It’s Friday night and some pretty young thing my age somewhere is lining her lips and putting on shiny heels for a night out. That girl is not me. I can see my shiny heels from where I write this, the silver pair with the rhinestone adornment that one of my BFF’s gave me on my graduation day shimmer like a promise made on a shooting star. Instead I am swimming in laundry and packing bags to head out to a bush camp in the morning. I am perpetually in a state of transition and miss the days of pretty heels. Instead I am home..on my floor.. with the Friday night feels.
Yes. I made that rhyme on purpose.
I’m the person that needs to laugh about things, because each time I laugh, I heal. Sometimes the laugh hits a little too close to home and it’s that hard laugh that slowly turns into the awkward cry. Surface scratched.
Me yesterday at a workshop I was facilitating:
Me *puts music on the stereo system and the first song that comes on is a slow sad one*
Group of small girls behind me stare.
Smallest one pipes up, “You going through something? This song is sad!”
Me: …….. *blank stare . walks away*
I couldn’t very well say, “yes little girl I am going through something currently and it feels like my heart is getting ran over by an ice cream truck that is playing very sad sounding music on it’s rickety speakers. AND there’s no ice cream in said truck, and it’s missing a hubcab. And there it’s on a grey day in an isolated abandoned neighbourhood. And my heart is just laying there, all ran over like. That’s what I’m going through little girl and one day when boys stop having cooties, you may very well hear the blasted music of an icecreamless ice cream truck that’s out for blood. God forbid”.
Mic drop. Sad little girl.
That would probably result in the ending of my career in that community hahah. So instead I just walked away, but I told this story on the way home to my co-worker who knows my current heart situation and we laugh hard.
Me: “This reminds me of when people laugh too hard and then inevitably break down crying,”
Her: “Well this is the perfect time. It’s dark out. I wouldn’t be able to even tell if you WERE crying!”
We laugh. I almost cry.
We usually play “lets diagnose the rapper” on the drive home and we listen to lyrics from my playlist. “Dude definitely has some attachment disorders,” or, “delayed grieving process?” but the drive home became more like.. Let’s see how long into a song we can get before a lyric fucks with Helen’s heart. Skip. Skip. Skip. Fuck. Skip. I became the living diagnosis.
My cousin asked me to go on a yearlong man break with her. I love her but she likes to invite me on the things she sometimes fears to do alone. I’m like… I’m good, did you not read my blog? I did 30 days man free, I don’t know what you want from me. I’m basically a Vet on man breaks. Hard pass. But now, the idea is sounding more attractive. A yearlong sabbatical from men. I do not know how I could find enough material to write for a year on a man break after 120 days with no flirty male contact, no dates, not a single possibility on the horizon.
Day 121: I see men sometimes, walking towards me with sultry gazes, full of witty banter and charm, and then realize they are mirages. I’m parched. So…parched.
Day 160: Let my leg hair grow and get prickly so I can run my fingers over something. It’s a reminder that I have feelings.
Day 200: Made a new friend. Blog readers, meet Wilson.
I’m sure it would not be as bad as that and I know it would be full of more self-discovery but I’m feeling like… if I do that and come out even more amazing and self-aware and grounded… how much harder would it be for me to find a partner at the same emotional stage in their evolution? That’s definitely not a reason for me to not evolve as a human being and I will never hold myself back. But I just want to highlight that the struggle is real.
Besides, I’m pretty sure by writing and maintaining this blog I scare a good host of men away from ever wanting to date me. Minus the guy that after my last post went out of his way to say that he hopes I never run out of ice cream… does that mean you’re wishing me a lifetime of heartbreak? Or you want me to get fat so I can stay alone? What? hahah… Ahhhhhh.. Moving Forward.
I received a Valentines today, a “Gal-entines” if you will, from my fabulous writer friend in Vancouver and on the message in the back was… “Long distance hey? : ) ” . Which was more statement than question regarding my already gone relationship which was long distance. My relationship died in between the time it took to write that postcard and for it to be sent somewhere in the same province.
I was like WOO I get a Valentines card after all… then I was like… One that still reminds me that I’m single. It feels like the slow clap in movies but one that doesn’t get picked up by the other people and instead of turning into a standing ovation…it’s just a lonely clap.
It hurts to feel unwanted. I said that to my Best Friend who becomes my lifeline during times like these. She mentioned that I am probably wanted by more than a few men. Yes, but it hurts to feel unwanted by someone you really wanted. She tells me all the things a best friend is supposed to and I say yes.. It isn’t me. I am wanted. I am lovely and amazing and… Still it stings a little.
I don’t know many other ways to cope with the darkness but to poke it till it bleeds light.
I don’t know who all reads this but I can imagine some people are like holy, she is all trying to save the Peace River Valley and is a hard ass warrior woman. This really can’t be a concern for her at the moment.
Only a fool dismisses matters of the heart and I ….am all heart.
or quite possibly a giant fool lol