This is horrifying

I haven't written and posted anything since January.

There are reasons and excuses, of course. Life, love and turmoil have gotten in the way.

However, a new era has descended upon the House of Klevabich. A return to a time long forgotten - that of single-hood. Surprised? I was.

In one way or another, I have been entangled in some sort of love affair/relationship/rapture/crush/obsession ever since late 1993. That's just astounding to me, even though I was obviously there the whole time. I shan't go into detail, since it would be unseemly and possibly hurtful to other carbon-based life forms. Just take my word for it.

I'm actually rather excited about this new phase. Which is quite a surprise to me, given the angst and heartburn that have occurred recently.

However, this is the secret of life - adapt or perish. When life hands you lemons, throw them with vigor and scream obscenities. Then, re-evaluate and reconfigure. I've done it more than once, shall probably do it again, and welcome the next phase.

Life is good, my friends. So very good. I wouldn't trade one god-damned moment.

Can anyone explain this?

Over the past couple of years, I've encountered many sorrows. Not whining - no, not at all. Such is the life of the average adult human. Relationships die, relatives die, friendships die. Jobs die, money disappears, circumstances change. Love is lost, love is unrequited, nothing works out quite as we'd like. It's all part of the dance.

Yet through all of this, I've been noticeably free of tears. Not completely free of them - I've cried a bit, now and then, but no big breakdown. I've wondered about this, wondered why I didn't, wouldn't, couldn't, just sit down and sob my eyes out. Rending of garments, gnashing of teeth - all seemed appropriate, yet didn't occur. I figure it's because deep down I've been afraid that once I let go, it would all go spiraling down into a place from where I couldn't save myself. And at times, I'm pretty sure that's been a valid fear.

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Tonight was the series finale of Medium on CBS. This has been one of my all time favorite TV series since its inception. I don't think there's an episode I haven't seen. I discovered earlier today that tonight was the final episode, and was saddened by it, but after all. It's a god-damned TV show. Not the end of the world.

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I just finished crying my eyes out. Sobbing. Ugly cry. I already have a cold - now I can't breathe at all. And this wailing started while there was still ten minutes left of the show.

Perhaps it's because I have admired (even though I know it's just a TV program) Allison and Joe DuBois's relationship and wished it was possible to have that sort of love. The sort of love that transcends the passing of years, the bearing of children, the everyday annoyances of life. I've wondered if it was truly possible to keep a relationship alive for years and still have that spark, that lust.

Their middle kid? Bridgette? I've been in love with her for years. Known that if I could have been guaranteed a child such as her, I would have given birth. There have been few children who have inspired that sort of feeling.

So there you have it. How I spent my Friday evening. Maybe this is for the best. Perhaps I need to cry more often, and more vigorously. Gourd knows there are things that make me want to sit down and cry like a little bitch, and maybe it's not healthy to hold that in.

I'd rather have a rhino

So this rhino-virus thing is the shits. Yesterday was my first day back at work after the holiday break, and it about killed me. Of course, part of the problem was that everyone was in first-day-back mode and there was a lot of socializing. Meaning talking. Bringing on a mother of a sore throat. Came home and crashed on the couch for an hour before I could even muster up the strength to open a can of soup. 

Today was much, much better, but I still don't have much in the way of energy. And there are all those resolutions goals to work on. What to do... So far all I've done is catch up on Facebook and evidently piss people off. Oh well. It's what I do best, right?

Also, to me I sound a lot like this woman:

Day Two: Refining

After thinking about this whole adventure, I want to change from using the word "resolution" to using the term  "goal." I think that's where a lot of intentions go wrong right from the start. We make a "resolution" and resolve to embrace a new habit Right. Damn. Now. When, in fact, most of us do better taking baby steps and not trying to change the world overnight.

Example: you "resolve" to start working out every day. Day one goes great. Strong workout, on top of the world. Day two, can't get a babysitter so you miss it. Day three, great workout. Day four, Aunt Ethel's birthday. Day five, everyone from the office is going out right after work, so... Day six, you're busy getting stuff done and returning calls and fixing that leaky faucet and all of a sudden it's bedtime. Day seven, time to go visit the folks. Day eight? What the hell, you've already missed four days, another won't hurt... Day twelve, you're a failure. You've already blown it, why even think about continuing that gym membership.

Setting a goal is different. Your GOAL is to work out more often. Therefore, you miss a few days, you just go back to it, because you haven't failed. The year has just begun, and your GOAL is to work out and get fit. There can't have been a failure, since it's a process and you've just started.
Make sense? OK then, change my resolutions to goals.

And while we're at it, let's add a new goal: less negative self-talk. A little self-deprecating humor is fine, but I take it to a whole new level. Those who know me well probably know exactly what I'm talking about. A little is funny, but I think subconsciously I've been listening to the fat girl comments and taking them to heart. Yes, I'm overweight. Yes, I need to lose. But no, I'm not an ugly cow that no man would ever be interested in. Not true, and I can give you a couple of references if you don't believe me. So enough already.  

Day One: Letting Go

I'm already making progress in this fine year of two-thousand and eleven. Doesn't that sound better than two-thousand and ten? Ten is a hard word. Eleven is softer, more inviting. Plus it's an odd number, which is much more auspicious than an even number. Trust me on this.

Anyway, we were talking progress. After writing these resolutions and committing them to the ether, I turned off the lights and music and sat with candlelight and treelight and contemplated the passing of the old year and entrance of the new. And it occurred to me that what it all boils down to, what I really need to do, is to let go.

Let go of possessions. Let go of expectations. Let go of anger. Let go of a few dreams, even. Just...let go.

This is going to be hard.