With you I can be myself
With you I don’t have to be somebody else
It’s like puttin’ on my favorite pair of shoes
I’d like to be with me, when I’m with you

More Adventures of Boy A.

So, as to the previous posting…I really don’t know how to summarize what happened. It was a HUGE shitty debacle. And then there was an even huger one after that.  And then, slowly, everything was okay again.

Boy A and I are approaching our 1.5 year anniversary.  And things are finally smoothing out, and he says that he is happy and secure with us.

Now it is Christmas break, and he is back in his hometown, which is five hours from where I am.

And, lucky me, Debacle Number Two has MOVED IN WITH HIM.  And by “him”, I mean his mother when he is away at school. Meaning, I am in constant fret mode.

Is it totally unbelievable that I would fret and be concerned when he doesn’t answer his cell or his home phone?  After what happened? With D.no.2 just HANGING AROUND ALL THE TIME??

I am trying very. very. very. hard to trust him.

But, trust, especially in a situation like this, does NOT come easily.

Especially when Boy A seems to lack the courtesy to send me a text saying “brb eating dinner,” or some other explanation as to why the crap I can’t get ahold of him over a two hour span.

Cell is on; rings and rings to voicemail.

Cell is suddenly NOT ON.

Cell is on again; rings and rings to voicemail.

Can the Universe blame me for being fretful??

What do I do, internet??

The title is a Seth Glier song, and I think it represents my current station in life pretty well.

So, there’s this boy. Let’s call him “Boy A” .

Boy A is the most gorgeous thing that I have ever laid eyes on, and I would walk over hot coals for him.

However.

We are no longer together. Or are we? But, wait…what?

It’s a gray, murky area.

I am in love with him. ‘Nuff said. But, now, it’s his move.

We are taking a break over the summer. Three whole months for me to begin the healing process in therapy (gotta learn how to cope with all these emotions!) and for him to figure out what he wants and what he’s gonna do about it.

I have fought it tooth and nail…until yesterday. At which point, I found some peace and relinquished control. All my tears and anger was doing nothing but pushing him away and making me look insane. So, I took a deep breath, and let Boy A have the driver’s seat.

What he does with it is his choice.  However, I am putting myself first this time.

If Boy A wants me back, then he’ll have to make it work. I’m going to try to focus on my needs. Be who I need me to be. Maybe we’ll find a way to work things out. Don our coveralls and get into the trenches, as it were.

But if not, then I have a new best friend. Me.

~~~~~~

She’s a warm sensation, like some Mexico vacation

Where you come and go but never truly leave.

She leaves a calming notion, from her love-inducing potion

As you get swallowed up, and spit out by her sea.

She’s a constant yearning, as your stomach goes and turning

Like the ferris wheel at every county fair.

She’s a child’s grin that paints dimples on your chin,

As you smile back, completely unaware.

This feeling’s lost to made and break

You said, “Love is past expiration date”

Well, is it?

It was gone before it started, and the songs you sang, you sang again and again

You lead me on, break my heart, steal my records and you trash my car.

You let me go, with all you do, as my circle of addiction leads me back to you, back to you.

She’s crazy like tomorrow, but she’s as gentle as a sparrow

As her smile sprays sunshine in the dust.

This may be an illusion, or some fairytale conclusion

As her mind is glazed with Heaven’s golden dust.

Sometimes when she dances, it makes me shy from all the glances

Like the moonlight through Autumn’s murky sky.

It saved by her smile, as I’m torn from mile to mile,

With a knowing glance transcending from her eyes.

I tell that I’m okay, because it is the only way I’m over you.

Do you teach me love, or teach me pain,

Some self-fulfilling game you play, now don’t you?

You lead me on, break my heart, steal my records and you trash my car.

You let me go, with all you do, as my circle of addiction leads me back to you, back to you.

Will I break down?

Right now down is where I wanna be.

With the shadow of affliction, shaking hands with me.

And will we break up?

But up is where you oughtta be.

With the shears of past addiction, to cut your love free.

Set your love free.

you lead me on, break my heart, steal my records and you trash my car.

You let me go, with all you do, as my circle of addiction leads me back to you, back to you.

Back to you.

She’s a warm sensation, like some Mexico vacation,

Where you come and go, but never truly leave…

Scintillating, coagulating

Like blood from a wound.

Two broken mirrors,

One cracked, the other

Shattered, mind tattered

Soul trembling like a

Flame in the wind

I see you, in

My own cracked surface.

Flaws, faults, failures

Reflection on reflection,

Call and answer, like a

Symphony, a harmony in dischord.

Stumble, scrape, up again

Your hand at my elbow.

I see myself, in the

Shadows of your reflection.

For Alex.

And she does, as she walks beside me, shoulders back and spine like cold metal rod.  She steps with insistence, with pride, with strength and knowledge of herself.  She doesn’t know where the road she is on will go, but she knows what to do about it.  In her hands are the fire of her passion and the steel of her resolve.  She will not stop until she gets what she wants.  She has always been so.

I have built myself around her, not like a moat around a castle, but more like a house around a support beam.  I do not protect her; I couldn’t if I tried.  I simply could not stand without her.  She is everything I have ever known, and her strength bolsters my own.  Where would I be without her exacting advice, her quick wit and cynicism, her biting sarcasm? In shambles.

She stands on the curb like a monument to some great unknown goddess, the flickering light from a broken street lamp illuminating her with a cracked golden aura.  Her feet are slightly apart, her black pumps firmly planted.  Her posture declares nothing about the night we have shared, full of laughter and booze.  One hand on her hip, the other held before her, wrist limp, watch face turned up to her eyes.  It is getting late. 

I drape my jacket across her shoulders, though I did not see her shiver.  There is ice on the ground.

I am silent, the threads of our previous conversation dropped.  I do not need to speak; I must simply be absorbent and aware, basking in her presence.

Most of the time I feel like her pet, an animal she keeps around for her own amusement and pleasure, easily cast off.  We are on unequal footing.  I could never ask her to marry me, though I’ve carried the ring in my jacket for nearly a year now.  Waiting, deluding myself into thinking that someday something will change.  That I will be more of a man to her, that she’ll soften the hard lines of her face and body into womanly voluptuousness.  We are unevenly matched.  I have always been a sensitive soul, an artist.  Her career is heavily technical, the kind that drills out all your remaining humanity, fills you with lead, and places a ‘hang in there, baby’ poster with a kitten hanging from a tree in your office for irony.  We are incompatible.

I tell myself this as I reach to touch the worn jewelry box in my jacket, only to remember with alarm that she is wearing it.  She does not seem to notice the added weight, but probably soon will.  I brace myself for the impending confrontation.  It is winter.  Her fingers are cold.  She slips them into the pockets of my jacket.  She pauses.  The ring box comes out in her hand, is opened.  The three stone thing glitters in the scant lighting, and she shoots me an incomprehensible glance. 

She plucks the ring from its nest, slips it onto her finger, then nestles the box back into her pocket.

“We’ll discuss the date and arrangements tomorrow.”

That is just her way.  I would be lost without her.

- Ellis Paul
You turn a blue eye to me,
And you look right through me,
you said define what you think freedom means,
if you want freedom
We can wake up this lullaby town
And burn through every red light we found
lift the dust cloud, break the speed of sound
You can break  free -
If you wanna run, i’ll pack my suitcase
and if you wanna stay or make a front door key,
if you need space, to fly, free,
If i stand on the rooftops,
long down on my story,
and it swarms me.
beyond the horizon, the tail lights the glory
you found me
(Freedom) I need to know who i am
(Freedom) I’m like a moth in your hand
(Sweet freedom) do I fly or stand?
or fall on my knees
If you wanna run, I’ll pack my suitcase
and if you wanna stay I’ll make a front door key,
if you need space, to fly, free,
Take all the sky you need.

Okay, so last night I had SUPER terrifying dreams nightmares.  My scariest ones are always about my teeth, and last night was no different.  I dreamed that they rotted out in several different ways, and was FREAKIN’ OUT when I woke up at 3AM.  At which time I checked my phone to find several texts (Kyle, Holly, Stephie) and an email telling me that CrazyPants sent me a message on facebook.  Nice.

Turns out he came by my house this morning again.  Auntie called him and he swore up and down that he was done, has better things to do with his life, etc.  I don’t buy it, but we shall see.  I dare not get to excited, lest it turn out to be false.

Anywho, we went bike shopping again today, and got a lovely bicycle for me.  It’s powder blue.  It’s a Townie, which is retro inspired.  There’s a little rack on the back, and it has eight speeds.  I was gonna name it Jenny, til I realized that Austin’s motorcycle was named that.  So my bike will be getting a different name at some point or another.

When we got home, I found a package!  My Knotty Boy stuff had arrived!  I was super excited and did a little dance and was happy.

Well, except for my wake up call.  A four year old standing outside your bedroom door screaming “RHYANNA WAKE UP!!!” at the top of his lungs isn’t exactly the most harmonious and soothing way to wake from dreamland.  But that’s okay, Hayden only has four more days to rudely awaken me.  Tonight, I will hide the accordian.  Aunt Lin said she was going to wake me up with it one day.  THAT is a torment worse than hell, lemme tell you.  In fact, hold on.  Let me go hide it right now…..

…………………………………….

….okay, sorry.  Now that the accordian is tucked safely awaym, I can rest easy.

The early wake up call was because Auntie wanted to go yard sale-ing.  She needed new business clothes and some uniform stuff for Hayden. 

I enjoyed it.  I found several treasures.  I got a super cool hoodie, a reall odd red “snakeskin” jacket that Auntie INSISTED I get, and I got a couple records and a bookshelf and some other random odds and ends.

I spent five hours repainted my bookshelf and LOVE the outcome.  It’s primer white with colorful splattered and random book-related quotes on it.

And most currently, I’ve been chatting with my “bff” Kyle Given a lot lately.  I’ve never met a guy that I didn’t eventually run out of things to say.  Kyle and I are never at a loss for words, and it’s so comfortable.  So far, I don’t see anything romantic, and that is A-OK with me.  I enjoy just being his friend and having someone that I mesh with.  It’s great.  Having a platonic guy friend that I can talk to about stuff NOT sex related is liberating and I love it.  Kyle, you rock. <3

My aunt has given me an assignment: become well-read.  Research ice-breakers, mingling tips, conversation starters.

“Increase your question to statement ratio.  Count the number of times you say ‘I’ in a conversation.”

The bonus is, the more questions I ask other people, the less information I have to provide about myself.  Which makes me appear to fit in more.  The less they know, the more hip and enigmatic I appear.

That or, I’m the creeper girl that asks too many questions.

Any conversation tips for this Awkward Turtle?

She says that while cutting certain harmful people out of my life is a laudable choice, I still give said people too much control.  I let them affect my thoughts and emtions.  I let them get to me.

I have been in a funk all day, Internet.  Why?

Because when I checked facebook this morning, I had a message waiting for me.  After brushing him firmly off, after parental intervention, dear CrazyPants does NOT GET IT.  I don’t wanna be friends.  I don’t wanna be acquaintences that you talk to one Tuesday a year.  My aunt says we are calling his dad today.  I am dreading that phone call.  I keep hoping that if I play “Hear No Evil, See No Evil” he will just dry up and disappear, leaving me to move on and up.  But that’s not happening.  Still, with no contact on my behalf, he manages to wreck my day.  It makes me angry.  How dare I give him that much power over me?  He doesn’t deserve it.  My grandfather told me once that every emotion is a choice.  Nobody MAKES you cry, or MAKES you happy.  You choose to let them.  He was right, and I forgot that.

Another person that creates chaos in my life simply by not being in it is my dear old dad.  After eight years of consistantly choosing NOT ME everyday, you think I’d get the point, yeah?  But still, it hurts me.  I allow it to hurt me.  Why does his approval matter so much?

Lisa wondered if maybe I should reach out to him, in time.  Try to start over.  I don’t know that he’d want to.  I don’t know that I do either.  It wouldn’t change anything.  I’d still be the one doing all the work, because at the end of the day, in his heart, he’s still not choosing me.  Why would that change?

A change in paradigm is not something that happens over night.  You don’t just STOP being sad over a touchy, hurty place in your soul just because you decide to.  But you can make an honest step forward and choose to change.

I choose to change.

I will shift the power back from those that don’t deserve it, and take control over who gets to sit in my Emotional Jury Box.  I am in control of me.  Austin is not.  Douglas is not.  I can blame neither of them for wrecking my day because I gave them that power. 

I am taking it back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Feared your control and excessive greed
Abuse of your power disgraced me
You want war
You got war
More than you bargained for
I damn you and leave defiantly
Cut you out and take it all with me
You want war
You got war
More than you bargained for
Always question authority, control my own destiny
Forcing change, breaking free
From the gears of the machine
Changing my world so I can live
Execution powershift
I will forge my place in this time
Contention is sharply refined
I will expose you and force your demise
To take control of what is truly mine

-Fear Factory

Rhyanna woke groggily to the sound of her phone ringing, Lady Gaga’s synthesized voice filtering from the tiny speaker it held.  As much as she loved that song, being awoken by it was irritating.  Being awoken by anything was irritating to her, really.  Especially people.  There was nothing Rhyanna hated more than to have a person enter her space while she was sleeping.  She always snapped immediately awake as soon as the door opened. 

The voice on the other end of the telephone line was her friend Rachel, who quickly backpeddled and apologized upon hearing Rhyanna’s obviously sleep-fresh voice.  She tended to sound a little like a zombie in the mornings; more grunts and gurgles than coherent sentences.  Add to that a disjointed shamble, squinted eyes, and hair in a dissarray, you get Zombie Rhynnie: The Next Hollywood Blockbuster.

Rhyanna cuddled back into her covers, snuggling her IKEA pillow.  She would sleep more.  She’d been up til 2AM washing clothes and was exhausted.  Dreams was just forming in her head, when the bedroom door swung open and shattered her peace.  “Wakey wakey”.  Her aunt called.

Grumbling, she slid out of bed and threw on her well-worn Spongebob nightshirt.  She’d had it since she was what?  Twelve?  It was now far too short to wear comfortably without trousers, and had holes worn into it.  But hey, they cute pajamas were for college, and were already packed.

She shuffled to the dining room to find her aunt writing on the window.  She did that frequently, and had a running to do list for Rhyanna on it-which she was adding to.  Eyeing the growing task list, Rhyanna began to feel somewhat dismayed.  She already had plans starting at one, and running for most of the day.  She and Rachel had an appointment at David’s Bridal, then she had to scurry to Dallas for an interview that she had been very anxious to procure.  Now she had to research the company she was interviewing with, write a letter to a very generous old woman that had helped her win a scholarship, and wash the dishes.

In the end, she had time to finish all of those tasks and still fart around the house.  When it couldn’t be procrastinated any longer, Rhyanna donned a blue tank top and a white and black wrap dress.  Her dreaded hair (freshly backcombed) was pulled back with a blue scarf that Rachel had given her the day before.  Rhyanna had come home from Rachel’s apartment loaded down with goodies.  Perhaps the best was the shiny silver stereo that she couldn’t wait to blast Eminem from.  What was it about that man that made her feel so close to him?  She hated rap.  Detested it.  But Marshal Mathers’ lyrics (even his crude ones) spoke to her.  Maybe it was the way he strung the words together, or simply his voice.  Whatever it was, she was hooked.

Arms laden with boxes, Rhyanna made her way to her car.  Big Business had a back end that only a mother could love.  Within two months of owning her, the bumber had been ripped off in a parking lot by an old woman in an F-150.  It was very upsetting.  Currently, the bumper was jerry-rigged with a few screws and plaster.  She didn’t mind so much, now.  It would be replaced eventually.

After shoving a box full of video games and consoles into her trunk, and loading the backseat with flattened boxes, Rhyanna grooved on over to Lewisville. 

The night did nothing to change how radiant Rachel looked in her gown.  The empire waisted garment flowed down her body like it was made for it.  Add to that her veils, and the image was to die for.  Having been introduced to said image the day before, Rhyanna didn’t tear up today.  But almost.  Rhyanna tried on a few bridesmaid dresses before finding one that suited her.  It was long, flowy, and had one strap.  It had an empire waist as well, and made her look thin.  Which was a bonus.