2009 is going to be amazing and good. It has to be because it can't be any worse than 2008. I know I'm going to look at the incoming new year with hope in my eyes and a feeling that things will work out this time.
Hope that may get crushed soon afterwards, but c'est la vie.
2008 has been a rollercoaster of emotion for me. It has been incredibly tough on me -- even the good times have been tough, for a lot of them have been results of major change. And major change is always hard to adjust to.
This coming year I'm making a...well, not a resolution, because I never keep those. We'll just say it's something I'm going to do. And that is I'm going to be alone. Not isolated, not lonely. Just...alone. The highest point of 2008 and the lowest point both had to do with men. I'm tired of having my life revolve around someone else's. I'm tired of having my emotions go on rollercoasters because of my relationships. From now on it's going to be Katje feels this way because of what Katje is doing, not because of the PMS her lover is experiencing. No more Katjeand[insert name here]. Just Katje from now on.
I do have some goals for this year as well. Some are listed in the previous entry (more specifically, what I'm going to accomplish by equinox, or March 30th). Others have been made tonight.
Write 200,000 words this year on several projects.
Finish three books.
Write 12 poems (one a month).
Publish a book of poetry.
Get my publishing company up and running.
Work through Evolutionary Witchcraft.
Look into pursuing Women's Studies as a double-minor (and possibly declare).
Eat well. Sleep at night. Stay fit.
The standard self-betterment procedures. I hope this time I follow through. I think, though, that I've finally made some breakthroughs in my wall of issues and will finally be able to complete a lot of my goals.
Well, I've been great on the sleeping thing. Two nights in a row I've gone to bed early and waked up by 7am. If I can keep this up into the school year I'm home free.
I've started participating in the Life's To Do List thing on The Cauldron -- it's a quarterly thing where you post your goals for the quarter and update as to how they're coming along. First quarter is from Yule to Ostara (winter solstice to spring equinox). So here is my list of 26 goals.
Career! Which is not to say money, because I am an artist. 1. Finish and publish Bellica by February. 2. Work on getting accepted as model at a certain company. 3. After finishing Bellica start writing more on The Man of Bronze. 4. Don't mess up with stage-managing Vagina Monologues (ie, get a good recommendation and have something worth putting on my resume).
School 1. Another four-A semester, at least. 2. Pass History this time around. 3. Get my books before classes start. Maybe? (Depending on when my loan comes in of course.)
Body/Mind/Spirit/Wallet 1. Work on getting rid of the Buddha Belly. 2. Get my next two tattoos in January (presumably when my tattoo-artist friend comes to visit me). 3. Go to the school gym regularly. (My gods, Katje, the membership is free -- what are you waiting for? Aside from the campus to open again.) 4. Get rid of stuff/stop being such a packrat. (Following that, become more tidy. Hard to do with this much stuff.) 5. Get a job. Make money. 6. See a psychologist. 7. Go to the dental clinic. 8. Work on getting that Mac. 9. Put away enough money for Witchcamp and possibly Dragon*Con. 10. Get car fixed and re-insured. 11. Read more books; donate ones I don't wish to keep to Literacy Nanaimo. 12. Get snow clothing.
Staving off Depression (fun stuff!) 1. Spend more time with friends (so long as homework/etc is done). 2. Watch season two of Battlestar Galactica (after Bryce gets it, of course). 3. Watch through every movie I haven't seen in my DVD library. 4. Make friends watch every movie they haven't seen. 5. Go to the outdoor drug-free rave party thing in February. 6. Complete Final Fantasy VII. 7. Finish FFX (again) and then FFX-2, provided the latter gets mailed to me (ex still has my stuff).
Two A's, two A+'s, an Incomplete until I do the final in January, and an F.
The surprising part is where I got those grades. A+ in Theatre? No surprise. Her class is designed in much the same way the final battle with Yu Yevon in Final Fantasy X is -- you CAN'T lose. Also, it's fucking theatre. Of course I rock that shit.
A+ in French? OMGWHAT.
A in Sociocultural Anthropology. I admit surprise. I was her best student and was fairly sure I'd get an A+. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Just an "Oh, ok," sort of surprise, not a "WHAT OMG I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE IT I'M SO MAD" sort.
Here's the big surprise: F in History and INC in English. I was pretty sure I'd get an F in English and a D in History. However, I am a lazy whore and didn't do my final paper for Hist, and so forfeited my grade. Also I'm pretty sure I bombed the final.
Now, if I pass English by acing the exam and end up with a fail in History, I am going to laugh so hard. So so hard.
In other news, I am not going to any sort of family thing for Christmas. Bryce is coming over and we are having turkey et al dinner. I'm making him bring dessert. Debating whether or not I should make mashed potatoes from the box I have or if I should buy potatoes and make em from scratch. Regardless I need to get milk, so maybe I'll pick some taters up while I'm doing that, just as an "in case the fake mash sucks balls".
Excited! Which is saying something major, as I've been moping around the house like Major when he's been scolded since the winter break began. So tired. So depresed. So emo.
I am incredibly sad. She was one of my idols, and now I'll never get a chance to meet her. I realize this is an incredibly selfish reason to be upset over her death, but I can't help it. She was an amazing woman. The world has lost someone great, in my opinion. I can only be grateful that she passed peacefully, and will be remembered fondly.
Gods-speed, Bettie Page, you Fancy Bastard (as Joel Watson of Hijinks Ensue would say). Your contributions to the sexual landscape of Western society were incredibly valuable, and you helped shape the future and pave the road for the sexual revolution of the 1960s. As sexual beings, and as women, we are indebted to you. I hope the Summerland holds all you could possibly want.
so the super-quick rundown of KATje's life to date:
still moving into my place, officially. this is crazy. i live in the ghetto (superghetto) and it's just barely livable. whatever. first year university -- what did i expect?
theatre is awesome, even if the basic social structure is the same as it was in highschool
i love anthropology. i need to study more.
history is an awesome class as well. i also need to study more in that one.
english...makes me want to murder things. but when does it not?
i love French because my teacher is awesome. i'm actually learning the language, which is great.
the campus itself is trying to kill me; the thing is built on a hill and is MADE OF STAIRS. i swear i climb 400 steps a day.
i'm losing weight.
thanksgiving dinner was pizza and mashed potatoes. classy.
i need more tupperware.
i'm participating in nanowrimo. meaning in november i'm going to try and write 50,000 words in Bellica. you know, on top of studying for finals and doing my research papers. plan? do papers NOW.
i've listened to the same songs on repeat for about two months now.
yay for halloween! seriously excited over here. have 3 pumpkins waiting to be carved.
also excited for the tattoos i'm planning on getting this december. or one tattoo. depending on how it works out.
mom's running for school board and i'm incredibly proud of her.
and now i'm very tired and sick so i must go to sleep. sleepy byes.
but I don't think that you believe and it's not the way I'm meant to be it's just the way the operation made me
so things have been going on, as they do. it's August already and this has caused much surprise on my end. where did July go?
I'm writing and publishing and generically being busy with good things. tonight mom and I went to dinner and I had BBQ -- which I love, though I hate to admit it. we got back from a hellacious road trip the other night and surprisingly I'm glad to be back, even if it's only happiness over being in one place for any period of time and not the fact of being in Powell River itself.
I'm excited about moving to Nanaimo in mid-late August and going back to school in Sept. I've decided that after my BA I'm going for an LLB -- that's a law degree, if you're curious. yes, I plan on becoming a lawyer. crazy? probably. I also lack pattern recognition, as the great clusterfuck of my past can tell you. ah well. I think I'll be better at it than my parents were -- for one, I won't marry a fellow lawyer.
following that thought I won't marry at all, ever. there's no point. I've realized that there is a certain formula to having that lifelong amazing relationship where two become one, and my life lacks that formula. always has. always will. and so there is no point to marrying for love or romance or any of those childish ideas -- they don't exist in real life, not really.
now, when it comes to marrying for citizenship, I'm still open to that, though it'll probably be exclusive to Ryan. so whenever you want to get your skinny arse up here to Canada for citizenship, boyo, just let me know. we'd be great spouses, methinks.
my hair is now teal, and I've been seriously considering doing Joker for Halloween. but I'm not sure Powell River deserves my genius, so I may just go back down to Nanaimo for the 31st. (poetry slam is the 30th, so I have to be up here.)
so. that's what's happening for me right now. oh, and I got a cell phone. yay.
and I'm tired, so I'm heading home to sleep now. maybe tomorrow I won't wake up with a migraine.
and we just keep on going over it again and again and again!
ok, i get it.
1. he never loved me the way i loved him. i knew this already. fine, whatever. 2. he no longer loves me in his way. just cares about me as a friend. ok fine whatever. 3. our relationship was stagnating. i get it. he's right. 4. it still hit me out of the fucking blue and i still hurt.
You, me hearty, are a man or woman of action! And what action it is! Gruesome, awful, delightful action. You mete out punishment to friend and foe alike – well, mostly to foe, because your burning inner rage isn’t likely to draw you a whole lot of the former. Still, though you may be what today is called “high maintenance” and in the past was called “bat-shit crazy,” the crew likes to have you around because in a pinch your maniacal combat prowess may be the only thing that saves them from Jack Ketch. When not in a pinch, the rest of the crew will goad you into berserker mode because it’s just kind of fun to watch. So you provide a double service – doling out discipline AND entertainment.
I'm excited about this day (Sept 19th, for those who don't know). I need to get a costume together, and actually participate for once.
And look! Me pirate name!
My pirate name is:
Iron Anne Vane
A pirate's life isn't easy; it takes a tough person. That's okay with you, though, since you a tough person. You tend to blend into the background occaisionally, but that's okay, because it's much easier to sneak up on people and disembowel them that way. Arr!
Oh gods. I babysat yesterday, but surprisingly that was one of the better parts of my day.
Where to begin?
Oh, yes, the beginning is always good.
Waked up from a terrible nightmare -- an anger-inducing, not fear-inducing one, so when my eyes shot open I was lying rigid, hands balled into fists, heart beating a mile a minute, hardly able to breathe, and ready to kill something. Now, I am never in a good mood when I wake up and Travis isn't beside me, but this was particularly bad.
So, whatever. I get over the anger, go through my morning routine, am relatively calm when I go to let the dog out....
and stand in wonder, staring at my driveway.
Someone told me garbage got picked up on Tuesday mornings on my street.
That someone was wrong.
Because, before my bleary, sleep-gummed eyes, are the two bags of garbage I'd put out at 3am, only strewn across the universe by some furred mammal or another. I'm guessing it's the same seven-foot raccoon that's been terrorizing my trash for a while now.
I say fuck it and go back inside.
Eventually I get showered and dressed and go to send email to Travis (a part of our daily D/s routine), as it needs to go out by a certain time, and I won't be able to do it while babysitting. Before any of this happens sirens go by, and Major sings along with them. For twenty minutes. I love his voice, but there's a damn limit.
Whatever. First I clean up the garbage, and put the two now thrice-bagged bags into my trunk, where they remain still, waiting to go to the dump. Finally I've got all my stuff into the car, dog check, books check, camera check, etc check, and manage to leave.
I get to my mom's place to do email, etc. It's almost time for me to pick up A___ from school, so I need to be quick. I load the attachments to the email, browsing my forums while I wait for it to send.
Eventually I can see I can't wait for it if I want my life back, so I have to call Travis and tell him he won't be getting his email till later because Gmail is a dirty, filthy whore.
Ok, so I go and pick up A____ no problem, go do my bank errand, and get her home.
I go to tie up Major in the yard.
There is a cat at the place where I babysit A___, a normally pretty sweet feline named Circles. A____ sees Circles in the yard, scared of Major, and asks me to go get the cat and bring her inside, so she won't have to deal w/ the dog. Not that Major would do anything to her except maybe cuddle her for hours, but hey -- I do not argue w/ 8-year-olds.
So I go and get the cat. Major is tied up already. I'm holding the cat, trying to get past the dog, who is just so damn excited that mistress has brought him his very own cat omg. I'm walking slowly and talking in soothing tones so as not to upset the cat --
-- which doesn't really matter as she freaks and tears my fucking face off.
Literally. The cat attempted to give me sinus surgery. Somehow her paw got inside my nose and ripped up in there, as well as outside the nose, all over my head, chest, and arms. There are two huge holes in my shirt. I don't even know how she did it, except I pity any ladders that have held her, being one myself.
Look! Photos!
Fuzzy picture, but the only one in which I am attractive. The rest will burn your eyes out. Which is why I'm going to show them! :D
Taken hours ago, when the swelling wasn't so bad.
Here you can start to see the current lopsidedness of my nose. This was taken just now, but at a bad angle.
Ah, here we go. Full-on lopsidedness. That is a swollen-ass nose. It hurts constantly.
And here you can see to some extent the scratches on my chest, as well as one of the holes in my shirt.
I didn't even get into the wounds on my forehead and ears.
So. I fall to the ground, writhing in agony (and throughout all of this I say not one swearword in front of my young charge, for which I deserve a fucking medal), hands covering nose, wondering if I'll be able to breathe at the end of the day.*
We get me inside, and go to get cleaned up and there is blood everywhere. Everywhere. Head wounds gush. I should know; I've had experience with them before, and not just yesterday. I spurted enough blood to make the Red Cross cry at the waste of donatable Type O. Well, not so sterile once it had hit the bathroom sink and perhaps even my face, but still. Lots. of. blood. zomg.
Weel, all this would not be so bad -- the bleeding stopped, after all, and the cat missed my eyes and any vitals (I think) -- were I not allergic to cats.
Oh yes. Not by much, mind you. But enough to still be in considerable discomfort.
I feel like I have a stuffy nose, except instead of mucous leaking at the back of my throat it's a blood-mucous composite. My entire nose is sore and swollen, tender to the touch, and when I sneezed about 15 minutes ago my uterus tried to escape my body in my effort to hold back said expulsion of dander from my olfactory glands.
I used to like cats...now, I'm not so sure.
Anyway, I ended up having a good time with A____, who's a very sweet and intelligent girl, and then later on last evening I went to the Art Jam at Loco's - where I had pleasant food and company. Talked to a tattoo-artist/painter friend about my next tattoo, and I think we'll be able to work something out. So that's good.
But no, I have not slept, because I have not been terribly tired, and now there's no point until I finish my errands, so.... Besides, I have no Benadryl, and I really wish I did, because it would make me feel better. Or at least force me to sleep. Oh, Benadryl comas, how I miss thee.
Anyway, here's a Youtube vid that will probably sum up a lesser version of what happened to me today (after all, this fucker is wearing jeans -- can't wear denim on your FACE).
A while ago I was estranged from my grandparents because of a [rather big] fuck up on my part. We didn't speak to each other for a few weeks.
Today I spoke to my grandmother.
For what was probably the last time.
I won't know until I know, I guess. But they (mom and oma) are talking about assisted suicide -- she's in pain, and says she'd rather go today than tomorrow. As for me and mom, well, we'll miss her just as much whether she goes today or tomorrow.
It's kind of...I don't know. Shocking, I guess. I mean, I've known this was coming for a while. I just didn't really believe it. I sort of blithely believed she'd keep on trucking into her 100s.
She's 90. In September of this year she'd turn 91. We were amazed she made it to 90, and then to her 12-year anniversary with Opa, and then to Christmas, and then to their 12.5 anniversary, in May. She's been saying it's time since before her birthday last year; so when she made it past May 19th I just kind of assumed she'd keep on going, forever.
I just kind of assumed that she'd see me go back to school. Graduate. Have a kid. Get a book published. Make a film -- a big one.
I just kind of assumed that she'd write her memoirs. Tell me all the stories I don't remember her telling me in my childhood. Come up and visit us in Powell River.
Be there for one last Christmas.
Granted, we made last Christmas "the last Christmas", because of her surety of demise. But it didn't happen, and well....
I fooled myself good.
So I told her I loved her and that she was the best Oma in the world, that I could never ask for a better Oma, ever, and that she was an awesome fiery feisty woman and that I tell everyone how awesome she is, and they agree.
It's all true.
And even though it hasn't happened yet, I know it's going to, and I can't seem to stop crying. I know it will happen soon. If not tonight, tomorrow. There was Death in her voice. And acceptance of that. I've heard it before.
And what hurts the most...is I didn't go down to Vancouver with mom this time, because I had to hold the fort for her up here. Get things done. You know. The usual. Take care of Major. Someone has to stay.
Someone has to stay and it may as well be me, because I can't give Oma and Opa the care and attention Mom can. No one can. Mom's the Perfect Daughter. I hope someday I'm like her.
I also hope she doesn't go through this slow death, this terrible old age that we've watched Oma suffer through. I hope my mom remains spry and young into her 90s, and drops dead suddenly of a heart attack when hiking in the woods with a wolfdog, so Silva can welcome her HOME, to the True Woods. That is what she wants, and what I want for her -- because it's the best ending she could ask for. And I don't want my future children watching their Oma go through what I watched mine go through.
Tine Laffra-van Loon-Haagsma was born September 10, 1917, in Holland. She was a nurse during World War II while her fiance was part of the resistance. He ended up spending four years in a Nazi prison, while she waited patiently for him. After the war they got married and had my mom on June 29th, 1948, in Eindhoven, Holland. When my mom was 3 they moved to Alberta, Canada, and Oma got pregnant again, with my Aunt Ariel.
Ariel had Lupus and Jake (my grandfather) was a smoker with a heart condition. He died in 1985, the year before I was born -- his death prompted my mom to get pregnant (at 38 years of age) because it waked her up to the fact that people eventually got old and died. Ariel had a string of failed marriages and relationships and finally killed herself in my early childhood, to end not only the pain of a broken heart but the day to day physical pain of living with Lupus.
When Oma was 75, we bought her a red sportscar, because she was that kind of lady. She drove it until she could no longer do so.
My parents' marriage fell apart in due time. Oma worked as an accountant at my parents' law firm, and she kept on going there everyday though my dad yelled at her, for years, until he finally fired her.
Throughout our financial hardships, Oma helped my mom and myself immensely. If not for her we would have been on the street long ago.
In her 80s Oma went back to school and took a Writing for Children course, so she could pen stories she'd told me in my childhood about the Cat of Nine Lives.
In 1995, when she was 78, Oma remarried a man named Gerry Laffra. They met through a personals ad in the Dutch paper. They have remained happily in love for the past 12.5 years.
I think it's a great way to end one's life, to be in love till the very end.
I'm just sad that she has to be in so much pain, and has been for so long. She's endured enough pain in her life. She certainly doesn't deserve any more.
BUT STILL I REMAIN A CAMWHORE. And try to be all punk, with my spiky 'do. (*whispers* It's to hide the unevenness of the cut. Like, shaved bald in places.)
Hey, kids -- when your parents tell you it's a really bad idea to give yourself a haircut with the kitchen scissors over the bathroom sink...listen to what they're saying. (Your parents, not the voices.) As you can see, I didn't, and now look like a lawnmower heard me talking about its mother. I look like a bakery and lingerie shop joined in on the beating because I'm fat and naked in the pictures, for reasons only I can fathom.
I'm putting in archives of my old blogs from blogdrive into this blog, because...I want it to look like I have something to say? I don't know.
So suddenly there will be an influx of entries from 2004 onwards. Ignore it. You can't comment on them; they're not tagged; they're only there so that my past does not get deleted.
This is also part of my reasoning behind tattoos. I wish to be a living breathing history of myself.
Also I learned a new word for lesbianism: tribadism. It refers to lesbians who simulate hetero sex, especially -- ie, penetration. But I'm using it in my novel with a wider application -- that's the beauty of fantasy novels. You can make words fit to your will.
Our tenant upstairs from me is a right bitch. She hasn't paid her rent for a month+ now or half of her damage deposit -- she owes us a total of $1300. And she's slowly moving out -- but I have no keys to upstairs and she's been taking her sweet ass time getting her shit out of there. So today I tell her I need her keys, forwarding address and all her shit gone by the end of the day.
"I'll be out by the 15th, like I told your mom."
You told the police you'd be out by the 15th of May, but whatever. "You haven't paid the rent, [name omitted]."
"I gave your mom $200 dollars."
So....? "That's not the rent."
"Yeah, well, she knew I wasn't going to pay it and she's known it for way longer than you've been in the picture." *storms off*
I neglected to remind her that I've been in the picture for 22 years and will be for a while yet. Furthermore, I'm the director of the company that owns the property, so I'm equal parts landlady with my mom. ARG.
Anyway, we'll be calling a locksmith soon, and I'm moving her shit out for her. Into the car-port. I would put it out into the rain, but I don't feel like dealing with her if it gets damaged. And then I can clean the place and rent it out, or maybe sell the fucking house.
AND I HAVE NO ACCESS TO A WASHER AND DRYER WHILE THIS IS GOING ON. I SWEAR TO GODS, THE CONSTANT SAGA OF MY LIFE IS NEVER HAVING CLEAN CLOTHING BECAUSE SOME ASSHOLE IS FUCKING WITH MY RIGHT TO A WASHER AND GODDAMN DRYER.
I would use the laundrette, but that takes money, which is something I don't have. (Literally. I don't have change for the laundrette.) And I would use my mom's washer and dryer, except the washer is waiting for a part and a fix-up and so won't in commission for a week. The dryer works, but handwashing...? Like, a week's worth. If I spent all my time doing it. ALL my time. I literally have two and a half full hampers of dirty laundry, I'm down to two pairs of underwear, and re-wearing bras till I really shouldn't even anymore. I'm out of outfits. I have clothes, but nothing nice, nothing to look good in, except my winter clothes, which it's too hot for. The only washer and dryer that work that I can use are upstairs, in the front porch area of the upstairs suite, and which she has not given me keys for.
You know what happened when she first moved in there? She thought the clothing I was washing belonged to the former tenant and so she trashed it. I got there in time to rescue my work clothing, but some of my favorite outfits never recovered.
I'm ready to kill the bitch. No jury would convict me.
SO. I go to get my shit done, i.e. distributing Immanence to Lund, which is a good 20-30 klicks north of town. Quite a trip. I get there. Half the places have the June Issue already, WHICH OF COURSE NO ONE TOLD ME BECAUSE WHY WOULD I NEED TO KNOW THAT? But the other half don't have the issue, which makes me wonder WHO THE FUCK did such a poor-ass job. I mean, jesusfuck, if you're going out to fucking LUND you may as well hit up EVERYTHING out there. Make the trip worthwhile. So I distribute to the places that don't have it and now I'm out of magazines and sitting down writing this blog entry, because if I don't rant somewhere I'll kill something. Or someone. Or EVERYONE IN THE WORLD.
It's called going postal. And as Moist von Lipwig can tell you, there's a reason for that title.
i'm tired of posting on my LJ. i think i'll just stay over there for all the drahmah and wank that goes on in the communities. it's entertaining.
yes, last time i posted i was < / 3-en, but it passed. or rather i should say our relationship is repaired, fine, but i'll never get over the < / 3. i never do. it's just there forever and at some point it gets easier to ignore or deal with. it doesn't mean things have changed drastically or anything. i still love Travis, he still loves me, we both still have major fucking issues. we're still long distance. we're still making it work. it's still hard. i'm feeling really conflicted right now. i want to be back in canada but not in powell river, because i come back and suddenly there's shitloads of stuff for me to deal with and it's major stressful. i have no money, for one, but don't want/can't handle a job because my back is in such major pain. i want to go back to hawaii, even though i know that would be really stupid for a lot of reasons. i don't necessarily want to go back to the house i'm staying in up here because the other tenant is fucking nuts, but i don't want to stay at my mom's house because it's cold and i miss my bed. i miss Travis and want him to be near me, whether that means here or in hawaii. honestly i'd rather be with Travis, in nanaimo, going to school. that would be the best option. but i don't think i can save enough money for that because i don't think there's a job i can do. i don't know. i just want to disappear into one of my books and not come out for a very long time. is that so much to ask for? g2g, fingers getting frostbite.
My back was in agony all day, but I had fun nonetheless. Got a lot of cool things. I spend money so quickly; it's ridiculous. But I was also very good. I resisted lots.
At Ikea yesterday I got this:
it's for holding plastic bags under the sink or in the cupboard.
this is for my stein collection:
black pleather curtains for my dungeon bedroom:
a computer desk:
and the coup d'grace, a four poster canopy bed (metal frame). enough room for two largish people (the best part). ;)
and now it's bedtime. I'm quite tired; need my sleep. Tomorrow -- on to Powell River!
The most important constant in my life has only been around for two years. His name is Travis, and I love him with all of my heart.
Yes, he's my significant other. Very significant.
Travis and I met at a party at Denny's in 2006. I was going through the tail end of a grieving process, helped along by my good friend anti-depressants; he was at the end of a bad friends-with-benefits scenario which had followed years of singleness after his first and only real relationship, which had ended badly. Needless to say we're both wounded people.
We soon became friends, and very soon started dating. I had just decided to move back to Canada from Maui, ticket bought and everything --- when I fell in love with him. I figured I just wouldn't say it, and then I wouldn't have to worry about getting attached, because so long as I didn't say it it wouldn't be "true" -- but I also knew that if he said it to me first, I was doomed. I couldn't not say it back. That would be the same as lying about it. And I've had that lie told to me before. It was unbearable.
So. Packing is going well, planning for the trip and all -- then one morning after a night spent cuddling on the floor of my empty living room, he says it.
Dammit.
I wanted to keep things simple. The reason I asked him out was because I felt little attraction to him, meaning I wouldn't get attached. I wanted a fling, nothing more, something with which to end my time in Maui on a good note....
...and my stupid heart had to get involved. Haven't you learned? I scream at it. Don't you know where this road leads? To destruction! I cry, trying to remind it.
Oh, it knows. It recognizes the pattern -- I fall in love and get hurt -- but it can't help itself. Neither can I.
I go to Canada for two months, work all that time on my house and adopt a dog, creating a string of attachment for me there. The two months is enjoyable in a bittersweet fashion, because I'm apart from Travis for so long...but know I'll see him again in August (unfortunately after our birthdays, because we couldn't arrange to spend them together -- we're both Leos).
I come back under pretense of going to school -- but everyone knows it's for him. I stagger through my classes that fall, and in winter Travis and I both go to Canada, so his Hawaiian butt can see snow and meet my family (aside from Mom).
Dad loves him. This is big. Dad hates all his daugthers' boyfriends as a matter of course. Well, not hates. Is very harsh on though. And he's easier on Travis than he is on me. True story.
Great. My family loves him, I love him, he loves me, we're coming up on a year and what the hell happened to not being attached? I thought I'd gotten used to the single life! Accepted it even. And now I'm in so deep with this relationship business I don't know if I can survive without him.
Health reasons force me to stay in Canada and Travis to go back. We're apart for 9 months. We talk everyday. I rack up thousands of dollars in long distance. Go through many moments of very-nearly-breaking-up just because it would be easier than staying together through long distance. Because I'm afraid of working at it. I'm so used to just walking away that I can't imagine any other solution.
But I force myself to stay. He forces me to stay. And we work through things, and are better for it.
Towards the end of the nine months I am going crazy and know that if I don't go back to him I'll go off the deep end, so I quit my job and book a flight...to certain doom.
I'm still here. I got a job here in November and got fired in January. LIfe in Maui is worse, and I can't wait to get back to Powell River. But the one constant that has kept me upright, kept me going, even when I wanted to strangle him, is Travis.
He's healed so many of my wounds. Helped me to see my own beauty (which I didn't even know I had). Helped me to love myself, to see myself as a sexual being, to allow myself to be smart. He encourages my creativity, my interests, my passions -- he tells me to go for it when everyone else says I'll never make it.
And he, too, has been healed, though that is for him to articulate. Suffice it to say that I know we heal each other, and support each other, and love each other, more than I ever thought possible.
Travis is my most important constant. He's replaced drugs, alcohol, cutting, anti-depressants. This April will be a full two years since my last suicide attempt, my last anti-depressant, my last drug use, my last cutting. (I drink socially still, but not that often.)
I hate mathematics, but I will say my favorite ratio is 1:1 -- where one is he and one is me.
