December 31st, 2003

It’s New Year’s Eve, 3:30 in the afternoon, and I am increasingly confident that I’ll be staying home in front of the TV tonight. The party to which I’m invited isn’t appealing enough to get me to drive for half an hour amongts drink-infested revelers. My good friend Elizabeth, who was to spend the evening with me, is instead spending it with her friends in Santa Barbara. Which is really all for the best, since my cold is still in full swing. I don’t know if I can negotiate a) feeling crummy, b) a long drive and c) people I don’t really want to see, just so I’m actually doing something on New Year’s Eve. A month ago, I had a vision of exactly this, me staying home and getting some writing done in lieu of getting trashed with people I don’t know very well. This holdiay usually disappoints anyway, so I don’t feel too bad about being alone. I do wish that I could be going to Sean and Jordi’s party. That does make me sad, that I can’t be there. But, y’know, I’ve made some choices, and this is just a factor in the outcome.

2003 has been a strange year for me. I’ve had one of the worst health-scare years in history (and some of them weren’t even scares, they were the real thing). I became a cyclist, I quit my job, I started a novel, I loved working on the novel, I trashed the novel, I almost fell in love, I recovered from almost falling in love with comforting speed, I vowed to never wait tables again, I moved to California… and ultimately gained more confidence in myself than I’ve ever had. My sweet Dad is continually telling me how proud he is of me for what I’ve already accomplished here. But what I’ve realized, more than ever, is that there is simply nothing I can’t do. Well, no, I could never be a calculus teacher but I have great confidence that anything to which I apply myself, that I actually care about and want to do, I will accomplish. So obviously very few things fall in that category, with those qualifications. But I’ve found great confidence in my abilites. Strange, considering the doubt that I’ve lived in for years now.

I have New Year’s resolutions, but they are private (unlike just about anything else in my life). And I know myself well enough to not say I’m “resolved”. What I am is hopeful. I have about ten very clear hopes for my own life… well, no, make that three, but with addendums and the like, and even a shred of hope for the 2004 election, and therefore, hopes for the world. I’ll be thinking about them at midnight tonight as I’m drinking a bottle of Schramsburg and eating leftover lasagna, by myself, in the heart of Napa Valley. Actually, who am I kidding. I’ll probably be asleep.

My great hope is that someday soon, somehow, I’ll be living near my brothers again, near the friends I hold so dear, and near both my mom and dad as well. I don’t know how this is possible, but it is my ideal, and since it is my wish list I’m going to do with it what I will. And really, “near” is a relative term, isn’t it?

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope you all spend it with people dear to you. May 2004 hold even just a little promise for all of our wishes.

December 30, 2003

It’s all too obvious that I’m back in the land of no wireless internet connection. My dad and I actually discussed the idea of hooking up satellite internet today, but I have yet to do any serious research. Night falls, I’m thinking about blogging and I hit my head once again for not pursuing this matter during the day. But what I can do is write every night, and post when I can post. I hope you, my fair readership, will not mind a little scrolling when it comes time to check into my wee world.

I’m sick again, which is both ridiculous and baffling since I was ill less than a month ago. Sick enough to be sent home from work, sick enough to be told not to touch anything in fear of infecting the household. But I had an inspiring day: I finished Richard Russo’s “Empire Falls” and watched “Whale Rider” on DVD. If a girl has to stay home, miss out on work and therefore desperately needed cash, and is too sick to enjoy a brilliantly beautiful post-rainstorm California afternoon, she might as well absorb some great art. I also did two crossword puzzles. It has been an infinitely satisfying day if you don’t count the quart of snot that, by exiting through the proper channels, has destroyed the delicate skin between my mouth and nostrils.

I watched “Whale Rider” on my laptop. Which is also immensely satisfying. The resolution is terrific, and frankly, I’m pretty sure this computer could poach eggs if only I could find the right program. I’ve already lost hours researching Africa with the included “World Book” software, and accidentally watched the “Forest” screen saver for about ten minutes. I feel better knowing that my little white miracle machine is here waiting, beckoning, daring me to do anything other than slap away at the perfect little keys. Do I sound a little overenthusiastic, a little nuts? Well. I might be the most fortunate writer I know, having at my disposal a computer I could never afford, and a welcoming roof over my head. I do not take these things lightly. It’s the break I’ve prayed for and I’d be a total putz to not appreciate it and do my best by it.

The strangest thing about this computer is the version of Word. When I’m working on a document, there is a little dialogue box with an animated computer that watches me type. Obviously I could close it, but it is far too amusing. When I screw up a spelling, it jumps up and fixes it for me, When I ignore it, its little legs jump in the air and it plops down and hits its feet together like a six-year-old. When I stop typing, it looks to the right to see who has disturbed me. Geeky as hell, aren’t I? But I wonder who created it, decided that it would be so entertaining? Whose baby is this?

Ahh, the late night musings influenced by Nyquil…

Later…

The very keys beckon me. They have the perfect amount of play. You don’t have to hit them too hard but the *thwack* of each button, the appearance of each letter is infinitely satisfying. And it is almost as silent as the Prius at a stop sign.

My family did this for me. Mom, Sean, Ian, Tessa, Jordi, Steve, and Kent, I am dumbfounded and beyond thrilled. Thankyou thankyouthankyouthankyou a billion hundred grillion times over. I’ll have you know that my current desktop will not remain for long, as it is rather distracting (Aragorn and his sword) and I intend to get a lot of work done on this terribly slick machine.

We are such gearheads in this family. Two iPods, two Tivos, my iMac, three sets of speakers, one full home stereo system- just a staggering amount of really cool electronics were opened this Christmas morn. At one point tonight there were no less than six laptops running on the dining room table, and that didn’t count the three or four other fully functional computers lying about elsewhere. But Sean was almost as happy about his brand new measuring spoons than about his iPod. He also got those wacky noise cancelling earphones, and apparently they have a feature not mentioned on the packaging: they drastically improve one’s perception of one’s own voice while wearing them. Well, perhaps not, but we’ve been listening to Sean and Jordi sing at the top of their lungs (while also dancing, naturally) all night. Indeed, I know Jordi is still wearing them because I can hear her sweet voice through my bedroom wall. If I could stop giggling, it’d be a really nice way to fall asleep.

Back to California tomorrow. I admit to dragging my heels a little bit. It has been invariably terrific to be home and I’m reminded that my brothers are as good as it gets. Particularly now that Sean is cooking so much. And while I’m determined to get home and hit the ground running towards the right path and get stuff done and blah blah blah, I could use another few days just here, writing, yoga-ing, cooking, and sleeping. But I know it’s time to go.

In the months ahead, I will report back on the status of my Christmas wish. I expect all of you to keep tabs on your own wishes as well. This means you, Chip.

I don’t know about the rest of you out there in cyber-land, but my Christmas had been something to behold. I’m writing from a brand-spanking-new 14-inch G4 iBook that is 100% mine. Jordana is shuffling rook cards, and the gods are sifting big, fat, white snowflakes from the heavens. (What a visual- all the heathen gods busy making orange rolls, Zeus manning the flour sifter, Aphrodite grating orange rind.) We were out the door to see Return of the King once more when the trip was vetoed in favor of games around the dining room table. Mom is starting to prepare enchilladas, and I am crawling around my computer, trying out all the bells and whistles.

I barely know what to do with myself. This machine is so sleek, so sexy, so absolutely the best possible thing to land in my life (along with my California opportunity) that the only way I could possibly express myself would be to run outside, arms flailing, screaming and jumping up and down. It’s simply the coolest ever.

*contented sigh*

It’s Christmas eve, and we always open a present each on Christmas Eve (except the years when there wasn’t enough to go ’round) but my family dropped off one by one. Jordi is not well, and then mom disappeared, then Steve, then Sean, and now at almost 2 AM the only ones left are Ian, Tess and I. Santa is most likely on his way, or perhaps already on our roof, impatiently checking his watch and tapping his toe.

I have a world of things to be thankful for as this year draws near the next. I have family, support, and home. I have gifts and opportunities. I was born into the haves as opposed to the have-nots, and I hope to not have a moment when I forget it. But there are things I can do with the rest of the tiime given to me. I feel as though I don’t have a mountain to climb, all I need to do is look around and realize I’m already at the top.

Happy Holidays to everyone out there. I hope that you are all lucky and blessed enough to be with people you love. Don’t forget to make a Christmas wish. I know, I know, we’re all adults here. But you never know. It might work.

I saw my home today. I was on a walk, here in upstate New York where it was 50 degrees but covered in glistening, melting snow, and I passed the house that has been calling me since my first trip down that road. It is white with black shutters, and this past summer there were workers putting in a new patio. There is a veranda, and the ceiling of the veranda is painted sky blue. There is an addition to the side that looks like a greenhouse, or that was a greenhouse. There are neighbors, but not too close, and the woods close in just behind the back door. What is missing is me. I’ve never seen people there, other than the construction workers, and though Tessa claims to have seen a woman coming out of the house to talk to the workers, I don’t believe it. I think that house is waiting for me, waiting for a time when I would have a small family of my own to fill it. It’s not a big house, but it’s not small. It’s perfect.

I walked by it on my way home as well, and couldn’t stop wishing for the chance to walk in the front door. I want to step through, put my keys on the table, light a fire, pour a glass of wine and kiss my daughter on her tiny cheek. Hear the sound of dinner being made. Sit down at my desk to get some work done. People do this very thing all the time. Why, in reference to me, does it sound so extraordinary?

My walk was beautiful, but I have things on my mind that need to be solved, or cleaned up, or cleared, and as I walked I removed layer after layer of fleece, wishing I could shed my thoughts as well. At a particularly intense moment of daydream I saw the house for the second time, and I stopped in my tracks. Why here, specifically? Why this very house, more than any other I’ve seen upstate, or really, anywhere else? What draws us so strongly to such specifics spots? It’s just a house. It represents so much more.

My daydreams are so vivid, so dimensioned and real, and the minute I have them I am sad because my endings are never what happen in real life. Never, not once. I’ll daydream about everything from making dinner to moving to Africa and things are never even close to what I imagine in my own little fantasy-ridden mind. I dream also of getting second chances, of being in situations past but at the beginning, and of having the capability of making another choice. Of not doing/saying/writing/believing/hoping the wrong thing. These are the most tortuous because second chances are basically extinct. But this house is different. If I ever live there, it means something has gone terribly right. It means that something unexpected would be around the corner, and that something will beyond my control. My daydreams cannot sabotage the unknown.

In the aforementioned mediocre yet partly funny Jack Nicholson/Diane Keaton movie, our male hero revisits every woman of his past to 1) say he’s sorry and to 2) find out what went wrong. Naturally this only happens after he’s “fallen in love” for the “first time in his life”. The requisite doors were slammed in his face by fatless vixens, but of course the girl carrying a cello stopped to talk to him. As I watched this most predictable parade, and in the days since, I wondered how many of us have actually done that. How many of us have had the wherewithal, the time, the inclination, and the courage, to go back and talk to our lost loves?

There are many to whom I’d like to say I’m sorry. One would be Joe Maurelli, my first real boyfriend. We met and fell in love, in the beginning of eighth grade, but by Christmas I had dumped him for a seventeen-year-old with a car. To date, he’s the best guy I’ve ever been with, the kindest and sweetest, and our breakup began my pattern of doom. Then, skipping the small stuff, there was Cliff. Cliff and I were probably equal jerks to each other, and I’d love to have a beer with him now. Then Brad, and that whole crowd, and while I’m nostalgic for that year of my life I know that most of my emotional scaring and damage happened there in Basking Ridge, New Jersey.

Skipping around again, I’d have to also apologize to Jonathan. His parents were blue-blood Chinese, and violently disapproved of our union. They went as far as pulling him out of college and taking him around the world to get him away from me. It worked, all to easily. I don’t think that Jon really knew what love was- he learned too much from movies- and so I usually thought he was completely full of it, particularly when he was trying to be sincere. Ah, Jonathan. I hope you are somewhere, happily married, with about ten beautiful little babies running at your feet.

Who next, that counts? Radames, you sweet man, I’ll obviously never forget you, nor how entirely incompatible we were. Rob? You probably read this blog every now and then. Again, we were both jerks, but there is so much good stuff to remember, too. Matt? Ugh. Okay, so, yeah, I completely fell in love with someone else while we were dating, but you didn’t even really like me until I did. I mean this gently, but fair is fair.

And then I got it right. I left Matt for another man, and this one I loved. I loved him through his rages, his ugliness, his brilliance, his pain. I wore him on my sleeve. And he was the absolute worst, of all of them. Wayne, you are not savvy enough to find this blog, and have long ago put me from your mind, but I would never apologize to you. You are the perfect embodiment of what is wrong between men and women, between friends, lovers, between what should and shouldn’t happen. No, I wouldn’t apologize to you, because for once the only thing I did wrong was stay. What I would do is thank you, oh, god, thank you for leaving me because I was far too sick to leave you.

But this short list leaves out so much, so very many near misses and wishes and should-have-beens and smart choices and utterly stupid actions. Love was so complicated in my past. It seems so simple now.

There are one or two still out there that I’d like to sit with. I’d like to take their face in my hands and say, “I’m sorry. I was lost. I couldn’t help it. I cared so deeply and I couldn’t control it, but now, I’m sorry. Can we just start over? Can we just grab a beer and be friends and take it from there? Because there was a time when we both thought the other was worth our precious time, so let’s just start there and make good of what went bad. What do you say?”

I wonder, searching through my life, if there is anyone out there who wishes they could say these words to me. All I can do is keep hoping that I will choose to do better next time. That, now, is the courage I hope to keep.

My visit here in New York is flying by. I’ve already been here six days, and the end is now closer than the beginning. It’s good to be away, to get some perspective, even though I’ve only been in California for two months. A change of scenery always helps. Back in high school, during a particularly horrible week (and that is saying something), my mom sent me to Santa Cruz to have a long weekend with our great friend Ho. Ho was studying something or other at UCSC, but mostly he was enjoying Northern California college life, and the two of us had a fantastic weekend. We screwed around Santa Cruz, saw the ocean, danced to a Brazillian drum group, and ultimately made it possible for me to return to my hellish schedule.

Now make no mistake- my schedule in fair Napa Valley is anything other than hellish. But it’s good to take some time away from the place you lay your head. Distance creates clarity and inspiration, at least for me, and I’m looking forward to diving into a number of projects when I return. Thankfully there will no longer be the distraction of the holiday parties. I’m actually going to have to stay home most nights and get some work done.

Tomorrow, Steve, mom and I will drive upstate to the farm, followed the next day by Jordi and Sean. It will be terrific to be up there, but I honestly can’t imagine this trip getting any better than it already is. I highly recommend Sean’s omelets for breakfast, particularly when breakfast happens at about 11:30 AM and you are still in bed.

Yesterday was a strange, strange day. I got a lot of unexpected news, and processing the information now, as opposed to just about any time in the past, is a learning experience. The things I don’t know about my heart.

Once piece of news, the one I will share, is that a friend from my EMT class is separated from his wife. This sort of knocked me over when he told me about it, since there was a time that he was the only man I wanted around. Our was a close but chaste friendship, tons of fun, but as the weeks went by I knew I was getting a little addicted to his company. I was incapable of falling in love, and thank ye gods for that since, at the time, he was engaged, but I was quite capable of falling in like, and I did so, deeply. The class we were taking together ended, he got married, I ran away to the woods for the summer, and I got over it. And I remembered him fondly, and looked forward to our random drinks and games of pool over the past year. And now, to come home, and to hear this news.

Mostly it makes me sad. Any news of two people who really tried to make it work, and were unsuccessful in that effort, makes me sad. I hope that such breakups are mutual, and I know that when they happen, the two involved will only be better off, but knowing that intellectually while your heart is shattered is not much help. I also know that my friend and his wife might work it out, in fact, I believe they will. (This is only my instinct on the matter, not based on any actual facts.)

What I truly hope is that all these people, all these aching hearts, will find themselves if not happier, more at peace. I’ve been single for almost three years now, three years on Valentine’s Day. Even though, on that fatefull day in the year 2000, I was whole-scale abandoned, destroyed, fucked over, I knew every second of every wretched post-breakup day that I was far, far better off. I know I bear my soul on this blog probably a little more than I ought. All of my loyal readers know what I’ve lived this last year. I regret nothing. I certainly don’t regret writing about everything from my love(less) life to my butt issues. Ultimately, though, I’m doing fine. I’m doing just fine. And I know all of my friends going through all of this tough stuff will be just fine, too.

I had a rare moment of insight tonight after watching “Something’s Gotta Give” with a friend. I realized that watching a movie with him was exactly like sleeping next to him- it is little different than being by myself. He is a good guy, a smart guy, and there are reasons why we had some semblance of a relationship for many months last year, but ultimately I realize that I was just filling time. Why would I choose to spend time with a man who, over the course of three or four hours, asked me a total of two questions? He is one of those who will talk at you, all night, without engaging you once. Fortunately some of that talk is brilliant, but some is also banal and I’m just tired of it. I’ve had moments when I thought maybe, maybe someday we could figure this out and make something of our relationship. Now I see, clearly, that he will always be a friend, even a good friend. But the man I wait for is something altogether different.

My good friend Kellie took me to lunch at Union Square Cafe, the unnamed restaurant that filled three years of my life. I feel that now I can safely say where I worked, particularly since it is better than ever. Lunch was terrific, and so was seeing a lot of friends. Kellie and I also Christmas shopped in the booths on Union Square, and I was almost successful in not buying myself anything. Every year I forget that those little booths spring magically from the pavement. Every year I’m surprised at what great stuff appears in each colorful stall. Every year I wish I had about a thousand bucks to spend on myself, and another grand for each person in my family.

I gotta start going to bed earlier.