When You're On A Golden Sea, You Don't Need No Memory, Just A Place To Call Your Own, As We Drift Into The Zone

"Island in the Sun", Weezer

WHERE CAN SHE GO
by Breanne Holins-Meier

They say in Cincinatti it never rains
Not without permission, at least
They say there the air is always brisk
And they take care of your every whim
Like butlers on speed-dial
And roller skates
I wish I could take my summers there
In a chalet
By the lake
I've never been
Never could go, even if I were invited
But it sounds nice
The nicest I've ever heard of
Like a chalet by a lake
Five-hundred dollar meals
Or falling in love for the first time
Yet something tells me I'll never venture into
That town
That chalet
That meal
And especially that love
Because while it never rains in Cincinatti
It always rains down on me

(Copyright 1994, 2007 Breanne Holins-Meier 02/18/94)

----

When I was younger I always pictured myself leading this extravagant lifestyle, jetting off to far-off places like some wayward celebrity. I was never content with my surroundings or my day-to-day existence. For me, life was always about what came next. I always dreamt of far-off cities like Vienna, Rome, and, yes, Cincinatti. Anywhere else would have been preferable to being cooped up at home like my parents' best hen being told when I was allowed to leave, where I was allowed to go, and who I was allowed to see. I've always had a problem with being restricted and I've always fought to have options in my life. I've always striven to insure that nothing and no one could peg me to the ground like some tent.

The randomness of it all is that, as I've gotten older, I've become more accustomed to my surroundings and even find a certain comfort in it. I no longer see my life and my world as one giant playpen. I've come to view it as a one giant sandbox, where I'm free to explore and imagine and dream to my heart's content. I suppose it's true what they say, it doesn't matter where you are as long as you're mind is free. Truer still is the notion that there is no place like home or no family like the family that is waiting for you back at home. I understand that. I agree with that. My life would be a shimmer of itself were I to ever leave all of this behind.

I've grown up in Macon and, aside from the few jaunts I've taken here and there, I've spent almost my whole life here. It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen and is chock full of the mystery, the allure, and the wonder that as a girl I imagined finding someday. I could never walk away from that.

Still, some of that 'ole wanderlust remains and while that siren's call can never truly lure me away from my home, a part of me doesn't want to die without making sure that I haven't missed out anything. Maybe the grasser isn't always greener on the other side, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't look to confirm it. As my daddy says, "always have your gas tank filled even if you don't mean to drive." I want to see more of the world than my own backyard. Even if I can never truly tire of the scenery and the quaint people I've come to familiarize myself with; I don't want to close myself off to new experiences, to new vistas, and new happy encounters with other people that I might never get to meet around here. I feel so extraordinary to have been blessed to have been born in the right place for me. A part of me wants to know if anybody else experiences that same sense of satisfaction when talking about their home, when talking about the wondrous places to see, scrumptious places to eat at, or even the weather around their parts. I know my home isn't everyone else's idea of home, but I think it might behoove me to hear why other people think where they live is the best place in the world.

We all need to feel welcome and have that sense of belonging. We all need a place to call our own.

But sometimes you just have a need to take a peek at what else is out there. Sometimes you just have a need to see what would've awaited you had you gone a different route. And sometimes you just have a need to allow others to welcome you into their home.

Breanne

Hey, I Didn't Mean, To Cause A Big Scene, Just Give Me An Hour And Then, Well, I'll Be As High, As That Ivory Tower, That You're Livin' In

--"Friends In Low Places", Garth Brooks

It's no big secret that I'm a big fan of Maggie Gyllenhaal. Aside from Sarah Polley, she has to be my favorite actress who is still making the kind of movies enjoy from credits to credits. Ever since Secretary, where she absolutely blew me away with her believable transformation from docile wallflower to stubborn sexpot, I always anticipate her new movies with baited breath. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to see her latest starring role in Sherrybaby in the theaters like I wanted to (the prices we pay for being intrigued by small, indie films). But as soon as I saw the film up for sale on Ebay, I jumped on it. There's few performers I will shill out the money to purchase their body of work sight unseen, but I have yet to be disappointed with Mrs. Gyllenhaal's resume.

Upon seeing it for the first time this past weekend, I must honestly say that it's her best performance to date, including Secretary. There is so much to like about the film I don't even know where to begin. Granted, it's not everyone's cup of tea, but it has this quiet, understated grace to it that very few films these days do and I absolutely adore when a film can maintain believably. You won't find any car chases, any huge action scenes, or sequences of absolute horror or violence. The manner in which the film hooks the audience is by laying all its cards on the table. At its heart it's the story of a woman on the verge of falling back into the life that has already ruined much of her spirit and strength and claiming the life she knows she's capable of achieving. It's not much to build a plot around, but it gives oodles of depth to the main character and is a winning vehicle for somebody of Maggie's talents. Scene to scene, line to line, I was amazed at all the nuances and subtleties that the movie provided. It wasn't so much that the story itself was that interesting as much as how much I believed everything about the story. Time after time, I kept saying if I were in her shoes I would have probably made the same choices and felt the same frustrations. Repeatedly, I kept saying this is a movie I can identify with and that is rare gift to find in a piece of art.

It's the reason I think this will definitely be a recommendation for any and all who are in search of a good movie from 2006.


well, I guess I was wrong
I just don't belong

Ostensibly, the movie is the story about a woman who has just been paroled from prison for stealing in order to fuel her heroin habit. It then it delves into her struggles to build something resembling a normal life so that she can provide a good home and future for her daughter, who was being taken care of by the woman's brother and sister-in-law while the woman was locked up. We see how the world still views her as a fuck-up, from the manner in which she has to degrade herself to get a job she actually wants to the way she is treated by almost everyone she comes into contact with, including and especially her sister-in-law. We see how Sherry becomes disillusioned with the process of trying to reform herself, as if thinking to herself, "if the world expects I'll amount to nothing, then why am I trying this hard?" And then, finally, we see her come to a decision which she wants more, her daughter or her self-respect.

For me, however, what struck a chord was how hard she seemed to be railing against what she used to be and fought for what she wanted to be. People are always expecting a person to change for the better, but even when that person does, nobody believes it'll stick, which somehow is a saddening thought. It's not enough to make that kind of life-altering change in yourself. It's not enough that you have scratch and bite your way to redeeming yourself. You then also have to change people's minds about you too.

Everyone screws up from time to time and everyone has their faults. Yet it seems that, even while we're giving our friends or acquaintances encouragement to forego these trouble areas, we're patting ourselves on the back for not screwing up like them and not having their faults. We put ourselves in the position of feeling superior to them because we're able to say to them, "hey, I never made your mistakes and look how good I turned out. Maybe if you stop fucking up, you can be as great as me."

Inevitably, they take our advice, thus negating our feelings of moral superiority, and suddenly we're on equal footing with them again. So what do we do? We maintain an air of credulity at their metamorphosis, we scoff at their transformation. We don't want to lose that edge and we don't want to lose our opportunity to feel benevolent. After all, if they can cure what ails them, then pretty soon it'll go back to focusing on what's wrong with ourselves and they'll be the ones giving us advice on how to alleviate our stress and strife.

That's what I like about Sherrybaby. It places up a mirror to this aspect of dealing with loved ones and pokes holes in the theory that any one person is above reproach. Yeah, sure, Sherry does shoulder a lot of the blame in ruining her life by delving into drugs, abandoning her daughter, and not getting serious about her life until she goes to jail. However, once she's out, it seems everyone's determined to not give her a leg up and give her the benefit of the doubt that she is a better person already. They all want to tell her that she's still bad, she's still immature, effectively telling her that she'll never be as good as the rest of us.

I don't know what my point is. I think it's just that with all the hubbub I've been dealing with over this vacation debacle, I've been feeling like people want to come down on me and her for placing ourselves in a position to make a mistake. And I guess the point that I've been considering is that, like Breanne says, sometimes you have to give people the benefit of the doubt... even if it's only us giving ourselves permission to show that we're a different breed now.

I want to think that just because I've screwed up in the past with how I think and act when it comes to Breanne, that I'm different and I deserve some leeway when it comes to naysayers. It's been a long time since I muffed up life completely and I don't intend to start now and I don't intend to start with her. It's my opportunity to prove I can do the decent thing when given the chance.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Every Road I Had To Take, Every Time My Heart Would Break, It Was Just Something That I Had To Go Through, To Get Me To You

--“To Get Me To You”, Lila McCann

in response to Now I'm Almost Over You, I've Almost Shook These Blues, So When You Come Back Around, After Painting The Town You'll See, That I'm Almost Over You...

I’ve spent the last couple of days trying to analyze the situation before me in a calm and rational manner before responding. Rather than rush into posting something like a chicken with its head cut off, I decided to allow some time to pass in order to know exactly how I felt and to express this feeling as accurately as possible. I admit, in the beginning, I wasn’t thinking like a person who’s been in this situation before. I was thinking like a normal person would react. I was thinking of how insensitive and inappropriate Patrick’s comments were. Never would I ever dare to let my personal feelings for him or anyone else be the root cause for causing him pain or even discomfort. At first, I thought as many would have, that he either didn’t know or didn’t care of the harm his words would do in putting me in the awkward position of having to decide between seeing a good friend and potentially harming my marriage. I reacted like a cat hearing the rush of water from a hose. My defenses went up and I was extra sensitive.

For the next few days, he and I went back and forth with many hurtful comments being flung wily-nily between us. I let him know that what he did was disrespectful to me and to my husband. I told him that he had taken things too far and that he had found yet another way to injure me. There were some days during this time that I must have traded dozens of text messages and voice mails with him because I refused to answer the phone when he called. Even when I did deem it worth my time to talk to him, I took on the role of the injured party throughout the entire call and never allowed him to appeal his case to me. I made it impossible for him to clarify the situation.

I’ve always prided myself on being able to remain friends with anyone. I’ve always made an effort never to be the one who ended a friendship, to never take a squabble to the next level, and never to hold a grudge. Even when it’s been the other party to do the walking away, it’s always bothered me that perhaps I didn’t try hard enough or do enough to make it okay again. My cousin Shelly, for instance, remains a noticeable blemish on my otherwise perfect record. Her case has always been a head-scratcher because it was nothing I ever did directly to her, but a choice I made about my own life. In the other extreme is my friend Torry. It’s always gnawed at me like a dog on a bone that I let something like her moving away end my friendship with her. These two incomplete marks are probably the two biggest regrets I’ve ever had in my life. Because of them I made it a cause that if ever I should come to have a close friend that I wouldn’t allow anything—not the occasional short temper or inexplicable behavior like Shelly nor the misfortune of fate separating us great distances like Torry—to deter me from remaining friends with that person.

But Patrick makes it so hard sometimes.

I was at dinner with Katie last night, talking over the situation, and how he had maybe crossed one line too many. I was discussing that he knew how I felt about revealing, in public no less, how it didn’t matter to him that I was married or that I no longer felt as strongly for him as he still felt for me. I was telling her that I would never put him through the wringer like last month’s shirt like he had just done to me. I was so sure about my moral standing that it never occurred to me that, aside from him, there is no one I’ve entrusted more secrets to over the years than Katie. She began to put things into perspective for me.

Yes, he does it make difficult sometimes, she told me. But from what I’ve heard he’s always had your best interests at heart. Even when he was trying to stay away from you, it was always to protect you, right? Couldn’t this be the same type of situation?

I reflected on her question. I didn’t know if what was happening could fall under the same category as him protecting me. Quite frankly, I didn’t see how. I might be smart when it comes to certain areas, but the twisty mind games that other people play I just don’t play them. My father used to say, “when you come across a bear, you can distract it by throwing a pinecone into the bushes hoping it will chase after that, then tiptoe in the opposite direction being as discrete as possible. Or you can run like hell.” I’ve always been the type to go with what comes naturally. I find life easier that way. Other people like to enter into these underhanded mind games that circumvent their actual motive. Was I in that situation? Was I done in by the same person who I used to trade various schemes and practical jokes with? It was fun in the beginning to allow myself to portray myself as something I wasn’t in order to feel the satisfaction of charming someone utterly into doing something ridiculous. To this day, I still miss the rush of being believed on the strength of will alone. But I made a conscious choice that I would always be who I always said I was. I would always be Breanne—no more, no less. With him, though, sometimes what you see isn’t exactly what you get.

If his reason wasn’t to have a roll in the hay, then why write anything at all? That’s when it hit me. If he really wanted me to come on this trip all for the singular purpose of one last fling, then he wouldn’t have mentioned anything at all. He would have let me come and slowly worked his way into doing everything he could to make it happen. After all, the fox doesn’t knock on the henhouse door when it wants to steal a chicken. If he really wanted me to sleep with him then he wouldn’t have mentioned word one of it. Nope, the only reason to ever say anything was to allow me the opportunity to back out of the trip with the pretext of being offended. It would be an amiable compromise to the situation. I could quash any lingering desire to reunite with him in Chicago (or wherever he’s going) and he could feel relatively secure knowing there would be no possible way for me to go after that, could there? It’s much like when he didn’t attend the wedding because he thought there would be too much tension at the ceremony. Instead of allowing of mistakes to be made, a possible confrontation between Greg and himself, he took the decision out of my hands. He made sure I would hate him enough to not even want him at the wedding any more. Here, it was the same thing, rather than risk the two of us possibly doing something we’d both regret, he pre-empted the plausible future from happening. In other words he was like the reformed fox who stopped himself from stealing the chickens by telling the chickens directly that he wanted to steal them.

I don’t know if he was right. Maybe if he didn’t say anything and I went on this trip with him we could have ended up doing something regrettable. We’ll never know. Now that the subject is out there, it can’t be put back. You can’t unbake a cake once it’s made. In a way, I think he’s right. I think if we let the subject linger in the back of our minds, if we made plans as if there weren’t the possibility of amorous consequences, we could have been blindly walking into a situation that we might not have been able to walk away from. I certainly didn’t want to bring up the subject. I wanted to fool myself into thinking that the past is the past and that a heart once broken by someone can never beat for that same someone ever again. I wanted to think of myself as the dutiful wife whose thoughts never strayed into thinking about someone else. I wanted to think that I could go on a trip with an ex and not have it mean anything.

But it always means something, doesn’t it?

To get up there, to see him for the first time in a long time, and not feel the slightest flutter would have been wishful thinking. In a sense, it would have been as foolish as believing I could ever stop caring about him completely. He’s been here inside me too long to ever go away. Part of me thinks that’s the reason why we don’t go visit each other more. It was fine when we were both unattached and had no responsibilities to anyone. But with Greg in my life, it would be a completely different story. The risks to my marriage, to my very happiness with Greg, I would be great if I were to ever see Patrick again. I can’t say with complete honesty that nothing would happen if that situation were to come to fruition. I’d be like the dog who already got burned trying to snatch the piece of meat from the barbecue. Yes, I know it’ll probably end up burning me again, but I always think there’s a chance that I’ll get away with it feeling fine. Even if I didn’t trust him, I should have enough trust in me to not allow myself to get carried away with the moment, to not allow myself to be talked, cajoled, or persuaded into something against my better nature. However, there’s always that chance. There’s always that chance—what with it being my birthday present and all—that I’ll see him and he’ll have everything planned out and I’ll have the greatest time, that I’ll remember why him and I have gotten along so well for so many years.

I think that’s part of the reason I need to go. Partly, I need to know that I’m strong enough to resist temptation. If I can’t say no to the person who I’ve ever loved as much as my husband then I don’t deserve to be with him anyway. Anybody can say they’ll be faithful when the only cause to stray is three thousand miles away. It’s another story when that temptation is sleeping in the same hotel as you. I need to prove to myself that I don’t always take the easy way out. For years I’ve been denying myself the opportunity to catch up with Patrick because of that very reason. I thought it easier to avoid making a mistake by not putting myself into a position to make any. I thought I could remain good by putting the cookie jar on the highest shelf possible. But is that really remaining faithful? I believe if my marriage can’t stand one week with somebody I once shared deep feelings with then it’s not really a true marriage. I need to prove myself that I made the right choice. I need to know that, because I made the right choice, I’ll have the strength to continue to make the right choices if and when I go on this trip.

I also want to still go on this trip because I miss Patrick to bits and pieces. Again, it wouldn’t be much of a friendship if I went through my entire life never visiting him or even seeing him again. If I wait until he’s completely out of my system, I may be waiting forever. I can’t rightly call him my friend if I’m too chicken shit to even get on a plane and spend a week catching up with him. Hell’s bells, it’s not like me to be scared about anything, but this very situation scares me. Ever since I got married it’s troubled to no end. What would I do if I were to ever cross paths with Eeyore again? Could I remain on friendly terms or is what we had the defining characteristic of our friendship? Can our friendship even last when placed under such scrutiny? Those are the questions I want to answer. I want to know that there’s a future for Greg and me if every two or three years I decide to fly out to California or (gasp!) Patrick finally agrees to fly out to Georgia. I want to know that there’s a future for Patrick and me if the question of sex is finally answered with a resounding “no”. I want to know that the two most important men and life can get along peaceably and I’ll never know that until the lingering doubts of how important Patrick is to me are quelled. Until then, it will always be a bone of contention for the two of them to dislike each other over.

I know Greg will never rest until I can prove to him that I can spend any amount of quality time with Patrick without feeling what I used to feel. And I know Patrick will never thinking there’s a possible chance for us to get back together as long as I keep telling him that it would be too hard to see him without being swept up again.

“And let’s not forget, Breasy, you had the same thoughts once,” Katie said.

“What do you mean, darling?”

“When he was going out with what’s-her-face from Maryland, you told him you wanted to see him and show exactly what he’d be missing out on.”

“I did not.”

But I did. Katie was right. The exact situation that I had turned on him for was the same situation I had wanted to put him in a decade ago. When he told me that he had begun seeing someone else, my first thought had been that it would never last. As it progressed, they turned to questions about what she had that I didn’t. Eventually, they rolled around to attempting to win him back. Yes, I had discussed with him the possibility of him flying out here to see me. And, yes, like me, he had gotten offended at the implication that I didn’t care that he technically had a girlfriend at the time. I wanted what I wanted and she was merely an obstacle to my getting what I wanted. But, unlike me, he didn’t want to test the boundaries of our friendship. He knew exactly which side of the river he would land if it ever came to a choice between her and me. Because of that, his visit never materialized. Soon after (maybe partly because he told her what I had offered him) she and him broke up. I forgot all about how jealous, lonely, and sad it made me to think that we could never be in the room comfortably again. I forgot how unfair it felt that just because he found someone new that things between us had to change. I forgot how very much like the victim it felt to me that because he decided to make changes to his life that I had to change my life accordingly.

Yup, I’ve had a couple of days to consider everything carefully. I’m no longer taking the situation at face value. There’s a lot more going on then my possibly having an affair. There’s the idea that part of him doesn’t want me coming because he believes I’m not strong-willed enough to do it comfortably. There’s the idea that my husband is so dead-set against it for the very same reason. There’s the idea that I’m still that same ‘ole scared little girl, running from the thunder, because it’s so much bigger than her. I need to go to prove them all wrong. What might happen is not bigger than me. I can control what happens to me and what I allow to happen. I can be friends without wanting anything more and part of me has to believe that Patrick can too. I can keep him in my life without threatening the happy home I’ve made with my husband. I want to get to that point where all three of us will be comfortable spending time together every few years or so. I want to be like everybody else who have close friends of the opposite sex and a husband at the same time because so far that hasn’t happened to me.

Yes, I know there’s a possibility this might all blow up in my face. There’s a possibility that old feelings will resurface and I’m putting myself in a predicament I can’t walk away from. It could be that the path I’m taking in an attempt to free myself is the path into the corral and not away from it. It’s just a chance I have to take. I have to know where he fits into all of this because right now it’s really up in the air. Once and for all, he needs a place and I need to know how exactly to treat him.

There’s a solution to this and it might mean going through some tears and heartbreak. Maybe before when I was newly married it would have been easier figuring all these intricate relationships out. Maybe if Patrick had shown up to the wedding, the three of us could have worked out how it was all going to work and I would have had more resolve in showing him how very much I love Greg. Maybe if I’d waited a year and visited California or if I could have convinced Greg it would be okay for Patrick to stay with us for some time, we could have talked it all out then. But as the years went by, what could have been a long conversation that might have ended without any huge incidents began to become a confrontation. That’s what this trip is going to be; it’s going to be a confrontation. It’s going to be five days of non-stop discussion about how he and I are going to relate to each other. Much like any other confrontation, it’s going to involve making concessions and compromises, and it’s going to involve bringing up a bottom line. The only difference between this and any other mediation is that it’s probably going to have much prettier scenery and be costing more than it would to just rent out a convention space.

There’s a possibility I might never see Mr. Taroc again.

I have to believe everything is going to turn out okay again. I don’t care how many tears I have to fight through or how many times he’ll walk out on me or I, on him. I don’t care if I ruin his whole vacation (and my birthday present). I don’t even care if I end up having to fly home early. We have to settle this. Now. We have to settle this before it becomes too late to settle it. We have to settle this before I lose him forever or he loses me forever.

Just as he wrote the previous post because he thought it best for me to not come along, I think it’s just as important for me that I do. I have to think this is what’s best for our friendship, for my marriage, and for me.

I’m doing this for us--all three of us.

Breanne

Now I'm Almost Over You, I've Almost Shook These Blues, So When You Come Back Around, After Painting The Town You'll See, That I'm Almost Over You

--"I'm Almost Over You" (cover), Lila McCann

Intentions are dangerous things. One can believe one's intentions are honorable and relatively harmless, but actually harbor fairly illicit intentions beneath. Whether this truth is due to deluding oneself or the inability to distinguish right from wrong, it is a problem that plagues almost all of us on one occasion or another. It certainly plagues a lot. More than not, I act out of an interest to better my situation, but this can come in many forms. Sometimes I act out of an interest in making a new acquaintance, in which case I will go out of my way to act according to the Rachel ideals that I seem to preach a lot. Sometimes I act out of an interest in relieving the stress I see around me, in which case I will try to be the bigger man and apologize for wrongs that might not seem that wrong to me. Sometimes I act out of a purely selfish interest, in which case all the rules of civility and well manners get tossed out the proverbial window. However, it's the times when I think I'm doing something noble, but am actually doing some by all right reprehensible that eats at me to the core.

A situation has arisen which serves as a perfect template for this. I've recently undertaken the task of planning my next vacation in May. I've narrowed it down to three possible destinations--St. Louis, Boston, or Chicago. While most years the biggest concern I have is what to pack, what to sightsee, and what restaurants I simply must sample, this year a confluence of forces has materialized to burden me with a more momentous dilemma. It quite possibly may be the biggest dilemma I've ever had to face.

I had mentioned to Breanne that it's been almost ten years since we last did anything together--since we've traveled together, since we've talked in person together, since I've even seen her in person. Because of that I tossed out the ridiculous notion that she should come out on vacation with me. You have to understand I practically ask everyone I know who I think is fun to come out on vacation with me. No one ever accepts. This year alone I've asked my friends, Elio, Meg, and Carly to join me on my excursion with the full foreknowledge that such a plan is wishful thinking at best and foolhardy at worst. When I ask the question of their willingness to accompany me, it is much in the same vein of when I ask my co-workers of going to Peru for our one-hour lunch or ordering a deep dish pizza from Chicago delivered to work; it is a request to be taken with a grain of salt. You can imagine my surprise and consternation when my friend, my good friend Breanne, actually told me she would take it under consideration. I attempted to laugh it off, but the very notion of bringing back the P & B dynamic duo was too mind-boggling to process carefully at the time. I deluded myself into thinking it would be a good thing and that was that. I left off the conversation expressing my full support for the idea.

The deal with Breanne, as some of you may know, is that I love her dearly. She's like the little sister I never had, the confidante I always wanted, and the intellectual peer I've always tried to surround myself with, all wrapped into one appropriately attractive package. I haven't given my heart to very many people, let alone to many who actually deserved it. I don't usually heap praise upon individuals strictly in order to be on their good side; I like to tell a person my honest estimate of them without embellishment or colorful language. I hate when others choose to indulge their personal feelings for a subject and allow themselves to be compromised objectively. With all that understood, I still believe that Breanne is one of the finest examples of a human being I've ever encountered. There is no single other person I would place in highger regard than her. Because of that the thought of being able to spend a week with her, just the two of us, should do nothing if not bring an everlasting grin to my face.

For the first few days, as I mulled the idea over, I saw nothing but positives. Two friends as close as we are should get together every couple of years. It's a natural desire to keep in touch with someone you feel close too. I already know I can have fun with her and she would probably turn an okay trip into a vacation that I'll cherish forever. For the first few days it occurred to me the whole plan would be win-win.

Then, after a few more days, the troubling mire of where my intentions lay came into the picture. I started to ask myself if the real reason I wanted her to come was because she was my friend and that I wanted to see her again or if the real reason I wanted her to come lay elsewhere. It's no secret that more often than not I've come to regret not seizing my opportunity to spend the rest of my life with her when it came along. I didn't see it for what it was, life opening the door and inviting me into the party. I let it slip by and it never came around again. Not only was the sticky question of whether I could rekindle her passion for me entering back into my thoughts, but another more sinister motive started to rear its ugly head.

Possibly or probably, I've always known that she and I will never get back together. When she met Greg that pretty much was game over for me. But like the stupid ass I can be, I always left the door just open a crack for the possibility that it was fate for us to be together again someday. I was (or am) like one of those people who get scammed out of their money by a loved one who keep expecting that all will be made right in the end, even when circumstances dictate that they should probably cut bait and run. They keep hoping to the bitter end that their predicament will change for the better. I guess I always believed in the chestnut that love, if true, will find a way to reunite separated souls. However, pragmatically, I steeled myself for the inevitability it wouldn't happen. One thing I didn't give up, shamefully, is the idea that there might be a chance, however remote, that I could spend one last night with her.

I think that's where I sincerely believe the plan for her to come with me to Chicago or Boston or St. Louis might be a bad idea. I've never met Greg. I don't even really know him. From what Breanne's described of him, I think he's a decent fellow. And, even though I have my personal (and probably childish) reasons for disliking the guy, I though had enough maturity to not wish ill on him because of something he really can't be faulted for, which is marrying my girl. The more I ponder it more and more, the more I come to the conclusion that, given the history, given the connection shared, given the fact she has never ceased to be anything but beautiful to me, I would, in fact, have sex with her one more time. Even if it meant ruining her marriage or causing her to hate herself, my honest assessment of myself would be that those consequences would matter less to me than fulfilling that particular fondest desire I've held in for so many years. That's why I think the idea of us ever going anywhere alone together is a recipe for disaster. I mean--the whole informal treaty of her and Greg never again venturing into California, and I never gracing the ground of Georgia again, was struck mostly to keep peace between Greg and I. But I think there was also the idea that it also partly for mine and Breanne's benefit too.

Then again, I can't speak for her. I believe I know her and I think she could be mulling over the same fantastical ideas. Yet, for all I know, she has more common sense and self-control than I possess. She probably does. The only evidence I can go on is what you read here. I don't think it's just my imagination playing tricks on me when I imagine that there is something of a spark, albeit small, between us. I don't know of any set of exes, aside from those relationships that ended violently or tragically, that does not harbor residual feeling for one another. There are parts of me that miss, I mean really miss, DeAnn. There are days when I truly hate the fact I can't remember much of Tara. The fact that Breanne and I stay in constant contact doesn't help the matter any. The mere routine of reading her thoughts on a regular basis only stokes the flame of how much I care for her. When you add the posts she writes about what it was like in the beginning and those wonderful days visiting her or her visiting me, then you can't fault for me for wanting to recapture that. Truth be told, I still want her a lot and damn whatever consequences may result from it. I feel what I feel. Or, as she likes to say, I can only be mojo--no more, no less. I'd sooner abandon my kidneys or my liver than my enamoration of her.

That, in a fairly big nutshell, is the situation I'm in. I could go ahead with the plans to invite her and pretend to her that I'm fully over her, when we both know the truth. That would probably lead me to not enjoying the trip as much as I could and probably coming back regretting I didn't take advantage of a situation that will never come again. The alternative would be doing something that I honestly want to do but would probably ruin at least three lives, two relationships, and one blog site in the process. I wish my intentions were pure. It would solve so many headaches. I wish I could enjoy my time with my friend and want for nothing more, but I have a skulking suspicion that my lack of self-control coupled with my somewhat tenuous grip on ethics or morality shall lead me down a path of wickedness that I've probably never strayed too far from.

I want to be able to express to her that, should she come along, nothing would happen and I want that expression to be the truth when I say it. I want to put on display just how much I've put my old feelings for her behind me. I want to be cocky and brazen in just how much I don't still think of us as a couple. I want to flirt with fucking redheaded hostesses originally from Canada right in front of her. I want to be able to say good-night to her after a day of non-sexual or non-romantic adventures and have it really be all I need for a good night. I want to look her in the eye and tell her that where we are is a place I'm 100% completely comfortable in being.

But all of that would not be the truth.

As aforementioned, the public cover story I'm giving to anybody who asks is that it's just two friends getting together after not seeing each other for almost a decade. Nothing scandalous going on here, folks. But beneath all the spin and attempting to appear to be virtuous is the simple truth I still think she belongs with me, which will come spilling out one day or another into the trip if we do go on it.

The truth is I would never sleep with a married woman. I would hate myself for even considering it.

Yet I would sleep with Breanne one more time, no doubt.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

You're Such A Pretty One, You Had A Kid, Did You Have Any Idea Of The Damage You Did?

--"Alaska", Camera Obscura

and now for something a little different...

A few years before we met I fell in love with a woman named Anne. Over the course of the time I was with her she broke me apart. It wasn’t her fault. I probably was broken to begin with. I think she saw from day one that I wouldn’t be one to take charge of our relationship. Somebody had to do it so it fell to her to be the strong one, to be the one who decided how we were going to be happy. I couldn’t do that much for her because a part of me always knew that I wasn’t going to make her happy. I knew I couldn’t do that because there are just some people who would never be happy and there are just some people who can never make another person happy.

I’m the placeholder. I’m the one who saves the seat but never actually has a seat waiting for him. That’s my life. I’ve gone out with the last couple of women knowing that I might be the person they go out before they meet their husbands or current boyfriends. In one case I’ve actually been the person who introduced the woman to her husband. I’m the person who gets them to realize what kind of man they really want and really need. I’m basically the guy they point to in the line-up and say, “see that guy there? I want everything he’s not.”

Maybe that’s what Anne saw in me, that she wouldn’t have to care for me very much. But I’d prefer to think that it was a natural process. The strong always assume control over the weak. It’s not their fault. It’s what comes natural to them. You don’t blame the hero for having to calm down the other passengers on the sinking ship. You don’t blame him for telling the hysterical woman to snap out of it when she’s confused. I can’t fault her for realizing I was weak and I would never be able to take care of her. Like I said, somebody had to be in charge.

It’s when the lies started that I began to notice that something was terribly wrong between us. She didn’t start doing it till the end. That’s how I knew she’d lost whatever respect she may have once had for me. You can’t lie to somebody you respect-not consistently, at least. And, by the end, it’s pretty much all she did. I don’t even think she realized she was doing it by the end. I think it became easier and easier the more she did it, the more she knew she could fool me, the more I was willing to believe her.

I wanted her to stay.

But she left anyway.



After that I swore I would never be lied to again. I’d had enough of it. I was done with it. I was going to remove myself from anyone who had the potential to hurt me like that again. I was going to make myself immune from it. If I couldn’t find someone who wasn’t go to be as honest with me as I was with them then I’d become a monk. I would live out my days in solitude, content to know that the loneliness was worth it if it saved me from getting hurt like that again.

Then we found each other or, maybe, you found me. However it happened, I thought I’d finally waited enough, been patient enough. I thought I’d found someone who believed in the policy of “what you see is what you get”. For the first few months I believed you, I believed in everything you said. I believed in us.

I believed in you.



Then I found out how you’d been lying to me all along…

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

I Can't Live Without Your Love And Affection, I Can't Face Another Night On My Own, I'd Give Up My Pride To Save Me From Being Alone

--"Can't Live Without Your Love And Affection", Nelson

I've begun reading Wuthering Heights at the insistence of a few friends. I don't know the reason I never took to reading it beforehand, but, so far, I'm finding it a very quick read. In a strange way I empathize with a lot of the themse in the book. I can understand the pangs of suffering at the hands of someone who seems cruel and heartless. I can understand the isolation of feeling trapped in a situation not under your control. I can understand the feeling of having to bury one's true feelings behind a facade. It's all there like a photograph in a picture album, every idea expressed seems to be an idea I've held at one time or another.

What I identify with the most, though, is the idea of having a passion for all your life that never quite leaves you and which you can never quite quit. People are always saying that, once I get a grip on something, it'd take a hurricaine for me to let go. I don't make connections with anything that are to be short-lived or temporary. If I like something or someone, it's going to be for life if I have anything to say about it. Such as it was for dancing, such as it was for running, such as it was for good 'ole steak and eggs.

With people I'm the worst. There's no way anybody's been ever to shake me. If I'm determined to win somebody over, I'll eventually win them over. Till that time I'll be as busy a junebug on the end of a string. Persistence has never been one of my faults. I think it goes hand-in-hand with stubborness. However, just like Heathcliff, there are grudges I've held for my entire life too. It's like if you cross me, I'll be sure to pay you back tenfold over my lifetime. And this isn't just a promise, that's a fact. No one is allowed to harm my family and my friends in any manner. I would protect them to the ends of the earth. Also, I've experienced this all-consuming passion in those times when I've lost a friend or at least thought I have. When Torry moved away, it was probably one of the worst days of my life and it remains one of those most haunting memories I've ever made. Other people can move on with their lives when it comes to the people in it, but I've always been like those snow dogs up in Alaska, where one dog goes so I go, when one dog falls behind so I fall behind. My connection with my friends and family will never be broken. Ever.


i'm on the outside lookin in
let me into your heart - oh
there's nothing on earth that
should keep up apart

I think it's the same with ideas too. Even though I thought I gave up on this whole being a mother notion, it eventually came back to me. One of my favorite sayings has always been "I'm still the same 'ole Breanne--no more, no less." The things I valued as a child are substantially the same things I value now. I focus my attention on all the same pursuits and all the same wickedness that I did back then. I guess when it comes to my life, I think I have a clear expectation of what I want to happen and woe betide anyone who attempts to get me to deviate from that course.

Like Catherine says in the novel, "I am Heathcliff."

Breanne

Sometimes I'm Clueless And I'm Clumsy, But I've Got Friends That Love Me, And They Know Just Where I Stand, It's All A Part Of Me, And That's Who I Am

--"Who I Am", Jessica Andrews

I was defeated. All I wanted to do was sit right where I was and give up. Granted, I probably wasn't thinking rationally; the misery and the torture had all but replaced every other thought in my brain. I knew it wasn't practical to stop now, given the fact that we were halfway from anywhere and the place I had chosen to rest was exposed to the sun, but I just didn't care. I knew I wasn't comfortable in my own skin and I wanted it to end.

Before I took up hiking as a hobby, I used to have to go on hikes with my Boy Scout troop. It was the one activity I dreaded. Everything about scouting was easy in the beginning. I would get to hang out with my friends after school, going to meetings where we'd goof around and then be provided with tasty baked goods and punch afterwards. Even after we started organizing camping trips, it was still a piece of cake. All camping meant was we'd load up several cars and vans, drive up to where we needed to go, and then proceed to set up tents. After that, it was just basically party the whole weekend which included canoeing; roughshod games of baseball, football, or soccer; and staying up to all hours by drinking six-packs of Jolt and Mountain Dew. I'd been used to that by having gone camping with my extended family every year. To me that's when being in Boy Scouts was fun.

Eventually, though, it stopped being so fun. Soon we started having to hike to our camp spots. At first, it was short jaunts--three miles here, five miles there. Later, it became longer and longer. Not only that, but it stopped being about getting to hang out with my friends but about competing with them. Everybody stopped talking about silly stuff and started getting serious about advancing up the Scouting ladder. Conversations about how close this person was to getting this badge or that achievement began to dominate the meetings and camping trips. It all become old really fast.

Back then, I was never a good hiker to begin with. I hated having to lug around a thirty to forty pound backpack through heat and humidity. I hated having to pretend that this was something I thoroughly enjoyed. I hated the fact that I had volunteered for this torture.

That's how I found myself halfway up to Mt. Whitney, with three or four more hours of arduous trekking to go, quitting on myself and my scout troop. I had had enough. Everything was sore. Everything was dirty. And I literally wanted to go home. When I stopped yet again on our ascent up the trail I was sure I heard groans from more than a few of my fellow scouts. It wasn't the first time I had halted our progress and they probably knew it wouldn't be the last. I was being such a baby, but I didn't know how else to be. As aforementioned in this blog, I am a huge advocate for being in control of one's destiny, one's actions. At the point in time all I wanted to do was stop and rest. It didn't occur to me that I had entered into a social contract with my peers, whereby I had agreed to maintain pace with them in exchange for being accepted as one of the group. I wanted to do what I wanted to do and damn the rest of the group.

I didn't mind the scoffing from the younger members. Their teasing always fell on deaf ears because I always thought of myself as naturally more mature than they were. What bothered me the most was that I was derided by my friends who were in my class. We had all entered scouting together and the idea that I was lagging behind them, that I wasn't as mentally or physically tough as they were came as quite a blow to me. What were they doing right that I just couldn't?

It was then that one of them came over to me and tried some words of encouragement. He told me that everyone was hurting and everyone was tired, that it wasn't just me. I explained to him my excuse that I didn't think I was cut out to do this, that maybe this whole trip was an endeavor that was far outside of my capabilities. I hadn't read the book at the time, but my thoughts on the matter pretty much echoed the sentiments in The Tao of Pooh. Self-improvement isn't supposed to be made in great leaps and bounds, pushing yourself harder than you've ever pushed yourself before. Change is supposed to be made by building on your natural ability and slowly developing the skills necessary to accomplish whatever task you wanted to accomplish. At that point in time I thought it was a futile exercise for me to complete that hike because I knew my limits and I'd passed them quite awhile back on that trail.

It was probably only a minute or two that we talked, but they saw that I wasn't going to budge. I knew what was going to happen next if progress wasn't made. They would send one of the adult chaperones to have a little chat with me and I'd basically be forced to continue. It wasn't a fate I was looking forward to.

But then something unexpected happened. Another one of my friends came over and told me he had come up with a solution to my dilemma. Part of the reason I was feeling tired was because I thought the pace was too fast, that I was being pushed too far too quickly. The solution? He told me we should put me at the front of the pack so I could set the pace. Sure, I'd be compelled to move faster than I'd like because I didn't want to look like an ass in front of everybody again. But that way, also, I could go a little bit slower at a pace I was more comfortable with.

What got to me was that none of them had to do that for me. I mean--I have particular ideas about the way I wanted to do things and I know I tend to voice or show my displeasure if my ways are not accomadated. However, I usually meet resistance until either people get sick of me or I get sick of being in the situation time and time again. To understand that, even though I had pretty much giving up trying to be part of the group, they still wanted me to be there when we all reached camp was kind of refreshing. Yes, it's true that they weren't about to leave me behind. But they very well could have been less tactless in their approach. They could have marched on without me until I was forced to catch up with them, which would have been the usual manner in which one handles babies who were acting spoiled like I was. They could have heckled me into submission. They could have done a thousand things to get what they wanted out of me. Instead, after their initial disbelief and annoyance, they chose to welcome me back into the fold.

Even after we got to camp safely, albeit forty-five minutes later than it should have taken us, I made sure to thank those two friends who hadn't given up on me. I don't know why I am like that. I always seem to chose the more selfish path and then, days, weeks, months, or years later, I always end up regretting my actions. Even more than how glad I was to finally make it to a point where I could rest and relax for the next couple of days before having to hike down the mountain again, I was glad that I had friends who understood I was a prissy, self-absorbed whiner and still accepted me anyway. I had my strengths back then, but fortitude and perseverance took me a couple of years to develop.

I was and who I was, and even though I've gotten a bit better in trying to be more accomadating to people and trying hard to do something that would make someone else happy rather than only me, I'm still very set in my ways. It's a true sign of my friends' abilities to see the diamond in the rough that they can put up with my way and still believe in me like those two friends did. I guess that's how anyone knows who their true friends are, if they've seen you at your worst and still are able to find the best in you.

And the hike down? They sent me ahead in a group with some of the faster hikers and I was so determined to show everyone I wasn't a crybaby all the time, I sped up the pace to the point where we actually outpaced the other group by almost an hour. They left a half hour after my group and arrived almost an hour and a half after us.

See? I wasn't always a bad person.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

So Never Mind The Darkness, We Still Can Find A Way, 'Cause Nothin' Lasts Forever, Even Cold November Rain

--"November Rain", Guns N' Roses

I've always tried to set myself apart from the rest of the crowd. Fitting in was never a high priority for me growing up. I can remember thousands of times where I could have done the "normal" thing or what was expected of me, but instead I chose to do something slightly off-kilter or weird because the idea of conforming just never appealed to me. I don't know if it really stems from being anti-social or just trying to be noticed. I mean--I never had the whole being devestatingly handsome or excruciatingly athletic thing going for me. The only really natural talent I have is for thinking on my feet and being creative, both of which come in handy when you're trying to be funny by doing something off-the-wall or trying to be witty by coming up with a clever non-sequitir or pun. Sometimes I don't even really believe the things I tell people I believe in or I don't really want to engage in some of the illicit activities I have engaged in, but because, ironically, it's expected of me to do the unexpected, I feel forced to always be striving for the next crazy thing. I have that mentality that I've already travelled this far on the reputation of bucking convention at every opportunity, I can't stop now.

It's been fun at times up until now. I tend to crack myself up a lot and, upon occasion, I even manage to coax a smile out of friends, family, co-workers, and random strangers. It's a refreshing feeling not to be tied to having to appear civil or restrained. Pretty much any time I think of something, I express it somehow.

However, in recent years, I've noticed a nasty corrolary to this personality trait. I simply have no patience for people who choose more often than not to walk the straight and narrow. I get annoyed with people who lack the carefree spirit to do and say as they please. I see it in many areas. Just last Friday I got upset with my friend for wanting to spend time with family rather than go on a last-minute trip. To be obligated to one's family before what one really wants to do is so far out of my understanding that I was really ticked off. It was enough to ruin dinner for both of us. I see it with people I spend time with who can't spend more time with me because they feel the tiniest bit of awkwardness or embarrassment in having to explain themselves to other people they know. For me, it's always been in my best interest to be friendly with people I think are cool regardless of their particular background, upbringing, circumstances, or living arrangements. For me, when you have to decide whether or not you can be friends with somebody on something other than the content of their character, then you're not being true to yourself. I also notice it when I want to go out to do something and I have no one to turn to do it with.

It's kind of a loneliness, I suppose, but it's more self-imposed. I push people away left and right when they fail to live up to my high standards of being independent. Annoying me is a one-way ticket to not wanting to be around you and I get annoyed rather easily. What that leaves me is a situation where I know a lot of people, but only slightly and nowhere near well enough to have them in my life as everyday people. It's also lead me to the belief that close friends are a precious commodity to me because I don't have many. I can maybe count on one hand the people who I feel comfortable calling everyday if I had to. More importantly, I have even fewer people I think are comfortable talking to me everyday. I am, admittedly, as my cousin likes to say, a very hard guy to please. I demand my day to be annoyance-free and if you can't live up to that then I have no use for you.

Sometimes on nights like this where I feel like I've estranged everybody I've ever known, I think maybe I've placed myself in an untenable situation. I gave off the impression that people aren't good enough for me when the truth was that I have far too short of a temper. Also, this willingness to do whatever came to mind has led me to make mistakes, to make snap judgments about individuals and to walk out on pretty good friendships because rather than talk it out or discuss my concerns, which would be the rational course of action, leaving the situation became more my style because it was what people would least expect. Heidi was the worst example of this. I stopped being friends with her because she didn't talk enough about my girlfriend at the time. It wasn't because she said something mean about her or disparaged her any way, but because I thought she wasn't interested as much as I'd liked her to be in my relationship. If that is not the stupidest reason to abandon somebody you are close to, then I don't know what it is. But that's what I was like and maybe still am. I let small things bother me enough to take drastic measures.

It might seem like a complaint but I think I'm just taking an honest assessment of my life as it stands now. Instead of screaming at the wind, asking why I no longer go out with friends as much as I used to, trying to blame others for not getting me or understanding me, I know where the blame lays. It's all on me. While I'm an easy person to hang out with once-in-a-while, I'm a hard person to be around all the time.

I'm trying to be more like Rachel and show more patience for others, but I find it rather difficult at times. It's hard for me to say something to patch things up when so much of me wants to say what I'm really thinking, which is that it's the other guy's fault.

I know nights like this aren't what my life consists of day-to-day. There are some weeks where I'm so busy that all I want is a quiet night at home alone, but lately it seems the quiet nights are starting to outnumber the nights with friends. I guess that's starting to scare me that all I have to look forward to is the rest of my life lived out alone, an individual with many acquaintances, but no real friends.

Who knows? Maybe tomorrow somebody will call me up last minute to have dinner at Bubba Gump's or Carly and I will finally settle on a date to shoot that short I've been working on. Maybe tomorrow I'll be inspired to wrap up the last fifteen pages to my screenplay or I'll discover some new diversion. Hell, tomorrow I might even find somebody else that is cool that I can walk away from five months from now. I know this period of introspection can't last forever and that I'm in much better shape now than I was a year ago.


don't ya think that you need somebody
don't ya think that you need someone
everybody needs somebody
you're not the only one
you're not the only one

However, just because you know it can't rain all the time doesn't stop you from wishing it weren't raining now.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

So He Said He'd Write Or Call, Cause I'd Be Touring In The Fall, He Said He Wanted Me To Move, But That Just Won't Do

--"Minneapolis", That Dog

She thought to herself that she should have gone with a different ensemble, something with a more flattering neckline. There he was, sitting across from her, and he wasn't noticing her at all. She'd wanted something comfortable for the flight over and, because of that, she had decided in favor of saving her killer outfits for her time in California. Now she just wished she had something more alluring on so that he might be interested in something more than just talking to her. He was interesting, but there was a time constraint she had to consider.

It was a waste of time, really. She would be gone in forty-five minutes, flying across the continent to meet up with the person she really wanted to be with. She shouldn't be wasting her time flirting with the airport boy and his fitted cap. What good would come of it? She wasn't about to give him her number, after all. And, at the rate he was babbling, it didn't look like he was in any great hurry to provide her his. It was innoncent. It was fun. It was a diversion to occupied while she waited for her plane to board.

What was he talking about now? Oh, ex-girlfriend. That won't do, she thought. She started to pepper him with questions about the nature of his trip. Oh, you're going to visit friends. Me too, she said. Anyone you're serious about? Oh, you're going to visit the ex-girlfriend. Is that wise? No, of course, I would do the same thing in your situation, sugar.

She started discussing with him how long she'd lived here (all her life) and how much she wouldn't even consider moving. She started to talk about how the night sky would not seem the same anywhere else and how that particular brand of cacophony that the junebugs and crickets made when everything was dark just wouldn't sound the same. She would miss it, that's for sure, she said. She would miss it like she was missing part of her soul. Then he launched into how the whole reason him and his ex had broken up was the fact she wanted him to go live out there and he refused. He had been so sure that it was the right thing to do. However now, he was missing her and here seemed a little less like home without her. He had resolved to make up his mind on this trip. This trip would decide his future.

She smiled. It was refreshing to see someone else caught in the throes of love, the dizzying confusion, the tilt-a-whirl ride of emotions. She'd been there. She knew what it was like. Would it be so bad if I gave him my number, she thought. I could give him some advice and, who knows, we could hit it off. He seems adorable. Even the fitted cap which clashed with the rest of his clothes had its endearing qualities. She should give him her number. You can never have too many friends and she had a good vibe about him.

No, she couldn't. She had her reasons, but the main one was that she was flying out for someone else. Hedging her bets wasn't her style. She always did things full force and he was only a distraction. It would never work. He was an airport boy. For all she knew his charms did not extend beyond the confines of the facility. The conversation they were having could all be an illusion concocted because she was bored and he was distraught. Everyone knew you can't trust people you meet on vacation because it almost never lasts. You can't trust relationships developed under those circumstances because they were fleeting and insubstantial. It wasn't like he'd be here waiting for her in the airport when she got back. She'd probably forget all about the conversation as soon as she arrived.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't give out the number and ask him to call her. What would she say? Hey, remember that time we talked in the airport? Hell's bells, that would have been stupid.

She decided it was doomed to failure before it even began. She got up and moved away as if she had grown weary of his inane conversation. He looked mildly shocked, but eventually that gave way to understanding. He understood the game. You don't form lasting bonds with people at terminals, depots, or airport gates. You just don't.

It was what it was, a moment in time shared by people who understood where the other was coming from. Nothing more.

She was reluctant to say it because she still had eyes for him, regardless of whether or not he failed to notice her considerable beauty. She was reluctant to say it because she knew she'd be saying it again soon enough and, frankly, all of this hit a tad close to home. She was flying out to have fun, to see him--not to dwell on things that hadn't happened yet. She had to say it, though. She would need the practice if she was to ever get through it the next time intact.

"Good-bye."

Years later, when she re-told the story to her friends, she always left out the part about her saying good-bye. To them she had said she had just turned and left. For some reason it was still hard for her to admit she felt so much emotion in saying one simple farewell.

She could never quite explain that to them. She could never make them understand why that one chance talk had made an impression on her.

It would remain a mystery.

Breanne

No Passion, No Warmth In These Words, I'm Trying, But Have Nothing To Offer, I'm Waiting With Nothing To Do, I'm Waiting, Just Waiting On You

--"Waiting", The Rentals

THE CARD HOUSE
a poem by E. Patrick Taroc

The pilot-light blue of my fist
As it, fallen in faceless depths
Of the breach, burns and burns again.

Winters when the world was complete--
Structured and proud like card houses,
Vermilion bikes on their back,
Layered, level upon level,
Till immortality remained--
You were taken to such moments
Mankind can only dream of dreaming.
Unshackled of your home and hearth,
Where mother mentioned your name often
In hopes you'd hold it forever
In those pinkened and pudgy hands,
You would award it back to her
After more names were mentioned
Ten and twentyfold with a smile.
London-fogged dawns imparted
Their riches and were replaced
By New England nighttimes,
As you were insisted, as I,
To the palette of smearing blues
By the seasons in endless round,
The spinning jenny of your life,
Each new season a spindle
Where with each methodical motion
What was to be fated from birth
Was fashioned, not from special straw
That gave way to gold, but plain thread.
Days whittled the weeks away
Until only months remained
Of our daydreams together.
I was as never as young as you;
You, never as mature as me,
But the difference was divided,
Bisected by the bronzed compass
Of a common name, not yet known
To you.
              Perchance it was nothing,
Nothing much more than a few letters,
A sound lisped by even native lips,
That attached myself to you
Like the old box-kite kept reined
By our alternating hand.
Perchance it was a knot tightened
By society's customs and manners,
But one that had been there always,
Like the pull of seasons upon us
Or your friendly hand outstretched
To catch beauty itself in your palms,
Never to be disappointed
When it spilled out and beyond,
Dabbing your youthful features
In its ebbing intangibility.
And when you giggled and fell
Into the waiting lap of the land,
I thought you thought the same as me
And I fell in support.
                                        But now,
With the earth embracing you in,
As if your escape was never meant,
And mother invisible,
I deduce nothing came of thoughts,
For a thought can never replace--
The candle's light never quite nears
The import of its facile flame.

Your fingers melding with mine
Beneath the glossy tabletop
Of the once-pond, I tug-of-war
With the thousand thousands of hands
Reaching, grabbing, grappling, groping--
Below, all knowing you are too much
For mankind and me, for life itself.

(05/04/95) Copyright 1995, 2007 E. Patrick Taroc

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Just Let Me Hold You While You're Falling Apart, Just Let Me Hold You So We Both Fall Down, Fall On Me, Tell Me Everything You Want Me To Be

--"Ever The Same", Rob Thomas

P- Think of how I feel, Breanne. All this time I could have been having sex with you without repercussions. Such a waste!

B- Because, you know, I'm just that easy, sugar.

P- Well, it's like they say, one woman's loss is another man's gain.

B- I'm glad you can see the positive spin on my tragic news. I was fearing that I wouldn't find anybody who could make me smile again.

P- That's about all I'm good for, poking fun at your misfortune.

B- I can think of a couple of other things.

P- I just figured that you've probably had enough of people telling you it's going be alright and it's going to be okay.

B- Basically everybody.

P- I mean--you know my shoulder's totally here for you, Breannie, but it sounded like you've had enough of people coddling you.

B- Basically everybody.

P- Exactly. I say baby-shmaby. A baby would have just slowed you down anyway. That's what I always say, babies are nothing but deadweight.

B- That's kind of a perverted worldview, darling.

P- Well, that's just the perverted type of guy I am.

B- You know, when I called you up, I was expecting more of the sympathetic Patrick and not the sarcastic one. I'm not quite sure if I'm ready for this version yet.

P- The way I see it, Greg's probably taking care of all the heavy lifting and probably taken the brunt of all the anger, right?

B- Yes.

P- And I figure your mother's taking care of all the uplifting stories about how they said the same thing about her, that she'd never have a kid. Then she probably told you something like if she could do it then you could still do it too.

B- Yeah. She also closed by reminding me I was her "little miracle" and that I was due a miracle too.

P- Exactly. So, by my calculations, all that's left for me is the actual cheering you up, which is totally the easy part.

B- And why's that?

P- You're a total pushover when it comes to getting you to smile, Breanne. It's like your natural state. You're just built that way.

B- I suppose I could try to smile... for you.

P- Do you want me to bust out the Yoda?

B- No, that's quite alright, Eeyore. I will smile for you.

P- God knows how much I love your smile.

B- Really? How does it look to you now over the phone, darling?

P- Like diamonds.

B- Hell's bells, that's exactly the look I was going for.

P- It's funny. I can always tell when you're smiling, B.

B- And how's that?

P- Because you always sound like you've just walked into the toy store when you're smiling.

B- Do I? Do I really?

P- Yes.

B- Well, a woman's got to have her toys, Patrick.

P- Just what kind of toys are we talking about here?

B- Never you mind.

P- Oh, come on, you can't play the married card all the time. That's no fun.

B- It's fun for me. It's fun for me to watch you squirm.

P- You're just cruel.

B- And you love every minute of it.

P- Well, yeah, but that's beside the point.

B- Admit it. You'd be lost without me.

P- And you wouldn't be just as lost without me?

B- Uh, hello? Can't have baby, remember? Now's not the time to be focusing on you, Mr. Selfish. Cheer me up, damn it all.

P- I wished you'd told me sooner. I hate not knowing something's wrong until the last minute.

B- I know. It was just hard.

P- Isn't that what I'm here for too? To get you through the hard stuff?

B- Actually, last time I saw you, it was you who was packing the hard stuff with him, if I remember correctly, sugar.

P- Oh oh, there she is. She's back. Breanne's back.

B- Yes, it is good to be back and talking with the living again.

P- Does that mean the let's-have-sex-alot-since-you-can't-get-pregnant topic is open for discussion again?

B- Ah... no.

P- Thought so.

B- I know what you mean, though. I wanted to call, but my first response is to come to Greg. You know that.

P- Sure, sure, pick the husband first. I see how it works.

B- But you also have to know there's always a small part of me that instinctively thinks to call you right away.

P- I'm just glad you called at all.

B- It was time. Like you said, my husband and my parents did most of the work. All that's left for you is clean-up. So entertain me, clown.

P- As her majesty wishes. Shall I perform feats of magic to mystify and befuddle the mind or would the lady prefer me to fall on my ass a couple of times?

B- Falling sounds fun.

P- Falling it is then.

B- And Eeyore?

P- Yes, my Breannie.

B- Thanks for being my friend... It's been a rough couple of weeks. I didn't think I was going to make it through.

P- Just doing my job, ma'am. Just doing my job. No one quits on my watch. I won't allow it.

B- Wo ai ni, Patrick.

P- Wo ai ni, silly Breannie.

B- Now fall!

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

Everybody's Got A Special Kind Of Story, Everybody Finds A Way To Shine, It Don't Matter That You Got Not Alot, So What

--"It Takes Diff'rent Strokes", Alan Thicke

When I set out to plan my life I always thought I'd be performing, writing, or something else artistic. Everyone always told me, "Breanne, you're going to be famous some day." And, while I never fully believed them, I always thought I'd be involved in a career that challenged me artistically. It was in that area that I actually believed in myself enough to want to do it for the rest of my life. Dancing was always an escape, but I never wanted to do it as a career choice. The same with anything that involved me going before a stage and putting on a show. I wanted people to recognize the way I thought and the way I expressed myself rather than the way I looked or how graceful. Graceful is one thing, but being paid to be graceful seemed unnatural to me. How could I honestly accept payment for something the Lord gave me and I was sure I didn't earn?

I enrolled into Georgia with the intention of becoming a writer, maybe a poet. Poetry was always another release for me. To be sure, I was as scared as a sinner in a cyclone when it came to my chances of my actually making it as a poet, but it would have been something I studied and something I worked for. That would have made all the difference in the world to me. I went into my first few years running like a squirrel in a cage. I absorbed as much as I could from any teacher I could converse with. Even my general education instructor were not immune from my interest. I wanted to be someone who knew something about everything. Not only did I think it would make me a better poet, but I knew it would make me a better person inside.

I wouldn't say the college experience was easy. Hell's bells, I've always had a particular weakness for socializing when I should be studying and Lord knows drinking up a storm has never been a glaring problem for anyone in my family. But I came from good stock. My parents always placed a premium on the value of education so I did relatively good in my studies.

However, it became apparent the more classes I took that poetry would not be the road to get me where I wanted to go. I found myself reading more and enjoying that reading more than I ever did actual creating my own. I still enjoyed writing, but comparing myself to the American greats I knew I would never reach their level. I could do alright. I don't know if I would've scratched out a living from it, but I could have approached being a respectable poet. Yet the thought I would never excel began to nag at me like an itch on my lower back. What would be the point in doing something if you knew you couldn't be perfect at it? I'm not saying I want to be perfect in everything I do, but I certainly do not want to put my whole heart into something if there was no chance I could ever be great at it. That thought rather than the thought of reaching for greatness and failing bothered me more. I never want to be mediocre or just good at something I attempt; there always has to be room for improvement.

Because of this fact I changed the focus of my coursework to American Literature. In that respect I still could be learning from the greats without fooling myself into believing I'd ever be one of them. Personally, I think it was the right choice for me because I enjoyed school even more after I switched. Not only did I have more time for my friends and family, but I was far happier with the whole experience. I still could receive a fabulous education but without all the headaches and heartaches that came from trying to achieve greatness I was never destined to achieve greatness in. Also, because I had all this extra time to fully take in Georgia, I began to run more in the mornings rather than rush around all day. I took brisk walks. I jogged. But I would describe it more precisely as running to my heart's content. That's another hobby of mine that I always enjoyed, being free among the trees and the earth to go wherever I pleased as quickly as I pleased.

It was also on one of these morning runs that I met Greg.

I still had a choice to make, though. What was I going to do with the rest of my life? I still hadn't decided on a career. I was so lost about my life I couldn't find my lily-white ass even if I had a flashlight in both hands. My mother kept pressuring me to go back into dance. She even went so far as to send along to me brochures about local ballet troupes that were taking auditions. But I knew I didn't want to do that. I just didn't know what I wanted to do. In fact, I began working part-time at a local flower shop owned by a friend's aunt because I needed some extra money and I needed a quiet place to reflect on how directionless my life was becoming. Being up at the front of the store, talking to the customers, talking to the floral specialists, I began to notice that these people all had a certain satisfaction from their lives and their careers that I envied. Most were not doing exactly what they had planned to be doing, but they all walked in or went about their business smiling. I wanted a future like that. I wanted a future where I could both come to and leave work smiling. After all, weren't people always complimenting me on what a great smile I had?

Again, I began to talk to everyone that walked into that shop. I wanted to discover their secret so I could utilize it for myself. I was like a mother hen, clucking away from noon to nighttime with anyone who would hear me out. I began to have lunch and tea with some of the regular customers whose jobs and lives fascinated me. I began to hang around with some of my co-workers who knew a thing or two about flowers and the flower business. I've always liked flowers, but it was their passion for flowers and creating beauty out of everyday plants that intrigued me. Soon, I was staying an hour or two extra everyday I worked to chat up somebody.

It was after about a year of working there that one lady customer I had grown especially close to asked if I knew anyone who could help with her prize-winning roses and designing a absolutely gorgeous garden to showcase them. I told her I knew a couple of people that could assist her. After I got her in contact with the right people she offered to pay me something resembling a finder's fee. At first, I told her it would be inappropriate for me to accept payment. I was just trying to help her out, I told her. That's when she told me something I'll never forget.

She said, "Child, I don't know if those books are what you want to do, but I think you should go into business for yourself. You're great with people and you always seem to know everybody that can get things done. You should just do that. You should do something where you can facilitate bringing the right people to the right kind of jobs."

I took what she said to heart--not at first, but eventually. I began to ask around if people thought it was a good idea. Everyone I knew agreed. They told me that I'm great with clients and seemed to be real friendly with everyone. So I called up all my friends at the flower shop and asked them if they wanted to help out with a new business. I borrowed money from my parents, after telling them what I wanted to do, and I started going down the list of people I knew. It was hard for the first couple of years, but once the word started to spread that I had a respectable gardening business specializing in prize-winning flowers it was only a matter of time before people started recommending me to their friends. I don't know the first thing about professional gardening or gardening techniques, but I'm fairly good at meeting new people and putting them at ease about trusting me with their yards. I'm also really good at maitaining good working relationships with everybody I meet. From those first four workers I had when I opened up the business, three of them are still with me and I've added two more full-time. We go through two or three projects a month and I'm always the first one there to chat up the clients while the work is being done or smooth things over when it's taking a little longer than it's supposed to.

Yes, I didn't end up becoming a poet or doing anything artistic. But I am utilizing a skill I worked hard at becoming proficient at. I'm also doing something that people admire me for my intelligence and wit rather than what I wear or what kind of show I can put on. I don't earn that much, but I get by, and, yes, I come to and leave work every day with a smile.

And that's the important thing.

Breanne

The Moon, Is Shining In The Sky, Reminding Me, Of So Many Other Nights, But They're Not Like Tonight

--"But Not Tonight", Depeche Mode

With the advent of 2007 it has been almost a decade since Tara and I broke up. The strangest thing about that fact is how little I think about it. In fact, I almost forgot it's been ten years. If it wasn't for trying to remember dates involving other people in my life, I think there's a good chance that I could have forgotten the two of us went out at all. It's not that she didn't matter to me--because she did. Some of the most memorable coversations I've had were with her. She always had a gift for clever imagery and impromptu sayings--the whole "life is a jigsaw puzzle and I'm still working on the edges" saying is all her. I think it has more to do with the fact that she came in between two people who just happened to matter more to me, Breanne and DeAnn.

At the time, while I was spending the weekend out there in 1997, getting fitted for her prom, meeting her friends, and ultimately breaking up, I thought it would be impossible to forget about her. That was probably one of the worst weekends I have ever experienced. It started off bad and just kept getting progressively worse. The first night I was there we began discussing what it'd be like once she got to college. It was then that we collectively decided that it'd probably be a good idea to see other people. The second night I was there the glaring differences between our ages became all the more apparent as I failed to get along in any way, shape, or degree with her friends. It was clear that, aside from being into each other, we didn't have much in common. That night we decided that we would finish out the school year and break up once her prom was over. The third night I was there, everything came to hell and we broke up right then and there. By the fourth day, we knew it probably was going to be the last time we saw each other.

I've never had a plane trip where the entire time was spent on the verge of tears.

I thought for sure that pain, that misery, that heartache would last forever. If I was like Rob Gordon in High Fidelity and I were making a list of Top 5 all-time break-ups, she would have been on it. She would have been on it, for sure, because nobody had the audacity to break my heart while I was supposed to be visiting them on my own dime.

Yet, as I sit here writing about her, it dawns on me that, in the scope of things, there really wasn't much there. We'd barely been seeing each other for eight months. It had more to do with how quickly and completely I tend to fall for someone than actual sense of loss. In the scope of things, it took me a lot longer to get over the likes of Breanne and DeAnn, than it did her. Hers just felt more personal because it was a relationship I fully supported and didn't see coming. The others I kind of saw coming and so maybe I understood those partings more. Hers felt out of left field.

It just amazes me how many nights I spent thinking that that was it, that was my one chance at happiness and I would never find it again. I spent so much of the rest of that year and part of the next year trying to figure out how to move on that I didn't think I would ever see a night where I could be content with myself. And it wasn't like there is one night I could point to where I completely forgot about her. I mean--yeah, meeting DeAnn helped, but that didn't happen till July of 1998. Small pieces of Tara just kept disappearing, but it wasn't like it hurt less. It honestly felt like I was simply forgetting how much it hurt. It was as if my brain was refusing to tell my body how much pain I was actually going through and everyday I lost a small portion of specific words and specific feelings concerning those four days. Finally, I lost most of my memory about what exactly happened and why it happened. In a sense, she became wiped clean from the forefront of my brain. If I can concentrate, I can still remember everything, but those memories now reside in a part of my brain that I hardly ever visit. Those memories are hard to access, whereas the memories about other people I can recall at the drop of a hat.

So I find myself tonight thinking if I ever really was that distraught or ever that worried about never finding love again. Back then, you would have been hard-pressed convincing me that there would come a time where she simply didn't factor into my everyday thoughts. Back then, you would have only had to mention her name and I would have immediately grown despondent or sullen. Back then, she really was everything to me. Tonight, however, even though some of those memories have come flooding back to me, I don't think I'll ever go back to a stage where I ever hurt that badly over her again.

Ten years is a long time between something happening and your memory of it. It just doesn't feel as real. Sometimes it doesn't feel like it happened at all.

I don't know whether to be happy that I can't remember or sad that I can forget so easily. Perhaps I'm just feeling a little bit of both tonight.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

E Hine E, Hoki Maira, Kamate Au--I Te Aroha E, Kamate Au--I Te Aroha E

"Pokarekare Ana" (Traditional, New Zealand), Hayley Westenra

Somebody I know has this theory that there are people who listen to music because they like the lyrics; words set to music brings on depths of emotions that the words by themselves could not coax out. Then there are others who listen to music because certain melodies intrinsically possess a beauty all their own. To them music is like painting seen by the heart and not the eyes. For the most part, I tend to decipher a work's lyrics to determine its worth. Sure, voice quality and memorable accompaniment enhance a piece of music, but for me it's almost always the words that stirs my soul first. It's probably why so much of my time writing these posts is spent seeking the perfect set of lyrics to capture the theme or the tone I'm going for. I like words, and words set to music is just an extra treat for me.

However, there are some works that by their very nature whose spirit cannot be captured in words. Some of the songs by Do As Infinity take me to places that other songs whose lyrics are foreign to me just can't. Buried within the music is the soul of something beautiful. These are the kinds of works that I don't seek out, but somehow they always manage to find me.

"Pokarekare Ana" is one of those songs. The story of how I chanced upon this song is so convoluted that I was hesitant to even bring it up, but in keeping with the theme of how certain songs surprise you, I shall try to sum up the sordid tale for you. Basically, I was sitting in work recently and one of my co-workers asked me if I've ever seen the commercial for Celtic Woman, that four (now five) woman singing group who specialize in old Irish standards and traditional Celtic fare. I replied to her that, of course, I had because a) secretly, I think I'm Irish, b ) if I'm not mistaken, there's a redhead among the group, and c) they're female singers who aren't half-bad. I told her that the only reason I hadn't already picked up their CD was because I'm the type to buy everything that catches my interest and the only manner in which I prevent myself going into debt is to put off purchasing certain items until I get another paycheck. By that time, I count on the fact I'll have forgotten what I wanted to buy in the first place and, thusly, save me on spending more than I could afford. After chastising her for re-awakening my interest in owning said CD, I began looking up songs on Youtube so that I could be sure that my investment would be worth it.

It was in the course of testing out songs that I discovered that Celtic Woman had recently added a new member to their fold, one Hayley Westenra, an apparent singing prodigy who already had numerous CDs to her name. I listened to her cover of "Scarborough Fair" for the group, liked it, and began searching for both her and Celtic Woman. Still, I didn't stumble upon the song until a little later.

It was a couple of days after that, when the Celtic Woman CD was already mine to be had, that I begin to wade my way through Miss Westenra's catalogue in earnest. I discovered other songs I liked by her, including a splendid version of "Both Sides Now", the song my esteemed colleague utilized below.

Yet it wasn't until I chanced upon her version of "Pokarekare Ana" that I really began to truly enjoy her music. As some of you know, my pet motif when I write is to write about people who are "forlorn and wistful". The theme takes on many shapes, but it's always been a pet phrase of mine to be tossed whenever somebody asks the dreaded question of what kind of story I'm writing. "Oh it's a forlorn and wistful tale," I tell them. Something about writing about people in this middle ground really intrigues me.

That's "Pokarekare Ana" for me. Even before I knew what the song was about, Miss Hayley's voice and the tone of the music clued me in that this was a song that spoke to how I feel most of the time. It captures that sense of sadness, loneliness, and isolation I think all of us experience from time to time (some more than others) but it also captures this unyielding sense of hope for the future. It is pretty much guaranteed any time I see or hear something of this nature I instantly fall in love with it. "Pictures of Success", my favorite song is a perfect example of this quality as is Avonlea, my all-time favorite television show. I can't decide which gets to me more, the haunting quality of Miss Westenra's voice or the fact that the song is from the first moments to the very last exhibits this theme so exquisitely. I don't know if I could separate the two. I think this song was tailor-mailed for someone of her vocal abilities, just like I believe that only someone of her vocal abilities could ever do this song justice. One does not live without the other.

I think that's why this song gets to me. If it was in English, I may have become distracted by the words and decided that it's too short and simple for my tastes. However, because all I have to judge it on are the pure emotions it stirs in me as well as the memories it evokes, it endears itself to me on pure strength of spirit alone. I don't know if it's a perfect song, but it does capture something that a lot of other songs don't for me. It places what I feel into a capsule that I can break open any time and taste any time. It makes it tangible, touchable, in a fashion that most pieces of art do not.

It also remains one of those rare songs that I think is better for not having known what it's about. I don't care what it means or what it signifies. All I care about is what it means to me... and that's a lot.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers


"Pokarekare Ana"

Pokarekare ana
Nga wai o waiapu
Whiti atu koe hine
Marino ana e

E hine e
Hoki maira
Kamate au
-i te aroha e

Tuhituhi taku rita
Tuku atu taku ringi
Kia kiti to iwi
Raru raru ana e

E hine e
Hoki maira
Kamate au
-i te aroha e

E hine e
Hoki maira
Kamate au
-i te aroha e

Kamate au
-i te aroha e

[English translation:]

Stormy are the waters
Of restless Waiapu
If you cross them, girl
They will be calmed

Oh girl
Come back to me
I could die
Of love for you

I write you my letter
I send you my ring
So your people can see
How troubled I am

Oh girl
Come back to me
I could die
Of love for you

Oh girl
Come back to me
I could die
Of love for you

I could die
Of love (for you).