Aiyani Mersai

R.i.k. turned SIXTEEN 2 days ago on December 12th.  16 years ago my older sister and younger brother were at the hospital with my mommie and dadda.  I was 14 and was wearing my hair back in a ponytail and my hypercolor sweatshirt (member those?)  I remember people thinking Rik was my sisters son.  She was 17 then.  it was kind of sad that that was such a common thing then, and even more common now.  We just rolled our eyes then.  He was such a good babester and we all helped each other out taking care of him.  He always wanted to watch Ferngully or Free Willy when he was about 2 years old.  They were both on VHS and he needed us to "Brewind it Forward" so he could watch them again.  He could sing the whole song Will You Be There by Michael Jackson.  He also liked watching The Mask.  His favorite snack was gold fish crackers.  There are "sleepy time" pictures of us as siblings all piled together.  Every christmas we’d sleep in one room together even up until Rik turned 14 we would stay together.  Then 3 of us 4 siblings got married in 2006 so we decided as long as we were under one roof it was okay. hahaha.   Now 2 of the siblings are getting divorced and sister wants to sleep in her own house Christmas Eve and come over first thing in the morning.  Things will change as we get older, somethings will stay the same.  Pictures we take together are always in the same order, well normally.  =)  The siblings are all very close and very supportive of each other and a fun part of all of this is our height range from shortest to tallest is oldest to youngest.

He’ll have his driver’s license by Christmas, but he’s still a babester for me.  And his 21st birthday?. . .Vegas baby, Rockstar Style.

Shallow ends are still deep.

When I was 19 I began dating someone younger than me.  Probably mistake number one.  He was still in highschool, a junior at that and we dated off and on for the better part of a year and a half.  During out time together I wanted to prove myself to. . . everyone.  Ryan left, he was gone and I hadn’t heard from him, and he obviously left me because I wasn’t good enough – you know, or so I told myself.  So I looked to prove myself to someone.  I chose Brandt.  We were cast in a play together, Anything Goes at the SLO Little Theatre.  He was my normal “type” as it were.  Taller than me by a few inches, dark hair, blue eyes – a white boy.  I don’t remember extreme details of my courtship with him.  I can tell you that everything happened very fast.  Within weeks words of Love and Forever were exchanged and he knew he wanted to marry me and have kids with me.  He, like Ryan, told me I was the love of his life.  What the hell did he know, and again – what the hell did *I* know??  I took him on a shopping spree for new clothes when he went back for his senior year and at one point we had the same shoes.  Black with white stripes, I have no idea the name brand.

For Christmas I bought him a set of sheets and a comforter and blinds for his room.  All shades of blue.  His room was smaller than most bathrooms and he was the one who introduced me to the music of Eminem.  Come Valentines of 1999 he made me dinner.  I arrived at his house at whatever time he had specified and taped to the railing of the stairs that led to his front door were cut out hearts.  Taped to the frame of the door and on the door were more hearts.  All cut out by hand from what seemed to be a perfect stencil.  In the middle of each heart were three words.  Three magical, wonderful words – Brandt Loves Aiyani.  I read each one as if it were new and when he opened the door to my light and brief knock the darkness of the kitchen table and living room was only altered by small candles scattered throughout.  It was warm inside, and I smelled bread.  He had conjured homemade pizza, or pizza-from-a-box I think if was.  But the crust was fluffy and filling, the sauce was tangy and cheese dripped grease onto the bits of pepperoni he had carefully placed evenly and with precision upon the boxed good.

There were other great moments with him, truly.  New Years kiss on the pier (even though I hate the ocean and was scared of the pier, I went out there for him – he was trying to be romantic, I let him).  Carpet picnics at his house.  After-rehearsal meals with him, holding hands, hugging.  All that fun stuff.  He knew I loved him, but he didn’t trust me.

Trust can be such a fragile thing.  It seems so small, but it is so delicate.  Some people think it’s something you give freely to someone you love and respect.  Others believe it is something earned, like love and respect.  I fall among those of the latter philosophy.  That’s something that held me back during my time in theatre school – but that’s neither here nor there.  Trust.  This can also fall under the categories of do actions speak louder than words, or do words speak louder than actions. I’d love to tell you which I believe – but I think that depends on the person receiving and giving the trust.  As an actor I don’t take those risks I should, but I can use the language.  In life, I do the same.  I’ve learned to stay at ease and not react so quickly without taking everything in account.  It is a discipline my father taught me.  It is the reason I can look forward and see what is to the side of me and hear what is behind me.  It is the reason when I feel anger within me I take a ‘time-out” and walk away from a situation so I can cool down and listen to the others side openly.  Because of this, the trust I give I hold in high regard.  It is given because it is earned and I will tell you that I trust you better than I could ever show you.  However, still, trust is like a thin piece of rice paper to which people always seek more in order to all it strong or have faith that it can hold its own and withstand tests.  It is here, where Brandt earned my trust but couldn’t except it.

He believed I was cheating on him.  He probably still does.  People, and I include myself in this presumption, get their head wrapped around one thing and no matter what it cannot be shaken.  They believe what they want, and sometimes it is truth and sometimes it is *their* truth – and if you stop to think about the difference, there is one.

There were two nights in particular where our relationship became obviously – dangerous…for me.

One night I made him a plate of leftovers from my moms house and took it to him in Los Osos.  I have no idea what went wrong, but I can tell you this, he threw 3 steak knives at me.  None penetrated my skin, they all just hit me the way an object runs into your body, say a spoon even.  There were no scratches or bruises left.  And I didn’t leave.  I stayed to yell at him and argue with him more.  I wasn’t scared, I was furious that he had lost his temper and asked him if he took his medication, he had told me he was on anti-depressants.  It wasn’t until he started to choke me and swear at me that I decided I needed to get out of there.  I pretended to pass out while he was choking me, and while he was scared running to find the phone to call 911 because I wouldn’t wake up, I stood up grabbed one of the knives and left his house.  I ran to my car and peeled out of his driveway and he ran after me for a moment.  I was pulled over on Los Osos Valley Road going 90 and I was crying with frustration.  The police officer shined his light at me and asked if for my drivers license and registration and if I knew why he had pulled me over.  Through the waterfall of tears I managed to answer that I was speeding.  When he asked me why I was upset I picked up the knife from my front seat and showed it to him and said my boyfriend, who loves me, through this at me then choked me so I left and now I’m angry and taking it out on the road.  He had immediately but calmly asked me to put the knife down and step out of the car.  I did so.  I leaned up against the trunk of my car, back to the car and arms crossed while he reached into my car and removed the knife.  He told me to take some deep breaths – I’m pretty sure he knew I wasn’t going to try to hurt him, which is why he didn’t search me or the car – and no he wouldn’t have found anything else.  After my brief bullet pointed version of what happened he got on his radio and soon another policeman arrived – at this point I did think I was in trouble.  Instead the first officer introduced me and said that this other police officer would drive behind me home to make sure I was okay and then he got in his car, turned his lights on and sped off.  I can only guess that it was to Brandt’s house.  I never really found out what happened.

I know some of you must be thinking, why didn’t I bust out the blackbelt moves and its because I did not fear for my life.  I genuinely tried to figure out what set him off and make him believe I was faithful.  I was convinced he was just having an episode and although I know its not appropriate girlfriend/boyfriend behavior to throw knives  – I excused it.  Keep in mind,  I was now 20 and still trying to prove myself to some guy.  I myself was not well – this I only realized much later in life.

The second time I realized this was no good was when I was at his house, again going back and forth over a disagreement and his smacked me across my face.  The first time he did it my face stung as it turned, but I slowly turned my head back, straight and unscathed.  As I reached out to him with both arms as one reaches for shoulders in assurance but control he knocked my arms down and struck me again.  That time it hurt a bit.  As I went at him continuously to calm him I raised my voice.  If you can believe it, I wanted to excuse his behavior as another outburst without his medication.  The last time he struck me, which had to be in the double digits by now, I spun around and landed on a wicker chair with what should have been a cushion but what felt like pinto beans.  I began to stand and saw him coming at me, scared of what he did and instead of letting him apologize he got a swift side kick to his gut knocking him back, as well as his wind.  I grabbed my keys and as he left heard him cry out how much he loved me and how he didn’t understand why I could do it – he meant cheat on him, he was still wrong.

Even months after that he went out of his way to say horribly mean things to me.  In fact, whenever I saw him over the next decade he made a point to relive what horrific things *I* had done to him.  How he was just a kid, and I ruined Love for him.  How he could never trust anyone again, or love anyone the way he loved me ever again.  And it wasn’t until a couple years ago he reached out through the world wide web and took responsibility for the things he did and said.  Even now we could never be friends, and I don’t want to be – but I can be cordial.  I’ve grown up, he’s grown up.  There is also the small yet somehow vindicating feelings of sitting down with the girl he would hook up with when we were on the outs.  A girl he confused and led on with words of love and promise.  A girl he’d run to and who would attempt to make it better when I refused.  There’s something really quite beautiful and almost poetic about sitting across a table with her and exchanging stories and filling in blanks that makes me realize I didn’t torment him, he did that to himself.  That no matter how honest or truthful or faithful I was to him, he was going to believe what he wanted and do what he wanted.  And as I stare at her, this gorgeous girl I was told to hate and be jealous of all those years ago, I admire her ,and even learn about myself a little more.

Love is hard.

Trust is worse.

I don’t have to trust someone to love them

I don’t have to love someone to trust them

What I must have is a sense of balance.

I had searched in Brandt for that balance only to later find I should have been looking at myself first.  I should have taken that break everyone told me to take when Ryan left but I was so hell-bent on bouncing back without any marks I didn’t realize I was drowning myself.  I didn’t want everyone else to be right.  I felt that somehow, because Ryan left me I had to prove that it didn’t bother me or hurt me. But it did.  I wanted to feel that someone loved me and wouldn’t leave me to the point of losing who I was – a tragic mistake I’ve made a few more times since then. . .

And there are the people that  are out there that will encourage me to believe that all of this happened for a reason, and I’m stronger because of it and I wouldn’t be the person I am now if it didn’t happen, and I would tell you your probably right.  I may even let you go on about what *you* would have done, but what I will never be able to accept is that THAT was Love.  Even as he said it to me during the “good times” it didn’t feel right, nor did it feel right saying it back.  It was something I tried to convince myself of; something I tried to make myself be because I didn’t want to be alone.  And that is the wrong reason to be in a relationship – I get that NOW, but then. . .I was young.  Stupid.  Hurt and in recovery.  I’m not sorry for any of it, and yet I have regret.  I’m not proud of any of it and yet I have to share about it, and I am not even convinced that after I put the last full stop on this that I will be over it.

There are some things in life that are all about going with the flow; you go where the water takes you, and that of course is based on the roaring rapids, or the serene flow of a stream.  Other times you have to make the decision, you decide to tread in the water or you decide swim against the water, or with it, or you decide to get out.  Its then that you find the true effect of the water.  Its then that you see the clarity or muck in the water; its then that you trust yourself and your own strengths within the confines of that water.  I didn’t know then that before Brandt, I was letting the water drown me.  I didn’t know that during our relationship I was attempting to tread in the rapids.  I stopped trusting myself and my own strengths, my own will.  And if I can’t trust myself, how on earth can I offer it to anyone else.  I became dependent on the ideas of what a partner should and shouldn’t be.  I lost myself, and on the path back to where I first let go of who I was; on this hike – on land, I am constantly stopping and staring at the water and remembering those moments.  And amidst the few dives I take into the water to apparently cool off or refresh myself,  I find that I am  willing to trust anyone who offers me the rope to get out – and that scares me.

Why do I reach for the rope to get out?

Who is throwing me the line?

Do they think I need them to save me?

Do *I* think I have to be saved?

Am I jumping in to prove a point again?

Am I getting out to prove a point?

Am I a coward if I jump in when my eyes are closed?

Should I open my eyes under water?

Will I only ever walk the path by the salty water?

Where is the fresh water?

If I ever find the fresh water will I want to jump in it? bathe in it? drink from it? drown in it?

And once there – will it be accompanied by a breath of fresh air?.

I’ve recently spoken with a friend of mine, Shout out to Shaun – and he planted the seed of changing my name from: princess aiyani to Empress Aiyani thoughts?  

ok. 

On Monday November 17th 2008 I got home from my fun and fabulous weekend with Mr. Man I checked my kit for my State Board examination, and started to study (some more) and make sure I had everything I needed  – that’s where the drama began. . . 

I need to have a valid ID, my model (this was my sister) must have a valid ID, and I need to take my admissions letter.  

I did not have an admission letter.  I call and text some old classmates that have passed their exams asking what the admission letter was and I get back stuff like "it was in the envelope, it has your date and time for written and practical exam" – I didn’t get such an envelope.  Had I known this before, I would have taken the proper measurements to get said paper.  Had I been responsible enough to look in the folder my school gave me upon my departure I would have seen the checklist that says to Look for this "admissions packet" with my "admissions letter" and if I didn’t receive it, to contact the school.  SO that’s the first thing I could think of – contact the school.  Accept they’re closed mondays. party-part I.  I then call the number I have from PSI exams to ask about the admission letter, I talk to a human – cool and he tells me my admissions letter comes from State Board, I need to call them.  He gives me the number after I politely ask for it.  I call them and go through a series of menus to get to where I need to be then I am placed some kind of hold where I hear a beep for a while, then the beep turns into a "disconnected" kind of sound and I hang up and call again. Go through the series of menus again, get to where I was not 15 seconds ago and hear this "Thank you for calling State Board for Barbering and Cosmetology, our call center hours are monday through friday from 8am to 4:50pm"  It is 4:52 on my verizon wireless time.  Party-part II.  I continue to freak out and call Jennifer, she went to school with me and we talk about what I should do and I am convinced that even without this piece of paper that I am going to go and attempt to test.  If I get there and they say No you can’t test today at least I was there ready to go.  The worst thing that can happen is they say no, I have to re-apply for a new date…which would be in 6-12 weeks and I would have to pay all the fees again, about $200.  But I’m going and I’ll just see what happens.  I’ll leave earlier to get there earlier to get paper work figured out and for the rest of the night I studied my "79 packet"  A packet given to me from my teachers that is a compilation of questions that are on the stateboard exam, and questions the proctor might come and ask me etc etc.  I study this packet alot, and I read my book a little.  I go back to some main chapters and review and bla bla bla.  I stop studying at midnight and try to sleep, my alarm is going to go off at 5am, 5:10 and 5:20am.  I do not sleep, instead I have an "E40" song featuring Akon stuck in my head. . . I’ll treat you like a superstar that you are, cause i’m a superstar too. . ." and I’m having worries of performing my practical procedures incorrectly.  Like using hairspray on her face instead of cleanser.  

My alarm goes off all three times before I get out of bed and wash my face.  I get to sisters house by 6am.  We get gas, we get coffee we’re passing santa maria by 7am.  My goal was to be there around 9:15 to discuss this admissions letter in hopes that they would still let me test.  We rolled into Los Angeles outskirts by 9am.  Cool, only there was traffic. ALOT –party part III. Everyone that should have been at work by 8am was on the road at 9am trying to get to the 405.  *I* was trying to get to the 134, which is past the 405.  Its 9:10, 9:23, 9:30, 9:40, 9:53, at 10am we got on the 134.  The exit I needed was not too far down, it as only in Glendale so I try to stay calm.  Meanwhile – I’m not. Thanks.  I take the exit and turn RT because that is what the directions say to do.  I am looking for building 710 on Central Avenue.  After turning right I see addresses.  600, 590, 560——> down to 300 and I decide this is the wrong way.  So I turn around and go the other way.  I find building 700 and next to it – building 800.  what the???  I go into a parking garage get a ticket then go straight to the exit and say "hi i’m looking for building 710" he tells me its behind me and I say I see building 700 and 800 he says are you looking for North Central Avenue or South Central avenue…..oh god.  I have NO idea, its 10:08, I find the address – its South Central.  he gives me directions I’m on my way.  I find the building and break to attempt to turn into it  and almost get hit by a red truck that decides to honk his horn at me, rightfully so I suppose but he honked it for the better part of a minute.  I don’t know if you have ever heard a truck honk his horn for longer than a second but its very annoying and seems to get louder.  I pull into a gate that doesn’t open so I back up and go around the block, 10:12am, and find no parking, so I swing back around to the building and my sister, at 10:14am, says "aiyani! get out of the car and just run up there!!" so I do.  I pull over by a fire hydrant, grab my ID and my booklet that says my date and time and went into the building. I went to the 4th floor at 10:15am and couldn’t find where I was supposed to go.  I took 2 or 3 laps before finding a door that said "office" and I walked in and it was dark, there was no one there.  In my mind I think. . . oh god. . . I missed my time and now I don’t get to test.  I stand in the dark office for a couple moments and a guy walks in and the lights come on, the lights are on motion sensor I guess.  He says Hi may I help you and I say, with wish and hope, I need to take a written test…??  He asks for my ID then tells me where to go.  I get walked over to a computer and I take a 100 multiple choice question exam.  I am nervous but prepared – I think.  I studied and studied and as I answered the questions I was realizing the stuff I studied. . .was NOT on the exam.  party part IV.  For the entire hour it took me to take the 100 question test I was worried that I was not going to pass.  Ihave to get at least 70 correct in order to pass the written and I was genuinely concerned I was not going to that many correct.  I sat there and would stare at a question until I figured it out.  I dipped into every chapter in that book I could think of, I thought of every scenario my teachers had gone over and I finished it, and was escorted out of the test room.  I wouldn’t get to know my results til after the practical exam was over as well.  

I had to be back in the building downstairs at 12:30pm with my model (sister).  On my way to the elevator a girl walked by wearing a white smock, like a labcoat.  I had to wear these in school, and it occurs to me that I needed to wear one during the practical exam.  I knew this, and the night before had even prepared myself by taking it out of the closet and putting it by my stuff.  But, of course, somehow I left it on my bed.  Party. Part. V.  I go back into the office and ask Albert, the nice guy who let me take my test a few questions.  Hi, number one is there is uniform store around here, and I tell him I left my smock at home and he says they might let me rent one downstairs by the kit rental – cool.  Then he says when I come back for my practical exam I’ll need my ID and admission letter.  I freeze and say, I dont’ have an admission letter.  He stares at me with a blank expression for what seems like an eternity than says "you can go to that window and they’ll get you another one"  I breathe again, and maybe its really the first time I’ve breathed since realizing i didn’t HAVE my admission letter yesterday.  I say thank you and go to the window.  I get my admission letter and go downstairs.  I go ask the kit rental people if they have smocks I can rent she says yes, in my best foreign asian/korean/chinese/japanese way "yes you rent smock for Fye dolluh, wi’ twenty dolluh depOsi’"  cool – now, remember I have no money.  My sister has paid for parking $7 and tried to feed me twice today but I refuse.  I go and tell her about the smock thing and she says she can take care of it for me.  She …is…my….Hero!  We go back to rent it and she hands them her debit card to which the woman says "we can only do credit cod fo’ rento, mus’ do cash for depOsi’" Now, the sign behind her says this:  We accept cash, checks and the following credit cards:  Visa, Mastercard, Discover, AmEx.  We ask why and she attempts to explain that she will get charged for taking money off a card and putting it back on.  So my sister and I look at each other, then we say – ok, but why do you have a sign that SAYS you take credit cards, if you don’t – her response "we take cash for depOsi"  i think to myself. . . and you don’t answer questions.  So I ask her out loud. . .where can we get cash?  Is there a bank near by? and ATM?  She says there is an ATM at the Albertsons 1 block down the road.  

Sister and I walk, its 3 blocks – party part VI !.  Its 100 degrees for sure, it smells and the area is a little ghetto, the ratio of english signs to foreign signs seems to be 1:8 and that’s including the english words that are misspelled.   We get there, sister gets a cesar salad and asks if I am hungry, no – I’ll throw up right now…out of anger and frustration not out of nervousness.  We walk back and I get my smock and we sit in my car in the parking garage.  i need to try to gather my thoughts; harness my chi; find my center; re-focus.  I lean back in my car seat for 20 minutes and say nothing with my eyes closes.  I then play St. Patricks day by John Mayer and listen to a text of laughter that R.i.k. sent me a few weeks ago.  It makes me feel better.  We go to the lobby at 12:30 as instructed.  The models go up at 12:35 as instructed and we, the candidates go upstairs at 12:40pm.  Now, earlier during the written exam at 10:15 there were 3 people in there, for the practical exam there were at least 30 of us, not including the models.  Where did these people come from?  Did they take the written test earlier? maybe.  Are they only taking the practical today? maybe.  Does it REALLY matter to me?? not at all.  I go upstairs we are ushered into a room at 12:45 and told to fill out whatever paper they have given us and use the bathroom if we need, and if we have our phones or any electronics to take them back to our cars because even if they are off – they are not allowed on the 4th floor.  Cool – I dont’ have mine, I’m good.  But we have time to do this and we’ll meet back in the orientation room at 1:10.  At 1:15pm they explain to us that we’ll go into the exam room and the proctor will tell us what to do, but not til 1:30.  So we sit there more.  at 1:35 she comes back and we all go into our rooms and are assigned our stations.  The proctor introduces herself, she has some personality, cool and has been in the business for 45 years. . .you wouldn’t know if from the lipliner she drew on her chin and up to her nose but I digress.  She shows us the sinks, how to use them, where the dermal lights are (lights for skin treatment / therapy), how to work the chairs; raise them recline them etc and tells us to unpack.  So I do.  We begin at 1:45 and have until 3:30 to complete our procedures.  

I perform my procedures that would do my teachers proud, remembered every step – I believe, end by 3:15pm.  I’m told to pack up and to not speak to my model, so I don’t.  at 3:30pm the proctor says….its 3:30 the exam is over, models you may change and go downstairs please do not return to the 4th floor, candidates please meet in the orientation room at 4pm.

I return my smock, get my sisters $20 back and sister points out another great sign, "you must check yours kit before bring out"  yes it said yours with an s and yes it said bring-out.  It was funny, we laughed.  

I walk sister to the car, put my kit in there and tell her I’ll be back later.  I head back up to the 4th floor and wait.  Its 3:50.  The orientation woman comes in again at 4:15pm and starts calling up names.  As people go up there, they show their ID and she straight up tells them – in front of everyone, and with volume "you passed written but failed practical, you can re-apply" then she hands them a piece of paper and gestures towards the door.  next person went up "you failed written but passed practical exam, you can re-apply" and gestures to the door again.  She goes on like this, at random as the numbers dwindle.  I look over at a girl I befriended and we both have a fear that she is going to call us up and say we failed the written and can re-apply.  The room gets smaller in numbers, girls have left crying, some confused, some have questions that the woman doesn’t answer other than "you can re-apply".  She calls up a few girls this time and I am one of them.  I am in line and moving forward slowly.  She looks at me and asks for my ID.  I hand her my ID and she looks up at me, as if she was a bouncer at a bar verifying my right to drink tonight, and puts a piece of paper on the counter and says "sign here."  

Its my license.  

A California State License with my name on it stating I am an Esthetician.  Party part VII

My first thought is to look up at her and say "why do you scare us like that??!!"  But I say "thank you" and walk out the door others I had walked through with disappointment, and I feel – hunger pangs.  =)

I walk down to the elevator, take the elevator from the 4th floor to the parking garage and walk out to the car and show my sister and she hugs me.  The first thing I say to her is "i’m hungry now" and she says YYAAAAAYYYY!!!!  

I text family that I passed and we are on our way home.  We stop at a mall and have a celebratory Food Court Meal.  She had Carls Jr., I had Panda Express and then got on the road.  We talked about all kinds of stuff on the way home and arrived there at 9pm.  I was asleep by 11:30pm, and woke up this morning at 10:30am.  First thought was – When I move to NY, I’ll have to do this all over again – party.. . part VIII hahahaha

 I text a few more people that I passed and Kevin and Vicki respond with How ’bout a celebratory Sushi Lunch!!! – uh….YAH I"LL GO!!!! Party Part IX

Next step – everything.

Party part X

Bonus Material:  The subject title says "pack of wolves" Why you say??  A comedian I enjoy, Nick Swardson, has a bit in one of his routines about game shows.  He said something great like what if the game show prizes were more random like "congratulations john, you win you’re very own. . .WOLF, and a gun, which will come in handy on your trip to Iraq" he continues with "Iraq? did I lose?? Is that a real wolf ??"  So in a small circle of mine when we feel we have consequently "lost" we say "I won my very own wolf"  yesterday I felt like I won a pack of wolves. 

Hey Alll~
I’m going out of town this weekend so now playtime on the internet. I’ll be back around wednesday. I will have my phone but most of you know how horrible its working right now. Sometimes it lets me answer it if you’re on speaker phone, but even then. . .sometimes you can’t hear me. party.

have a great weekend.

Ladies and Gents:

I have arrived.  I got to my mommies house in AG at 8:15pm last night.  Unloaded my car, had spaghetti and fell asleep on the couch by 10pm.  I woke up to mommies coffee maker going off at 5am…she hadn’t changed the clock yet so the coffee maker normally won’t go off til 6am.  Then I heard my brother R.i.k. and my mommie getting ready for school and work so I just woke up, put my robe on had a cornbread muffin and some coffee.  I’ve been awake ever since with no naptime in sight…Booooo.  I’ll be at Mr. Ricks tonight for karaoke fun and drinks – I plan on letting my friends get me HAMMERED. hahahah

If you live here – we are going to hang out again, and I can’t wait!!! 

This morning I left my apartment in Vista on time. 7:30am. I made it to my favorite coffee shop. “The old california coffee house” where they have over 20 dessert drinks of which I have tried most of them. My favorite, the Crème Brulee Latte. But on this particular day I was offered an egg nog latte, so I took it. At school I had a morning appointment for a microderm, then nothing at the 10am slot, then another microderm at 12:30pm, then I was done for the day. I have 5 more clock hours to accrue then I’m done with school. I’ll be at Janet’s house for the next few nights, she and her family were kind enough to offer their home to me. I’m at the Coffee House right now, which is why I have Internet. But once I leave, then I’ll “really go dark.”

Let me start this again:

Yesterday was Halloween; people at school dressed up and everything. I did not, I have nothing here; everything is at my mommies house of boyfriends house (boyfriend = Jenn…smurfs ex-wife) School School School then I went home and loaded up my car with as much stuff as I could leaving my toiletries and a couple bags out. (Later the pile became bigger from small things I gathered in to boxes and left overs from the drawers. At that same moment I had to figure out where everything was going to go, because the only room I had left was in the front seat, and there was 5 bags, 2 boxes, a vacuum, its parts and a blue cowboy hat. . . I know whatever). At any rate after I packed up my car, I took a shower and started talking to Mr. Man on skype.

Then, Jeffrey came home and started loading up his moving truck. Fine. Fabulous. Then his brother, Daniel, came over and helped him load up some furniture. Mid move, I got hungry and went to the kitchen. I asked him if there was a fork, he said “No” then found one for me. Then I grabbed my food turned to the microwave, only it wasn’t there anymore, so I turned to him and said “nevermind, you took the microwave away already.” I went to pour myself some milk, only there no glasses. So I went into the bathroom changed my clothes and walked out of my dorm to drove to Brooke’s house

Brooke is a classmate, she was having a Halloween open house thing and I had been invited. I waltzed in, got a few hugs and introduced to some people and she showed me to the bar. I made a chocolate martini. Stoli Vodka, Godiva and Frangelico – no milk, no cream…didn’t want to cut my alcohol with anything. It was about 6:30pm by now. We were talking, the people, all of us people – party and I finished my cocktail then made a caramel appltini, dual ‘tini’s; there was enough for two glasses so I poured another glass and stood there with my drinks. We had tacos, yum and snacks and good talks. Later, Brooke and Lisa (another classmate) got in the Jacuzzi and I dangled me feet in, it was lovely. I was invited to stay the night, but knew I needed to pack up the rest of my stuff in the morning and knew Jeffrey would be there packing up stuff and didn’t want him to add to my pile just because he thought he could. I took what I wanted a long time ago. I left Brooke’s house full and with snacks in tow, she gave me some yogurt and an apple and some granola for the morning, she knew Jeffrey had probably taken or thrown out all of the food at this point – that was kind of her. And she also sent me home with her air mattress. I thought I wouldn’t need it, turns out she was right.

I got to my dorm and 10:30pm and it was empty. Jeffrey didn’t just pack up furniture, he packed up everything else too and left it void of everything but my few bags. He, of course, added to my pile and left me with no bag for garbage, no toilet paper no lamp, no pillows, no blankets. I thought he would have, I was wrong – something I have often been when regarding him as of late. I moved my stuff out of the empty bedroom to the empty dining room because the ceiling fan with light worked. I pumped up the air mattress, plugged in Miranda (computer) and called Mr. Man. Moments later he was on skype with me, listening to me and looking at me looking at the emptiness that was my dorm. The walls were blank and only holes from nails remained. All of my pictures had been down for weeks, all my movies had been packed away already, but this was…different. The last time I saw the apartment this empty was when we toured it to see if we wanted to move in there. The last time I saw it this way, I was excited to decorate it and make it my own, make it “our” own. It seemed smaller this time, in the beginning…as always, there seemed to be more possibilities. The walls seemed more like an eager canvas vs a stripped wall. They had seemed more prepared to become something vs prepared for demolishing. The last time I saw it this bare, I was happily married and my husband was in the room with me, smiling.

I was alone. And more than that I was lonely. It was so quiet. I had got used to the curtains over the blinds and the massiveness of the entertainment center with all its electronics carefully placed to coincide with everything else. I had got used to the wall of DVD’s featuring over 1,100 DVD movies and a separate shelf for TVD’s (T.V series on DVD….I totally made it up a few weeks ago, and should copyright it, party). I had got used to the mounted shelves with toys on them from our childhood. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Transformers, and my collection of “Toy Story” characters were all long gone. I had been used to a counter with a blender, and toaster and vodka and knives on it. I was used to the microwave and the George Foreman Grill and the busy face of the refrigerator with all its magnets. I was used to the well used book shelves full of books neither one of us read. And…seeing it REALLY all gone was….sad. I had fallen to this place of mild relapse depression. To be perfectly honest I was surprised I felt that way. And all the while looking around my dorm, this apartment, I was on skype with Mr. Man – and there is a “best part” to this. I was prepared, slightly, for him to hear me tell him I was lonely there and wished he was there and whatever and responds with something along the lines of “well,….why are you sad? Isn’t it a good things its over and done with? You’re moving on, it will be fine – stop being sad, its dumb” I was semi-prepared for him to say that. And he did not. Instead, as he always has when I think he might let me down, he picks me up. He said something along the lines of: “I know what you’re feeling right now. It’s hard. You moved there with someone starting a new life and then everything changed. It’s okay to be sad, it’s the end of something.”

I appreciated him even more after that. He’s said the best things to me lately. And when I get “fussy” as it were or moody he doesn’t get offended, he gets genuinely curious and concerned that he may have done something wrong, and wants me so badly to communicate it to him. It’s a great feeling when you know someone cares. When you…KNOW, they care. It’s a great humbling feeling when you admit your worries and doubts when you know the reasons are silly but still mean something to you…and the person you admit these too does not put those feelings down. It’s a great feeling of being accepted and heard and appreciated and cared for. I love him for these reasons, truly.

Then all of a sudden it was 12:30am and my alarm was set to go off at 6am. He said more wonderful things, as per usual and we hung our respective video phone connections. I took out my contacts, brushed my teeth, put on two pairs of jammie pants, zipped up my sweatshirt grabbed my travel pillows and my robe as my blanket and fell asleep on the mattress Brooke let me borrow.

At 6am my alarm went off, then at 6:10am, and 6:20am and 6:30am. I got up, got dressed deflated the air mattress and packed up the remaining baggage (that’s a dual action word you can read into if you’d like) left the keys on the counter, walked out of my dorm and closed the door behind me. The door didn’t slam, as I believe it would have 2 months ago, and I didn’t almost close it, then open it just in case, as I could have done months ago. I knew I had everything with me and in all senses and moments in regards to my dorm, that apartment, that chapter. The door simply, closed – and I got in my car.

Now you can refer to that top paragraph again.

Going Dark. ( a multitude of possible meanings, but all in all – know that I am well)