A love letter to my future partner

To my future life partner,

I don’t know what to call you.  I don’t know that we’ll get married- the idea scares me.  No, the idea of divorce scares me.  The idea of being unhappily, legally bound to someone scares me the most.  Maybe we’ll have a huge wedding, with all the fabulous trappings.  You’ll look amazing in your tux and we’ll wear matching ear-to-ear grins.  Maybe we’ll just be commonlaw, our lives tangled together forever.  Regarldess, I’ll promise myself to you and you to me. 

We’ll have wonderful adventures; sometimes together, sometimes separate.  I like to have time and space to explore.  I hope you want the same.  I’ll miss you horribly, and I’ll be a little jealous of your adventures, but I won’t begrudge your urges to fly solo.   Besides, we’ll have reuniting to look forward to, and everyone knows that’s the best part. As long as we miss each other, everything will be ok.  It doesn’t matter if I’m scaling a mountain or laying by the beach, I’ll describe it to you in painstaking detail and promise you would’ve loved it.

I hope we have things in common.  There are a few non-negotiable social justice things we’d have to agree on.  I hope we have similar outlooks on life.  But I hope we’re different enough that we can teach each other all kinds of things.   I hope every day is a new adventure.

I have quirks.  I get lost in books, sometimes until the wee hours of the morning.  I may wake up in tears, mourning the loss of a fictional childhood, a fictional mother, sister, brother, child...my companions.  I am anal about where things belong in the kitchen.  I am a literal cookie monster.  I like to drink and mosh and crowdsurf and  I’ve traveled the world to see live music.  There are metal shirts stacked to my ceiling and I still buy more.  At the end of the day, I’m a work-aholic too.  I have weird priorities I guess.  I can’t sit still and I rarely watch movies.  I once told a boy I’m more moody than outright crazy, but if you can keep up, I promise to be your best friend.  I’ve got ears for listening, hands for baking cookies and shoulders to cry on.

A lot of people will come into our lives.  I consider myself lucky enough to have a wonderful circle of friends- men and women- that extends around the globe.   I love them all fiercely, but I will always love you the most.   I want to make everyone happy and save the world.  Sometimes you will suffer because of this.  I hope you can understand- sometimes you’ll suffer because I know you can bear it.  You’re the kind of person who knows that other people have bigger needs and need the extra love. 

There are lots of nights we’ll sit around and snuggle on the couch.  I can be a real homebody.  I hope we spend many nights, legs intertwined, reading on the couch.  Or in bed.  I’ll lean over and kiss you from time to time.  I hope you’ll do the same.  I hope we cook together and talk about our days.  I want to surprise you with special little things that remind me of you.

There’s nothing more beautiful to me than sharing a bed with someone every night.  I’ll hold your hands, hold your body close to me and tell you I love you.  Every night.  I’ll kiss your earlobes and eyelids and your fingertips…all of those places that no one notices but that compose you. 

I promise to love you always, faithfully, deeply and passionately.

I hope you return the expression.

xxoo
Lindsey

The Miseducation of Cameron Post by EM Danforth, review

I read it in one sitting. It's no secret how much I love YA fiction...I LOVE YA FICTION.

I especially love YA fiction that reveals how complex and complicated growing up can be.  Maybe because I'm still growing up and finding my own way too.

The Miseducation of Cameron Post represents everything I love about YA fiction.  It's real.  It's gritty.  I empathize with Cam, even if she's not always likable.  The whole way though, I'm cheering her on...and I wish she was my friend.

The first half of TMCP describes Cameron's life growing up in Miles City, Montana after the death of her parents.   Now, raised by her grandma and uber born again Aunt Ruth, Cameron has to navigate teenhood. Growing up in a semi-rural/suburban area, this part of the book sounded very familiar.  Lots of exploring places we need not explore, closerthanclose friendships, and in this case, sexual experimentation and pot smoking.  What I like about this half is that Cameron seems so...real, so much like kids I went to school with.  Nothing in the book seems forced, including Cameron's sexuality- it's all very fluid and complex.

The second half of the story focuses follows Cameron through a "pray the gay away" camp.  I found this part of the story to be...well, horrifying and uncomfortable.  Not because of the writing, of course, but because it scarily accurately reflected some beliefs....

This book is wonderful.  The characters are complicated and well-written, accurately revealing how complex teen life can be.  Danforth's beautiful writing style places me right there, on the Montana plains.  I feel Cameron's struggle, her confusion, her defiance and her emptiness and betrayal. The Miseducation of Cameron Post, at 400+ pages, is a well-worth it summer read.

I really wish I knew Cameron Post in real life.

...

i really feel like ive hit rock bottom.

dc was supposed to be a whole new start- new career, new opportunities, new life.  .  instead, in the face of neverending economic recession, i've decided to take my seven years of education and start my own business.  except even that is moving slow as molasses.  there are too many people to count on, and when one mysteriously stops, the whole process screeches to a halt.  i miss when i literally controlled every aspect of my work.  i don't miss the stress of grad school or thesis, but i miss my work ethic.  i miss my drive.  i miss not having to count on any single person.  that was nice.

i find myself longing for my old life, a life i can't have back. i lived with my closest friends and my amazing boyfriend.  we all spent a lot of time together.  they drove me nuts and i returned the favor.  but i loved them.  id like to believe everything was rosy and perfect there, but it wasn't.  outside of the safety of our old yellow house, i was still an outsider.  i think maybe...three people came to my going away dinner.  i invited close to 50 local people.  but that mattered less because i had my house.

here i have nothing.  i have a menial low low paying job.  i'm trying to be ok with this.  i like the idea of being able to travel off and on over the next year .  woo, indepedent contractor!  i don't like that i am working like 15 days in a row...but hey MONEY IS MONEY RIGHT.  besides, once this girl comes back from chicago, i give her back her route and i have...nothing again.

i dont even know where i was going with this.

sorry.

But Really, What am I doing with my life?

Alright, I'm resigned to the fact that I'll be walking dogs for a while.  I haven't been aggressively filling out job applications.  After walking my first round of dogs on Friday, I realized that I:

1. really love dogs and miss having woofs in my life.
2. like being outside and exploring the city.
3. have a lot of flexibility and freedom as an independent contractor.
4. actually have more responsibility- what with holding onto a ton of house keys and being responsible for people's pets and houses and whatnot.

Instead of pining for a museum job I might never get (damn you economy!), I am turning my attention to trips.  I have been dying to go to Sri Lanka to visit my friend Chath from the amazing GENOCIDE SHRINES, so hell with it.  I'm planning.  And Europe in the summer?  WHY NOT I ASK.  I need to travel.
I need inspiration.  I need to do something with my life.

My ex told me once that I "expect too much out of life" and that most people "just go to work, go home and do stuff occasionally." Certainly in the meh economy, this is doubly true.  But what does it hurt to horde my money and blow it on a few well-planned and much needed trips?  One can learn so much from travelling- about new foods, new cultures, new experiences...

I just need to write.  I need to fuel my desire to write.  Stories swirl in my brain, but I have little motivation to commit them to paper (or e-paper).  Writing remains my only skill.  Failing at art, music and sports, words are the only medium I can manipulate to evoke some sort of feeling.  Even in my academic writing, voice is my strong suit.  But this is all I have.  Even as a historian, my strongest suit wasn't research or theory, it was twisting words to suit my purpose, breaking down theory and rebuilding it much more simply.  Joan Scott, Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham, your theories- love them though I do- I simplified them.  Sorry.  (Not sorry.)

But where does this leave me?  Publishing is changing.  Writing is changing. More freelance, more saturation, more...self-promotion.  It's rough out there for everyone.  (Especially in the two fields I am decent at, ya jerks.)  As I strolled through the National Portrait Gallery today, examining galleries of new artists, I was reminded that nothing I could ever create would hang on a wall, somewhere, admired by thousands a day.  Even if I could link enough words for a book, it doubtlessly would remain unpublished and unread.  Who needs another coming-of-age heartwarming teen story?  

I'd just like someone from the future to swoop in and say "no no, it's all going to be ok.  Don't worry about a thing."

Working Hard, Enough

I start a new job as a dog walker.  I'm starting by taking someone's route for a month while she is working in another city with her start up.  There was so much wrong with my old job...I can't even begin to describe all the problems.  I can't describe the relief I felt when I left.  My last day was magical.  There's a handful of people I miss but...

I ultimately left so I could focus more on my magazine, have a more flexible schedule and be happier overall. My original job seemed like a networking paradise, but it turned out not to be.  Even though it's hot, I'm looking forward to spending some time outside with a dog every day.

I don't know where to start.  I never thought I'd work so hard in school...to be in a position where dog walking felt like a major step up in terms of happiness.  Moneywise...maybe not, but definitely sanity.
I worked so hard for my MA.  I worked hard for my BAs.  I didn't see myself as a curator right away, but I definitely saw myself as working a steady, full time job.

I also didn't see myself as being such a lazy flop.  I like working on my magazine, but right now I'm lacking any kind of guidance.  I still want to do stuff- learn Spanish/relearn reading, play bass, work on more music writing.  Shit, any kind of writing.  But it's like I...If I'm not going 100 mph with set goals, I am not going anywhere.

I need to make a schedule and stick to it.  Hopefully after this month, when I get my own dog walking clients in my own neighborhood, I can make a schedule and stick to it.  It's just a lot harder without goals.

The most frustrating part though, it that I worked so hard and it didn't matter.  The economy has dealt my profession a blow it might not recover from for quite some time.  We as a society have decided that we value arts and humanities- including history- less than we value STEM fields.  STEM is rad, and arts and humanities can teach students how to express themselves in writing, to evaluate sources, think critically...I'd like to think we also value these skills.  Although maybe we value the dollar more- STEM careers are just more in demand.  And those jobs got hit much less by the sequester.

*sigh*  At least I'll have more freedom.  I think I'll finally take my trip to Sri Lanka.  I'll work the metal cruise again.  I'll try to set some goals.  Get some things done.  Try to fight this brain atrophy.  Try to stop being my own biggest critic.  Stop trying to paint my future as bleak and sad.

Bursting with Pride for Girlhood and Humankind...

I could burst.  I can't stop smiling and a single tear rolls down my face every now and again.

Seriously, girls of the world are showing off how incredibly AMAZING they are.  TEEN GIRLS.  They receive a lot of flack for being...well, for being teenage and girls.  But today, two amazing teen girls showed the world how incredibly brave, wonderful and powerful teen girl voices can be.

http://www.sfgate.com/news/education/article/Malala-celebrates-16th-birthday-with-UN-address-4661150.php

Today, sixteen year old Malala Yousafzai gave a powerful and poignant speech about a child's right to education.  Surely many teens believe in access to education, but Malala- if you can recall- was shot by the Taliban for going to school.  Instead of hiding in fear, she delivers a beautiful, peaceful and moving speech to the UN.  On her birthday.  The UN declared it Malala Day.

http://www.upworthy.com/if-they-think-they-can-silence-this-female-rapper-just-look-at-what-she-does-to-defy-them?c=mrp1

In the face of death threats, Sosan Firooz, Afghanistan's first female rapper, presses on.  With the support of her father, she continues to rap and perform.  Despite family members disowning her, despite the fear of bodily injury or death, Sosan continues to stand up for herself, for girls and for self-expression.  She wants to help her family and eventually break into the international music scene.

I have never been more proud of teen girls.  Amazing and inspiring young women are the reason I started my own business- a teen girl empowerment magazine.  My heart could literally burst with pride and happiness and hope for the future.

Secondly- unfortunately a friend's mother needs a kidney transplant.  Luckily she found a match, a close friend.   However, even with insurance, the procedure (and medicine and recovery and other expenses) is costly.  My friend, Mitch, is trying to raise money to help cover the costs.  In one night, ONE NIGHT, they raised $8,000. He's so loved, and the world is wonderful for helping him out.  Some friends even made special shirts to sell.

It Isn't Over

I keep a lot of male company.  It's not that I dislike women, my interests just tend towards male-dominated (metal, history, drinking cheap whiskey)...

We talk about our break ups and our relationships.  Just chats about dating and the opposite (or the same) sex- getting stiffed, stood up, misled, falling in like- all of it.  It's great- the camaraderie is amazing.  We keep each other in check.  But sometimes these friendships rip my heart open more than anything else.  When shit's bad, when I'm feeling down, I turn to the same circle and end up repeating myself over and over.

Every single time, I can literally feel my heart crying out.  Stop, please, not again.

My ex is moving on.  Every now and again, we'll reassure each other "you always belong to me, you are my heart."  While I believe this to be true to some extent, it doesn't make it less painful to see him chasing after women- some of them, my friends.  Posting little cutesy faces on their pictures.  Posting pictures of him with many different women.  It still hurts.  

Again, it's not to say I live in some man-free bubble.  Although self-imposed celibacy may be my current lifestyle...well, I haven't been lacking in company.  

But, that's not the point.  I thought my ex was THE ONE.  We were together almost my whole adult life.  I thought if any person on the planet would go to the ends of the earth for me (and me for him), it would be him.  We planned to spend our lives together.  But when I had the most to gain from new opportunities- he wasn't there for me.  He chose to anchor himself to a dying city, a dying industry...to move back in with family, rather than to go to the ends of the earth for me when I needed him the most.

I lost more than a boyfriend, I love my best friend.  And...in doing so, I just wonder how I could ever find someone I was so compatible with again?  Do I want to kiss a lot of frogs, so to speak?  Does that person even exist?  Will I settle?  Do I even want another relationship?

I know I'm young, and I know my shit work situation is making all this more readily felt...but damn, I don't want to hurt this badly for this long ever again.

Can't Sleep Anymore

I already can't sleep because my bed is a gulf without you in it.

I made a real effort to get on a normal schedule and I had a horrible dream that you hurt me.  You didn't do it on purpose.  I can't be angry with you for the things you do now.  You can do whatever you want.

It's stupid and selfish and irrational and I hate it.

But I still love you.  I still miss you.

Remember all those nights I slept on the couch because we were fighting about the move?  I regret every single one.  If I would've known I couldn't sleep without you, I would've hugged you tightly every night no matter how angry I was.  Even though you were breaking my heart, I would've hugged you and kissed you and thrown my arms around you every single night.  

I don't know how to get over you.  I try not to talk to you, but I miss you.  You were my best and closest friend.  You read me like a book, knew all my secrets and knew every time I was full of shit.

We were together almost my whole...adulthood. Four and a half years.  Everyone, including us, thought we'd go the distance and be together forever.  We talked about marriage.  If I hated you, it'd be so much easier.  We only has the misfortune of being at a crossroads in our lives.  You're 30, you have ideas about how your life should be.  You've worked and lived.  I've just finished grad school and I'm just starting.  We've both had opportunities the other hasn't.

I miss you.
I can't sleep yet.

Ploits of a Single City Girl

This title is a bold faced lie.  I haven't had any exploits.  I've barely had any...ploits.  I'm sitting awake at 2 AM listening to 3 Libras by A Perfect Circle on repeat.  Ok, its 3 am and now I'm playing Agents of Oblivion. (330a and playing Alcest)  Slow sad songs for slow sad folks.  That's as wild as my life has been.  Ok, it's been a little more wild, I suppose, but that's more through circumstance than my own doing. When my life is exciting, it's because my friends are coming through on tour or because my normal friends are chasing happy hours- not because I am doing anything particularly fascinating.

That said, I haven't been single in...4 and a half years?  It's weird ending a relationship of that length for a number of reasons.  One of the most difficult parts of this ordeal- who am I kidding- there are two noticeable difficulties.  One is that I haven't slept since I've been here.  I bought this big amazing bed when I moved here and it seems so empty.  It's the most cliched thing ever.  Total romance movie bullshit, but it's true.  After sharing a bed with someone for over two years, my queen bed seems like an un-cross-able canyon.  No matter where on that stupid thing I sleep, there's so much empty space around me.  I spent a good chunk of cash on that bed and its like sleeping on a cloud- but I can only sleep there when I stay away to the point of sheer exhaustion.  I've moved onto the couch.  It's supposed to help after break ups, I guess.  I'm not sure if it helps.  So far it just assures I wake up mad early, since my east-facing windows make every inch of my house brighter than the sun by 7 am.  The second thing is that I have become this feelings monster.  Every emotion is right there, on the surface.  I cried at Paganfest.  Literal tears rolled down my cheeks in a room full of sweaty happy drunk strangers.  I cried more when I realized I was the only person who wasn't happy to be there.  I've never felt so lonely in a room full of people.  That night ended in chaos- sometime around 7 am when I finally got home.  Normally, I'd just tell Dan whatever I was feeling.  He took everything in stride.  Now I end up blathering on to near strangers in this strange verbal diarrhea fashion.  Before I realize what I've done, I've told a perfectly lovely stranger all about how I don't sleep because my bed is empty.  Now that's a pick up line!  It's no wonder the boys are not lining up- as if I even know what the fuck I'd want to give them and want from them.

Ugh. Ugggggggggggggh.  It's almost mortifying.  If a handful of wonderful people didn't put up with it, I probably would've lost my mind already.  I can already see people lose their patience with me though.  Texts get returned more and more slowly until they're not returned for days at a time.  Plans get broken.  I can hear it in people's voices- what was the sort of cute and tolerable quirk of a heartbroken girl has become an uncomfortable death rattle.  I get it.  And I'm sorry for dragging you all into my personal life.  I need to get a grip.  I know.  I'm trying.  No one said it would be easy.  Even when I don't talk about Dan, I can feel people getting sick of me.  It's like I forgot how to socialize.  I'm out of my element.  I think I misjudged my ability to bounce.  In the last few months, when we knew it was coming to an end, part of me became hardened because it was the only way I could exist in the same space as Dan, knowing it would end and not literally losing my shit every day.  After the move, I survived on hardness for two weeks.  When I learned he was pursuing someone new ("Not to replace you, never to replace you"), it ripped the wound clean open.  We're not talking a teeny papercut-sized scab, we're talking...when my friend broke his leg and the bone pushed through the skin?  Yeah, a scab like that.  When the wound was opened, everything came out.  Months- almost a year- of repressed sadness has come pouring out like a flood.  I suppose it's good to know my feelings for Dan were genuine and deep and meaningful, but I wish I could make it stop.  I've always been an emotional person, but I can't function every day when it feels like my heart is going to burst.  More often than not, I don't function.

In some sense, I've turned to going to shows and social drinking.  I've always been big on going to shows, of course.  My normal friends here chase happy hours and have weekend whiskey punches- habits I denied myself throughout graduate school- so that's new.  Plus, a lot of friends have come through on tour, and what's friendship without a few drinks?  Drinking doesn't really solve anything.  It kills time and temporarily makes me forget, but the hangovers suck and recovery days are boring alone.  On the plus side, and I guess this is where this post takes an amusing turn...I certainly have created a new "dealbreakers" list.

I guess dealbreakers is a bad term- it's not like I'm looking for a new significant other.  I'm not.  I'm not looking for anything in particular.  Perhaps a mutual adventure companion.  Someone who likes fun and sillyness and eating a lot of food.  This is proving to be difficult to find.

I am a magnet for men that...I don't even know how to put it.  I guess that sounds vain, but bear with me.  A disproportionate amount of the time, men over the age of 40 hit on me.  I guess that's nice, but when a man is old enough to be my father, my interest wanes.  I have a lot of friends in their 40s, but they never approached me by saying things like "Now, I know I'm a bit older than you..." or my personal favorite "I could be your dad you know."  Nothing gets a woman going like a much older man desperately jamming that "Daddy Issues" button.  I am a big hit with the over 40 crowd.  There are some things I like about friendships with people older than me; they take my weird-mean sense of humor in stride, they don't give a fuck about mundane bullshit and they usually have their shit more or less together in a way people my age (including me) do not.   Dealbreaker #1: Men old enough to be my dad.  Sorry guys.

I personally have a thing for long haired pretty dudes.  More often than not, I meet a beautiful guy in a band and...well nothing.  Dealbreaker #2: No touring musicians.  It's a good rule, it's a practical rule and it's one I intend to keep.

The rest is a mixed bag.  I dated an insanely jealous and manipulative human once before, and I have no intention of doing it again.  Therefore Sir Clingy Flincher, who flinches every time I mention a male friend's name is out.  Doubly out for getting annoyed that I couldn't hang out because I had previous plans with a (male) friend.  I'm not an adventurous eater- I'm even a little picky- but I am not afraid of trying new things.  So, King Nugget, who proudly proclaimed to only eat chicken fingers and pizza has got to be out.  I mean really- where do you take this person?!  I am really at a loss.  Dealbreaker #3: Cannot eat like a child.  Weird food quirks are a kind of crazy that should be spread out over time, with the rest of your crazy business.

It hasn't been all bad for sure.  There are a few people who's company I truly enjoy.  I've clung to them in a way that I think is overwhelming.  I shouldn't, it's awful and desperate and I know it.  I'm sitting here with no job, very few friends who have time for me and a huge hole in my heart.  I just try to make it through each day.  I enjoy my own company generally, but right now my own company is demons.  When I try to talk to old friends- who knew me before, during and after Dan- tell me to get over it, since I knew it was coming I should be fine, right?  They mean well, but its not particularly helpful.  I'm going to lose all my new friends if I can't get a grip on...myself.  Everything.  No one wants to fix a near-stranger and it's not their job.  They have lives and relationships and...entire ways of existing that don't involve me at all.  If they're not craftswo/men, they certainly don't want some project.

I just need to figure out how to get ahold of myself.  My new job is supposed to start in two weeks, which should help.  I just hope I don't drive everyone away before then.

Damn, what is my problem?

American History Museum Day: Everything I'd Gained

Today I played adventurer.  Although the weather was as perfect as its been since I moved here, the day started roughly.  Since I'm an American and public historian, I decided it was finally time to visit the National Museum of American History (NMAH).  On the way there though, I almost lost it.  I was seconds away from sobbing in front of the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center.  You know, because I just get so choked up when I hear/see Reagan's name.  Kidding!  It was in that moment, surrounded by beautiful Romanesque architecture when every emotion I've felt since moving here hit me all at once.

I had a moment for everything I'd lost and a moment toasting everything I'd gained.

Everything I'd lost and everything I'd gained.

Although this experience had little to do with the rest of my exploring, it felt revelatory and it sets the scene,  I guess, for my solo adventures.   If I hadn't uprooted myself, it would be nearly impossible to have the wonderful day I had today, at the very least. 

I had really low expectations for the NMAH, I'll admit this up front.  As a rule, I try not to set high expectations- but also, I was a little underwhelmed by parts of the National Zoo and the National Museum of American History.  Some of the exhibits in both haven't been updated in decades.  I feared the same would be true of the NMAH.  It's not as if these fields are stagnant- we find new thing and create new interpretations of the past every day- it's just that these enterprises receive less funding than other, more glamorous (and more explode-y) sectors of the economy. 

Conflicting Feelings

My life has changed radically.  I'm living just outside DC now, in a tiny mini-city.  I live in a high-ride building, which is like living in a fancy hotel.

Everything is different.  It feels so temporary.  It's strange no longer being with my boyfriend.  We're still talking and I'm sure we'll talk quite a bit until he goes on tour in Europe.  The temporary feeling of the high-rise only compounds the strangeness.  I forget for moments that I actually live here now.  That I am looking for jobs here.  That I have bought tickets to concerts here in the future.  In those moments, I wait for him to come through the door before I remember that he decided not to come.  It's a type of sadness I've never known.

I thought I'd be a crying mess, but I'm not.  Maybe it's because the whole move seems surreal.  My sadness is more deep-seated and permanent.  Crying resolves things.  This cannot be resolved.

Simultaneously, I couldn't be more thrilled to be here.  I applied to a handful of jobs and volunteer positions that were all directly related to my field.  (Except one, where I inquired at a doggy daycare.  I love pups.)  These opportunities were completely lacking in Florida, there is no doubt about that.  Even the unpaid positions were amazing- exhibits tour guide at the Smithsonian?  Tour guide for a hostel?  There were NO opportunities like that in Florida, and if one came up they were highly competitive with no room for advancement and little networking within the industry.   So for all of this, I am excited.  I am excited to start my new business here, to explore this bustling and huge metropolis, to see the incredible surrounding areas.

The first week was rough.  My mom helped me move and get settled in.  She discovered she had a gnarly triple or quadruple infection.  She lovingly gave me some of her germs and we both found ourselves in a walk-in clinic, being prescribed a course of antibiotics (yuck).  I spent today, the most beautiful day so far, laying on my air mattress (because my furniture is lost in the Rooms to Go abyss) watching junk TV and barely moving a muscle.  I went to the grocery store during rush hour and some crazy lady almost ran me over with her scooter.  If I could have picked any first week, this certainly was not it.

I don't doubt for a second that I made the right choice.  I did.  But the weight of the sadness can be too much in some quiet moments.