The "I Can't Sleep" Update.

I am having an amazing day.

Well, except for that little issue I had during choir rehearsal.  Sometimes if I sleep in a new way or I have a really stressful event (especially in the morning) it sets off an emergency bathroom issue.  Which is what happened. 

It seems like it's been happening every time I eat this week and I can't explain why, other than maybe it has something to do with my not eating very much all of last week.  Either I work a lot and don't have time to eat consistently or I eat and don't get all my work done when I need to.

Anyway.

It feels as if having my cat here has made a world of difference for me.  I forget sometimes how attached I am to him.  He's finally starting to come out of my room more (though he obviously thinks of it as his domain in there) and venture downstairs for longer.  He is even starting to respond to my roommates, which was something I was a little concerned about for a couple of days. 

I was also afraid he would get depressed from such a dramatic change, but he seems to be okay.  Of course, when I'm not as school I'm pretty much constantly giving him attention.  Or I'll bring him downstairs and someone else will. 

I thought he was spoiled before, but I can tell this is going to get pretty ridiculous.

In other news, Saturday is Oose's 21st birthday.  One of my roommates (Churro) and I will be traveling to Santa Cruz to celebrate with her this weekend.  I'm at least as excited as she is.  I've tried to downplay it, but I've been waiting for this day since I turned 21.  It's definitely more fun when your soul sister can go dancing with you.

Three Years.

Three years ago I woke up sleeping on the floor at my parents' house.

Three years ago I packed up most of my possessions in a matter of hours.

Three years ago I left the only man I thought I could ever love to come home to an empty apartment.

Three years ago I moved out, but I didn't let go.

I realized today when I finally did let go. It was the moment I started to cry during the Blue October show with Oose.

It almost saddened me to realize how little I was affected when he contacted me this week. Not because of the loss of him or feelings I had for him. More because of the loss of the idea of him and the idea that I knew who I eventually would end up with. Most of all, sadness for him because he will never find anything else in his life as good as what I tried to give him, especially in that first year. He will never be as loved and cared for as he was with me.  Which is fortunate for me, because my life is quite obviously better without him in it, trying to control and manipulate me constantly.

To think, if he had been able to let go of his addictions for everything but me I would probably still be with him. I would probably have a baby now or be pregnant. I would not be at a school somewhere far-ish away from Redding learning from amazing faculty and meeting awesome people. But he never could and never will be able to live without those crutches he's carried longer than a decade.


I suppose all this is just to say something simple. Goodbye, Bambi, wherever you may be. I thank you for everything you helped me learn. I forgive you for the way you taught me those lessons. And I hope one day you find a way to forgive yourself.




Three years.

You keep moving on, unchanging.

Three years.

I grow tired and move forward, forgetting... 

...That once upon a time I was young and naive and you swooped in like Prince Charming on your fake horse to save me from perils that never really existed.

I Was Thinking...

I thought I was just having a hard time dealing with losing you for good.

I thought I cried myself to sleep because you weren't here to comfort me.

I thought I didn't know how to cope with change without you.

I thought I could never feel like myself again without you.

I thought you were the voice in my head that told me everything I did right and wrong.

But then I realized.

It wasn't you I needed at all. It was him.







He never let me down like you did. He never broke my heart like you did. He loves me without condition and he would follow me to the ends of the earth. He is the only worthwhile thing you ever gave me.


Oh, and by the way, no, I don't want you to manipulate me into taking your dishes by saying you'll throw them away otherwise just so you can see me. If you wanted to see me you should have nutted up and said so. So that I could tell you to your face that you have always treated me like shit and the lies you fed me to keep me with you will never again be enough to make me want to live through the abuse you manage to disguise as love.

And after I tell her what I'm sure you haven't, I'm sure she won't feel much different than me.


I'm so glad to have my baby back.

Adventure.

If you are easily grossed out by the functions of female reproductive organs, you probably want to stop reading now. In fact, I don't think you ever want to read anything here. Ever again.

Today I finally feel like I might be starting to come out of my funk. I don't know if it's the fact that I've been getting more sleep the last couple of days while trying to fight off a head cold or if it's because I'm going to visit my parents' tomorrow for the first time since I moved. It's only been about six weeks, but it feels like so much longer.

Actually, I think it's more that I'm bringing my cat home from my parents' when I come back on Sunday. I miss him very much.

Anyway, I felt like I glossed over my San Francisco trip a bit when I talked about it yesterday. While the main purpose of the trip was to see Blue October on Friday night (I'm still reveling in how amazing they were), Oose and I had a lovely day together Saturday before parting ways and heading to our respective homes.

We stayed at the Columbus Motor Inn on Columbus in the city. Since the garage was very small we were given one parking space and I ended up parking on the street. After the concert Friday night we managed to snag a metered spot across the street from the hotel in which to park my car. The only downside was that I would have to get up at 9 AM and put money in the meter.

I set my alarm for 8:52 so that I would have enough time to find some change, put on my jeans, and lace up my Converse.

This is the point at which I share too much personal information and everyone runs away, leaving me awkward and alone.

Since I'm not taking birth control I have only a vague idea of when my period will start. On the pill it was every Thursday of the fourth week of the packet. Now it's sometime around the middle of the end of the fourth week, maybe. If it feels like it. Which is frustrating for me because I've spent most of the last five-ish years of my life on the pill. I've pretty much forgotten how to keep track of my period; the only reason I had an idea of when it would start is that my last one was right after I moved. I'm turning into one of those women in movies that doesn't realize she's pregnant for three months because she's been too busy to realize she hasn't had her period in a while.

I knew that I was supposed to start last week. I assumed it would be Friday morning because sometimes Mother Nature is a dick and has to ruin my awesome plans. Luckily that did not happen.

It happened Saturday morning. As I was crossing Columbus to put change in the meter.

I checked to make sure I wasn't bleeding when I changed. Just in case I needed to take a precautionary measure before waltzing out of the hotel. And I wasn't. Then.

So I fed the meter and decided (half asleep still) that I would take the stairs back up to the room because we were only on the first floor (there was an office floor between us and the lobby, so there were four short flights of stairs) and the hotel elevator was excruciatingly slow.

Somehow my foot slipped off the second step on the third flight of stairs, causing me to fall up the stairs.

I know. I'm so talented.

I landed on my left knee and rolled my left ankle a little bit, which made me nervous because I tore a ligament in it years ago and I just keep injuring it. Fortunately for my ankle, my knee took the brunt of my weight in the fall.

I picked my pride up off the staircase and gimped the rest of the way up to the room, where I told Oose I fell up the stairs. And she laughed at me. Not that I blame her; I would have laughed at her, too. I cleaned up my skinned knee and found a tampon in my luggage. Then we walked to breakfast.

After breakfast we drove across the Golden Gate and drove out to investigate Fort Barry. We had to get out and wander around the batteries and some of the bunkers, etc. Which was awesome on the knee that I could hardly bend. But I was unwilling to let it interfere with our adventure. Except that I kept whining about it.

Then we wandered around Ghirardelli Square and over to the Musee Mecanique before heading back into the city to find the parking garage where Oose had parked her car. Since we hadn't written down the name of the garage, we had to find the curvy part of Lombard street and figure out where it was from there.

Ultimately we found it and both of us made it home safe. A little bruised, a little changed, and a little happier than when we had arrived in the city the night before.

At least, I like to think so.


By the way, my knee is healing quite well. I just have a nice green bruise right below my kneecap. It's hot.

My October is Always Blue.

Last Friday night my soul sister and I took a day trip to San Francisco so I could finally go to my first real rock concert. We saw one of my all-time favorite bands: Blue October.

Their biggest hit was “Hate Me,” which, oddly enough, I don't really like much. The rest of their music is great, though.

I had heard probably two Blue October songs when I met Bambi. Then he gave me a bunch of his music and later (when I finally got an iPod) put all of his music on my iPod. We used to listen to Blue October and Avenged Sevenfold all the time. After I left he started listening to more Avenged and Hollywood Undead, but he always said he wanted to see Blue October in concert. Which made the whole experience a little bittersweet.

I was there with Oose and completely ecstatic that she was the one I got to see them with, since she is my soulmate in many, many ways. But there was still a tiny part of me that wished he could have shared that with me. One of many promises he never kept, I suppose.

I realized a half an hour out of town that I had forgotten our tickets (which I had printed out days in advance) on my bed. So we had to find a Kinko's near the concert venue and somehow we got stuck with the dickest cab driver in San Francisco. He didn't even drop us off at the Kinko's. He dropped us a block away from it.

I didn't tip him.

I was also running late because I got stuck in traffic on the way into the city. Needless to say, I was pretty antsy.

We got to the venue just after eight, which is when the concert was supposed to start. Luckily, the opening act (IamDynamite; they are awesome, just so you know) didn't even go on until 8:15. And even though the doors opened at seven we still managed to get pretty close to the front.

I was very pleased to find that the band is as good (or better) live as in a recording.

Surprisingly enough, I only cried once and I was very lucky that Oose was there to hold my hand. Of all the songs I could have cried during (which is pretty much every single one of them), I spontaneously combusted during this one.

Afterward, I got a t-shirt that fits me pretty much perfectly. And we found a pizza parlor close to the hotel that is open until two. By the time we got back to the hotel and got into our pjs it was almost two. We both crashed pretty hard.

The next morning we got up, had some breakfast, and wandered around a bit.

Here are some pictures of our adventures. Enjoy them.

Also, please forgive any graininess. I still can't get my digital camera to hold a charge and I was trying to be polite by leaving the flash on my phone off.

It's Getting Depressing in Here.

One week from today it will have been three years since I did the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my entire life thus far. I left the one man I had ever truly loved alone in our apartment with a hamster named Mimi, an empty closet, and no bed.

I started missing him long before I moved out. That was why I had to leave. The man I loved wasn't there anymore. I saw pieces of him in small chunks of time after I left, but ultimately the monster always came back. From Bambi to Beezlebub, a transition that took mere seconds. If he could have consistently stayed Bambi, I could have stayed in that apartment. With no money and both of us working two jobs. It would have been worth it if I had felt as loved as he said I was.

Ultimately I was too young and he was too impatient and unstable.

Ultimately I ran away, then pulled him to me and pushed him away. For years. Too afraid to be with him, but unable to let him go. In all honestly, I really don't feel I'll ever be able to truly let him go. But it doesn't feel as if whatever was between us was meant for this life.

Three years and my heart is still broken. Three years and I can't listen to certain songs. I can't wear certain clothes. Three years and the sweats I stole when I left are still balled up on the floor next to my bed.

I think those sweats are a testament to the fact that I left my heart with him in that little apartment and I assumed that one day we would be together again. I've reached a point now where I want to get rid of them, but they are the most comfortable sweats I've ever owned. So I keep wearing them. But it makes me a little sad every time I do. They are the only thing I still have from him. Besides the jewelry box.

I keep telling myself he's dead. But I know in my heart he's out in the world, not too far away from me, with someone else who will never love him half as much as I still do. But he's better off with her because we will never be right together.

God, relationships are hard. I almost never want to be in another one again. The only downside is that I am not one to easily indulge in casual sex. I enjoy the feeling that someone wants to be in my company, wants to take care of me and let me take care of him.

I think I'm ready to give up. On so many things I can't even begin to list them.

Monster.

This is a continuation of a story I posted a couple of weeks ago.  Remember this is a work of fiction.  Mostly.

I quickened my steps. So did he.

My hand shook as I unhooked my keys from the strap of my purse.

He got close enough to need to slow down in order to match pace my speed. He walked about a foot behind me and just to my left. He stepped in front of me just before I reached the door to my car and leaned against the driver's door. There was no way I could unlock it, let alone open it to get inside.

I briefly considered running to the passenger side and sliding over, but he had always been much faster than me. Especially when it counted. I was trapped in the bar parking lot with him.

“Where the fuck do you think you're going?” he asked, his arms folded across his chest, the neon of his Avenged Sevenfold t-shirt showing above and below his brown skin.

“Home,” I answered shortly.

He laughed. It was the evil laughter of the maniac he became every time I crossed him. I had known this would happen. Why did I intentionally trigger it? Of course he cared. Even if he didn't care, he still attained some sick pleasure in torturing me.

“You're not going anywhere, you stupid bitch. You brought out the Monster and now you have to deal with it.”

“Why are you even upset? I thought you said you didn't care.”

“I just like to see you suffer, idiot stick. Now I'm not going to stop until you feel the pain I went through for you.”

“You put me through worse that I could ever imaging doing to you. I told you I was sorry. And I meant it. But there is nothing you can do to make me feel or act the way you have. For two reasons. One: you've already done worse. And two: I am not a crazy bastard. Unlike you.”

I know how to push his buttons just as well as he does mine and I can't stop myself from inciting him. Every time I speak I wish I would have just held my words inside me. But they fly out as if they have wings and minds of their own.

“I am not crazy. But if you want crazy, I can show you crazy.” His eyes no longer held any trace of the chocolate brown I was so accustomed to seeing glow with the embers of warmth and love. Now they only held blackness. Blackness and hatred and death.

I was getting too used to seeing these eyes. Yet somehow I didn't find myself getting used to the fear that accompanied his turning into the Monster.

I tried to swallow my fear. I was tired of the constant anxiety of having him in my life, but I didn't know how to live without the non-demonic side of him.

“I'm going home, Bamb.”

“Fine, bitch. I'm going with you.”

“No. You're not. I don't trust you enough to come home with me right now.” I measured my words very carefully, lest some unchecked tone-of-voice drive him over the edge. There was no one else in the parking lot. I knew from experience that no one would come if I screamed and someone would be unlikely to help when he hit me. If there was no one in the parking lot when he did it, I had a zero percent chance of being saved from his wrath. I had let my anger and frustration to get the better of me before, but I was on ice too thin to allow a show of emotion now.

“I don't care. I'm coming with you. Give me your keys.”

“No. Even if I felt safe letting you come home with me, I am not comfortable letting you drive. You've been drinking and you're upset.”

“I'm not upset. And I had two PBRs. I'm fine. Give me the fucking keys.”

I wrapped the key to my Honda as tightly in my small fist as I could. I knew he would ultimately get it out if he tried hard enough, but my hands were strong and it would take him a few minutes to pry up enough of my fingers the pull the keys out of them. That might buy me enough time for the two bikers that had looked as if they might be packing up soon to come out of the bar. It seemed unlikely, but I was grasping at any straw I could conceivably reach. Even biker straws.

“No. It's my car. I pay for it. I pay for the insurance. You've never paid for any bit of it. Plus you already have two DUIs. And you're girlfriend is going to start wondering where you are.”

“That retard is probably so high right now she won't even realize I'm gone for another three hours. Give me the fucking keys.” My ring finger and pinkie were both up already, his right hand keeping my left out of the way with minimal effort.

“Why do you stay with her?” I asked with genuine curiosity. I'd asked this same question many times before, but he'd always managed to somehow avoid it.

He sighed, agitated that I wasn't giving up already.

“Maybe because she actually wants me around? Because she's not you? I don't know.”

“It's not that I didn't want you around,” I said quietly. “It's that I didn't, and still really don't, trust you around me. For good reason.” He managed to get under my middle finger and push it away. Only my index finger and thumb were left. It would be seconds now before he was pushing past me into my car.

“Bamb.” He ignored me. I fought against him. “Bamb!”

“What?” He said, exasperated with me.

“You're too drunk to drive, honey.” I didn't even mean to say it. I didn't want him to drive my car, especially not right now. I just didn't mean to be so... Sweet about it. “You had shots earlier. Then some Sierra Nevada. Then you had the two PBRs. And you haven't been here that long.”

“Fuck,” he said, releasing his grip on my hand and leaning against my car beside me. “Fuck. You drive, then.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don't fucking know. Somewhere. Anywhere.”

“Okay.”

I unlocked the car and he held my door for me and closed it before walking around and climbing into the passenger seat.

“Let's drive to Reno,” I joked. The last time he kidnapped me he had planned to drive to Reno and marry me so he would have me forever.

“Whatever, bitch. Just have me back by two when the bars close. Where's your fucking iPod? I want some Avenged.”

I sighed and turned on the heater so the warmth would help me stop shaking, then handed him my old silver iPod. He plugged it in and chose a song as I turned left out of the parking lot. He chose the one song I never in a million years would have guessed he would put on.

Our song.

He crossed his arms and looked at me as a teardrop slid down my left cheek.

“I guess you can still feel something in that icy heart of yours,” he said.

I guess I could. More than I ever wanted to feel again.

The Problem Is...

I've been avoiding sleep lately.  As much as I possibly can.  Because I've been having stress dreams about Bambi.  Which is pretty much what I consider to be a nightmare.

The downside is that I'm still just as stressed out.  But more tired and therefore less able to deal with the stress of my life now. 

The sad thing is that I'm lonely and having issues dealing with all the accumulated memories I have of him.  So I just feel like I'm sinking deeper and deeper.  And I miss my cat. 

I'm afraid my depression is coming back.  On the outside (for the most part) I'm happy.  But on the inside there's still lingering sadness. 

Today was especially hard.  I dreamed about him last night.  Then I got in trouble with work before eight this morning.  Then my roommate asked if I'd be able to give him a ride to work because his bike tire was flat, which I didn't mind but for the fact that it completely reminded me of when I'd get up to take Bambi to work after I got fired from my office job when we lived together.  I was too late to make it to the gym because of those two things.  Then I couldn't find parking in my usual lot on campus and was therefore late to class. 

I feel like I need to cry but I can't. 

How is it possible for me to miss someone who treated me so badly?


On a happier note, Blue October with Oose is in two days.  At least I have something to look forward to.

Anger.

Dear Bambi,


I hope you still read this.

I hope you know how deep the scars you caused every day for the last three and a half years run in me. 

I hope my mere existence and happiness without you tortures you to the core of your being.

I hope this is how you feel forever.

And most of all, I hope that when your girlfriend finds out what you did she leaves you.  Cold.  Alone.  And without even an inkling of a plan in your mind.


Sincerely, 

Bunny.

A Little Later Than I Really Intended, Part II...

Tattoo number two.



I just got this one done in June of this year. As you should know from this.

Not too long after I got the elephant I realized I wanted another tattoo. I decided I wanted the words "never forget" on the right side of my ribcage, since the elephant is on the left. Originally I toyed with the idea of getting the text done in Italian or Latin, since I regularly sing in both those languages. But I didn't feel much of a connection with either language and was less and less satisfied with the idea every time I thought about it.

Last summer my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer for the third time. Each time was a different kind of cancer, starting with prostate nearly 20 years ago. It was by some feat of grace or magic that he lived as long as he did.

A few days after his ninetieth birthday I was in Santa Cruz for Oose's birthday. I had an eye infection issue and had to wear an eyepatch under my glasses all day. We also had to take a windy road up to a lake in the mountains and I get carsick. So I almost yacked in the car. Which pretty much would have completed my day. Luckily for everyone, that didn't happen. Barely.

I woke up early on Saturday because my eye was swollen and hurt from driving most of the day before. I slept on the couch with an ice pack for a while, but not very soundly. I couldn't get comfortable. I was in pain and I had had a funny feeling all morning.

My brother started texting me to see if I was up. Then he called without warning. As soon as his name popped up on my phone screen I knew what he was going to tell me. My grandfather had passed away sometime around four that morning. After being bed-ridden and drugged up on morphine for a couple weeks. He held on until he knew they were going to take him to the hospital, then he just left in his sleep.

My dad's side of my family is Cherokee. Very Cherokee and very proud of it. As we should be. Some of my friends helped me form a quartet (group of four singers) to sing a couple things at my grandfathers funeral and one of the pieces my dad requested we do was Amazing Grace. For some reason my old Methodist hymnal includes a verse of Amazing Grace in Cherokee, so I decided we had to sing it, which was really pretty much perfect.

After that I started looking at actual Cherokee words and the language just looks beautiful on paper. So I decided to go with my heritage. That's what the lettering is. Cherokee. To remind me that I am a strong, capable woman and that I should never forget everything I went through to get to the place I'm in today. I should never (despite how much I desperately want to) forget Bambi. Never forget everything we went through with and for each other. All the things we did to each other. Never forget what it means to love someone and be completely loved, but still not be able to functionably be together.


My dad had an especially hard time with the death of his father. And I thought more and more about how hard it would be on me if I lost him. Since my other tattoo came from my relationship with my mom, I wanted something representative of the relationship I have with my father.


My neighbors when I was a kid always called my him Chief Two-Feathers. They even made a sign to hang in our driveway that said "Two-Feathers Reservation". Obviously I wanted to incorporated the Two-Feathers idea. Initially I wanted a dream catcher in the middle of my back, but the closer it got to my appointment date the less connected I felt with that idea.

About four days before I went in to have the work done I decided I wanted just the feathers tied with a leather strap and some beads. I looked up some color symbolism in Cherokee culture, chose the colors I wanted represented in the tattoo, then added turquoise because I love the color and it just seemed to fit with the design. My artist created a perfect conglomeration of my two tattoo ideas that sort of wraps around my right side.

I don't think of it only as a representation of my relationship with Bambi and my relationship with dad, though that is the general idea with the individual pieces-- except that the Cherokee tattoo is really about much more than just that.  Overall, I consider the whole piece to be a representation of my strength. It reminds me that I can overcome anything. It reminds me when I am weak-minded that I am a strong and adaptable creature.


My mother is on my left and my father is on my right. No matter what happens they will always be there for me and I will have constant mementos of them when I feel weak. The red flag of my past life is a palm across my ribcage that I touch now on days when I still feel as if my heart is breaking. 

A Little Later Than I Really Intended, Part I...

But I said I'd do it.  So here it is.

I got it done in 2010.  I thought about it for months before I got it done.  Which I highly recommend doing if you intend to have ink done.  It is not a decision to be entered into lightly.  It is PERMANENT and it HURTS.  Also, YOU WILL BLEED.  And not in a "oh, look at this little papercut on my pinkie" kind of way or a "I'm going to need stitches" kind of way.

It's exactly the kind of bleeding that makes sense in this situation, actually.  It's sort of an "hours of needles drilling into the layers of my flesh, but not actually piercing of cutting me" kind of bleeding.

Go figure.

Also, tattoos feel like exactly what you'd think they would feel like.  You know, if you sat and thought about it logically.  Which I only did after.

It kind of feels like someone is taking a vibrating needle and dragging it around on your bare skin.  Again, go figure.  Because that's pretty much exactly what it is.

And if you get color you get multiple needles.  It also feels like the artist is pressing harder.

There's also shading.  Imagine someone is scrubbing the same bit of your skin over and over again with a couple big needles.  Because that's pretty much what it feels like.

I'm not saying this to deter anyone from getting a tattoo.  I would never do that because I think they are beautiful.  But I also think they should be done for the right reasons.  And "I kinda like butterflies and swirly shit" is in no way, shape, or form a good reason to get a tramp stamp.

Unless you're over 40.  Then I figure you can pretty much do whatever you want.

In all reality, though, I am a firm believer in the symbolism of tattoos.  So here are both of mine.


Tattoo number one.



When I was in my early teens my mom told me elephants are good luck.  I locked that information away in my brain vault for a while and nearly forgot about it.  In 2008 (while I was living with Bambi) I was having trouble choosing a birthday present for her...  Until I saw a crystal figurine of an elephant.  It was perfect.  It even had a box with a shaped foam pillow.

When I gave it to her, she put the box on display in the dining room, but didn't take the elephant out of it.

During this time period I started having terrible stomach pains pretty much all the time.  I would wake up sick to my stomach every morning and I couldn't even think about food until mid-afternoon, so most days I wouldn't eat until after I got home from work.  My doctor had no idea what was wrong with me.  So she scheduled an ultrasound on my gut.

The ultrasound was first thing in the morning, which was terrible because my stomach was so sensitive that the slight pressure from the ultrasound was like someone grinding the end of a baseball bat into a bruise.  Bambi sat in the waiting room because the ultrasound room was small, but my mom came in.  I was lying on the table in my paper gown with my hands clasped protectively over my stomach when she reached into her purse and pulled out the box with the elephant in it.  Just in case we needed it.

After I moved out of my apartment we started collecting elephant paraphernalia.  Usually figurines and things.  But it became more than just luck.  It's more like a symbol for our bond now.  One that not even the worst relationship I could have ever imagined having could sever or damage.

When I started really thinking about getting a tattoo I pretty much automatically knew it was going to be an elephant.  I wanted it to be triumphant-looking with its trunk upraised.  Then I started thinking about what I wanted to incorporate because I initially assumed this would be my only tattoo as they aren't a great idea for opera singers to have.

I really like the idea of magical realism.  If you don't know what that is you're missing out on a very cool Latin American writing style and you should read some Gabriel Garcia Marquez.  I knew I wanted to add something magical in there, not only because of this but also because I am so lucky and blessed to have overcome a lot of my past.  I didn't want it to be purely magic or cartoon-ish, however.  Then I stumbled across an image someone had drawn of an elephant with some stars on it.  There were several things I didn't like about it, but overall I thought the image was perfect.  And my artist is a rock star, so she just changed it and made it exactly what I wanted.  She added a moon and made some of the stars be "white on black" instead of "black on white".

The last part is the music.  Obviously I had to get some music.  And since I'm a soprano I definitely wanted a treble clef.  I also knew for sure I wanted it to come out of the elephant's trunk like water, which she did perfectly as well.  The notes are the very beginning of an aria from the opera Madame Butterfly called Un bel di.  I performed it in 2009 very shortly after I started singing again and I still feel a pretty deep connection with it.  The aria is the lead female character saying that one day her husband will return to her, then explaining what she will do when he arrives.

When I got my tattoo done I was in a very hard place with Bambi.  I had been dating someone else.  I tried to date this particular man twice but, wonderful as he was to me, he just couldn't compare.  I found myself getting angry with him frequently over little things and when I thought about it, the only reason I could find that I was really upset with him was that he wasn't Bambi.  So that didn't last very long.

From a time long before I moved out of my apartment I would wish every day that the person I had fallen in love with in 2007 would come back, but he just kept slipping further and further away from me.  At the time it seemed fitting that the music on my tattoo would be a song saying "one day he will return to me".  Though it may seem as if I would by now wish I had chosen another song that had different meaning, that is never a choice I've regretted.

To a point, I still feel that way.  I will always love him.  I will always want him to be the person I fell in love with, the person who loved me with all of his heart.  But he will always choose alcohol (among other things, now, I'm sure) above me.  I really don't think he will never be the person I would need him to be in order to spend my life with him.  So maybe he will return to me in another life.

Thursday Night.

I was having a hard time falling asleep last night.  This is kind of becoming a trend because, for some reason, I'm not used to sleeping alone after three years of doing it.  I decided not to read because I didn't want to get caught up in a book after 11 (my technical bedtime) as I would never sleep.  But I didn't want to lay there and get all cranky and lonely, either.  So I decided to write.

This is kind of a portion of what I hope will be at least a short story.  It is (mostly) fiction.  I have never aborted a fetus.  This particular event never occurred.  Many of the feelings involved in the idea of the story, however, did.  

I think quasi-fiction is the best way for me to get out any residual feelings I still have about my ex.  I also think that one of the biggest reasons I have so many residual feelings is that I never dealt with any of them until earlier this year.  Right now the stories make me feel better than anything else (short of ruining his life completely, like he almost did mine) possibly could.

Hope you enjoy.

“I aborted it,” I said flatly. He hadn't even known I was pregnant.

He stared into his nearly full pint of beer, expressionless. A drop of condensation slid down the once-frozen glass. He watched it come to a rapid halt on the top of the Sierra Nevada coaster he probably intended to steal when he left the bar in three hours, completely intoxicated.

I waited for something in his demeanor to change. For his eyes to flash black like they used to. For the reaction that showed he still cared, still loved me.

He cleared his throat, a noise barely audible above the general Thursday night raucous of the sports bar. He came here frequently. He'd been choosing beer over me for three of our four years together. He'd been choosing beer over everything else for thirteen.

I guess that means I should consider myself special.

I don't.

He lifted the PBR to his lips and took a long pull, emptying more than half the glass of beer, then turned his face to the television behind the counter and the football game on it.

“Did you hear me?”

He took another swig of beer and kept his eyes on the television screen.

“The third time really must be a charm. I didn't miscarry this one.” His eyes narrowed and darkened slightly. “The other two didn't last to eight weeks on their own. This one was stronger. It was finally our boy. I know it was.”

He dug a packet of cigarettes out of his jeans and swiveled around on his stool, pausing for a mere second before he got up and walked outside to smoke.

I followed him.

“I know you won't leave her. So I couldn't keep him, Bamb. I'm sorry.”

He turned around to face me. His eyes were on fire.

“You fucking cunt,” he said. “You are such a goddamn liar. You weren't pregnant. There was no boy. There were never any babies. If there had been I might still be with you. But you are so good-for-nothing you can't even get pregnant. You stupid fucking bitch. Stop being such a lying fucking whore.”

Ah, sweet reaction.

I put my face within inches of his.

“When you told me to break up with my boyfriend, I did it. You were always the one. I only dated other people because I was lonely and I got tired of you using and abusing me in every way you possibly could. But you... You will not leave the stupid bitch you're dating for anything. Not even me. Which is funny. Because I could swear to God you told me you would never date another woman after me if anything happened to us. I guess you either lied or didn't realize that you were going to be the thing that happened. You and your fucking liquor. Maybe you should marry some PBR. It's the only thing that doesn't care when you abuse it, like you do every single little thing in your meaningless life. You fucking piece of shit.”

He took a drag from his cigarette and tried to blow it away from us, but an air current pushed it back into my face, as usual.

I shook my head and decided to just finish my verbal assault. “You are worthless. I don't know what I ever saw in you. I don't know what could have possessed me to want to have a family with you, ever. You are a bad parent, bad boyfriend, awful friend, horrible husband, terrible son, and an overall evil, selfish, and vindictive human being. You disgust me.”

I turned and started to walk away from him and the bar. The sooner I got to my car and drove away, the better. The safer I was. I knew it with most all of my being. I just couldn't stop myself. I turned around right before I stepped off the sidewalk. He watched me with his cigarette still burning between his fingers and his eyes were as black as coal mined from the depths of hell.

“Fuck you,” I said, and resumed the walk to my car.

I glanced back using my peripheral vision just as he put his cigarette out in the ashtray by the bar door. I didn't know what he would do next; go back into the bar and drink himself into oblivion, or follow me to my car. Both were pretty undesirable.

His hand grasped the handle of the bar door for a moment before he changed his mind and set out after me at a pace nearly double mine.

He was going to catch up to me before I reached my car.

Broken Promises.

I never guessed I would be this busy. 

I thought I'd be pretty busy, but I didn't think nearly every minute of my "free time" would be completely consumed with work, homework, friends, or rehearsal.  Don't get me wrong, it's pretty amazing.  But I'm SO tired.  All.  The.  Time.  Not only have I not had time to post, I haven't seen a movie or episode of a tv show since I moved three weeks ago.  I still have the same Netflix dvd I've had since early August.  I haven't read a bit of any of the books I thought I'd get to.  And I have yet to have one weekend during which I'm not up until four AM at least one night.

I guess if this isn't college, I don't know what is.

In all reality, I'm super happy.  I love my house, my roommates, the new people I'm getting to know, (most of) my classes...  I've settled into my life here pretty easily. 

While I hate the town I live in, I love how close it is to cities I like.  I'm two hours (depending on traffic) from Santa Cruz.  I've gotten to see Oose twice already since I moved.  And I'll get to see her again next week when we go see Blue October.

I'm excited about this for multiple reasons.  I get to see Oose.  I get to go to San Francisco with her.  And this will be my first real rock concert of my choosing.  Most of the other concerts I've attended have been classical and/or were with my parents, so they chose who we were going to see. 

I absolutely LOVE Blue October. 

I just find that I'm experiencing a bit of sadness with the happiness and excitement I've been feeling. 

Bambi loved Blue October.  Until last year he was the reason I had most of their music on my iPod.  He is the reason I know almost all of their songs.  They were one of the bands he really wanted to see in concert and he'd never been able to. 

Last year they released Approaching Normal.  I cried the first three times I listened to it, at least.  This year they released Any Man in America.  It was almost as bad.  Particularly this song.  And this song.

I just keep wondering when I'll get over it. When I'll stop randomly crying.  When my heart will stop hurting.  When I'll forget.

Because what I really desperately want is to forget.  It gets so tiring, remembering everything. 

The scary thing is that, tired as I am of being and feeling alone, I almost never want to date again. I really think I would rather die than go through anything like I what I did with him again.  And I'm afraid no one will ever love me or hold my interest that much again.  I'm afraid that maybe I don't want someone else to. 

Maybe part of the problem was that he was supposed to have been the one to take me to a concert like this a long time ago.  Maybe part of the problem is that I always thought he would.  But instead I'm going without him and, for some reason, feeling like it's a way to figuratively wave my middle finger in the air at him.  I know it's not.  And I would want to go to this concert anyway.

I think more than anything it's the change and this Blue October cd, coupled with the Adele cd I got a couple of weeks ago. 

I suppose it's time I tried to put it out of my mind, did some homework/work, crawled into a hole, and died.  Maybe things will seem better in the morning.