relationships

On Hope

/ Ashley / 4 Comments

A few weeks ago, Bill and I made the decision to finally bring this whole long distance thing to a close. We’re both getting tired of it and I’d been planning on doing this anyway. I was going to move in with him in his two-bedroom apartment in Oklahoma. It was exciting. Finally, I was going to see the man I love every day instead of a few days at a time with weeks or months in between. It was exciting. It seemed inevitable that we would do this. I’ve been told by acquaintances that we look like a couple who has been together forever and who will be together forever. When we were both living in Oshkosh, if I went somewhere alone, I had a half dozen people ask me where Bill was. It was the kind of relationship I’ve been longing for since I was fifteen – one where you’re inexplicably tethered to the other. My past relationships were nothing really like that. I often felt like an optional accessory, one my boyfriends felt they could wear when they wanted and throw in the back of the closet when they were bored.

Basically, I felt unimportant. And my romantic experience hadn’t afforded me opportunities in which I felt allowed to feel important. That fact is an issue entirely its own. Berate me for low self-confidence and I’ll tell you every girl struggles with that. Berate me for dating assholes and I’ll tell you if a girl hasn’t, she’s at least been tempted. Berate me for realizing the signs, allowing this to happen and I’ll tell you I have no idea what I was thinking. I have no explanation.

But then in walked Bill and all was changed. He constantly made me feel beautiful and important. Other boyfriends told me they valued my intelligence, but Bill was actually interested in what I had to say. Bill challenged me and loved when I could challenge him. It was invigorating. I always felt free to share things with him. Early on, I was able to tell him the things I was most ashamed of. Scary yes, but I was not afraid of him judging me as other boyfriends had. I felt as if I had found a partner and an equal with whom I could spend years with.

Of course everybody feels like that early on in relationships. The beginnings are always blooming with possibilities and anticipation. You’re eager to learn whatever you can about the person. You kiss them so many times you become numb to what a kiss actually is since you never have to worry if another will follow. You take for granted those silly moments – naps on rainy afternoons, white zinfandel-soaked Scrabble games, Arrested Development marathons, and the times you unenthusiastically  watched Star Wars movies with him. Those moments become lost in your mind because every day is full of them.

When things changed and I was 900 miles away from him, those moments took on a fresh sweetness and importance. Each interaction we shared on visits was something to be cherished since they were so few and far between. So the prospect of the distance closing and being able to create new moments and memories was exciting to me. It was that same invigoration I felt at the beginning of our relationship.

Relocating from the home I’ve known for 24 years was an intimidating prospect. But the fact that I had someone there to help me figure things out and to support me when I became overwhelmed, lonely, or scared made it easier. The fact that I was going to be with the man I love made it okay. So I got excited about it all. I decided to take this move as an opportunity to sort of reinvent myself. I began to work out and eat better. I started getting rid of things I hadn’t used in months. I started looking at all the possibilities. Instead of limiting myself to searching for clerical and administrative jobs, I began applying for writing and editorial positions. I began writing more. I read more, studying the way great essayists craft their pieces, seeing how the at first apparently unrelated threads of an essay braid together to create the meaning.

I was excited about the future and I couldn’t wait to do this with Bill at my side again.

But yesterday I woke up to something that put all of this on hold. Without going into detail, I’ll just say that the plan to move to Oklahoma has been put on hold. I’ve been a mess ever since. Having to re-evaluate my plans has caused all sorts of crying spells. I go through moments when I mourn what might be lost, then I think of the newness of my situation and I’m a little hopeful at the prospect of figuring this all out for myself without that tether to Bill. But it inevitably relapses to the mourning bit. It’s been incredible to see the amount of support of family, friends, and acquaintances that has come pouring forth.

I mostly feel like staying in bed in my own filth, crying and drinking obscene amounts of whiskey, but I realized that in order to feel better I needed to ask for help. It’s only been a day, but my friends have been there with open ears, sushi meals, and chocolate vodka to get me through this. My family has been there, not minding when their shoulders get wet. It’s great to know that though this is incredibly difficult for me to do, I don’t have to go through it alone.

I realize that if this relationship is really over, it is not the equivalent of my life being over. But that doesn’t change the fact that it hurts like hell. I feel like I’ve lost a great deal of hope – hope and possibility and all those things we talked about. Losing hope has got to be the hardest thing to lose. Having to rebuild it takes time and determination. I have none of the latter at the moment though I feel compelled to do something. I can’t be sure what that something is, but I’m pretty sure it’s buying a puppy. However, I realize when I’m feeling vulnerable, I have the tendency to make irresponsible and rash decisions, so I’m staying away from animal shelters and instead comforting myself with Taylor Swift songs and Sloane Crosley essays.

Dear Wonderful Boyfriend

/ Ashley / Leave a comment

As a rule, I hate Facebook ads. Facebook is a huge timesuck and I wish I could delete it. For NaNoWriMo, I think I might. Since I have an Android phone, that’s how my contacts are all synced up, but I’m sure I can find a way to get around that and to completely delete Facebook off my phone as well.

Anyway, to throw off the people at Facebook, I go through phases where I will mark all the ads as “offensive” or “sexually explicit”. I could see the ads getting more and more desperate – grasping at anything that I might be interested in. This included things like Modcloth, vintage engagement rings, shoe subscription services (Surprisingly, I don’t want to get a new pair of Kim Kardashian shoes every few weeks), and classes to be an ultrasound tech. Nowhere on my profile do I claim to like dresses, jewelry, or shoes, so I think they just said, “Well, she’s a girl, so let’s throw this crap at her.”

I do, however, have my favorite authors and tv shows listed, so that’s about all they have to go off of until I write on a friend’s wall, mentioning champagne and all the ads on the side change to things about cocktails and drunk driving attorneys (yes, that happened). Last week, they gave me an ad about David Sedaris performing at the Overture Center in Madison. I did not mark this ad sexually explicit or offensive. I clicked on it.

Because I’m broke, I couldn’t justify the cost. However, I told Bill about it, and he said he’d be more than happy to buy a ticket for me if I could get down there. So, I will be borrowing a parent’s car and getting to Madison on October 28 to see my favorite author do a reading.

After Bill bought the ticket, he told me this was conditional. He probably should have said that before purchasing the ticket, but whatever. He said that he got me the ticket under the condition that I find some way to interact with him while I was there. This didn’t mean clapping after he finished reading an essay, I’m assuming. Of course I agreed to it, because that’s a perfectly reasonable and fantastic condition. If there is a book signing or meet and greet, I will stay in line for as long as security will allow.

I feel like I need a game plan. What do I talk to him about? He’s a pretty successful author, and I’m sure there are plenty of people who talk to him saying, “I LOVED that essay and then I copied it, but not before decorating my living room in a conspiracy-hunting psychotic style with your and Hugh’s pictures.” And that is not something I will say. I’m not psychotic and I have no idea what Hugh looks like. I think my best bet is to mention the “Old Faithful” essay (see my previous post), or ask him about “Repeat After Me” and how his writing has affected his family.

Let’s hope that I develop a plan and actually stick to it instead of bumbling like an idiot, “Your books good. I read lots and laugh loud.”
That’s what I imagine myself doing, but perhaps I can fight my instincts for once.

Dear Jackass, cont.

/ Ashley / 1 Comment

Perhaps I should have specified yesterday that the essay I came across was titled “Dear Jackass” – I wasn’t addressing the post to a jackass.

I was recently contacted by an ex-boyfriend. By recently, I mean Friday. By contacted, I mean he sent me a message on Facebook. I had not exchanged a single word with Jon for about a year and a half. The relationship was one that ended painfully. He was dark and manipulative – a toxic person. I wish that I could say I am a good person who just wants him to be happy with his girlfriend now – who is the same girl he cheated on  me with for most of our relationship. But in reality, I wish for him evil things. Forgiveness is supposed to be a virtue or something, but he’s a person I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive for a long time. Probably not until it’s so far behind me that the only way to truly remember him or the pain he caused are the essays I wrote about him.

While packing my belongings, I came across a few journals from the time we were together. It’s hard to read those things. Hindsight’s a bitch, and it illuminated all the excuses I was making, trying to explain away all the things he did that made me feel worthless. Of course, reading through all that tore up the wound and I was reminded of those nights I spent feeling so alone and helpless. That led to me getting angry and wanting retribution. However, I’m too proud to send him an angry letter or e-mail – I know that it would serve only to make me look pathetic, as if I still pine over things constantly. I don’t, obviously. I’m in a much healthier relationship now with a man who makes me much happier than Jon, and my life has blossomed into something much more rich and fulfilling than I could have had with Jon.

Anyway, Jon had wanted to make nice, basically. I contemplated whether it would be more cruel to continue the silence or if a succinct “Eat shit” would better serve my purposes. I chose the  latter. I was hesitant to do so, because I feared any communication would open up the door and welcome back the swirl of insanity and manipulation. But this was different. He had initiated the conversation in a very vulnerable manner – I was in the position of power. I was able to tell him exactly what I wanted: that I wanted nothing to do with him, and that because he had lied to me so much for so long, I would never trust a word he said.

Predictably, the interaction made me uneasy. However, being able to say “You’ll have to excuse me when I say I don’t believe you have platonic love for me. You’re a toxic person – one that deserves none of my trust, much less trust that is lasting” blessed me with a sense of peace I didn’t think was possible. I didn’t think I needed closure. There was nothing to close. It was a relationship that needed to end, and I ended it and I didn’t for a second regret my decision. But I think this was my closure. Being able to say “fuck you” without actually saying it felt pretty damn good, and I was able to breath a nice sigh of relief and go on to have a wonderful day.

After a night of champagne

/ Ashley / 3 Comments

Last night, Bill and I had a date. Our dates basically consist of us sitting in front of our computers and talking like we usually do, except we call it a date. We’ve gotten dressed up and made dinner “together”. We’ve played games online (that time I learned that I have been playing checkers incorrectly for the last twenty years). Usually what differentiates the date nights from the daily videochats is that we have drinks.  We chose to drink champagne last night. Of course since we didn’t share a bottle, we ended up each drinking our own. Healthy choices!

I woke up groggy and forced myself to go into the office. Two or three readers were supposed to be there to start reading, but none of them decided to show up. Great work ethic! Anyway, I spent an hour opening a pile of mail, and realized a few things. First, poetry gets way more submissions than fiction does. Second, cover letters all look the same, and they’re pretty boring to read. In the last two years I’ve worked as a fiction editor, the only memorable cover letter was one that included a short bio. Under her credentials, she included writing post-it notes which she frequently lost, taming two puppies, and owning unimportant five-year old copies of the New York Times. I can’t remember if we ended up publishing her work or not, but I wanted to just publish the cover letter out of pure glee. It was more impressive than writers who print cover letters on Harvard stationary but seem to have no connection with the university other than having stolen a few sheets of paper. The final thing is that I just like seeing my name followed by the term “fiction editor”. Makes me feel important, though in the large scheme of things, I’m really not.

Anyway, from what I understand, Bill didn’t wake up till after three. By that time, I had taken a nap.

I decided to tell him about an essay I started writing last week, which is something I probably wouldn’t have done had I not had three flutes of champagne, especially since the essay was about him. What I hoped to illustrate with the essay was how drastically intimate our relationship had become – how after a year of being together, we no longer lived under the impression that either of us was a heavenly being without flaws. Time had sharpened the soft focus of a new relationship – our bodies sometimes produce surprising blemishes, and instead of passing them over in that blissful haze, we acknowledge them. It was an essay of early domesticated love. He said it sounded like a genius concept, and I couldn’t help but agree since it was my own idea.

The problem was that it focused on his blemish, not my own. I realized it was a way of distancing myself from the work. I don’t think that I made him look like a fool – and that obviously wasn’t the point. But as far as the essay went, we were the only two characters, and I certainly didn’t present myself as the joker of the two. What frustrates me is that I have an episode that would illustrate my point just as well, if not better, in which I am the one with the blemish that Bill tolerates. We had a discussion about my responsibility as a writer – I didn’t want to victimize or betray those to who I am closest. I realized I’m will to be self-deprecating in my head, but rarely on record. If I’m not willing to make myself look the fool, I certainly have no business doing it to the people I love.

I realized this after coming across David Sedaris’s essay “Old Faithful“. The betrayal business was something I was pondering since I heard “Repeat After Me” on the Carnegie Hall recording. [“Repeat After Me” is a stunning essay that will never leave my head, and if you haven’t heard it, you must. You can also read it on the transcript of the episode. I don’t care how you do it, just experience it.] This frustrated me for two reasons. First, Sedaris had already written an essay conveying the exact same topic I had hoped to illustrate. Second, Sedaris had been the one to reiterate the fact that I owe it to myself, my readers, and to Bill to put the focus on myself before I put it on anyone else. Not only is that just a more kind concept, but it’s more honest and will just make an all-around better essay.

Bill suggested I write to David Sedaris. Of course, I protested. He gave me several reasons why I should, and now I’m actually considering the idea. There’s really nothing to lose. I’m sure the most I’ll get back is a generic response letter, but it certainly can’t hurt anything. Maybe I’ll get some fantastic response with advice I’ll never forget. Or maybe he’ll write an essay about me and share the profits with me so I can buy a car that isn’t on its last leg. The possibilities are endless!

In other news, I organized my desk  and now have my three books to read sitting next to my computer in hopes they will beckon me with responsibility and anti-stupid when I’m wasting time on facebook.