Tag Archives: friends

Prepare to be shocked

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What I am about to tell you may shock you: I went to the gym today.

I gained two of the three pounds I’d lost a few weeks ago, but that’s definitely better than being over my starting weight. I also:

  • walked on the treadmill for thirty minutes, at 3.7mph (which is just under a jog),
  • did SEVENTY-FIVE crunches,
  • used the glider for five minutes (and man, did it burn!), and
  • rode the bike for ten minutes.

I’m pretty proud of myself.

Before the gym, I went to Wachovia and opened a new account, along with a Way to Save account. Tomorrow, I’m closing my accounts with Webster. They want an astronomical minimum balance, and after the fiasco with Mike’s “lost” check, we’re both all done. I’m not sure which bank he’s going to go with once his name is cleared, but Wachovia is currently the only bank (where I live) that still has a truly free checking account. TD Bank North’s minimum balance requirements and maintenance fees aren’t too bad, but I can’t afford any minimum balance, and I also don’t want anyone telling me what to do with my money.

I still have to get my blood work done and go to the Post Office, as well as close my accounts with Webster, but there’s a huge load off of my shoulders now.

I spent yesterday enjoying being diseased. My stomach was a mess, and my right knee kept locking and aching, along with other random twinges of pain in my joints. I’d like to blame it on the weather, but the thing with my stomach is a cyclical thing, so I have a feeling it was a little of both. Today I’m feeling a lot better*, but feel really guilty for holding off on the blood work I was supposed to get done about a month ago. My PA-C probably thinks I am the laziest patient ever — and I am.

I got my hair done on Monday.

Back to black... and red

Back to black... and red

The picture is totally crappy — thanks, BlackBerry — but it’s all black, with the bottom half and the tips red. As in, Manic Panic Amplified Pillarbox Red. I have been wanting to dye my hair an unnatural red since I was a teenager. You know, when my mom wouldn’t let me. I dyed my hair magenta — pretty sure it was Manic Panic, but can’t remember which pink; it came out magenta — during college, when I was in between jobs. I dyed it black to interview for my job at the Republican-American (and later found out that unnatural hair was perfectly okay). Since I was in the “professional” work force, I was too chicken to dye my hair all red. Even now, being self-employed, I didn’t want to go all the way, so I settled for an in-between. Once this black fades out, though — my natural color is an ashy black — I’m going to go all the way.

In a couple of weeks, after my hair has recovered from the shock of WHYDIDYOUBLEACHME, I’m going to have my cousin re-bleach and re-dye the red, because I want it brighter. I think when we rinsed the black, some of it got into the bleached parts. The red still looks cool, but I want it much brighter. It’s too subtle right now. (;

I could totally get used to this new attitude of mine. I’m finally going after what I want, ignoring what I think other people expect of me. And you know what? Everyone around me has been so supportive, I’m starting to wonder if I impressed those expectations upon myself!

Also, there is a car driving by my house blasting rave music. RAVE IN THE CAR, RAVE IN THE CAR!

Ahem.

I’m so happy right now. I have the man of my dreams, awesome hair, lovely tattoos**, wonderful friends, a loving family, clothes that show who I am, and a head full of ideas that I allow myself to transcribe to paper***. Yes, money is tight, and I have a heavy workload, but things are so, so good. Yes, I can’t stop thinking about Popi, and sometimes I am filled with nothing but yearning for him, but it has not overcome me.

So yeah. Things are pretty good right now. NaNoWriMo starts on Monday! Add me, and I’ll add you back!

How are your things going?

*I think I have another stye, though. Sigh.

**It’s totally time for Tattoo #3, as soon as I get another big paycheck. (I already have $100 to put toward it, but want to wait until I’m positive I have enough extra money. Me, budgeting: Amazing, right?)

***I recently sent a story to a magazine. I’m excited that I even wrote and polished a story, never mind sent it off!

How did we get here?

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Strolling down my memory lane, looking at all of the faces and the places, makes me proud to have known the people I knew. It warms my heart to see them now, see them living lives that maybe aren’t the same lives we planned on, but wonderful anyway.

There are some friends I wish I could have again, but knowing they’re doing well is enough for me, you know?

People I knew then now make lives, save lives, change lives. It’s interesting that our paths cross again and again, as though we aren’t quite meant to be the kind of friends who stand together throughout time, but the kind of friends who can pick up where they left off years ago, fill each other in on the now, and then part ways again.

Sometimes, it saddens me that I don’t have many Always friends. In fact, the only real Always friends I have at the moment are my sister and Mike. I know a lot of my other friends and acquaintances would be taken aback if they heard me say that, but these Sometimes friends are just that: sometimes.

For example, I have a wonderful friend named Jillian. I love her to pieces, and love every second of the time we spend hanging out. It’s one of those friendships where, when we finally check the time, we’re amazed that we’ve actually just sat talking and being silly for eight whole hours. Unfortunately, these get togethers only occur maybe once a month. We could easily be best friends, the kind of friends — Always friends — who hang out once or twice a week. For whatever reason, it doesn’t happen. The friendship borderlines Acquaintance and Best Friends Forever, though it’s always easy to pick up where we left off.

A few of my friendships are like that. We’re great when we spend time together, but it’s rare.

Then, there are the friendships I’d rather keep strictly as acquaintances. These are the friends who I care about but can’t seem to relate to anymore, for whatever reason. Maybe I am too judgmental, too stuck up, but some people I used to respect now engage in activities I would have never saw them doing three years ago. I choose not to put myself in those environments, so I never call these friends. I keep them at arm’s length. I have a hard time telling them I disapprove because, at one point, I tried to mother a friend and the friendship ended up crumbling. We were both at fault, yes, but I will never treat a friend as though she or he is my rebellious child ever again. Once I recognized this self-righteous part of me, I smushed it, quickly. Unfortunately, I think it is still there a little, because I look down on the people I once knew who vehemently participate in the sex, drugs, rock and roll lifestyle, and I keep them far away from me.

I care about them, but I can’t allow myself to get mixed up in that scene.

Maybe that’s why I hardly have any friends. Maybe I’m too judgmental. I would like to be more open minded, but there is a line I draw.

Does anyone else feel this way?

Way beyond my reach

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I wish the holidays were over already. Aside from being super stressed out about projects for clients, and worrying like crazy about Popi, I’m now barely going to see Mike on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

In years past, Toys R Us closed at like 6 on Christmas Eve and wasn’t open at all on Christmas Day. This year, they’re still closed on Christmas Day, but they’re open until 8 on Christmas Eve. Scratch that, as of today; Corporate sent an email at the last possible fucking minute and told everyone that they’d be open until 9.

What. The. Fuck.

Why does this matter?

Let me back up. Initially, Mike was scheduled until 8. He was trying to find someone to switch with so he could come over my house and have dinner with Noni, Popi, Biz Noni, Mom, Dad, Lauren, Aunt Wendy, Uncle Lonny, and I, but couldn’t, so he was going to see if he could just leave early because they will probably be dead. Now that they’re going to be open until 9, his boss asked him to stay until they close.

And he agreed.

Trust me when I say he already knows how pissed I am about this.

I understand why he’s doing it. Right now, he’s on great terms with his boss and the district manager, and he really wants to keep those relationships positive in case any higher positions open up. I get that. But still, I had a perfect picture of how Christmas would go, and now it’s just not going to be like that. I can’t help but be selfish and want to have things go my way. So much has not gone my way these last couple of years: my own health, my grandfather’s health, my living situation… I know I should just shut the fuck up and be grateful for what I’ve got. I know that. So many other people have it worse. It just feels like I’ve had a shitty line of luck lately and I guess I was depending on the holidays to be perfect so it could all be better.

To make things worse, I have a huge project deadline for the end of the month that can bleed into the first week of January because of some crazy server issues, but the deadline is making me nauseous because with all of the holiday shit going on, I have barely had time to work on it. Add a whole lot of lack of motivation, and I’m pretty fucked. Fuck you, depression. You’re such a greedy asshole.

So it’s no wonder that I’ve (sort of) picked up smoking again. I made sure not to buy myself a lighter tonight when I picked up a pack of Marlboro Lights. I’ve only had one so far. I don’t feel like I need one now, which is good, I guess. Right now, it’s either smoke or kill someone. Or run away to Florida.

It’s hard to get in the holiday spirit when so much shit is all fucked up. I miss being a little kid, and having only one worry this time of year: Santa not knowing that I really want a Gigapet, or whatever toy. (One year, I asked him every night before bed during this season to bring me a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup. No lie. My love of Reeses started early.)

This year, Santa, all I want is to feel better. Actually, scratch that. I just want everything to go back to the way it was in mid November, when everything was better. When Daddy didn’t lash out every five seconds because he is hurting so badly inside. When I would go to the Barnes and Noble Cafe every afternoon to write with a Pumpkin Spice Latte at my side. When we looked forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas, not a care in the world. When I thought Popi might just have arthritis or a sciatic nerve problem, or something FIXABLE, dammit.

Right now, it feels like nothing in my life is fixable. I feel like I have no friends. I feel like I can’t rant too much to Mike because he is already stressed out enough and I know that by whining that he has to work late tomorrow night, I’m only making it worse. I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around my whole family, because I don’t want to say out loud that shit, I don’t believe in god so I have no fucking clue where my grandfather is going to go when he dies.

Fuck.

There it is, guys. There it fucking is.

We were best friends

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I have had many best friends.

The first was Emily, in kindergarten. We talked on the phone.

The second was Elizabeth, in second grade. Then I met Jackie, Desi, and Miranda, and in third grade the four of us were sort of inseparable.

In fourth grade, I met Vanessa. We were best friends all the way up until 8th grade. Even when she moved to Panama during our 5th and 6th grade years, we still kept in touch, and when she came back to Connecticut, we continued to stay in touch. We were best friends again in 8th grade, but lost touch during high school.

The summer before 8th grade, it was Leugim.

During 8th grade, it was me, Vanessa, Jessica, Reshma, and Sandra.

My freshman year of high school, it was Lauren and Ryan, interchangeably. When sophomore year came, I met Sandy. We were best friends up until maybe a year or so ago.

Now I consider the cat my best friend. Or Mike, depending on how the day is going.

I scroll through Facebook status updates and Facebook pages, read old journal and blog entries, cycle through memories. Each of these people were once a huge part of my life, but they aren’t anymore. And I don’t get it.

I don’t get why I can’t seem to hold on to anyone that I care about. I don’t get why the relationships I think are precious to me end up not being precious to the other person. I don’t get why distance, time, and differences ebb away the closeness that once was. I don’t get the petty backstabbing. I don’t get why I move through life like a ghost, passing by people but never sticking to them. I once thought that it wasn’t me, that it was them, but maybe it really is me.

I think about inviting these old friends out for a cup of coffee or some lunch. I can see us sitting at a table, catching up, sharing the years that passed without a word over an hour or so. A simple message over Facebook could arrange this. But then I hesitate. What if we don’t have anything in common anymore? Or even worse: what if they say no?

Then the moment passes and I feel like an idiot. Normal people don’t cling to the past. Normal people move on through the future. Normal people make new friends.

I am not normal. I don’t make friends. Everyone I ever knew or cared about just drifts away. And I find that I have to look at myself, very closely. I once thought I was a good person, that I was a great friend — the kind who would bend over backward for my friends. I thought that I was fun to hang out with, that I was interesting enough to keep around.

More and more, I feel like a hermit. I fear that I will be alone. I fear that these friends from the past don’t think of me anymore. Maybe I meant nothing to them. Maybe I will never mean anything again.

Is this normal? Or should I just suck it up?

Read my Batman/Harley fan fiction! Harley Quinn decides she’s tired of Joker’s bullshit and decides to take revenge…

I beat you to it

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I rarely use my MySpace account any more. I logged in tonight because I checked my email like a good working girl and saw that I had a tagged photo and a tagged photo comment, blah blah blah. I also had a message:

I give up

I didn’t reply to it, because it was an awfully immature message. Rather than trying to address the problem head on, you chose to send a message in an attempt to make it look like it was all my fault.

Yes, “Jude,” I stopped talking to you. Not because I am a bad person. Not because I am spiteful or immature. I stopped talking to you because, time and time again, you lied to me. You may think you treasure the friendship we had, but your actions showed otherwise. So, instead of wasting my time, energy, and peace of mind, I stopped talking to you.

We’ve been through this all before. It’s always the same: You get yourself into trouble; I try to be a good friend and help you out; you lash out at me; I withdraw and regroup; you lie to me; I walk way; you send me text messages, social media comments, and leave me voicemails pretending as if everything is okay; I start to miss you and call you back; rinse and repeat.

Not this time. I just can’t anymore. I cannot continue to exhaust myself on you. I cannot continue to give you everything and get absolutely nothing back. Under normal circumstances, I don’t mind. I think I’m a pretty damn good friend. Maybe I’m too loyal. I’ve realized that in trying to help you, I’ve only been hurting myself. And I’m not doing it anymore.

I hope to god you find a way to keep from down (Blue October, “Been Down”)