Talking Without Words

I don’t remember what precipitated this moment or how we ended up embraced together on the couch equally sharing in the nightmare that was my depression at that point. However, it is a night that I will never forget and was never replicated for some reason. For that one night he did everything right and I was comforted. A rare and precious gift to the deeply depressed.

I was overcome with the kind of despair and sadness where words failed me. But instead of trying to draw me out of my shell and explain what was going on in my head he just gathered me up in his arms without a word. We lay on the couch together with my head nestled under his chin and my ear pressed into his chest, listening to the slow and steady beating of his heart. And I cried. While he held me silently, I cried and cried out my pain until it wasn’t just mine, but ours.

As the minutes slowly passed in silence, only broken by the crackle of the fire and the sound of his heartbeat in my ear, I found peace. While I cried, he said nothing but held me tightly, one hand softly running up and down my back, caressing my skin and soothing me. We stayed like that long after my tears had subsided and long after the fire had died down. We lay silently in the dark together and somehow without a single word passing between us, we came to an understanding and a resolution. Somewhere in that shared experience I found the strength to go on.

I knew that everything was going to be ok and you could handle it. Your actions told me that for the first time and I will always be thankful for that evening we spent together. Even now, long after we’ve gone our separate ways I remember that night when I am alone and struggling. I know that on some level you will always be by my side in the darkness and for that I love you.

Late Nights and First Kisses

“You’re not still upset about me ditching you on Monday, are you?” I teased.

“Yes,” he replied softly, intently watching me. His eyes pierced through me and I had to look away as an impudent grin flashed across my lips.

His eyes never wavered from my face. The air between us was electric and heavy as the hour grew late. Months of shameless flirting off the ice and intense competition on the ice had culminated in this moment and here we sat, in an empty parking lot as the clock crept closer and closer to sunrise.

“You’re going to hold it over me forever, aren’t you?” I countered back as I finally lifted my eyes towards him.

“Probably.”

“So,” I said with a sigh, “what are we going to do about that?”

“You could come over here and try to make it up to me.”

A smile played over his face and there was a glimmer in his eye as he slightly leaned closer to me.

I took a breath and leaned over, my eyes closing as our lips met for the first time. The kiss was soft, yet insistent and passionate. All his bravado and ego seemed to melt away in that moment as our hands entwined and the kiss grew deeper. Reluctantly our lips parted and I rested my head on his shoulder while looking up into his eyes.

“Still upset with me?” I whispered.

“Maybe…”

I laughed as I reached up to caress his hair and bring his head lower so I could kiss him again.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” He said quietly, almost to himself, after we parted for the second time. His hand played through my hair and stroked my cheek as we just grinned at each other, the sun turning the inky darkness a soft mottled pink around the horizon.

Car Trouble

“I really appreciate your Dad looking at my car the other day. I hope he didn’t mind.”

“No, it was fine. He likes that kind of thing. He was just a little surprised to see you is all.”

“Well, tell him again I said thanks.”

There is a pause in the conversation as I watch the scenery pass on our way back to the University town. It is a sunny, warm day for early November and very reminiscent of our drives together as a happy couple.

“He said you looked sad.”

“Oh…” I reply, as I turned silently to look out the window, tears welling up in my eyes as I try to will myself not to let any tears fall down my cheek.

A day earlier I had run into some trouble with my car overheating unexpectedly, while in Mr. Intellectual’s neighbourhood. For some reason my cell phone had died on me and I didn’t know where else to go. It only seemed natural to stop at his house to borrow the phone and get a little help. It had been over a year since I had last seen either of his parents and I don’t think he’s spoken to them about what happened between us, or that we’re still friends. All they know is I don’t call or come over anymore and he’s dating someone else who they have yet to meet.

Why is it?

Why is it that when I'm sad I eat, and when I'm angry I drink?

Why is it that I have no idea how to attract the nice guy that I like, but it's all too easy to attract Mr. Wrong?

Why is it that continued interactions with Mr. Intellectual make me feel depressed and completely worthless?

And why is it that if this is the case, I continue doing the things I do?

Self Esteem

I wake up in the morning and look at myself in the mirror. I stare deeply into the dark green eyes looking back at me from the girl in the mirror. I marvel at the shape of her full lips and the curve of her neck as it meets the jaw line. The tousle of blonde hair fresh from bed elicits a small grin and for that moment, alone in the silence of the early morning I believe I am beautiful. In that moment as I look myself in the eyes I know I am a smart, capable young woman who is every bit as beautiful and accomplished as any other woman.

Reality, or unreality, sets in as soon as I walk out the door and I am flooded with a sense of shame when I see the other women I thought I could compete with. All appearances of confidence melt away as each passing woman is sized up and I am found lacking- they’re thinner, better hair, better skin, perfect make up and more ‘put together’ clothes. It doesn’t matter that in the darkest recesses of my unconscious mind I know I am just as gorgeous and probably smarter than these women, but my self-esteem can’t compete with the constant loop of negative chatter in my head. It is like this all the time.

This is what bothered me the most in my previous conversation with Mr. Intellectual. She is better than me. I was never able to measure up, no matter how selfless I was, no matter how generous I was with my time, with my heart, with a million little things I did for him. In the end, I just wasn’t good enough. I felt it in the relationship and now that he’s found someone else I am reminded of it almost every time we speak. She’s thinner, more sexually adventurous, happier, smarter, and more worldly. The list goes on and on. However, the most telling thing for me is his behaviour towards her. More specifically the things he would do for her and has done for her that in six years together he couldn’t or wouldn’t do for me. Actions speak louder than words and in a couple of days he will be flying a continent away to spend over a month with her in Europe. He couldn’t even find the time for almost two years to come visit me just over an hour away at my University.

Rose of Sharon

When I'm not busy with MA things and work I enjoy cross-stitching. I recently started a new pattern, Mirabilia's "Rose of Sharon." I don't know exactly how many hours I've worked on it so far but my best guess is somewhere around 15-20 hours. I was hopping to give it to my mother for her birthday, but I know I won't be remotely close to finishing this piece before April 3rd. So, perhaps I'll give it to her for Christmas?

This is what it will look like when I'm all finished. 'Rose of Sharon' is the second piece I've stitched on linen. The first one took me almost 2 years to finish, partially because I let it sit in my drawer for nearly 9 months, and partially because it took me a while to become comfortable stitching on linen. All my other projects had been done on aida cloth and were all quite small in comparision.



















Mirabilia's Rose of Sharon

“…it was an 8, or 9.”

Maybe I was asking to get hurt, but last night for some reason Mr. Intellectual and I got into a discussion about our former relationship over MSN. The crux of our conversation focused around our sex life after wandering around a few other avenues I was curious about- like when I packed on the pounds near the end of our relationship and I got “a little…big” as he phrased it. One very interesting revelation he brought forth of his own volition was that he finally took a cold hard look in the mirror and realized he was, in his words, a “conceited little twat” and is now trying to rectify the situation. Not an easy thing to do and I’m happy he finally acknowledged one of the main reasons why I had to leave, although I’m not sure he’s made that connection since he did not express that.

So, what precipitated the talk on our former love life? Curiousity finally got the better of me and in a moment where we were discussing things with a level of honesty we haven’t shared in quite some time I just flat out asked. While the answer was somewhat surprising to me, it wasn’t all that unexpected. Overall he rated our sex life an 8 or 9 out of 10, with one of the biggest problems being quantity over quality. We lived over an hour apart for the better part of 4 years and he rarely came up to see me at school, so that was always a major source of contention and an obvious damper on the frequency scale. He also stated that he would ideally like sex twice a day, everyday, which was a bit of a surprise since we rarely did that even when we had the entire weekend together with no interruptions.

There were two areas in what he called, ‘fundamentals’ that were lacking in order to make it a 9 or 10 all the time. What was it that would bump me up to a 9 or 10? Anal sex. While he includes this as part of the fundamentals of good sex, along with blowjobs and a multitude of positions I see it as more of an extra. I always knew he was extremely interested in trying this out, but whenever I tried to discuss it seriously with him he’d joke around and shy away from it. My basic stance on anal is that if my partner agrees to go first then I’ll gladly give it a shot. However, after a couple of years with him I was open to the idea, but it was one of those things that I wasn’t going to do without discussing it first and agreeing on a few things. He could never talk about it honestly with me, so it never happened. He described it as being quite amazing and a very intimate act, while I replied that it has an element of the dominant/subordinate relationship that I wasn’t all that into along with a measure of humility.

The second factor that prevented me from achieving that mythical 10 were my knees. I badly injured my knees at 16 while snowboarding in an ice storm and had trouble spending a lot of time on them. I don’t think it helped that shortly thereafter I started spending extended periods on me knees in his parents basement on a concrete floor covered with a cheap, high-traffic pile carpet with little to no padding. Don’t get me wrong it was fun at the time, but not the smartest thing for my poor knees. The consequence for my stupidity was that I had to be careful during sex so as not to cause more pain. Which meant that I couldn’t do woman on top, or the doggy position for too long before my knees would be in too much pain and I’d have to switch to something else. This was always a disappointment to him and I knew it, so that response came as no surprise. It didn’t help that my subsequent weight gain exacerbated the condition. Surprisingly my knees are doing a lot better these days. I lost the weight and I started working out and stretching to strengthen the muscles, tendons and ligaments in my knees and I rarely, if ever, experience the kind of pain I was in during our relationship.

Overall his answers were not all that unexpected in and of themselves. I knew that I was giving him what he wanted and unselfishly giving of myself to the point were it became a one way street, while he had no idea how unsatisfied I was at times. His selfishness spilled over into the bedroom and it affected how I felt and responded to him. I started to withdraw sexually months and even years prior to our break up because I wasn’t getting what I needed from him outside the bedroom to feel completely uninhibited when we were together. The natural giver in me started to die because it wasn’t being nurtured and appreciated. The reciprocation and consideration were missing and it led to a lot of hurt feelings and resentment, even to this day. The legacy of which has spilled over into my subsequent relationships, or lack thereof and cause me a great amount of concern.

It Wasn't All That Bad

I know I’ve talked a lot of angst and hurt feelings between Mr. Intellectual and I, however it was not all that bad. In fact when it worked, it worked very well between the two of us and I miss a lot of that.

I miss ‘rummaging’ in the couch together, which entailed cuddling, tickling, kissing, watching movies, laughing together and most importantly spooning for hours on end.

I miss cooking dinner together, and how he’d wrap his arms around my stomach and cradle his chin on my shoulder while I stirred the pasta or we waited for something to bake in the oven. He’d nuzzle behind my ear and kiss the back of my neck, which was a well-known weakness I had. Every time we did this together I’d fall in love with him all over again.

I miss our late night talks in front of the dying embers of a fire, wrapped in a blanket and entwined together as we discussed politics, current events, history, philosophy, movies, school, books, and how much we loved each other.

I miss catching his eye across a crowded room and the silent understanding that would pass between us like lightening.

I miss cradling his head on my chest while I ran my fingers through his hair and we dreamed in silence together.

I miss how it felt when we made love. The smell and feel of his skin and the way his pupils would dilate until I couldn’t see the ice blue of his irises anymore, just the intense darkness of his pupils as we locked eyes. Until the day I die I will never forget his eyes. They were one of the first things I noticed and the last thing I will forget about him. They are an incredible shade of blue, with a small dot of brown in the left eye right beside the pupil. He hated that ‘flaw’, but I loved it because it was part of what made him, him.

I miss driving around in the car together with our hands entwined over the gearshift.

I miss tracing the curves and shapes of his naked body with my fingers. Feeling the muscle and bone structure and how everything fit so perfectly together.

But mostly, I just miss how happy we were to be together and it didn’t matter what we were doing, what mattered is that we were doing it together.

Emotional Blackmail

For the last several months I’ve allowed a “friend” to emotionally blackmail me. Why? Part of me just didn’t want to deal with it and the instability that this person exhibited. I had bigger things going on and I have difficulty standing up for myself at the best of times. I was hoping against hope that the person would come to and exhibit a newfound maturity and we could perhaps be real friends. Obviously that hasn’t happened and most likely won’t.

Today I stood up for myself. After another confusing and angry outburst from the “friend” over email I could not sit back any more and allow myself to be controlled by their actions. I’m fed up with allowing people to walk all over me so I firmly, but politely severed all contact. It is something that I have been trying to do for the past 5 months or so.

Next I need to work on the skills necessary for a polite rejection. I’m horrible with letting men who are interested in dating me know that I’m not interested in a second or third date. Like the typical woman I have difficulty being assertive. I absolutely hate confrontation and disappointing people, especially if I have to see them again in the future. However, by not making my feelings known and standing up for myself I only make things worse and unnecessarily allow it to negatively affecting my daily life.

Fortune Cookie Fun

For my Grandparents 60th Wedding Anniversary earlier this year, the entire extended famly all went to a really great chinese restaurant to celebrate. After dinner we were presented with fortune cookies, as is the custom. Mine read as follows:

"You are an interesting and attractive subject."

This was three days after I had to call the police to escort the man who was stalking me off my property and out of my life. I just laughed.

A Time Before Television

Have you ever wondered what people did with themselves in the evening before the invention of the television or even radio? While doing some research I came across this article in the "Children's Corner" section of an 1889 magazine called The Farmer's Advocate. This picture is from the December issue, and it accompanied a rather lengthy article on how to put on your proper shadow puppet theatre, including various sound effects aimed to please your younger siblings.



The caption reads, "Fun for Christmas Evenings." So, I'm guessing that this was only done as a special treat? The shadow puppets are labeled from top left to right- The bird on the Wing; Pussy-cat; The Wolf; The Angry Swan; The French Soldier; The Jockey on Horseback; The Greyhound; The Soldier Laughing; The Elephant. I have no idea if some of these configurations are even possible.

Depression and Maintaining a Relationship

I know that when I’m in the midst of a bout of depression I have difficulty maintaining relationships of any kind whether it is with friends, family or a significant other. In the end, as difficult as this is to admit it was my depression that effectively ended my marriage-bound relationship with Mr. Intellectual. It was like getting a divorce after that many years together and the division of property and emotions that resulted from our dissolution of the relationship was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I still have lingering questions and wonder what I could have done differently to stop it from happening. In the end after he moved into the same University town as I was in and begun dealing with me and my depression on a daily basis it quickly became too much for him. The realization of this hit me like a cold hard slap and I slumped into a deeper depression for the next few months while I tried to wrap my head around that knowledge. To say that I was disappointed was an understatement.

After a few months of struggling through an increasingly worsening relationship I ended it with him. That night is like a blur in my head and still brings tears to my eyes when I think of it today. The memory is still too painful and raw to write about yet. I couldn’t be with a man who resented my depression and had a look of resignation in his eyes when he looked at me- not love. I wanted to set him free to find someone who could show him a full and healthy relationship, free of the torments of chronic depression. I wanted him to be happy and I knew that wouldn’t happen with me. So, as much as I loved him I let him go. I think he’s happy with his new girl, but I guess I’ll never really know what happens between the two of them since outward appearances can be so deceiving.

The end result is that I’m afraid to start up a relationship with someone new. I’m afraid of their reaction towards my depression when it finally emerges and the possibility that they too will feel deceived- that the depression wasn’t part of the initial deal and they will not want to take that on. I don’t ever again want to look into the eyes of a man I love only to see rejection where love once was.

Knowing all this, it was with trepidation that I accepted an invitation for drinks on Friday with a man whom I’ve hung out with casually for a while now. We get along really well, but I have that nagging doubt that this too won’t work out when reality makes its appearance. He’s kind, sympathetic and clearly wants to be with me, so much so that he’s actually driven almost 100 miles just so that we could have lunch together before driving all the way back home in time for work. He has put himself out for me already and is looking to move our friendship to the next level. I feel like at this point I’m stable and secure enough with myself and being on my own that I can enter into a relationship without looking for the other person to make me happy, but I’m wondering about the wisdom of this? Have I put Mr. I. and what we shared behind me enough that it won’t interfere with something new? More importantly though, is it really fair for me to ask a man to take me on knowing that even though today might be a good day, the depression is definitely going to be back no matter what, over and over again…

A Snow Day

It was snowing. Those great big white flakes that lie heavily on each individual tree limb and etch their form against a steel grey sky. You were a gentleman. And I, I was at ease with you like I have not been with any man in years. We talked while the snow swirled outside, oblivious to the storm. A cup of coffee snuggled between my hands and the width of a couch between us, but the warmth of a smile bringing us closer.

We walked slowly through the snow and I showed you the changes in the landscape since you had been here last. I’m not sure how much of it you actually took in, but I know you did not miss a smile or a single stolen glance. You were complimentary and inquisitive and I wanted to take your arm as we strolled through the freshly fallen snow, but I demurred. Unsure of how the touch of my hand on your arm would be received, I put the thought out of my mind and we continued on.

In a dimly lit pub, almost as old as the city itself you shared bits and pieces of your life with me over drinks and lunch. Surrounded by rough-hewn wood beams and fieldstone walls you opened up to me. Soon our time together drew to a close as the commitments of real life pressed down on us, and our stolen moment was savoured for just a few minutes longer.

We promised to meet again soon and as I walked off alone into the falling snow I knew it would never quite be the same as those few borrowed hours.

Occupational Hazard?

Early last week I was working from home trying to get a few things done in anticipation of the start of the Winter Semester. At one point I leaned over to pick up a textbook from my floor and somehow, either through the weight of it or my awkward one handed grab I managed to pull a muscle in my shoulder! The whole incident would have been hilarious if it wasn’t for how tragically pathetic it is, compounded with the annoyance that a week later I am still in pain over that book. Despite the fact that it probably only weighed in around 5 pounds or so, the shoulder must have been wrenched worse than I thought since I’m having problems working at my desk for extended periods. I’m guessing it’s a combination of shoulder injury and poor posture that leaves me hunched up in pain. As a grad student it’s my job to lug around books and I can’t even seem to do that properly!

When I regaled my hockey team with the tale over post-game drinks at the local bar I was heckled for obvious reasons. I’m now accepting applications for a research assistant, namely someone to shuffle my books too and fro for me so I can avoid any more injury. Any takers?

2006 World Junior's

Congratulations boys, you've earned it. Thanks for a great game.

Life is Annoying

I woke up this morning to the sound of the garbage truck on my street. Before I could register that yes, that is indeed the garbage truck and no, I didn’t manage to put out my garbage last night, it had moved past my house. By the time I bolted out of bed and down to the front window to see if maybe they were just starting my street, the truck had bypassed my empty driveway in favour of my neighbour’s house. I definitely did not want to be that woman on my street who chases after the garbage men in her pajama’s with a severe case of bed-head, garbage bags in tow. I avoided the humiliation and ambled back to bed, cursing silently for missing pick-up. I’m still new to the neighbourhood and trying to figure out the pick-up schedule with the Holiday’s thrown in is not coming easy. I’ll just have to live with an extra bag of garbage and recycling in my kitchen until next week as penance.

Fingerprints of Influence

Spending a significant amount of time at my parents place is a lot like regressing back in time. After three consecutive days in my old bedroom long forgotten memories of high school and my early childhood come creeping back in, some unwelcome but others treasured. It’s not surprising that this should happen since nothing significant has changed in my room since I left for University about 6 years ago. All the same pictures are still up including the painting Mr. Intellectual bought me for our second Christmas, which is hung above my bed, and the picture his father took of us before we left for his high school prom, which sits on my dresser. I thought about putting them away but just couldn’t bring myself to alter my childhood room, even if those pictures serve as a constant reminder of what isn’t in my life at the moment. The pictures that cause the most painful memories are tucked safely away in a drawer.

Seeing these things got me to thinking of him, the time we spent together and how much he has shaped and influenced the person that I am now. I feel like he has left invisible fingerprints all over me that I can’t always see, but are there. Places where he has pressed softly into my skin with a single finger, left an impression, and unalterably changed me. At times the recognition of one imprint of influence appears to me in a most surprising way like my desire to get a miniature schnauzer one day soon, while other fingerprints are intrinsically known to me, like my passion for history. It all began when he encouraged me to take that course in Modern Western Civilizations in my final year in high school despite my avowed dislike of all things to do with history. It would take me almost a year in University to figure out that I really wasn’t cut out for my degree in Psychology and that the siren song of a History degree was calling out to me instead. It’s a choice that I have no regrets making, and in the end it was one of the best things that he has brought into my life.

Mr. I also broadened my literary horizons by introducing me to books that I otherwise would never have given a chance. While I am an avid reader I’m also cautious about new authors, especially if it means purchasing the book since I’m much more careful with money than he is. He threw caution to the wind and bought new books with a sense of abandon that I envy, since I always want to make sure that each book I purchase will be a loved edition to my library. In the end it was I who benefited the most since he introduced me to books on political commentary, philosophy, humour, all time periods of history and obscure writers of the most amazing fiction I had ever read. I still appreciate when he recommends something new to me, although at one point in our relationship I resisted and ignored his choices since it was such a one sided tutelage that I grew to resent.

I realize now that when we met at 17 I was a sponge, hungry for knowledge and open to be influenced. So, I soaked up his musical tastes, favourite books, passion for movies, interests and just about anything he could teach me. He on the other was very much closed off to any influence I may have had on his life and at times openly resisted it. I look at the man he is today and wonder if there are any lasting imprints made by me in our six years together, or if like water off a ducks back I am just a passing memory. I remember the way he would mock my musical choices, deride the fiction I read and turn up his nose at any movie selection I made to the point where I started to shut down. I became more passive to avoid argument and deferred to his choices because it was just easier than standing up for my personal tastes. There were so many movies that I chose that he turned up his nose at but resignedly went to see with me, only to love them later often without telling me until much, much later. It was infuriating and hurtful and rankled with me because I didn’t understand why he was like this.

In the end I know that he is the one that missed out, and my life has been enriched by the new influences I found in him. However, that doesn’t stop me from feeling a profound sadness when I examine him now, only to see a blank slate where I expected to see lasting impressions of my influence over his life. When I look in his eyes I don’t see mirrored there a love of fine art, an interest in photography or the desire to collect antiques. Instead I see nothing of myself or what we shared together beyond the memories we hold in common and although I may be the person who knows him in the most complete sense because of our 8 years of close friendship, I still know so little about him and he seems to know almost nothing of me.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year to my regular reader's, all two of you, and those who happen by. Santa brought me the flu for Christmas so I took a few days to recover from that. I'll be posting more regularily I hope in the new year. Happy 2006!

Who Am I?

Nike of Samothrace, circa 200BC, Artist Unknown.

This week a person dropped by the site and left me a comment. MC asked a few questions that I’ll attempt to answer now. This is a post I’ve struggled with for months, namely, who am I? Part of the reason I began writing in this space was to find myself again. After I broke up with Mr. Intellectual I woke up to the fact that over the years I had lost myself. I lost touch with who I am and what I really wanted out of this life. It is the over-riding question that drives me- not why am I here, but rather who am I?

I first saw the ‘Nike of Samothrace’ sculpture when I was 14, in a high school art class. Also know as ‘Winged Victory’, it spoke to me in a way that a piece of art had never done before. There was something about the way the fabric strained against her body, her wings in flight against the wind all rendered in marble, that amazed me. So much so, that I didn’t even notice that her arms and head were missing for quite some time. I still find this work to be incredibly beautiful and inspiring. I remember that I photocopied that picture and it remained tacked to my bulletin board for years to serve as an inspiration and muse. After that I took a deeper interest in Art, but it wouldn’t be until University that Art History became a minor passion of mine.

Apart from the depression that runs deep through my life, an appreciation and passion for fine art is a second stream that makes up who I am. I view the world as though it is being framed up for a painting, a photograph or to be rendered as a sculpture. It is so much a part of me, and yet I rarely carry around my camera anymore, or even sketch out pictures. Somewhere along the way, I put aside the artistic side of myself since it didn’t really meet with much approval from Mr. Intellectual. It makes me sad that my adolescent self stopped cultivating the humble art skills I possess simply because the man I loved wasn’t all that interested and didn’t care to learn about it. Instead I cultivated my passion for art by taking an Art History minor in my undergrad. I wasn’t able to get a full double major out of it because it would have meant taking a fifth year, and I was eager to graduate. I'm sad that this is one of the "sacrifices" I believed I had to make for the success of the relationship.

As for the other questions, MC: am I an actual person? Yes, I am. I’m a graduate student who is trying to complete a Master’s degree in Canadian history. Do I have a real job? Well, in the summer I work on contract for the Government, but for various reasons I can’t speak about my job or disclose where exactly I work. Do I work with real people? My winter “job” of the degree is pretty isolating and I rarely see any of my fellow students and colleagues unless I go out of my way to seek out their company. I’d love to talk about my summer coworkers, since there are some really fascinating and colourful characters there, but again that’s off limits if I ever want to return.

As for who I am, I’m not really sure, to be honest. I guess you’ll just have to keep reading if you really want to find that out, since I'm just beginning to figure that out myself. Previously I’ve defined myself by my relationship and my job and now that both of those things have crumbled away I’m having a difficult time figuring out who I really am, stripped bare and all alone. I don’t want to define myself by external forces anymore and yet I am reluctant to completely give them up. Which is why I struggle with my residual feelings for Mr. I, and the possibility that I may never be able to return to my summer job unless I can transfer to another location. What I do know is that I need to find out who the woman that I stare at in the mirror every morning is and be comfortable with that again. In the meantime I’ll continue to strain against the adversity I face, just like the Nike I love so much.

Worth A Rewind

I was watching the movie, Love Actually tonight since it's getting closer to Christmas and I'm not really feeling it yet. So, what better way to get in the mood than to watch a romantic comedy set around the holidays?

Hugh Grant plays the British Prime Minister, and the scene where he dances to the Pointer Sisters', "Jump (For My Love)" through #10 Downing Street really is worth rewinding to watch a second time! Hugh really is too cute for words sometimes. As long as you don't remind me about his mishap with Divine Brown.