Can't read my, can't read my/she's got me like nobody

I am getting emotional. As in I am having an emotional moment. Today, Saturday, April 3, 2010, I got my first tattoo. It hurt like a MOTHERFUCKER and I yelped like a little pussy and I did not enjoy the process at all. However, now back at home, looking at my new arm art, listening to Gaga sing Pokerface at her piano - the acoustic version I first heard about a year ago - tears are welling up in my eyes when I remember why, back in September, I wrote about why I thought she would inspire my first tattoo. I wasn't sure then if I would go through with it or not - but the roughness the past year created in me has begun to flower into a celebration of who I am, and I feel more confident in that person than I ever have before. Gaga inspires me to be just who I am, unapologetically, and to explore parts of myself that I've always wanted to but have perhaps feared. Anyway. Before I get into all that, here's the tattoo experience.

I waffled for like 30 minutes before I went through with getting it. I have really sensitive skin, and I also have eczema, so I wasn't sure that it was the best decision. Once I made a decision - after saying something about it being an existential crisis and pulling out my favorite "no one can take a bath for you" spiel - she started inking me, and it only took like five minutes. An excruciating fucking five minutes. This is right after it was finished, all wrapped up, (with) a pretty little bow:

Finished art, unwrapped (with a cameo by my toothbrush):

I love it. It's cute, right? It's cute, but it means so much more to me than just that. Bullet lists are everyone's favorite, so here it is, unedited, what this tattoo means to me, who I am, right now.

- 2009 was the year of my first true heartbreak. Gaga was there with me, somehow, at every step along the way, and in my memories of that year, she always will be. It's not an exaggeration to say that by the end of last year, I was completely fucking destroyed. I've come a long way in the past few months, but I am not ashamed to say that I still miss Andrew and I still sometimes cry for his loss. I cut him out of my life because I had to, but it has not been easy.  A part of me still loves him. When I hear Brown Eyes, I think about him, and I probably always will. I'm OK with that. I learned the possibility of my emotional depth because of him, so ultimately I'm nothing but thankful.

- Gaga has always been pretty outspoken about her bisexual experiences. I have always had bisexual curiosity and tendencies, but I've just recently began to explore it. I don't really consider it fodder for this blog, but a world has opened up for me, and I have never felt more free or comfortable in my own sexuality.

- I am more free than I have ever been. I have stopped caring what others think of me, and I have taken to cutting and ripping my clothing however I see fit before I go out. I wear dark eyeliner and slick my short brown hair down with pomade. I wear glittery eyeshadow. I don't really consider something worth wearing unless I have somehow taken my hand to it or one of my friends has. Zachary sketched my tattoo for me. I never even knew what freedom was before this stage of my life, and now that I've tasted it I never want to go back. I can't even remember what I did before I made things or at least felt the drive and necessity to make them.

- I am more in love with New York than I ever have been, if that's even possible. This city continues to inspire me, envelop me, develop me and create new worlds for me. Literally everyday is an adventure, and I am surrounded by my dearest friends, who are actually my family, and I could not feel more blessed. Gaga represents New York for me, because that's where she got her start - she frequented St. Jerome's, which is my new favorite bar on the LES - and she just sort of embodies the grease, grit, dirt, harshness, and glamor of the city.

- Rivington Street

- I have recently discovered about myself that I truly feel like I'm meant to be an artist, and I think of myself as one, even though I am still really young and don't know quite what I want to do. I've been reading and learning about Patti Smith, Robert Mapplethorpe, Andy Warhol, and, yes, Lady Gaga, and what they did as young artists in New York.  I'm learning about myself through them. I am dabbling in poetry and songwriting, as well as trying to learn more about the art world in New York.

To that end, I recently transcribed onto my bedroom wall a poem Patti Smith wrote when she was 24, which is obviously how old I am now, about New York.

Here's video of her saying it aloud, back in 1971. I have no idea if she wrote it before the interview and was reading from memory, or if she wrote it on the spot. She was really into improvisation, so the latter would not surprise me.

Patti was born on December 30, 1946. I moved to New York on December 30, exactly 62 years later. I find this appropriate, because it took moving to New York for me to truly be born, and the process, I hope, has only begun.

Love and art and New York always,

Meghan

Caw, caw, caw: Strike a prose

I wrote this on the 6 train early one morning, on my way from home to work.

--

The thing I hate about winter is that there's no sounding rain. Lots of snow, plenty of snow, but I miss the pounding of the water against my panes. The sound of the rain is like the forward motion of time - it never stops, until it does, and then you have no choice but to accept the silence.

I've heard lots of sweet words from sweet boys in my life, but yours stole all kinds of pastries. "Your name hangs in my heart like a bell," you said. "Found myself a picture that would fit in the folds of my wallet, and it stayed pretty good," you said.

But your words were secondhand, usurped from past brilliants, on loan to me for a limited time only (LTO). A faulty loan at that, motherfucker, since the words weren't even yours to give. In retrospect, this angers me. How dare you? How dare you take those words from their creators, then haphazardly give them to me? Not even you could make me hate something so beautiful.

Not even you could make me hate you. Months and months passed, and all I wanted was to hate you. You launched more borrowed words at me, and with every blow I remained resilient. I couldn't hate you, I couldn't hate you, I couldn't hate you - though not for lack of trying. When the final blow came, finally a set of originals - I love someone else - the cannon shot echoed off the Southern hills. Then a deafening, ringing silence. The snow came. I crouched, and looked around, but you were already gone. (The only thing worse than a giver of borrowed words is someone who doesn't understand the impact of his own.) The fog remained, my wound still hemorrhaging, and I curled up in a little ball and licked it for hours. I found in my last traces of consciousness that I truly did not care if the bleeding stopped while I slept. I did not care, and then in the last glittering moment before sleep blinked me away, I did.

When I woke up, I had some of my strength back. I stood up in the melting snow, and saw the meat of the land poking through the dead grass. I gathered my things and was suddenly aware that, for the first time, I felt nothing. The love I had for you, the words I had said to you and saved for you - never borrowed, always my own - everything was gone. All I had wanted was to hate you, but this was better. Anything could happen to you, you could take your borrowed life and your borrowed words anywhere you wanted, and I would not care. The wind had taken them while I slept. They belonged to no one. They were finally free.

It was warmer now. There was still no sun, but at least it was warmer. I began to walk.

The snow turned to rain. This clearing was much bigger than I remembered. I made my way home, knowing I would never see you or hear you or feel you again. My long brown hair dripped - when had it gotten so long? - and I wondered if I had possiby made the whole thing up, like maybe I invented you from all the songs and poems and plays I had loved in a past life. Perhaps you were some new sort of phantom made of skin and bones and veins and teeth. How do we know what is real?

I stopped walking. Something inside me told me to stop. I sat down in the field, in the cold and the wet, waiting for the carrier of words. I'm still sitting here, though I move around sometimes so no one knows that, still, I wait. An army of love surrounds me at all times. And I know he will come because truth attracts honesty. So I will just keep waiting.

Overhead, a black bird cries, and the squishy tears roll down my cheeks as my dark hair, now drying out, blows in the wind. The bird tells me (secretly) he has never borrowed or loaned anything in his life, except for his breath, on loan from the gracious universe, to be returned at an unknown time. Just like the rest of us.

Someone else can have your borrowed words. I can subsist on creating my own, until he arrives, and we co-pilot as birds ourselves, never borrowing, only living.

Caw. Caw. Caw.

One year, one love: New York

I moved to New York one year ago today. I brought with me two suitcases, a computer bag, a tote, some goals, some dreams and one undying love for the city that had called to me for years. Since that day, I have gained a lot, and lost just as much. I thought I knew who I was when I moved up, but I did not. I thought I had a true love in my life when I came, but I was mistaken about where that love resided. I was right that I had no idea what I was getting myself into by moving here, but I could not have known just how true that was. Here, a month-by-month recap of 2009, one of the hardest and most amazing years of my life, inside and out.

January
I lived with Z for a week and a half before I found my own place on Craigslist and moved in. C was in town for a week or so and we bummed around the city a lot. One night I heard a cat crying outside my Harlem window and went outside in the freezing cold to try to save it, but to no avail. I spent $500 at Bed, Bath & Beyond to stock up my apartment. I interviewed for a good number of jobs and internships. I went to DC to see my LDR boyfriend A and to go to Obama's inauguration. We got into a big fight - A and I, not Obama and I - in which he threatened me physically. I went back to NYC and broke up with him. I started a part-time unpaid internship at a website for a national women's magazine.

February
A came to NYC unannounced to profess his undying love for me. We got back together, and my friends were not happy about it or particularly supportive. I was still interning part-time and applying for jobs the rest of the time. I hunted for and finally found a chair to spruce up my apartment a bit. Z and I went to fashion week, which was mostly underwhelming. I was pretty depressed for a while because of the job market. I explored Harlem and started cooking myself real meals, and I got a gym membership.

March
I got snowed in with A in DC. We built a snowman and had snowball fights and made a few of the sweetest memories I have to date. I went back to NYC and started another unpaid blogging internship where I wrote about health and relationships and sex.  The Harlem Singing Man first showed up. I went home to the South for the first time since I had moved up, and visited Oxford while I was down there to find that everything and nothing had changed. I got offered and started my first paid full-time internship at a regional magazine company. I quit my other two internships. My friend E came to visit from Alabama.

April
I went to DC for the Cherry Blossom Festival and to see A. I was really in love with him at this point. Then he came to visit NYC and something felt off so I decided to take a week off from him, before breaking up with him for the second time. My internship was going really well and I finally felt like I was where I was supposed to be. We had our first picnic in Central Park to kick off summer early. Everything was blooming.

May
My internship chugged along and I was stressed at times but I liked all the people I worked with and I was getting to write so I was really happy. Z and I went to my first official magazine party of the summer, and as we were walking through Times Square afterward I dropped my phone and the screen cracked, and my heart along with it. I bought an amazing backless vintage swimsuit which I wore with leggings to another magazine party. I saw my first psychic on the street, who told me A was my soulmate, so then I got drunk* at happy hour one Saturday and hopped on the Chinatown bus to DC, with my friends' support in tow, to profess my undying love for him again. When I got back to the city, I was offered my first full-time-with-benefits position in New York at the same magazine company where I was interning. I was ecstatic in every sense of the word.

June
A came to NYC for Mississippi in the Park, where he finally met Z and J after months of not meeting them. It rained and we frolicked and laughed. I started my new job and was taking well to it. Michael Jackson died and I was really upset by it because he helped define a good chunk of my childhood. Z and I saw Beyoncé in concert. It was epic. My Lady Gaga obsession was just budding.


July
I went to DC for A's and my one-year anniversary the weekend of July 4th. We rode roller coasters and cried and watched fireworks, and then he dropped a bomb on me. And not the good kind. I came back to NYC and lost a couple nights' sleep before having a minor meltdown and deciding that I had finally, truly lost sight of who I was. He broke up with me.  I got a new, smaller bed for my room, but held out on buying an air conditioner. I discovered a big public pool near my apartment that changed my life. I danced in a fountain with Z. Started drinking a lot and living the young New York life I had always wanted. Went home to the South for a few days.

August
I got an air conditioner for my room after one especially terrible night of sweating. A and I still talked sometimes, and he told me he wanted to get back together. I said no because it didn't feel right. My Lady Gaga obsession grew into full-blown worship. I continued running around New York drunk and going out all the time. Z and I saw Britney in concert. I told A that I wanted to get back together, and he told me he didn't love me the way he used to anymore. I started blogging a lot more, honing what might loosely be referred to as my craft.

September
I went to the first Effable Arts show to support J and her amazing photograpy. Was inspired by all the young artists and fauxsted a Lady Gaga dance party at a gay bar in Hell's Kitchen. Danced on booths and tables in windows. Found one of three straight guys in the bar and kissed him on the steps of a hostel. He was British. Decided I wanted a Lady Gaga tattoo. Struck up an online friendship with one of A's close guy friends, who provided some enlightening insight. Z and I went to a bizarre launch party for Keith Lissner's new line. I got an amazing new dress that I wore to yet another magazine party. I started online dating and went to a quiet party for the first time by myself. I wrote my first guest blog post. A group of friends and I went on a Five Borough Pub Crawl that took an entire Sunday and was epic. I went to my first NYC doctor for a physical and everything was great. I felt invincible.

October
I started blogging, like, a lot. I went to DC for the National Equality March and did not contact A, which I considered a victory. I also stood ten feet away from Lady Gaga as she gave her speech, which I considered an even greater victory. I did my first blog swap. Z started filming video of our lives. My parents came to visit, their first trip to the city. A contacted me wanting to catch up, and I told him no. J had her first photo show in Brooklyn. I dropped my iPhone into the subway tracks and went down to get it, then I wrote a blog post about it, on which I then based a play. I went to my first real blogger convention. I learned that fall in New York is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I found out that Gaga would be performing in NYC on my birthday. HLLWN 2009 happened, and was a total shitshow.

November
I started to feel tired. I got switched to a different magazine at work and it was really busy and stressful. I worked on my play some more and sent in my final draft. I talked to A and he told me he was totally over me. He e-mailed me a couple weeks later announcing that he was removing all our photos from facebook. I did not respond. I went out one Saturday night and made some bad decisions and had the worst Sunday of my life the next day. I started to feel depressed and empty. I was happy to leave the city to go see C in Chicago for Thanksgiving. We went to museums and watched theater and comedy improv and listened to bad hip-hop music. In the Chicago airport, I wrote a list of the things I still knew about myself, because I was having trouble remembering. I celebrated the first birthday of my dear blog.

December
I got Blogger's Blog of Note award. I cried at my desk. It felt like the first really good thing that had happened in a while. Christmas exploded in the city. I discovered that it was the second-most beautiful time of the year. I still felt depressed and exhausted, like I was walking around in a cloud. New York and I were not getting along. I cried a lot when I was by myself. I convinced myself that I still loved A because I missed his smile and his eyes and the way he talked with his hands. I read my first Chuck Klosterman book, fell in love, and started reading my second. I went home for Christmas. I saw a ceremony for a fallen soldier that shook me to my already shaken core. While in town, I chose to see A for the first time in six months. We had coffee and caught up. I told him honestly that he was still the person I loved, and he told me honestly that I was no longer the person he loved. It felt like a bus hit me. I flew back to New York, after e-mailing him to tell him not to contact me anymore. It took nearly a year of heartache, but I finally let him go and am in the process of re-discovering my love for myself.

When my plane landed a year ago, I was still too young to have any concept of looking back. My eyes were planted firmly forward, and I knew in my heart that New York was what I wanted more than anything. I had fear, but I was not afraid. After about 10 months of deep periods of depression, exultation, loss, joy and loneliness, my heart grew weary, and I found myself too afraid to look forward. I looked forward and thought I saw nothing, which is the scariest feeling I've ever had, so I just decided to look back. I blamed myself for my unhappiness; I blamed putting myself and my dreams before others in my life, and I blamed the city. I looked at the city and saw a place that had stolen my innocence, my courage and, I thought, my heart.

When my plane landed this week, I felt the city come back to me. I now see it again like I saw it in 2008. That piece of my heart that's forever devoted to New York came back to life, and with it came all the other parts of my heart I thought were ruined or gone. I made some mistakes this year, and I hurt some people, but I never once did anything that was not a true expression of how I felt in my heart. I loved with my whole heart, I feared with my whole heart, I learned with my whole heart, and I acted with my whole heart.

This past month, I had actually come to convince myself that I must be unhappy because I was innately not sensitive enough to experience meaningful happiness. But in retrospect, 2009 showed me my favorite thing about myself: I live honestly. No one can ever say I am not genuine and upfront and fearlessly honest about how I think and feel. This honesty dissolved my relationship with someone I loved, because he could not offer me the same sort of honesty in return. But then it enriched my relationship with someone I know I love unconditionally: myself.


Now winter is returning, and I still go out in the freezing cold in my pajamas and boots when I hear cats cry, which they do a lot. I know I can't help them - because most of them won't let people anywhere near them - but still I go, because I think that maybe I will be able to help, just this one time. Because that's who I am. The love in my heart propels me forward, against all odds.

Even if it ain't all it seems, I got a pocket full of dreams,
Baby, I'm from New York...

 
*I have never consumed one drop of alcohol in my life

Schmom B. Says

Sigh, I dropped the ball on the Schmom B. Says feature. It's been like at least a month since I posted one. Well, Schmom B. came through last night with the following e-mailed words of wisdom, this time totally unsolicited by me. (Usually she doles them out in response to a pitiful text message or phone call from yours truly about how I miss my ex or work is hard or blablabla other uninteresting things about my life.) This just further illustrates that Schmom B. is the best.

Schmom B. Says: Don't forget, you are loved

Hey sweetie,

Heard something today that's very meaningful to me.  Struck me, you would appreciate it too.  "Scars remind us where we've been; they don't have to dictate where we're going." Something else I read:  "We tend to seek happiness when happiness is actually a choice." Happy "two weeks before Christmas."  See you soon.  Take care.  I love you.

Mom




This honestly couldn't have come at a better time. The city's been closing in, and I've been feeling really anxious, and my inner peace has slipped away from me, and I needed a reminder that I have people who love me, even if some of them are way down South in Alabama. 

Up here in the city, feels like things are closing in;
The sunset's just my light bulb burning out.
I miss Kentucky, and I miss my family;
All the sweetest winds they blow across the South...

Ugh please forgive me for the excessive song lyric usage recently.  I sort of hate myself for it.... but I just watched this live version of Ryan Adams' Oh My Sweet Carolina, and it made me cry more than anyone should ever cry in a public place ever. I actually had to stop watching. Self-sustenance. Shake it out.

New York is sort of annoying me

New York can be a big pain in the ass sometimes. I don't know if it's just because it's winter, and I've been feeling like I want everything to slow down to approximately the pace of maple syrup pouring over the edge of a huge stack of buttermilk pancakes, but lately everything is just bugging me. I want stillness, and quiet, and I want to be able to walk around without (gasp) seeing any people. I guess this means I want the South. This might actually be a little bit of playful teasing on the part of the universe, because I'm going home for like ten days in just over a week, and I am so fucking excited about it.

Things that have been annoying me recently.

1. I bought these new earbuds for my iPhone and for some reason the buds pop out of my ears more easily than the ones Apple makes. And for whatever reason, they also are constantly getting caught on things around me. Other people's bags, buttons on their coats, corners of books, whatever. Anything protruding from other people's bodies - it's likely my earbuds will get caught on it. So when the cords pull the buds out of my ears, I'm left grappling awkwardly to catch them so my whole iPhone doesn't tumble out of my pocket/bag. We've already seen the trauma such events can cause. Solution: Kick out half-to-most of the people in Manhattan.

2. It rained a lot yesterday morning and Manhattan turned into one huge slip-and-slide, except instead of being the funnest fucking thing ever like when you were a kid, you're just hopping over huge puddles and hoping you don't slip and fall in the concrete subway stations and avoiding people's nasty dripping umbrellas on the train and hoping the leaking bus window doesn't burst open under the weight of just a few too many raindrops. Solution: Make a lot of money and take cabs everywhere.

3. People walk too slowly. If you are old or handicapped or something, OK, that's fine. If you are healthy and of a reasonable age, please walk at a normal to absurdly fast pace, like the rest of us. And stopping in the middle of the sidewalk is just unacceptable. Solution: See solution number one.

4. People are fucking inconsiderate. In the South, we are taught to consider other people; and actually, "taught" seems like too strong a word, because it's more deeply ingrained than that - it's just the way people live. If someone is coming through a door behind you, you hold the door open for them. If someone is walking toward a door that you are blocking, you move out of the way, so they may walk through. If someone does something for you - whether they are required to or not - you say "thank you." You make every effort to smile at people you interact with, whether it's your boss or the girl behind the cash register at the drug store, because you just never know what other people are going through. In New York, I still do these things, because I am Southern and that's just what I have always done and will always do; but it is a sadly rare occasion when I see others doing these things for me. Solution: Start raising your kids right, New Yorkers.

5. People walk too quickly. Yeah, you heard me. If you live in Manhattan, you are either walking too slowly or too quickly. Slow the fuck down. I promise, wherever you're going, it's just not that big a deal. Solution: Everyone, everywhere in the city, just stop. Stand perfectly still. And listen.

6.  My apartment is too small and I really miss having a couch and my windows are too big and it makes it hard to hang my Christmas lights, which keep falling down because I can't use the proper hanging utensils because I can't reach because my windows are too big. Solution: See solution number two part one. Spend some of that money to rent a bigger apartment and buy some real furniture and stuff. Also, become an adult.

7. It's loud. All the time. Honking, screeching, yelling, talking, braking, clinging, clanging, halting. Normally, I find all these sounds beautiful. But recently, I just want to yell at everyone to shut the fuck up, which would of course be counterproductive. Solution: Hushhhhhhhhhh.

I just want to get into a car and drive.
I want to see the road in front of me for miles on end.
And while I'm driving, I want to listen to only albums I've never listened to before and would normally never listen to.
Where I would go, I have no idea.
For no apparent reason today I keep recalling the past, very specifically and at random times.
I keep remembering my drive from Birmingham to Oxford, in bizarre flashes.
The bridges I crossed.
The exits I took.
The particular gas station I always stopped at on the way.
I keep remembering the music I would listen to on the drive, back in the day when I actually had a CD changer and CDs to change.
I keep remembering restaurants in Oxford where I used to eat regularly, which was basically all of them.
I keep remembering you, and that's when I want everyone on the streets of New York to disappear.
Because when I think of you I get this huge lump in my throat and I can't breathe and my eyeballs can only contain so much liquid until I suffocate and this goddamn walk home is so long and why is that guy looking at me and please please please everyone just go away.


It's not like the movies
They fed us all little white lies

New/old Beyoncé

I discovered this Beyoncé song recently. It's always weird to find old music that you've never heard by an artist you love. I think this was released as an extra song on B'Day or something. I love it because it seems incredibly appropriate at this point in my life, and it's hilarious.



I really wish there were an official video for this song, because I'm sure it would be lolz. However, since there isn't, a fan-made mash-up will have to suffice. Oh, Bey, you're so ridonk, and I'm so glad you're in my life.

I've been in this relationship for like three years

I have a confession, dear readers. I've been in a secret relationship for several years now. It's kind of unconventional, and you might find it a little bizarre. But I don't care, because I'm totally in love and devoted to it. And next week, it all comes to a thrilling, beautiful, tear-jerking head. I challenge you to watch this without tearing up. You cannot do it.



It's a little bittersweet for me, because it makes me think of some memories I would rather push out of my head, but, ultimately, it will be a very happy day for me. I've loved Jim and Pam from the start, through all the hills and dips, and through two relationships of my own. The moral of their story: true love doesn't die. No matter how many other relationships (ahem, Karen and Roy) you beat it down with, over long periods of time and distance, true love lives on and wins out.

Maybe it makes me naive and childlike, but I still believe it. And I don't plan on ever stopping.

JAM 4EVER!!!1

Eff today

1. I just realized that today is the one-year anniversary of my first trip to DC to see Andrew.
2. John Krasinski and Emily Blunt are engaged. Welp, there goes my other soulmate.
3. It's raining, and it's gonna keep raining all weekend.
4. Sometimes going out in this city is a reminder that most people, men and women, are completely worthless and/or drugged out.

I've posted a lot of pics of Britney this week, so I thought I would round it out with just one more.

Breakthrough (Swear to God, last break-up post for a while)

I have spent my afternoon reading my new favorite blog, The Sassy Curmudgeon, and listening to Madonna's Like A Prayer on repeat.

Things you can take away from this: it's a slow afternoon at work, yes, but more importantly, I have had a breakthrough. I have let Andrew go.

I did this via a combination of learning from older mentors (aforementioned blog not excluded), the force of my own sheer will, and clever new break-up tactics such as writing a draft e-mail titled "(More than) 10 things I hate about you." The place in my heart I had reserved for missing him, longing for the past, hoping for things to work out between us - I took that place, emptied it out, and filled it with myself. And when I did, I found myself again. Just like that, I found the Meghan I lost when I entered into our relationship over a year ago. I saw my future, blurry still, but bright: me, laughing, writing, living my life in New York, my best friends, and the future (still mystery) man I will fall in love with completely and insanely, who will love every single crazy beautiful fucked-up part of me, who would rather die than live without me. I have no doubt that he exists, somewhere, and when I meet him I will probs just know it. Maybe not at first, because I am far too analytical for that bullshit, but, you know, eventually.

Until then, as of right now, I can honestly say: I live in my dream city, work my age-23 dream job, I have the best friends in the world, and I love my (newly rediscovered) self. This is not me trying to reassure myself that my life is good *enough without a boyfriend; this is me just simply stating that my life is amazing, period. And I'm so thankful.

Also, I challenge you to listen to "Like A Prayer" without bouncing around like someone who forgot she is in public. It is impossible.



PS, On a not-entirely-unrelated note, Britney was epic last night.

Your girl is lovely, Hubbell

Dear Meghan,

You know I loved you, right? I really loved you. When it was good between us, it was really (pause for emphasis) good. We had something really special, and there were times when I thought you were perfect for me. But it just got way too hard. I just think that when you meet the person you're supposed to end up with, it's not that hard. Things were so hard between us... we've done this breakup thing one too many times, and I just can't do it anymore. I've met someone who's interested in me, and I'm interested in her. We're not "dating." We went on one date, and we'll probably go on another date. But this isn't about her... it's about you and me, and the difficulties we encountered in our relationship. I just don't think I can love you the way I did anymore. I loved you so much, and those memories we shared will always be special to me, and I'll never doubt how much I loved you. But I don't love you, not like that, anymore.

But I don't love you like that anymore
But I don't love you like that
But I don't love you like
But I don't love you
But I don't love
But I don't
But I
But

Love,

J
D
Andrew

This is your brain on breakup

What have you done? Maybe you're a fucking idiot. A is the perfect man. Short of being gay, he really is the perfect man, which makes him even more perfect because he also happens to like vadge. He's kind, he's thoughtful, he's funny, he's cute, he's in shape. He has a good job, good friends, a good life. He loves his family, really respects women, he's romantic. Remember that time he got you the best gift you ever got from a guy? Valentine's Day? He knows how to take care of himself, a rare quality in men. He is well-groomed. He made mistakes but they were all pretty honest. What are you doing?

Are you making a mistake? Why couldn't it have worked out? What if we had lived in the same city? Maybe you're just scared because he is *too perfect for you, too close to the ideal. Or maybe he's just good on paper guy and you are making the right decision. Why don't you know what you want? Why are you so fucking fickle? BLAHHHHH.

Time will tell. Time will tell. Just be patient and let him go and see what happens after some time passes. It will get better. You will be fine. Calm down. Ugh why do you suck so much? Why are you even focusing on this? Your life in New York is awesome, and you are doing exactly what you moved to this city to do. You have a great job, great friends, a great apartment, supportive family. You have everything you could ever want at age 23. So shut the fuck up and focus on something else. Write. Blog. Focus on your job.

That's it, maybe you're just completely focused on the wrong things. Who cares about boys and being in love and relationships? It's not like you went to school for 16 years so you could start a career in being a good girlfriend. Why do people even want to be in relationships? What's the point? You should just be pouring all your energy into making the life for yourself that you always wanted. Make yourself a writer, editor. Read some good books. Meet a lot of new people. Yeah, you'll be fine. You don't need anyone. Nothing is missing.

But his crooked smile. His eyes. The way he talked with his hands. His voice. His laugh.

Ugh, fucker.

Scratch that

That last post was ridic. Possibly the most emo thing I've written, ever? But I'm going to leave it up here because I wrote it from the heart, and I actually kinda like how I wrote it. I was just really upset last night.

Dramatic, passionate, honest, heartfelt, sort of bizarre and macabre.



Until next time.

To separate into parts with suddenness or violence

Why do they call it a break-up?

It seems they ought to call it a tear-down, or a rip-apart, or a twist-away. A break implies something clean and even. If you break a bone, the cut is usually straight and uncomplicated. If you fracture a bone, it's a little more jagged; and if you shatter a bone - which I actually have - it's nasty. What used to look like a part of your anatomy now looks like a garbled mess of twisted wire, or a scattered egg shell, or the remains from a tree trunk that has burned.

That's what has happened to my once loving, happy relationship. It is not broken. Nor is it fractured, really. It's shattered. This is what it feels like to "break up" with someone you are in love with: you feel like you're sitting on a bench on a sidewalk in a busy street, and something terrible is happening in front of you - you can see a person lunging at you, with a knife or something, and no matter how hard you try to dodge in any open direction, your body refuses to move. You know something awful is about to happen, and it's gonna hurt really bad, and you want nothing more than to stop it. But, somehow, events just keep happening around you - swirling around you, unstoppable, like a big city often does - that lead to the lunge and the knife at the end of it.

You feel it go in. At first it hurts a lot, then adrenaline kicks in and you feel nothing. Then, after all that wears off, the pain returns, except it's worse than it was before, deeper, more complicated, shredding you from the inside out. You look down and realize this shit has happened to you, and it's irreversible, and you will have a scar forever, and you just scream and scream, but the person who lunged is already gone.

The worst part is that the person who lunged is also the person you loved, and the person who once professed love for you. The knife is still with you, and all its fucking remnants, but the attacker is gone.

And you're left, sitting alone on a bench in New York, wondering what in the world just happened and why couldn't you stop it and when will you stop bleeding and how long will it be before you don't even notice the scar anymore and it just becomes a part of who you are, like your fingernails or that weird mole on your left knee.

Yeah, they should really call it something else.

Home sweet home

I'm in Birmingham for a few nights. I have mixed feelings about it. It's obvs really nice to be home and see my momma and my dad and Queen B., and to sleep in my own bed and hear the crickets chirping at night - I forget how loud they are - and smell the rain. Nothing smells like the South after a good rain.

But being down here brings back a lot of good memories of me and A, ones that are too painful to think about since our recent breakup. We're doing that weird post-breakup thing where we both know we need to be apart, but neither of us is ready slash wants to let the other person go. We keep texting and e-mailing and leaving voicemails and dragging this thang right on out, despite the fact that we broke up more than two weeks ago. Not that two weeks is all that long or anything, it's really not. It just sucks that we both keep leading the other person on when at the end of the day the truth remains: now is not a good time. It's not a good time for me to commit myself to him, and it's not a good time for me to split my life between two cities. It's not a good time for me to be able to trust him. It's just not the right time, which sucks because we still care about each other a lot.

So much that really letting the other person go is something neither of us seems to yet be capable of. Secretly, I'm okay with that. Because I still feel happy when I get a text from him, or when he calls me his girl, or when I hear his voice. Ugh. Turns out love isn't enough to keep a relationship alive. No one tells you that when you're little.

Still, I feel thankful and am trying to focus on the amazing things in my life. My one true love, New York, and my newly budding love for Harlem. My family. My friends. My job. My blog. Summer. Loving myself. Life.

Until next time.

Hell is other people

Sometimes when I come back to my blog after being away for a while, I can't believe how long it's been. June 23?? REALLY? Today is July 12. That's, like, almost a month. It's been almost a month since MJ died. Can't believe it. If any of you out there have aspirations to live in New York, one of the first things you will learn is that time means nothing you thought it meant. A week is a blink of an eye, and a month feels like a week. I wonder if it's like that for "adults" everywhere, or if it really is a New York thing. Either way, it's bizarre.

Sartre wrote in his play No Exit that "hell is other people." I've read it--depressing--basically this guy dies and finds himself in a room with no exit, trapped with like three or four other people for all eternity. Of course gradually they start to hate each other and go insane. What would be worse, do you think? All eternity in a room by yourself, or all eternity in a room with a few other people you hate?

I'm single again. It was more of a mutual thing this time. We each had our own reasons I guess. It's amazing how after being with someone a year, you still feel like you don't know them at all. Is that normal? Is that par for the course in serious relationships? Like, it's the big secret no one tells you, oh yeah, a year is nothing, you still have a lot to learn about the other person. I don't know, but I really hope not. I don't want to feel like I know someone, only to learn that I don't really, over and over again over the course of my life. Why can't people just fucking be honest about who they are from the beginning?

I'm being very vague on purpose, but suffice it to say that I was in DC last weekend and found out something that made me feel like, oh here we go again, I think I trust someone and then he shits all over it. Well, I tried for a year. I mean, I think that's pretty good right? Off and on, but I tried for a year to put my full trust in one other person. And it didn't work out. Time to move on.

I'm gonna try not to let myself get ruined. I want to stay in tact, be the Meghan I used to know and love, so that one day I can wake up and suddenly be ready to date again, and meet someone equally awesome and we can truly love and trust each other. But as of right now, I'm really over it. I spent a year trying to make something work with someone, and when I think back on it now I see one struggle after another. That really sucks, because we had some good times, but right now I just want to be alone. At least when I'm alone there are no expectations, no games, no failed attempts at communication. It's just me and my apartment and the city and my friends and all of y'all and my family, way down South.

And for now, that's exactly what I want.

Majorly yours.

Employed at last

The title of this blog speaks for itself. Yes, I am now employed. I got offered a full-time position as a research editor at a magazine company in New York today. Two months of interning there, and I guess I proved myself. Before that, two months of interning at a different magazine's web site. Before that, six months of interning at a major magazine in the South. Prior to that, two months of interning at a small magazine in the South. And before that, two months of interning at another major national magazine in the South. What is that? Like 14 months? Over a year of being an intern. Plus however many hours I put in at The Daily Mississippian. Good lawd. I think it's safe to say I earned it.

New York. Real life. Being a grownup. Money. Benefits. Being an independent woman for the first time in my life. I mean, LBO; I have always been a feminist and lived a pretend-independent life for years. And as far as my mindset goes, I have always been independent, but to be completely financially independent as a 23-year-old female in New York - that's what I've worked toward for the past, I dunno, 19 years. Yeah, I started doing math workbooks for fun when I was like 4, so suck it.

Fuck yes. In other life news, I got back together with A. I know, whatever. I realized I can't live without him, and once you realize that about someone, you may as well stop fighting it, because it's not gonna change anytime soon. Better to embrace it with open arms. Or, as I did, get on a bus to DC late on a Saturday night after happy hour and profess your love. Better to do these sorts of things in person.

I start my new job Monday. Until then, I am, as always,

Majorly yours.

Unclasped

Around 8:30 this morning I woke up because I had to pee, and I heard this strange jingling noise. I thought it was coming from outside my open window, but when I got out of bed I looked down and one of my bracelets had come unclasped in my sleep; the jingling noise had been me rolling around on it and the pieces clinging together.

I love bracelets, and I have two that I wear all the time on my left arm. I never take them off. They were gifts from my mom and I love them, so I never see a need to remove them. Admittedly though, another part of the reason I never take them off - especially the bracelet I found in my bed this morning - is that it's nigh impossible for me to put them on my wrist by myself; I always need someone's assistance.

The fact that this bracelet came off in my sleep is bizarre enough. That has never happened before, and when I saw it I was quite disheartened because I knew I wouldn't be able to get it back on anytime soon. I can't help but feel the universe laughing at me. Ha! You broke up with your amazing boyfriend and now you're alone and your bracelet that never comes unlatched came off in your sleep and now you're all alone and don't you wish he were here to help you put it back on!

I sat on my bed for a minute trying to clasp it back myself, but then decided this Sunday is too lovely to be spent on pitiful attempts at solo reclasping. So I took the bracelet and put it in my jewelry box. Take that, universe.

Until next time.

Sabrina

I think because I didn't grow up in a church-going household, my personal thoughts and beliefs on spirituality have mainly been guided by my own internal compass. I've just always felt certain things to be true, and certain things to be bullshit. I love philosophy and thinking about the big questions in life, and I've always leaned toward more Eastern ("alternative") belief systems like Buddhism and Taoism. So it seems to follow suit that today, for the first time, a psychic read my palm and totally blew my mind.

Today was one of those days that I woke up and had nothing planned. I was going to sleep in, get up, possibly shower, do some much-needed grocery shopping, and spend the rest of the day relaxing and catching up on last week's TV. Instead, I got up, Z called me, and I joined him and J for breakfast on the UWS, followed by several street fairs, record store hopping and vintage shopping. It was at the first street fair that I encountered Sabrina and her $5 insight into the inner workings of my mind.

I've wanted to go to a psychic for a long time, not because I hold some sort of firm belief in their abilities, but just because I wanted the experience. I try to refrain from holding opinions about things until I encounter them firsthand, and this was one of those things I didn't want to write off or believe in without seeing for myself. So I said what the hell and sat down in her tent. Z hovered but didn't listen. Apparently a palm reading is a really personal thing. I didn't know that but it seems to be that way.

First she asked me my name and introduced herself. She had pretty brown eyes and I found myself looking into them without being freaked out by it. She was welcoming and comforting and I felt like I immediately trusted her. She took my right hand and began looking at my lines. She said I had a strong life line and would not die of sickness or injury, but live to be old and die of old age. Good news. She said I would get married in my late 20s or early 30s. She said I was outwardly a happy person, and very supportive of my friends, but that there was a sadness in my heart, and that I was good at giving advice but not good at taking it. At this point, I was like, OK Sabrina, pretty accurate but anyone would probably say those things are true about themselves. But then she started knowing things that she shouldn't know, specifically about my relationship with A, that freaked me out.

At first she said that I was in a relationship, that it had been difficult, but that we were working out our differences. And I was like, no, we just broke up actually. And she said, oh, but I can tell you've had problems before, you've broken up with this person before but you've always gotten back together. Um, yes. Then out of nowhere she said, "But you can reconcile the fact that he's far away. That's not the problem." And I was like, um, what?? She didn't ask me if he was in another city, she just stated it like a fact she had read in a book. She then went on to say that she knows I love him and that he loves me, and that he never mistreated me, but there was some other source of negativity keeping us apart. She said it could be someone in my life or his life who was envious and aiming to keep us apart, but she wasn't sure. She said she could sense the negativity in me, could read it in my face. Needless to say, I walked away from her confused, anxious and (again) wondering if I am making the right decision about A or just leaving because it's the easy thing to do.

Other stuff she knew: that I'm a writer, that I recently moved to New York, that I've been feeling apprehensive about moving here (but, she reassured me, it was the right decision and this is where I belong). She said she saw paperwork/contracts in my near future, that my financial situation would soon be improving and that I would be traveling a lot this year, including a place with palm trees and blue water later this year. Sounds good to me.

I don't know. I walked away wanting to know more, to sit down and talk to her and see what else she knew about me. I was convinced by the end of my 5-6 minute session that she, at the very least, had a bizarre skill for reading people. I don't know that it's an actual "psychic" power, but I do believe that some people are more in tune with the intrinsic nature of things, and are just good at reading people. Actually I think I'm one of those people, just probably not to the extent Sabrina is.

I know my blog has been really heavy recently and that it's probably getting kind of old, so I have some lighter, more exciting news: I bought an amazing swimsuit today at a vintage store in SoHo. I. love. it. I plan on wearing it to the park when I go to lounge in the sun, and also under jeans or with leggings when going out this summer. It's that's amazing.


It's a really low scoopback, which I <3. You can't tell in the photo, but it's also got old-school cone shapes at the bust. Not like Madonna style, but the same basic idea, just more subtle. I LOVE IT. I kiiiiiind of feel like a pin-up girl when I'm wearing it, not going to lie. Can't wait to wear it around this amazing city this summer.

Until next time.

More than a place

Today at work I was thinking about New York. I was thinking about New York, why I'm here and why I want to stay here, and I was also thinking about how my relationship with this city affected my relationship with A, and how it may have been a factor in our recent split.

I mentioned the other day that one of my friends expressed the opinion that if you love someone enough, distance is just another obstacle to making the relationship work. I also mentioned that I disagreed with this opinion. The reasons for my disagreement are plenty, but I think the main one is that learning to live in New York is about more than just figuring out the subway system and the bus routes and where your laundromat is and your favorite Chinese restaurant. Finding a way to live in this city is a much more involved process - it's a process that forces you to find yourself.

New York is more than just a place. It's a struggle, it's a lifestyle, it's yourself staring back at you constantly. I'm finding it difficult to express just what I mean, because it's really something you have to live to understand. The best way to say it is that it's more than just a place - and I didn't realize that until recently. When I fell in love with this city, it was an intangible, ineffable experience. Just like falling in love with a person, there was no explanation. It just was. And it happened the moment I was first in the city. Now that I'm here and have been here almost five months now, it's hard to say whether I am deeper or less in love with it. And just like there are no words to describe that moment when I knew I was in love with New York, there are none to describe how I feel about it now.

Unlike any other place I've visited or inhabited - and, I would argue, most other places in this country - New York isn't just a place you live. Oxford, Birmingham, New Orleans, Atlanta, D.C. - all places I love - are all just places to live. You live there, and you make a life there, and you have friends and you go out and you have a place you call home - and none of this is bad. I don't mean it in an elitist way, but New York is just so much more than that, in good and bad ways. Maybe it's the fact that you're always around people, most of whom you do not know. Maybe it's the constant city noise. Maybe it's the smell. Maybe it's the dirt. Maybe it's the way you feel when you walk outside and it's finally a beautiful, sunny, warm day. Learning to live in New York is learning a whole new language: how people interact, what the social hierarchies are, what the neighborhoods are like, who lives where, who owns what restaurant.

I think part of the reason I left A is that I am inextricably tied to this city, at least for a while. And it's not even my fault. I didn't come up here and expect any of this to happen. I wasn't prepared. And once you move to New York, you better be prepared to learn and prepared to stay. You can't just live the life you lived in whatever place you were before, because learning how to live in a place means nothing in New York. Because it's not a place.

People always say it, and I always thought of it as an overstated cliche that people who have never lived here, but perhaps only visited, love to spout. But now that I'm a resident, I understand its meaning in a deeper and perhaps more disquieting way than ever before, and I can confirm its truth: New York is alive.

Until next time.

I'm the boy

An interesting thing about breaking up, I've found, is that all your friends have opinions about it, despite knowing nothing about it. I mean, I'm not saying it's a bad thing or making any sort of judgment call on whether they should or should not express their thoughts about a situation about which they essentially know nothing. And actually, I like hearing people's opinions because it gets my brain going in different directions, and it's always good to think about things from different sides.

First of all, I need to say that it was my decision. I didn't make that clear in the last post, and the whiny emo nature of said post possibly made it seem like I was broken up with. But that is not the case. I did it. I just realized I need to be alone for a while and figure out my life in New York and in my own head. Saying goodbye to someone you love, because you know - or you think you know - it's the right thing to do, for your own good and for the other person's - that should never be an easy thing. If you really care about someone, which I do about A, it fucking hurts.

Anyway, among the various opinions I've heard: "it sounds like you're in a good place." "Distance isn't that big an obstacle if you really care about someone." (Which, PS, I disagree with.) "You have to do you and let him do him for a while. Do your own shit." (my favorite) "Man, that sucks, really." "Boys suck and I'll never understand them."

That last one struck a chord in me, and not a good one. Because A doesn't suck. He's the opposite of suck. He loves me and he's sweet and thoughtful and caring and smart and all that stuff. I, on the other hand, am doubting and fickle and lazy and questioning and flippant. I walked away for my own selfish reasons. In short: I'm the boy. I'm the one who caused the heartache, the drama, the fear of the unknown, the hurt. I'm the boy.

I just am who I am. I've always been just who I am. One day I'll grow up and be settled in myself and in this city, and then I'll be able to make confident, round decisions about who I want to be with and what sort of relationship I want to have. This is the first time in my life I have volunteered myself to be alone. That's actually not very boy, but whatever. I can't very well love someone else if I feel like I don't know who I am. New York has sort of fucked my shit up internally - which I suppose sorta normally happens to people who move to this crazy place - and I need to put it back together. Who knows how long it will take.

And I miss him. Everyday.

Until next time.