm not sorry I met you, I'm not sorry it's over, I'm not sorry there's nothing to say."

Broken

In the 10 years I've dated, and the countless relationships I've had I've never once experience what it feels like to be broken. I've been hurt... but I've never been broken. The notion always amused me... broken as if I were some kind of an expensive china doll.

That lousy SOB broke me.

Why has it taken me a year to realize this?

Funky McFunkerson

It happens to all of us.

We go to bed, maybe a little irritated or perhaps just slightly more exhausted then normal. We snuggle into the comfort of our 250 thread count sheets and close our eyes and wait. We steady our breathing. We hold as still as our body physically can. We stretch our neck, flex our toes. And then we roll over. Repeat. And then we roll over again. We continue to toss, turn, keep our eyes closed in hopes that eventually the Sand Man from our childhood bedtime stories comes and shows his mercy on us. You think, "I've been a good girl. If Santa will bring me a Coach Bag for Christmas as a reward for being a good girl surely the Sand Man can give me one freaking night of peaceful sleep."

Still. Black. Silence.

And it's always the same. It's never one night, or even two. No. It's days upon days upon days. And that's when it leads into a period of "funk".

You know the one. Coffee doesn't taste as good, but you drink twice as much of it. The front temples in your head throb without any cause or remedy. You lack the energy to bathe (but still remind yourself to do it daily). Simple activites like brushing your hair, putting on makeup, feeding yourself suddely become chores.

Look around the office. See the girl who's hair is up in a messy pony-tail, body slinking down into the desk chair, head slightly tilted to the side as she stares blankly at her computer screen. Funk.

The guy who's shirt is slightly more wrinkled than normal, laying his head in his hands as he props his arm up on the desk. Funk.

It has happened to the best of us. And although these periods literally feel like they are going to last forever it is a well known fact that NOTHING in this world last forever. Even our mortality reminds us, everything is temporary.
My point? I'm in a funk. I'm bathed and I even managed to put on a tiny bit of eye liner this morning but I am still in a funk. And this one, it's a bad one. It's probrably one of the worst since my separation and pending divorce.
And this is not a time when I wanna be in a funk. Evelyn is walking and talking and growing so much I just want to take her to the park or the Zoo or the beach and witness and she sees things for the first time. She's such an adventrous child and it brings out the best in me.

I want to strive and study and excell in my new job because it is nothing like I have ever done before and I love it. I want to be excited about it and eager.

I want to be enthusastic about moving into a new place, a more stable home, a home that (may or may not) be just my daughter and me. It has never been just the two of us before and the thought is thrilling. I've never lived alone.
I want to be hopeful and excited about the free fiction workshop I'm doing this month and being around writers and artists in my area. A chance to reconnect with my Kindred. A chance to reintroduce myself to my muse. A chance to meet new people.

I want to be excited about the (possible) pending purchase of a new camera. FINALLY! I can indulge in my inner creativety and start photographing again.

But I can't. I can't because of this stupid idiot funk that is lingering in my bones. It's seeping through my eyes and causing my already restless nights to become completely sleep deprived.

I want out of this funk. I want to enjoy the summer time. But the things that normally drag me out of them; friends, shopping, extreme physical changes... even they fail to excite me.

Reminding myself that it's only temporary is getting old. And in the mean time, trying to force myself to enjoy these lovely moments it's exhausting me further. It can't last much longer.

Can it?

Morning Routine

Alarm
Let go.
Pee.
Brush Teeth.
Check on Evie
Let go.
Start coffee.
Look outside.
Start shower.
Undress
Let go.
Wash hair.
Condition hair.
Let go.
Wash.
Let go.
Stand in the warmth of the water with eyes closed.
Let go.
Turn off water.
Step out.
Make a cup of coffee.
Let go.
Turn on TV to VH1.
Put on lotion.
Let go.
Get dressed.
Brush hair.
Let go.
Blow dry hair.
Let go.
Straighten hair.
Let go.
Refill coffee.
Sit on front porch and listen to the traffic.
Let go.
Check on Evelyn.
Let go.
Let go.
Put on make up.
Inspect appearance.
Let go.
Turn off TV.
Let Go.
Put on shoes.
Let Go.
Grab keys.
Let go.
Let go.
Start car.
Reverse.
Breathe
Forget.

A Feeling I Need.

I remember how it felt when I sat behind the wheel of Rick's Exterra in Georgia and realized the smiling soldier was him.

Fear. Anxiety.  Love.  Excitement. My heart literally melting at the joy in his eyes. I've never felt so proud and so appreciated because of the relief across his face.

I remember the feeling... but I can't imitate it. And these days, I wish I would have let it linger longer or bottled it up so I could feel it now.

I need that feeling now.

Scotton vrs. Rice... The Great Debate of 2011

While at work last night one of the hosts accidentally called me Amanda. "Sorry Kirby." She laughed. Leia, the other host standing at the front chuckled and said, "I'm just going to start calling her Scotton," and she proceeded to continue to say Scotton over and over again with a bad Scottish accent.

I chuckled and said, "yeah... don't do that. That's my ex's last name."

"Oh." She apologized. "You should probably change that."

For a few months now I've had friends asking me whether I'm going to keep the last name Scotton, or change it back to Rice, my maiden name, once the divorce is finale between Rick and me. All of my friends have their own opinions, circling mostly around me changing it and even going to as extreme measures as changing Evelyn's.

I have no intentions of changing her last name. But I don't know which I am more uncomfortable with:

having a last name that is different than my daughter's

or

continuing to keep the last name of a man I am no longer attached to. The name I no longer belong too.

I'm sure Rick has his own opinions on it. I can picture both an indifferent reaction and an appalled reaction at the thought of me keeping it. The Scotton family is such a strong and exclusive family. They take their name extremely serious. I don't know how any of them would feel about me changing it back, or keeping it. I could see how both would seem offensive.

So in a moment like this I need to remind myself I need to stop thinking about everyone else. I need to decide based on what I want. I need to make the decision based on what I am going to be the most comfortable with. No one is going to look out for my best interest in any of this other than me.

And I know I have time to decide. There are still 9 weeks before I can formally file for divorce. I  will just have to make up my mind by then.

Butterflies, Lightning Bugs and Crickets

A few days ago I read the Sex in the City quote, “Some people are settling down. Some people are settling. And some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.” from a blog from Skirt!. The quote has lingered in my bones for the past few days now. I told the quote to Meredyth (my roommate) as we drove down Hwy. 321 the other night. She instantly fell in love with the bare boned honesty of it.

“So do you have butterflies?” She asked about my recent date. “Have you ever gotten butterflies?”

I thought carefully. “Twice.” I replied. “I’ve experienced them twice. Cameron and then with Rick. But, it took nearly 2 years for them to appear with Cameron. And months before I experienced them with Rick. I’ve never gotten them right away.”

In the flashes of memories I had at the thought of both relationships I began to wonder if my lack of butterflies was a bad thing. They normally come when I am feeling vulnerable and incapable of rational thought. They are that empty, sick feeling in the pit of your stomach when you spin and spin and spin, right before you tumble to the hard ground.

“Not even with…”

I cut her off before she could even say the name. “Nope.”

“Not once? Never?”

“No. Never. Well,” and I considered the question. “I guess with him it was a sort of, lightning bug?”

We both chuckled at the thought but now I am astonished by the accuracy behind my mocking analogy. With him it wasn’t like butterflies, it was more like bursts of electricity that would come and go so quickly my body would quake in the aftermath. It was cosmic and sudden and never anything shy of  a childlike chase.

But this has me wondering. Is accepting less than butterflies settling? Crickets? Lightning bugs? What is settling? In every relationship isn’t there one person who loves the other more? In every relationship I’ve ever had there has been a clear distinction between who was more invested. So is it considered settling when we are doing it as a form of protection?

I don’t wanna settle. I’ve never been one for such things but is it wrong for me to not want to risk getting hurt again such a terrible thing?

Food for thought.