I had been so convinced that I was depressed–and I was for a while. And that I had such great anxiety–which I did for a while.  That I forgot about time.  Sometimes what we need most is simply, time.  Time to adjust.  Time to heal.  Time to think.  Time to reevaluate.  Time to reflect, and learn.  Time to be alone.  Time to connect.  Time to decompress.

I had been so convinced I was broken, I hadn’t realized time had passed and I had healed.  Some.  Well, a great deal, actually.  I had been so consumed by things that had happened to me, I missed things that were happening with me, or because of me–in a good way. heh.  I had wished so much ache on others that I dismissed the experience *I* had once cleared of a situation.

This year was easier than past years.  But I also worked very hard to be able to say that.  What I didn’t know, or notice, is that each time something came along to challenge me, I didn’t just crumble.  I faced it.  I detached myself for a while, which was in my best interest.  And I’m a better person for it, indeed.  And reattaching myself has been a chore.  Some things don’t fit like they used to, some things that broke I’ve outgrown and instead of going to fix it I chose to let it go.  Some things don’t look, or sound like “me” anymore.  and that’s okay.  And I’ll reflect accordingly in the coming Year in Review post.  But for now, I am thankful simply of time.  The healing time.  The reflecting time, and of course the simple time.

I’m unsure how it became November already.  I hadn’t posted about my vacation in CA, when I got to see Bennett turn two, or sing at my friends wedding reception.  I hadn’t posted about my mother coming to visit me here, in NY.  I hadn’t posted about me dating.  And I am unable to decide the nickname he will have here, in this place.  Hadn’t posted about my painting the apartment, as if it were a complete overhaul–and it may still become such.  I did not go out for halloween.  My housemate and I stayed in and watched Hocus Pocus.  I’m still at the boutique spa, and i LOVE it.  I’m still in massage therapy education and I LOVE it.  It’s just, now it’s been so long I don’t remember all the details.  Which is why I like to post right away!  Then, in the years to come and can come back and reflect and remember.  I’ve dropped the ball.  How do I drop the ball if I’m only handing it to myself?  Am I that bad?  That clumsy?  Am I that busy?  hmmm.  Maybe I can start coming home and writing, like I did all those years ago.  To get everything out of my brain.  I mean, I have this smart phone–which operates extremely slow right now, and i’m told I have too many apps for the memory size. shrug.  I have this smart phone, and I don’t use it.  I have notepads, and I don’t use them.  I have this here computer and I don’t use her.  Although, she needs a new battery very badly.  And a new charger.  And a new CD drive, and a new harddrive… I get my hair colored and cut on a regular basis now.  I just did the Benefit Peel from work.  I don’t cook.  I order out almost every night, or I heat up a can of soup.  I have this great crock pot and I want to make stews! and soups and chili…but I don’t go to the store.  Eating well, is a luxury I can’t afford right now. But it’s only for now.  And that’s good.  It’s nice to feel that I am starting to live here, not just survive it.  Who knows, maybe I’ll even join a gym again, maybe I’ll start meditating again or doing yoga or pilates again.  Maybe I’ll just sip this here red wine.  Maybe I’ll do my nails, or read my book, or study for my channels and points class.  Maybe I’ll color in my anatomy coloring book.  If I do that and watch Bones simultaneously I seem to do better on my weekly quizzes, no joke.  I have projects I want to start, projects I NEED to start, projects I wish I was able to do.  But alas, still, I sip this wine and wonder.  What else?  I haven’t read many books this year, but that seems to be okay.  I don’t think it’s bad.  I still haven’t taken my archery lesson, I haven’t learned sign language, my dadda sent me some weapons and I haven’t played with them.  I want to.  I need to.  They are RIGHT THERE.  And I sip my wine and change how I’m sitting on my bed.  I look up at my room and think of the different color curtains I can have in my old/new room.  I’m currently in the Front Bedroom, and will be going back to the middle room (which I enjoy just the same) soon and I’m thinking of new ideas.  Maybe even a new color of paint.  I worked so hard to get it how it is, I fear I won’t get those shelves back up.  And the paint still looks good.  Have I just become obsessed with the instant change and gratification I receive from the paint once it’s gets slapped on–no slapped, I try do be meticulous and even in my wall painting.  Sip my wine.  Am I drinking too much?  Too fast?  Should I take off this bra and shirt and put my jammies on?  I have so many things I want to do, so many things I need to do, so many things I should do–and yet…I do nothing.  I take my eyes out and wash my face.  I contemplate ordering food (as always) then remember I have a can of soup in the cupboard.  A strange thing to have.  Not the soup…anything…it’s strange to have…anything.. in the cupboard.  The fridge may as well be unplugged as I don’t keep it stocked either.  Shrug. Sip.  It’s nothing really.  It’s just a day in the life, a day in my life.  Things I should do and don’t.  Things I want to do and can’t.  Things I need to do and choose otherwise.  But you know what I’ve noticed, and this is nice–I don’t have much to complain about anymore.  It’s a very nice feeling.  A very calming feeling.  There are no emergencies.  There is no major stress, and it’s nice.  It really, really is.  As is, this wine. 

A solid “A” in Anatomy & Physiology.  ME.  I attribute this to a professor who understand how to teach different ways, review in a helpful manner and test the way she teaches.  However I got a C+ in Myology.  I attribute this to a professor who is wonky in teaching (maybe she’s new to it), is unable to explain things differently, and doesn’t test the way she teaches.  For one quiz she reviewed briefly and threw in something like “oh I forgot to tell you you’ll need to know which spinal nerves articulate certain muscles.” Then she gave us the quiz–having never taught us the information, nor gave us time to learn it on our own.  She said that, then handed us the quiz.  Bogus.  Indeed.  She tested us on things she may have said once.  She urged us to learn origin and insertions for muscles, but wouldn’t question us on it on our quizzes.  Overall–I’m not happy with that experience.  Had I had a different professor I’m sure I would’ve gotten an A because I studied, I just didn’t study stuff she didn’t teach us… Same teacher for my technique class.  Which I’m apparently very good at–except on her tests.  Same issues.  Ultimately, those two courses brought my GPA down and it will affect my eligibility for scholarships and grants.  I’m hoping this coming trimester I have teachers who can teach, answer my questions, and answer their own questions without a flash card in front of them.

My housemate and I picked out a color to paint the bathroom yesterday.  Straw Hat.  yay.

I’m eager to paint the front room, the bathroom and the hallway.  The hallway is so dark with espresso brown and dark avocado.  At some point in the next few weeks I’ll throw some primer up there, we’ll pick out more colors, and change it up a bit.  With work four days a week, and school 1 1/2 days a week (all day wednesday,  and monday evenings for four hours), projects will come along slowly–but they WILL happen.  I’m determined to freshen up the look in here, best way and fastest way to get a new result like that is a fresh coat of paint.  So…yay!  Soon..yay

That Color Run 5K is this coming saturday.  I’m not a runner, or a racer, so I won’t be bothered with what time I make, but hopefully when I finish I won’t puke.  Some people think a 5k (3 ish miles) is super easy–they are runners, or people who have been exercising steadily for some time.  *I* had to work up to this.  What seems to help me is a little cup of apple juice about 15 minutes before I begin.  And good remixes.  heh.  Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke, and Radioactive by Imagine Dragons are my favorite right now.  Boom.

Alright.  Time for some coffee, some radio, and painting the trim in the hallway.  Life is good right now, things seem to be evening out.  In the next few months I’ll even have a little play money and be able to go see a show, or buy some new clothes.  I’m so glad things are working out.

Kropps and Bobbers moved locations and no longer have a treatment room so I was out of a job for a bit.  The few and far between clients  I had there in June and July made me really tight on finances and asking for help is never fun.  But I didn’t just sit there whining and feeling sorry for myself.  As soon as I found out they would be switching locations I started putting feelers out for a new position somewhere, still as an esthetician.  I went to school for this.  I took a CA state written and practical exam, and a NY state written and practical exam and I was NOT going to return to a means-to-an-end job.  I submitted and interviewed, and submitted and interviewed and submitted and interviewed.  And then, finally, landed a position with a wonderful boutique spa Midtown East (42nd & Madison).  It’s PERFECT for me.  If I was asked to write down everything I wanted in a place I was working, it would be this place.  And I’m happy for it.

i’m still in Massage Therapy Education.  Finals are this week for this trimester, then I get a few weeks off and it’s back to it.

I go to Jersey to visit The Gutterson’s as often as i can

I’m still running, and training for those races.  One of which is the end of this month.  I’m still not excited, I’m still scared I’ll throw up–but I can now run the 5k at a jog without stopping to walk.  Some would say “look how far you’ve come” I say “Why am I running??? No one is chasing me with an axe!”  But one of my best friends wants me to do this with her, and I don’t like letting my friends down.

Mr. Snow is out of my life now.  That was a wonky last few weeks.  I started hitting that moment where I was just annoyed with every little thing, and I felt smothered, and I felt like I was a teacher.  Which isn’t conducive of a working relationship, regardless if there are titles involved.  It was a different experience for me.  I definitely asserted myself more, stood up for myself, said what I actually felt and thought.  And it was  a good feeling for me to do that.  Too many times I say what either I would like to hear, or what I think they want to hear.  And that’s not a healthy way to live emotionally or mentally.  I started to only see the things that annoyed me, hear the things that annoyed me and I was unable to be bothered anymore.  There is a place where you can make others aware of what’s going on, but you can’t hold them accountable unless you’re their parent or mentor–and I was neither and heading down that path, which I REALLY did not want.  Being clear is very important.  And that’s with yourself and towards others.  [Deep inhale, slow exhale. smile.  It’s over and done with].

So here I am.  Content.  Nah, HAPPY.  I love my spa.  It’s the first time since I got licensed that I feel I’m in “Career-mode” versus having just a “job.”  I enjoy going to school.  I have a great table at home I can practice on people with.   A Planet Fitness just opened up one block away so when I have the funds I will sign up and be able to just walk there and do my thing and walk back.  I’ve been cooking.  I sold some stuff I don’t need or want anymore.  I’m at peace.  And this is extremely good.

Next thing is buying a ticket to fly home to CA in September for a wedding and my nephew’s birthday, Little B will be TWO!!!!.

sigh.  Good.

Friendships, like any kind of relationship, take work.

I’m a fan of  TV, I am.  I like TV shows where it revolves around the life and times of a small group of friends and how they are getting through life and doing it together.  I like, I love it –I’m envious of it.

It’s one thing to watch those fun rom-coms and put yourself in a position where the guy is saying all the right things in the right way at the right time and the music and the chemistry it makes me want to be in love in a movie.  Then an hour or so later, it’s over. With TV, we invest more time into getting to know these “people”  We’re in it WITH them, we consider them our friends (to an extent)  We’ll refer to them by first name (character name), we’ll quote them, we’ll have our dinner with them, make lunch with them, talk back to them–as if they were experiencing “us” as well.  And the only difficult thing about that, for me, is it’s not real.  It’s super fun.  Absolutely.  But it’s not real.

I don’t have those kinds of friendships and relationships.  With the careers, and same pubs, and if one person gets pregnant everyone in the group is an auntie or uncle.  I don’t have the kinds of relationships and friendships where I can call someone up and ask them to come over and they drop everything and do it because they know I need them.  This is not a hit towards the friends and friendships I have now, it’s just that watching it makes me want it.  More than watching people eat an amazing meal makes me want that meal, more than watching the guy get the girl and I want to be that girl–I want those kinds of friendships.  And those take work.  They take time, they take effort…they take being in the same state, the same town, the same time zone.  My friends are all just a phone call away, or a plane ride–and I want them closer.  But they can’t (and won’t) drop their lives and move out there (and that’s okay)  and I can’t and won’t drop my life here and move somewhere else and that is ALSO okay.  It doesn’t make me want it any less.  It doesn’t take away those times in the middle of the day where I have no where to go, no one to play with, where I’m not just alone…but lonely.  And that’s hard for me.

I depended on my relationships for a long time to give me meaning and validation, and have finally gotten out of that head space.  I depended on my early twenties and keeno job as a revenue manager at a great hotel, and rehearsals and cocktails, and cast parties, and karaoke slumber parties, and BBQ’s…to last me forever.  Well, maybe I didn’t “depend” on it–but I wanted that life really REALLY badly.  Because it was easy and fun.  I had friends, I went to work, I played with my friends.

Then a decade or so passes and I’ve changed careers a couple times, I’ve changed living locations a couple times, and my friends are still my friends they are just not near me–and that’s really REALLY hard.  I have no one to sit and spend quality time with to vent and talk.  Most of my conversations are superficial and that’s because they are with people that I don’t know very well.  Who could potentially become “those kinds” of friends but I just don’t have those relationships NOW.  And I miss it NOW.  And I long for it NOW.

I love my alone time.  I have found great healing in my independence.  I have found quiet time to be very good for me emotionally and mentally.  I have found having my own space to be my sanctuary.  And sometimes I want to share that space with people I care about that care about me, without compromising my independence or emotional or mental state.  I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else, and I don’t want anyone else to feel responsible for ME.  I don’t want someone to be at my mercy, nor do I want to be at someone else’s mercy.

I want friends I spend all of my holidays with. I want the friends and bonds that FRIENDS have, that the cast on Grey’s Anatomy have, the three musketeers!, the cast of HIMYM, Sex and the City, the L word, and Bones.  And more.  I want straight male friends I can call and hang out with that don’t want to get in my pants and that i don’t want to get in their pants and its okay for us to have dinner and drinks and fall asleep in the same bed because we’re friends.  Like a slumber party.

I miss my friends.  I want my friends.  I want new friends, and more friends, close friends, dependable friends, responsible friends, fun friends, helpful friends, caring friends.  Friends I can turn to in a crisis, friends that know they can turn to me in a crisis.

I want I want I want. Me Me Me. Mine Mine Mine. Now Now Now.

Because being alone is great for the most part.  So long as it is a “healthy” alone-ness.  It’s the lonely and longing part of companionship from a girl or guy that don’t want to kiss me and have sex with me and woo me, that just want to be friends.  Good friends.  Great friends.  Best friends.  Important friends.

I miss that place.  Those times, those people.  And I don’t necessarily long for the past nor do I regret moving across the nation from the people I have strong bonds with.  But I miss that place in my heart being full.  It’s been empty for a while.  Quietly collecting dust.  Pictures and memories in the albums, but no one is sitting on the couches.  I miss that certain kind of company.  And today, for no reason at all, it just seems harder to realize and deal with.  It’s like wanting to host a party just because, then realizing you don’t have anyone to invite that would actually be able to be there and/or want to be there.  I have the space for the party, and the invitations are set but I haven’t a name or address to write on them.  And that’s just hard for me right now.  Really, really hard.

There are some things you just can’t ever un-hear.

That’s not a word.

Surely we’ve all said and done things we didn’t REALLY mean.  Or we said because we were angry or sad or drunk or happy or just–altered, somehow.  It’s then that I wish my natural filter would thicken, or if not that then I wish my mind would forget things I’d rather not have heard or seen or experienced.  I am not opposed to hypnotherapy.

I’d like to just block it out, or forget, sometimes.  The bad stuff, of course.  I mean–wouldn’t it be great if we could all just hear and remember the good stuff? Somehow though, I don’t think just blocking it in my head will actually work because it won’t make it go away.  It’s like throwing a blanket over the pile of shit.  Shit is still there, isn’t it?  Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t still there.

I’m unable to understand what I am trying to say.  I’m distraught, I’m sad, I’m even a bit flattered and my eyes are hazed over by pieces of romanticism.  Haze.  That’s a mighty fine way to describe this, or these, feeling(s) and perception.

I had envisioned what my life would be or become so many times, and changed it so many times, and changed the guy I was with, the place I lived, my weight, my hair color, my relationship with my friends and their kids–and my kids.  It changed so much I stopped dead in my tracks–finally–and just tried to be present.  Just be in the moment.  All the acting teachers, and movement classes, and songs, and poems, and movies, and cards, and sleepless nights, and salty-pillow days all point to just being in the moment and it would appear, and until now–I haven’t done it once.  I’m always thinking about the next response, the next loving word or sarcastic remark.  I think about how i should say something, how it will be received.  I think about my surroundings, is it day? is it night? Have I been drinking? Am I hungry? Will any of those things alter all of the thoughts racing on the rocky terrain circling the clutter of my life that I’ve compiled into the middle and thrown a blanket over??

Will I ever just–be.  It seems I’m always working towards something.  Whether it’s for me or someone else.  Whether that someone else is related to me, dating me, meeting me, leaving me, talking to me –anything.  I’ll listen but I will also be preparing for something else.  And that’s just no way to live.  Life= the ever prepping place.  Life= the staging area for the big show and I don’t even know my lines or the direction I’m supposed to take and any direction I’ve been given has left my mind, or I didn’t write it down, or I didn’t like the direction and decided just to not do it.  And who the hell am I to make such decision? I’m just–me.  The unable to *be*–me.

Wow, that’s a bit of a discovery.  Unable to be.  Me.  Do you see the different ways that can be said?  And it all comes from experiences I’ve already had, experiences I thought I would’ve had by now, or experiences I wanted to have had by now.  I had prepared for something and it didn’t happen, or it didn’t happen my way or this or that or wah wah wah.  Such a princess.  Such a brat.

But even THEN–nothing could’ve prepared me for the words I heard last night.  Nothing.  No amount of sarcasm, or jokes, or romantic-ness, or hatred, or lust or anything could’ve prepared me to hear the words that came out of the man who said them.

“You are dead to me.”

I just can’t fathom.  I can’t wrap my pretty-little-head around such words.  What EXACTLY did I say and how exActly did I say it to receive THAT from a mouth that not two hours earlier was smoochin’ me and smiling with me.  And what will I ever do now, that I can’t un-hear it.

It’s on repeat.

There was more, of course.  I mean–there’s always more.  And there was my part.  My strong-willed, thick-headedness that some people love and admire and others despise and want to kick me as an attempt to knock some sense into me.  There’s everything I said in my defense, that I still stand by.  And there is nothing I said that is quite like that, I think.

And it really should’ve hurt.  Right? It really should have.  And it hurt but only so-much.  It should be something I hold on to that could possibly disrupt all the “me-work” I’ve been doing this past year.  I should hold on to it like a grudge, because that’s what I do.  I should hold on to it like ammunition–because that’s what I always do.  That’s what I’m good at.  Throwing the words and mistakes others have made regarding me, back in their face when they are down.  I can be heartless.  But…why?  Does it actually DO ANY good???  Does anyone REALLY win when it becomes a vicious circle of he said-she said? Who the hell am I to hold others accountable for their words when I rarely hold myself accountable?  I just say what I think.  I don’t care if you like it. Except–I do.  I care what people think.  The masses.  I don’t care what the one thinks, I care what the masses think–I guess? Well–HELL how do I prepare for the masses when I can’t pull it together for myself or one other person.  And not just ANY other person, a man-person.  Someone I care about.  Who says he cares about me.

What is it about me?

What’s the big deal??

What is just…SO…FUCKING BAD…that I am now DEAD to someone who claimed he cared for me.  And not even that–was “falling in love” with me.  And not just that, but would the next day have his hands at my waist with his soft gentle eyes that have seen enough emotional and physical and mental abuse, and apologize for speaking so harshly out of anger.  And that it’s not who he really is.  Then he’ll walk out and I’ll stand at the doorway unable to move or speak or cry or laugh.  Unable to do or be or feel…anything.  And he’ll appear in front of me again and say “I love You.  And that’s why it hurts so much.” And I should hear that.  I should hear it, but it’s muffled because I can’t un-hear something else.

[And that whole “should” and “shouldn’t” stuff is also a distortion, keeping me from be-ing, and just experiencing what I’m going through then move on from it.  ]

And so they circle one another.  I’ll sit here and let the words circle one another as if fighting over who would get to claim the rest of me.  And what words win remains To Be Determined.

“You have opened my heart wider than anyone ever has.  It takes a very special person to open my heart. Your name has been engraved on my heart.  It would be an honor to call you my girlfriend.” He whispered softly as a single tear glided gently down his face as he lay next to her with his right arm enveloping her body and his left hand caressing her face and running his fingers through her hair.

And some out there are going to roll their sarcastic little eyes and shake their stupid little heads because of romance.  But to romance?? I say:  “It’s.  About.  Time”

You can read about it.  You can want it.  You can write about it.   You can watch it on TV and in movies and think “awww if only that would happen in real life.”

For years I’ve said “I want to be in love in a movie.”  Because that’s where the good writing and good direction is.  Then, there is real life and we realize that we set ourselves up for disappointment with too much hope.  We set ourselves up for let down when we hear something and turn it into something else.  And we certainly lose the spontaneity if we’re telling someone that what they said would’ve been better if they said it this-way or that-way.  I mean, geez.  I can’t be the writer and director and star in my life–can I?  Can I just hope, but hope that my *level* of hope is adequately placed on a level of realism? And isn’t hope supposed to be this unbound motivation that transcends the physical aspects of life?  Hello?  No? Yes?  Can I just continue to watch TV and movies and hope the law of attraction and the power of my thoughts reaches to someone I’ve created in my mind and haven’t yet met and hope that they capture all of the bullet-pointed material I’ve placed on a list of wishful thinking and perfection?  I mean…really???  Aren’t I just setting myself up more?  Or is the fact that I’m being specific and unwilling to settle going to continue to quake within me adjusting my path and pushing away the mistakes and ogres and alcoholics and convicts and liars and thieves?  Man, that would be nice.  And nice–what the hell is that? Why would I say that?  Ever notice that people get offended if you tell them they are nice?  As children we are told to play nice, be nice, act nice, say it nicely.  And as adults we now are turned off or feel we’ve lost some sort of untitled-chance by being recognized as “nice.”  Well to that I say, calm down.  I like nice.  Nice can be misconstrued and perceived as weak or too sensitive.  Nice is supposed to be about manners, etiquette, and confidence in my opinion.  It shouldn’t be fake, or forced and I don’t think it’s a very good blanket to attempt to hide behind.  It’s just a layer.  And it can be genuine.  it’s okay, I promise.  SO–yes, I’d like a nice, romantic guy to say something that others would see or hear in a movie.  But not because I want others to wish they were me, or because I want their approval, but because I believe that kind of stuff, those kinds of words are born of genuine caring parts of a human and it’s something everyone should experience.  They are lost lessons.  They are forgotten times.  Bring on the romance.  Bring on the niceties and caring behaviors.  You can call it a cliche if you want, but the bottom line is you want to be a cliche just as much as the next person.

My name is Aiyani and I’m a cliche, and I’m okay with that.