ALL I REALLY WANT

I’ve had a few busy days here and there.  Take a couple Wednesdays ago for example.  I got all of my banking/401K settled, paperwork for new accounts finalized,  frequent flyer miles reported, taxes filed...  I revised an assignment that I did last semester that apparently impressed my professor enough at the time that I’m being nominated for the “Superior Writer” departmental award.  (I’m a little excited about that.)  And even got to a coffee shop to do a little of my own writing.  This was all in one day.  Yay for me!

But not everything has been all sunshine and lollipops.  In fact, if you ever hear me utter that (or similar) phrase, you would do well to remain aware of my biting sarcasm.  So…  Here’s the skinny.  I had a little bit of heartbreak as of recently.  No one’s fault but my own, and I mean that.  I saw the red flags, and I ignored them against better judgment.  It’s not the first time I’ve let myself want something I knew I shouldn’t be wanting, and not the first time someone decided they didn’t want me…  or the second… or third…  But regardless, just a bit of bad luck, right?  The thing that caught me off guard was how rattled I ended up by it in the long run.  And by rattled, I suppose I mean saddened.  Not that it’s anything I won’t get over.  Not that it’s by any means the worst I’ve been through.  Not by far.

I guess I’m just mad at myself for allowing it to get to that point in the first place.  But what makes this more complicated?  My battle with REpression.  Through the years, I’ve had some pretty crappy things happen.  Most of the stories I tell are finished with a joke, a laugh, and a brush off of “that’s life” and “que serra…”  But this has caused some difficulties.  All those utterances and denials of things actually bothering me have caused me to repress.  And A LOT of those bizarre, once forgotten, memories have been bubbling out in very inconvenient spurts recently.  Sometimes, I’ll be sitting in class and suddenly have to wipe away tears, praying no one sees.  (I tend to want to hit something when others see me cry and there have been few over the years I’m comfortable with seeing me have such a show of emotion.)  Or driving down the road, trying to catch my breath because I suddenly find myself bawling.  …stupid memories.  But point is, I’m trying REALLY hard to not fall into a habit of repression.  I don’t need to put emotions on layaway.  Or at very least, I shouldn’t be doing that.  I should be dealing with emotions as they come like a healthy person.  …I’ve picked a HELL of a time to stop repressing.  Part of getting out of that habit is forcing myself to not say things like, “oh well” and pretend that I go unaffected.  It is unfortunate that I can’t completely hide my feelings on this particular matter (the bit of heartbreak), as I don’t want anyone to feel guilty (and they shouldn’t).  But I guess part of my process of moving on is going to have to be not pretending that I’m happy about it.

Some Amateur “Professional Help”.

When I started to notice odd clips of memories surfacing, and strange things upsetting me from decades ago, I decided that since I have free counseling services through the school, why not take advantage of them?  It could be helpful to me, as well as give the graduate students that run these sessions as a form of "internship," a chance to meet with someone that has more to say than "homework is stressful."  And yes that's an exaggeration, and I'm not saying that problems of the typical college-aged student are to be belittled.  I've seen some rather...  HARD life experiences in EVERY age group.  I'm just willing to bet most of the councilors don't have many divorced 20 year olds walking through their door.

I started sessions that are more to do with working through some past issues on the subject of family and residual fears left over from my former marriage than anything.  But, I guess there is an end game in sight to it all.  And that is, my inability to trust, or let walls come down, and the not wanting to want a relationship with ANYONE.  How I try and convince myself that it's something I don't want.  How I fight it, tooth and nail, and then usually just end up hurt anyway.  How it’s become my increasing concern that many of the problems I’ve encountered within relationships are spurred from my own reactions and fear of a situation evolving into a relationship.  …am I getting to complex here?  Nevermind.  Let’s just move on, shall we?

A couple sessions ago, it was requested of me that I write down all of the things I would desire in a relationship.  …There’s a problem with that assignment.  Psychologists shouldn’t see psychologists.  And I, unfortunately have been studying the science of psychology for far too long…  So I understood what underlying factors the therapist was going to be looking for in my answers.  What different answers would indicate.  (And that makes it harder to be completely honest or not cater to what they are looking at.)  But I forced myself to begrudgingly play along.  By time I was half way through my list I felt like Sandra Bullock’s character in Practical Magic.

I started to wonder if half of the things I was writing down were impossible.  That if I wasn’t making a list that could never be fulfilled, just so I could have an excuse.  And if someone came along that fit…  would I just tell him it wasn’t real and run again?

So what was on this magical list?  Sorry, the specifics I’ll keep to myself for now.  If you want an idea you can listen to this while you read the rest…

This song used to speak to me on quite the deep level.  Still does I suppose.  But it’s been refreshed…  Why?  Because that song reminds me of someone.  Someone I’ve tried to avoid.  Someone I cut from my life.  Someone that’s been REALLY mean to me…  And someone I’ll never be completely over.  Someone I would give ANYTHING to be over.  Someone that was part and partial to my reasons for getting the hell out of Dodge, er….  Lake Geneva.  It’s no secret that it’s easier to get over someone if they aren’t popping up on your facebook news feed every ten minutes, or hanging at the same haunts as you and around the same friends as you.  Distance can make the heart grow colder.  And I needed to put a fair amount between he and I.  I deleted lines of contact, I stopped going places I might bump into him, and I moved.  Abolishing repression be damned, there are some things you just need to handle in smaller doses.

And last week, this person, intruded upon my life once more.

Chance Encounters?

Just ONE week after my freshly broken heart, 5 days to be specific, I found myself sitting at a coffee shop for a business meeting for an upcoming new acting gig.  And who should walk in?

I was okay with it at first.  I looked at it as a test.  The last time I knew I had to see this person I had a panic attack.  So here was my chance to face some things.  And after all, it was just one conversation.  One little random coincidental meeting at a coffee shop.  And three hours of conversation later... didn’t do much harm or good.  It just “was.”  Except…   Except for one little pebble of information stumbled upon.  It had come to light that this person is looking at a job.  Not just any job.  A job in my field of interest.  In my new little corner of Wisconsin.  And then questions began about what rent was like in that area, if I “don’t mind the question, of course.”

Do I mind the question?  No.  Of course not.  Do I mind you considering moving to my new town?  After all I have done to get away from you?  After all the distance I purposely have been putting between us?  I haven’t seen you with the exception of three or four times in the last year, have hardly said “hi” and “bye” on those occasions, and you pop into my life talking my ear off only a week after my heart is broken?  REALLY!?  And you’re going to tell me you’re moving to my new town almost an hour away?  And then hug me goodbye as if we're close friends again?

So, what am I supposed to think?  Chalk it up to coincidence?  To fate?  That this person and I have been crossing paths since we were children?  Is it time to admit that we just have too much in common to trust that we can avoid each other?

All I know is I’m tired.  And now that I’m committed to a four year school…  if he decides to move here, going into the same field that I am…  I guess I’m going to have to get comfortable with him being around.  …and his little girlfriend too.  ...Or switch schools, and put a greater distance between us, which I'm not opposed to.  (I really liked Miami, and the University down there wouldn't be a terrible transfer.)

Again.  It doesn’t bother me when a man decides to not want me.  But being reminded of the fact day in and out…  is a little more distressing.  I don’t need to constantly bump into people that have rejected me, making old wounds fresh every time.

But I’m keeping faith that someday… SOMEDAY, my prince will come. 

….

………..

……………..

And I’ll probably push him off his horse and ride far enough away where I can at last be alone in peace.

In the meantime, let's look at a prime example of the "princes" that are actually out there, shall we?  The following is a unaltered "conversation" I had online last week.

""

Mystery man #1: Hi

Mystery man #1: How R doing

               

Mystery man #1: Ur look sexy

Me after 3 DAYS of ignoring these messages:  I "R" doing fine. And thank "UR" for thinking that I'm sexy. But if being honest, I'm too old for you, and prefer to chat with someone that can utilize proper vocabulary and grammar. Intelligence is a priority.

               

Mystery man #1:  I like u  ""

........Quality stuff, guys.  Quality stuff.  And people wonder why I prefer to be alone?
All I really want?  Is some peace, man.

Miami Trip; Day 3 (final)

Miami Trip Day 3…  And then some.

Originally written January 12^th 2012

                Well, last night left me in a bad mood and frustrated as all hell.  I ordered pizza, as I suspected I might, and the price charged was…  well in a word, outrageous.  Bad quote on the phone, and when the delivery charge and tax was more than the meal itself, I shoved the pizza back at the delivery guy.  We haggled a bit, and he finally accepted 15 dollars for what was originally supposed to be a 7 dollar pizza.  They wanted 17 plus tip…  I’m very tired, even today still, and I wasn’t in the mood for scammers.  How I managed to end up with the pizza and the delivery guy giving apologies…  I’m not sure.  I assume my Sicilian temper/assertion probably showed somewhere within the argument.

                And what made last night all the better?  After cycling through a few of my pictures from the zoo that I managed to snap of myself I noticed something odd.  One side of my face is a little… “droopy.”  Did I temporarily contract Bell’s Palsy?  I looked it up to see exactly what it is, and the symptoms seem related to the inflammation around a group of nerves, and exaggerated by stress…  Did I sleep wrong?  What the hell?  Function upon waking this morning seems a little better than my attempt of making faces in the mirror last night.  I took some Ibuprofen as well to deal with any inflammation issues…  Oh well, if I have it, it’s the most mild case I’ve seen, and I’m going to stop thinking about it and get on with the trip.

                I’m in the hotel lobby waiting for Juan and his shuttle.  I need to get a rental car to make it down to Key Wast.  It’s about 9 am so I should make it between 1 and 2 pm.  I’m nervous, but confident I’ll get over that.  There are moments that you think to yourself, “what the f&#k am I doing?”  And it is in my experience that those are always the moments that end with you thinking, “I did it.”

                I’ve come this far.  I know I will make it the rest of the way.

AFTER THE SHUTTLE

                It wasn’t Juan driving.  That’s bittersweet.  He was so friendly and much “cheerier” than this other driver, and I was looking forward to saying goodbye to/thanking him.  But at least the ride was quiet.

                I made it to the car rental only to find they were out of cars.  But all was not lost.  I was directed to another rental that could help.  …And when they were also out of cars, they directed me to ANOTHER place.  Sometimes my, “on a whim” adventurous attitude can be a nuisance.  And WOW, expensive.  …and only getting more so.  BUT I made it.  I faced my fear of city driving (in a strange city, no less) and my anxiety of bridges.  I know it’s strange to have a fear of bridges, but not heights, and all I can do is reference my observations on the mother with the giraffes at the zoo.  (See previous post.)  The fear of bridges thing, or so I’ve been told in the past, came from my mother.  Another observation I have to make, is I seem to be more comfortable with driving over bridges myself, than as a passenger. But if I was going to put it to the test, I picked a HELL of a long bridge to do so.

                I’m in Mallory Square….  (Or at least what I THOUGHT was supposed to be Mallory Square, which left me very confused why it was so small.  I was just going by the signs.)  And I’m waiting for my friend Josh who said “they” would meet me here.  I’m not sure who “they” is in reference to, but I’m assuming his family.  The sun is finally peeking out but it’s just plain too cold to go snorkeling today, which was within my original intentions either before or after meeting these friends, or in lieu of altogether.  Not having that option is a disappointment, having made such a trip.  I love snorkeling/exploring coral reef, but it’s beautiful all the same.  No matter.  When all is said and done I suppose I’ve accomplished the most of what I intended to, and that is worth every penny spent thus far.

                We’re supposed to grab food later, but I’m indulging in a hotdog and banana smoothie to hold me over while I write this and wait.  I have yet to eat today otherwise.  My budget is getting increasingly tighter.  It’s funny to think that after all I’ve done and spent so far, this hotdog and smoothie may be what pushes my finances over the edge.  I suppose it’s a good thing it’s too cold to go snorkeling after all.  I’d have buyer’s remorse over the rental equipment.  But I have faith my finances will work out once I’m home somehow.  Now what is THAT about?  Since when do I have faith, of any kind again?

So a fun fact to add, while I sit here under a tree on this wood platform…  There are chickens here.  Chickens and Roosters.  Chickens on the streets, and pigeons on the beaches.   I’m so confused.  I keep tossing them bits of bread from my hotdog bun and a few of the Plantain straws I packed.  They seem to enjoy them.

The chickens weren’t the only ones to decide they loved Plantains.  Josh and his family found me, and with them I found the REAL Mallory Square—where I spent the most of my time watching Nick and Mark perform, and sitting on the edge of the water feeding the gulls the remaining chips.  Brave little buggers soon learned to take them straight from my hand.  And the next thing I knew they were trying to land on me for better access.  …until the dog came about.  Cute Golden retriever—fetched tips for his master, and placed them in a bucket.  The overcast sunset dropped in the background, and the weather was only turning colder.

I got a couple of brilliant pictures as we were departing the square.  It’s funny how sometimes a camera lens fails to do something justice, and other times does it just a little too much…  But regardless, THIS is the REAL Mallory Square.

 

After that it was on to wings, and drinks (of which I could not participate as I had a long drive ahead of me.)  The wings were HUGE, and inspired jokes and banter about giants in chicken costumes, or this being the reason so many chickens were roaming about the streets.  Images of giant feral chickens viciously taking out cats and dogs in back alleys.  It was good fun, and the search for my rental car came all too quickly.  I said goodbye, and in the soon to be downpour, set off for my drive back to the Miami airport.  It was a horrible drive.  They closed a section of the bridge down to one lane for some reason, and somewhere along the trip sleep decided it was going to overpower me enough to inspire me to pull off in a restaurant parking lot for a quick nap.  I think this was on Key Largo.

                I returned the car, changed in the airport bathroom, and despite my sweater and jeans, proceeded to FREEZE in the 50 degree air conditioned airport until I could check in to my flight before the sun was even up.  Maybe this was just fate's way of preparing me for my return to Chicago.  Where a snow storm was currently hitting.

If this post seems a bit short, for having taken so long to write... it's because after much deliberation I’m afraid I cannot share some of the other details of the Key West experience as they are not my stories to share.  I enjoyed myself though.  A bitter-sweet feeling.  I enjoyed myself, and hate myself for that fact.  But I can’t explain why just yet.  Not in this posting.  For now, I'll just sit back and savoir some of that bitter-sweet I suppose.  An acquired taste, no doubt.

MIAMI TRIP; Day 2

As with the other posts, most of this was written in chunks throughout the day, starting and stopping.  So bits may feel a little choppy.  Usually a series of "....................." will indicate one of those break points.

                I woke this morning feeling a bit of a burn.  Not much.  I don’t burn easily.  As intended I pulled my ass out of bed to hit the continental breakfast.  It was gross.  Two types of cereal, coffee, bagels, (that someone was touching and putting back on the platter…) and cookies and orange juice.  Not a bad selection...  but I'm picky when it comes to breakfast food.

                The bagel was the only appealing option, until I saw Mr. Grabby handling all of them.  So I left, remembering seeing a Burger King when I accidentally went the wrong direction yesterday, which just so happens to be the direction I needed to head for the zoo.  So that’s where I am as I write this.  Sitting in a rather….  Erm….  Seedy looking part of Miami, biding time at a Burger King.

                OOOoops!  Only a couple minutes ‘til my bus.  Gotta Go!

(Continued on Bus.)

                As I was saying…

                This part of Miami is not as “fun” as other parts.  It’s sad to see the more poverty stricken sections.  There are homeless here.  The inner city had beggars.  These are people that ask for nothing more than a table at a Burger King to sit at and wait for life to stop being cruel to them.  A table they are often denied and shooed away by management.  These are people in need of a miracle.  …These are people.  From the guy that was muttering to himself on the subway and then complaining to me about people calling him on his cell phone, to the gentleman that “made a mess” of his table at the fast food place, though I didn’t see anything more than a couple of crumbs….  These are people.

                So I made it to my bus…  but with a heavy heart.

                I’m still looking forward to the zoo but the day is not starting off well.  Breakfast mishaps and heavy hearts aside, I had one other little thing go awry.  As my room safe was closing it bounced back open and now won’t close again.  I wisely still left my more important credit card and passport in the room, but not as secured.  And I can’t be sure that they won’t charge me for the safe mishap either.  My head is a mess of stress, and I’m nervous about driving tomorrow to boot.  As well as about seeing certain individuals…

                In general, my highest expectation for today at this point is for the weather to hold out until tonight.  I’d rather not return from the zoo drenched in rain.

…………………………..

The zoo has been fun so far.  I was disappointed, when first walking in, to find that the reptile house was closed.  But not to worry—it would seem there are reptiles EVERYWHERE!

                The zoo is divided into nations and continents rather than animal classifications.  Therefore, as each nation has snakes, fish, frogs, etc….  you get a dose of everything little by little.  Actually, I’m almost on reptile overload at this point.

                It’s cooling down and I’m a little more than half way through the park.  I just fed a giraffe, which was a fantastic experience.  I only got a 3 dollar bucket of Kale, and they had bigger bowls, but I figured it bests if I moved along.  I would have stayed there all day otherwise.  It was a great experience….  Yet also a prime display of “inherited fear.”  A mother feeding a giraffe-kinda whined and ran away immediately after releasing the food.  The children were instantly terrified, one of which—when told it was his turn to feed it—made a run for it.  The mother, I was baffled to see, scolded the child, insisting there was nothing to be afraid of.  I think the children were impressed to see me so readily approach once I got my bowl of greens.  We were all instructed not to try and pet the giraffe, but that was a difficult urge to resist.  While I couldn’t touch them, I did talk to them and had to give one a nudge every now and then.  The bull, greedy fellow that he was, was not letting me feed the cow very easily.  I kept having to force myself between the two and tell him to be patient.  …I’m sure I inspired a couple of odd looks, but who cares.  I used to talk to my pet snake with no ears, so I’m not going to feel too abashed for talking to a giraffe.

                Excited about having fed them, I left the platform so that others may have room.  I updated my facebook status, talking about the giraffes…  Then began contemplating being here again.  To be here.  To be bold enough to come here on my own….  It was one another one of those moments of pride thinking, I’m here because I was brave enough to hop on a plane…  and take a train…  and a bus…  through a seedy looking neighborhood…  alone.  Because I was, am, bold enough to come here alone.  Most of the people here are groups or couples.  I have to wonder if some of them didn’t just pair up for fear of needing someone to do things with.  Well…  at least I’ll know that will never be my issue.  I'm quite comfortable alone.

                …but then, I did start thinking about relationships.  (And I’m editing this down a bit for privacy sake of others now.)  I started thinking about the why’s and why-nots.  Sorting how I feel.  Why there’s a good chance that a relationship, any relationship, just isn’t going to work for me.  Or at least isn’t a good idea.  And how that means… that this may or may not mean the end of something I’ve been teetering on for a while. 

                By the time I reached the next display containing the gorillas, I heard a remarkable little voice.  “Mommy, why does she look so sad?  She looks like she’s gonna cry.”  I looked to my left and a little girl with a the most remarkable sparkling blue eyes was looking at me from the park bench she shared with her mother.  “She’s pretty mommy.  Mommy, she’s pretty.  Why is she sad?”  Her mother just gently shushed at her, and I laughed at myself.  I forced a smile as best I could at the incredibly honest, and all the more observant, little girl, and moved along.  Leave it to children to show us the truths we avoid.

                So now I’m sitting with the chimps, watching them watch us, and catching orange halves from the keepers.  I’m not sure how much longer I can sit here.  The weather is threatening rain, and the wind is picking up.

................................

I got some great pictures.  Most of which I intend to use for writing suite 101 articles.  Hell, maybe I can talk to Andy and see if some of this trip is tax deductable.

                It would appear that I beat the storm out.  Felt a couple of drops of rain, and the wind was gusting, but not bad.  I had to sacrifice the parrot feeding station, but if it was a trade in time for the giraffe, I’m glad for it.

                I don’t know what I want to do about tomorrow still.  I’m tired, and walking around for hours on end two days running is just a bit much.  A solid 3 miles of trail through the zoo have my feet blistering some.

                It’s funny how when I first got here, I worried that there wouldn’t be enough time to do everything I wanted.  Technically, there isn’t.  I would have to live here for that.  …Like the ghost tour.  There seem to be several different tours from Miami to the Keys.  That’s something I’d LOVE to explore.  But I’m out of cash and admittedly ready to go home I think.  I’ll have to find food for tonight.  Maybe I’ll order pizza.  I kinda just want to get to the hotel, check my messages, and just shut down for the night.

MIAMI TRIP; Day 1

As promised, I kept a journal of my experiences through each day of the journey.  Not having anyone with me, I had time to talk to the paper instead of to ears.  Something I liked.


Some of the following will be rough and broken into chunks.  That's just the way the note taking on thoughts and observations went.  I'm editing it some from the original for...  well for privacy sake on some portions, and for smoother transitions elsewhere.  But still a forewarning that it could be a little choppy in places.




DAY 1 (Tuesday January 10th 2012)







Musings on a Beach


I just saw my first jelly fish up close and personal.  About two feet away from my leg.  And my method of thought was, where there's one...  Well, I couldn't help but imagine many more close behind.  I tried to move, but not move too fast.  I don't know much about jellyfish, but from what I could assume, jelly fish aren't like bees (which I get along with.)  contact=sting.  Jellyfish don't have brains, thus no conscious control.  (Since being back,   I looked this fun fact up, and turns out I'm right.  Even dead jellyfish can sting just from contact.)


And then, sitting on the beach, I see them, littered about.  Poor little things.  Turning blue and puffy, baking in the sun.  I am also baking, but turning red rather than blue, and losing some of the "sparkle" I once expected to see my pale skin emit.


It's beautiful here.  The sun is bright and warm.  The "locals" however are all wearing sweatshirts and jeans.  Only tourists are so comfortable here this time of year.  That goes for swimming too.  The water is cool.  Even being used to Wisconsin lakes, the temperature took me by surprise.  But riding the waves, tasting the salt, feeling the breeze and soft sand beneath my feet, it was well worth the chill.


There are pigeons on the beach, calling this sunny paradise home as easily as a Chicago street corner.  I don't know why I find this so amusing.  Something about "beach" just doesn't inspire "pigeon" by association.  I was a little concerned for the salt water at theory.  I remember the salt water experience from Hawaii, and its potency.  And the day before my flight, I fell down the stairs.  Wrenched my ankle, bruised my ass, and scraped my foot.  Injuries that are not the most ideal for either walking around a city or swimming in salt.  But the scrape thankfully seems to have healed.  The rest of my legs however are irritated.  Very irritated.  Which makes me paranoid of the jellyfish again, and how I'm lucky, seeing as I don't have anyone to pee on me.

The trip to the beach was an interesting one.  And getting back will be more so.  (Speaking of being alone.)  I met a Vietnam veteran, with many interesting stories to tell in the short time we talked.  He helped me find my way around, gave me some sound words of advice, and treated me as if I were his grandchild.  And no, most of his stories were not about his war experience.  He has lived an interesting life and most recently found himself stuck in Miami, (from Chicago) after falling through the bathroom floor of his studio apartment here.  He warned me not to give my money to anyone, and parted ways in the end with a “God Bless” and an insisting I program the Miami transportation phone number into my phone.

I haven’t had anything to eat yet today.  I slept through the first continental breakfast.  I guess I had some measure of jet lag.  Also the clocks are an hour later here so breakfast was done by 8:30 my time.  But no matter.  I will find food on the way back to the hotel while doing some sightseeing and shopping.  Dinner at least.

When I woke this morning—one of the many times I woke, that is—it was to the sound of a screeching parrot.  I love the little details that make a place so alien.  Another example was while digging out a seat on the beach in the sand.  (why lug around a lawn chair when sand will custom form fit to you?)  While digging, I unearthed what I had thought to be dog droppings.  It wasn’t for another hour that I realized it was a piece of sea sponge.  Like the jellyfish, this is where I say, “poor little thing.”

Getting some sun I think will be good for me.  Replenish my vitamin D and serotonin.  I must admit that sitting here my worries and troubles seem less burdening.  Part of coming here—a lot of coming here—was to sort out my head and heart.  I just don’t understand myself sometimes.

I still don’t know if I’ll have any answers by time I’m finished here, but maybe the walk back to Lincoln Ave will get me to some kind of conclusion.  I feel I need to reach some kind of decision before the end of this trip.  At least where the heart is concerned.  And at least before… (Sorry folks, after some deliberation, a bunch of this next paragraph or two had to be edited out.)

Getting to the zoo is going to be interesting.  The hotel shuttle doesn’t go there.  It would seem it doesn’t really go anywhere.  And the public transportation is going to be tricky to figure out so fast.  I’m determined though.  Tonight once back at the hotel, I’m hoing to accomplish some writing.

The pool…  is closed.  But I’m probably going to sit by it anyway.  As it is going on 3pm I suppose I best get walking.  I’ve accomplished all I intended with swimming and am going to start my walk back, and try to find a changing booth along the way.

FOOD GLORIOUS FOOD.

I found a place to change.  After walking down the beach/bardwalk and asking a gentleman about whether or not a restroom for the public even existed he told me to hurry behind the two gentlemen that he was just speaking with, who were returning to the hotel with bried instruction on how to “sneak in” and where the restroom was located.

I was successful, obviously, and after some walking down the boardwalk I caught a bus and found myself to Lincoln.  I had been advised by a lovely couple on the plane to Philadelphia, as the wife had once lived in Miami, what Lincoln Mall rd was a must see on my way.  I’m glad for the advice.  I am eating at Rossinella's, outside.  To have a fresh prepared meal outdoors sounds just wonderful.  It's an Italian restaurant, and it appears they do things right.  I was impressed by their menu's description of "pizza."  In Italy "pizza" is not pizza but more of a flatbread with meats, vegetables, and cheeses, with a touch of olive oil.  Finding a place that has this kind of tradition is rare indeed.

I ordered the chicken parmigiana and it was proceeded by fresh hearty Italian bread, balsamic vinegar, and regular and hot olive oils.  Lovely.  The dish itself (pictured above) was delicious.  I really appreciated the chicken being butterflied before breading.  Awesome.

I'm still a little worried about making it back with minimal effort, and yet... at this point, it's hard to care.  I'm full and happy.  

.....  But not too full for Gelato!

(Unfortunately overpriced, and not good at all.  Important to mention that this was not the same restaurant.  Oh well.  Live and Learn.)

THE DAY'S END.

I made it back to the hotel surprisingly easy.  And the Gelato was surprisingly BAD.  Kind of a bizarro world scenario.

I'm showered, sitting in bed with a bag of popcorn and the A-Team is on while I look up directions how to make it to the Zoo tomorrow.  It looks like it will be much easier than previously warned.  Let's hope this is not another bizarro situation.  I haven't accomplished nearly as much writing as intended.  Plenty of notes.  I want to write tonight but fear I'm too exhausted.

Maybe if I don't go to Key West, I'll dedicate the day to that instead.  I should go.  It would be foolish to come this far and be so close to a stretch of road I want to see, and not take that last step.  And I know part of the reason I'm here is to conquer fears to compensate for the fear I can't.  But the motives of this particular leg of the trip could be ultimately misconstrued.  So I have to weigh the scales.  Do I confront this fear and risk potential accusations...  or do I let THAT fear make me run away from confronting the whole lot...

As it stands at the moment, I'm expected by others to show in Key West.  And I haven't let on that I'm reconsidering making that trip.  Or rather, possibly I'll still make the trip, grab a bite to eat, quick gander at the ocean, and just turn around without any visitation.  That would probably be the smartest move.  It's going to need more debate.  I guess we'll see what happens in a couple days.  On to adventure.

Miami; the what's where's and why's of a journey's start.

THE FLIGHT

It’s Monday.  Just about noon and we’re #2 for take off.  I’m afraid.  I guess that’s the point of this trip.  I do things like this.  Take trips or do other things that frighten me.  (And there aren’t very many things that do frighten me.)  When I find something, it’s becoming an increasing habit to do those things, on purpose.  I’m not afraid to fly.  That’s never been my issue.  I love flying.  I love heights.  And there is no where I sleep better than up in the sky.

The plane is racing now, and take off.

So, what is it that I’m afraid of?  What about this trip am I afraid of?  I suppose it’s the finding my way around on my own.  I’ve never rented a car by myself.  Never checked in to a hotel completely alone or taken a shuttle from an airport without someone to greet me on the other side.  I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing, and that’s the point.  Confronting fear of the unknown.  Will I have enough money to do everything I want once there?  Maybe.  Will I get lost?  Likely.  These are not the kinds of things that I had role models to teach me.  I just fake it til I make it most times.  With the exception of when my Grandfather was around, I’ve been fairly forced to be self sufficient in life.  Take care of myself and often times others.  This is how I’ve come to expect life.  This is how I’ve come to be comfortable.  This is how I prefer things.

When I was a child, I liked to share toys.  Except for a few of them.  A select few treasures that I didn’t want touched.  Not because I didn’t want friends to have fun.  But because they were fragile.  And if I broke them, I could only be mad at myself.  But I was horrified of the possibility of being angry with a friend for breaking one of my treasures.  (Gizmo, was off limits to all.)  But this philosophy has creeped into other aspects.  If I let myself down, or break the trust I have in myself, I can only be mad at myself.  But if I trust you…  I have to put myself to the test at times.  I have to prove to myself that I can still rely on me.  That I can do anything I put my mind to.  Because I always need to know I have that back up plan.  Then, I don’t have to be so worried about the chance that someone else is going to let me down.  I still have me.

I suppose that’s where I’m at right now. 

I’m afraid.  I’m afraid of something else, besides this trip.  I’m afraid of trusting another person.  I’m afraid that I’m going to come to rely on someone for emotional fulfillment.  I’m afraid, that I may be in love with someone.  I’m not going to say who just yet as it has very little to do with the specific person and everything to do with being afraid that some of my independence could be in jeopardy in the process.  To expose some of that weaker, softer, side of myself.  I’m not afraid of getting hurt.  I’m afraid of being in love in the first place.  And this whole problem of me being more comfortable with breaking my own toy instead of risking someone else breaking it, causes me to do really stupid stuff, like run away.  I’ll break my own heart before giving you the chance to.  Not because I’m afraid of the pain, but because I don’t want to have anyone to blame but me.  How asinine is that?

I’m trying really hard not to run for the hills.  I’m trying to stay calm and not cut ties preemptively.  I don’t actually enjoy the idea of these walls I’ve built.  But it’s my comfort zone.  I love the idea of love, but I hate the idea of coming to depend on others as an emotional support system.  The very thought can induce some pretty adverse reactions from me.  Like hopping on a plane to Miami for little to no reason.

But then, I suppose I do have good reason.  Reasons, plural actually.  The first, overstating the obvious at this point, is if I can’t conquer one fear, I will conquer another.  I will remind myself that fear is something that can be tamed.  But there’s more.  Why now?  Why Miami?

Why Not?

Take a look around you.  Do you not realize and appreciate the amazing elements of the world you live in?  A trip that would have once taken months, can now be accomplished in hours.  A woman needn’t be escorted.  So much is at our fingertips begging to be touched.  I imagined myself talking to someone from the past.  “You mean, you could go from frozen grey and dead surroundings to a tropical green and lush paradise by FLYING in the air?  Why WOULDN’T you take every chance you got?  Why wouldn’t you do something so remarkable?”

I don’t want to waste my life.  I don’t want to be sitting in a chair, turning 60, and thinking to myself, “where did the years go?  Why didn’t I do anything?  Why did I spend my free time sitting in a bed in an apartment?”  And then a few weeks ago, I made a painting.  It was a seascape, warm and sunny and clean.  And staring at the hundreds of reference pictures while putting paint to canvas, made me long for warmth and sunlight all the more.  So I started the contemplation.

Can I afford it?  No.  Do I have the time?  Absolutely not.  …Until.
“I QUIT!”

And then, “you can leave now then, and take your 401k with you.”

Can I afford it?  It’s tight, but…  YES!  Do I have the time?  Remarkably SO!

Pick a direction, any direction!
And I started another round of contemplation.  Where did I have friends?  North Carolina.  Northern Florida.  New Orleans.  California.  Belize.  All warm, some more so than others.  All sunny.  Most within range to a beach.  But other factors had to come into play.  Plane tickets to Belize and California were just too far out of reach.  North Carolina, though appealing, was just not quite the tropical climate I had in mind.  And then…  did I really want to be where friends were?  I love my friends, but I feel a need to do this on my own, don’t forget.  I expanded my search to Texas and other coastal cities.  Miami came up as cheapest package every time.  And the more I looked at it, the happier I was with its possibilities.

So to those who are asking “why” I ask, why not?

Maybe I can’t explain everything I’m feeling.  I’ll keep journaling as the trip goes on and maybe some more will come to light.

I plan on going to their very unique zoo.  I plan on sitting on a beach, and find inspiration for my books.  (Two of which have chapters in this area or similar.)  And I plan on exploring coral reef.  I plan on sorting out my head and heart.  And I plan on regaining some of my “muchness.”  I feel I was once much “muchier.”

END OF SEMESTER

This is just ONE of the many buildings I had classes in this past semester.  And things are not so green and fresh looking as they did when I first arrived here.  But I snapped this photo with my phone for posterity's sake.

I was going to post individual assessments of my classes as the semester went, but….  I was working my butt off, so never got around to that.  I could go on about the interesting bits, like when I would rush from work to class, making a brief stop at the library to print out homework, didn’t notice my laptop bag hit my rolling desk chair, and fell flat on my ass when I decided to sit 2 feet off from where the chair apparently decided to be.  But none of you actually want to read THAT kind of thing, now do you?  No, I didn’t think so.  But none the less, posting this at the end of semester makes for a fuller, more well rounded experience that’s easier to recap.  This is in no particular order mind you.

HUMAN COMMUNICATIONS

A tough class.  That’s for damn sure.  Not that the course work is that difficult all around.  Just stressful squeezing in writing multiple speeches, performing said speeches, learning the statistics and facts about communication, remembering to take the quizzes on those said facts online, and only having ONE class per week to accomplish all of this.  That’s really the only part that made it that difficult.  Organizing all of that into a very short few sessions, where most of my classes were two days a week worth of opportunities to turn things in and remind us what was coming up.  I admittedly missed one or two things.  They just fell through the cracks.  Honestly it was the only class I had to turn in one assignment for half credit and missed another one completely.  But even so, I still received a solid B. 


TAE KWON DO

Eeeeep.  I THOUGHT I had signed up for Japanese Karate.  NOT Korean Karate.  BIG difference.  My previous martial arts experience has all come from Japan.  There is a much different approach to fighting styles between the two.  Mainly, it is seen in formality, ceremony, but most of all….  Keeping feet PLANTED and lower center of balance.  Tae Kwon Do?  You do a lot of hopping around and…  It was a challenge.  But I like a challenge.  And I appreciated the workout.  And believe me, I felt it.

My instructor LOVED me, and she asked me one day after class, “I can’t remember, did you say you have children?”  “No, ma’am.”  “Well I REALLY hope you do one day, you’re going to make a fantastic mother.”  My friend Ken suggested that maybe it was keen talent for a right hook and kick to the groin that made her think so.  But call me a tootsie pop, I suppose I’ll never know that answer.

Overall grade.  A+

HISTORY

I was overwhelmed by how much amazing information was presented in this course.  The instructor was SUPER helpful and sweet, and within the first couple of classes I realized I had to shut up so that others could speak up.  …I’m told I have that problem sometimes.  …I’m also told I have a dry sense of humor.

I wasn’t sure if I would be able to pull off the grade I wanted.  There was A LOT of reading material I just wasn’t going to have the time for.  I bought all the books.  Downloaded all the files.  Finding time?  Another story.  I was very upset for a while.  It had been SO long since I was in school.  Back in the day I was an EXPERT at faking my way through it.  I HAD to be.  Skim the material, pick out a few key sentences, read the back cover synopsis… evaluate what the professor said, tie it together and repeat it back and hope no one is the wiser.  ….Just like riding a bike.

Once I figured out that I can still do this, the semester went SO much easier.  In ALL of my classes.

For a final project I had to do an interview, read (pretend to read, I’ll get around to it eventually jut because it is something of interest,) a novel about experiences of Iraqi Women, as an example of how to present and conduct oral histories, and write a term paper that was…  well, 10 pages long.  At 2 in the morning, night before it was due, I sat in the library staring at a computer screen and a stack of books, with bloodshot eyes.  …So don’t act as if I didn’t do ANY work by cheating out of a little reading.  :P  There was plenty still accomplished, believe you me.

Overall grade.  A

INDIVIDUAL AND SOCIETY

This class.  SO much I can say about it.  One of my favorite teachers thus far.  I’m not sure what I can say I took away from it though, as a great deal of the lesson plans were on things I already had extensive knowledge of.  Honestly, I think the only reason I enjoyed the class so much is because at times I felt like I was helping to teach it.  I felt involved, affirmed, and confident.  The things I knew were reinforced in such a way that forced me to look at it again with new eyes.  Like sexist advertising.  Or the eco system.  …But mostly sexist ads.

We had an entire unit on the objectification of women (and men too at times) that blew my mind when I realized, though I KNEW about it going on, I wasn’t paying attention to when I saw it.  One of the classes, we were asked to bring in various ads we found in magazines and such from home.

I don’t do magazines.  BUT I DO do youtube.  :)  I am a youtube warrior!  I emailed myself this (and a few other links) and then pulled up the videos on the class projection system.  And let me tell ya, seeing this commercial 3 feet tall?  Adds new perspective.

But again, even with this class I had to fake it a bit.  We had TWO novels to read for a final project.  I bought one of them, and then realized that I got enough out of the class discussions and googling a few facts and watching a couple of interviews with the authors on youtube, to pass with flying colors.  …yay.

Overall grade.  A

ENGLISH

English.  The reason I’m here.  I loved this class.  But it wasn’t without its challenges either.  Many don’t realize, but English was my WORST subject in high school.  Hate it.  All those rules, and correcting grammar, and piles of reading.  Okay.  I should probably clarify at this juncture, as I’m likely giving the wrong impression.  I didn’t and don’t hate reading.  In my past I hated being constantly told what I HAD to read, and told I had to like it.  That’s changed, and I do enjoy all reading now, and did PLENTY this semester.  I just didn’t have time for it all.  But as for English in general, through my constant scribbling before coming back to school, I’ve learned a few things.  I taught myself grammar rules, via the internet, and learned a thing or two about spelling tips.

The piece de resistance in the whole semester for English?  The memoirs project, hands down.  I mean, hell, like I don’t journal enough…  It was a shoe in.  But more than that…  the students in my class, and instructor liked it so much that it was shared with her editing class, and used as part of their project as well.  I loved that class, and there is no doubt that it boosted my confidence in my writing tenfold.

I left the semester in that class with encouragement to submit my class writings to magazines and to complete a full memoirs as well.

Overall grade.  A

WORLD OF THE ARTS

This was the ONE class I had every confidence that I was going to be FINE in.  MAN was I wrong.  “Simple,” I was told.  “All you do is watch slides, go to a couple performances, and take a quiz or two,” they said.  And “they” were right.  If you have ANY teacher BUT mine.

I hated this class.  The professor made us write an essay about poetry, (which I’m not opposed to doing, though I don’t like poetry necessarily.)  The professor made us write this analytical essay on poetry HE WROTE.  …wait what?  Then we performed a poem.  Also not a huge fan, but I can do it, and even volunteered to do so for forensics.  …Again, a poem HE wrote.  Then for our midterm, we had to perform TWO poems…  …he wrote.  (GETTING ANGRY.)

We wasted SO many days on the rules of how to write a paper and why HIS style of writing is better than other styles, but never covered ANY of the information the papers were suppose to be about aside from watching some Native American Dance.  Once in person, and another time, a video.  (Which was AWFUL!  If you know ANYTHING about Native American culture, you would weep for this documentary.  It was complete with flying eagle footage paired with fake screeches and the dances were performed on a stage with fake trees and shrubs and odd lighting effects.)  We spent 3 full classes doing nothing but watching videos of past students give the same type of performances that we were expected to, again wasting time, ONE class doing nothing but participating in an interview he was conducting as to WHY current students want to BE students, and another class doing nothing but being placated as to “understanding” how “hard” this all is and that he understands learning is “hard.”  This is where my brain holds itself hostage.  He illustrates how learning something new is hard for him too, by telling us how he is learning to play the piano so he can play a song for his girlfriend.  And then wastes 10 minutes of class attempting to play the piece.  …REALLY!!!!?  The next essay I wrote, asked us to use and explain a term I have NEVER heard before.  (Again, never discussed any of the material in class, just how to write the paper.)  I have been force fed visual art since I could hold a crayon.  I’m not saying there can’t be something out there about art that I haven’t heard of, but I’m saying, it is unlikely.  So I researched the term.  Googled it.  Looked high and low.  (I have an entire shelf of art books.)  Nothing.  The only place I found the term, was in the reading material he assigned.  Again, reading material HE WROTE!!!

Okay…  some of you are aware of my unholy temper when something upsets me to this extent.  I have this odd ability, I’m told, to write the most polite, “go F*@$ yourself” papers/letters/etc… any have ever encountered.  Diplomatic, but sharp.

I’m actually quite surprised that I managed to resist as long as I did.  Even down to essay number four, I managed to hold my temper enough to simply refuse to use the term he made up, and willingly took the lower score in refusal to play his game any further.  It was bad enough that this was supposed to be a freshman class, and we were being graded on a master’s level.  Even I, with my years of experience freelance writing, felt like a white belt put into a black belt competition, and the black belts were fighting dirty.  I was being graded on skills I hadn’t had the instruction  on yet. 

The Final came up, and it was in the form of an essay.  Again.  We were to write about the difference between “learned” artistic ability, and “natural talent.”  To discuss if art is something you’re born with or taught.  Which is better… etc…  I saw my opportunity.  I took my chances, and decided that integrity was more important to me than a grade.  I followed the “rules,” so to speak as far as what the essay was to be about.  The intro included a thesis, and a preview.  The first paragraph discussed “learned” art.  The second paragraph discussed “natural” talent.  The third paragraph discussed how neither one is more valid than the other, or more pointedly, LESS important.  I included examples, such as Igor Stravinsky’s, “Rite of Spring,” to illustrate how art can be both, learned and innate.  How Stravinsky composed something that broke all the rules, and was the pivot point for MASSIVE controversy.  People either loved his new sound, or hated it.  …Then, after all that build up, I let loose the words of war.  I made the statement that writing is an art form, and supported, much like Stravinsky, just because a specific format isn’t followed, or deviated from, DOES NOT make the new format less influential or valid.  Just because ONE man may disagree with it, does not make that person the ultimate authority figure, but merely one small opinion, and I then followed with statements that artistic integrity was something to be far more valued than acceptance.  I backed him into a corner, arguing against everything he had “taught” us in the past few months.  I knew it was a risk.  One I could pay for dearly.  He would either be outraged with my audacity, or realize that my point was valid.

…..I got a perfect score.  Breaking all of his “rules.”

Class score A-


ALL TOGETHER NOW

So...  I Made the Dean's list.  Something I NEVER, in my youth, thought possible.  Really, I wasn't even really sure what the "Dean's list" was.  I had to ask.  But I'm excited for it.  And have realized if I keep this up... well, I can go anywhere.  If I decided to transfer schools, and do some adventurous far off learning...  well, that is a door I'm opening for myself.  Honestly, there is less holding me back here every day.  But that is for another time.  :)

Lost: One mind....

I had an unexpectedly good day yesterday.  I got a forty dollar refund.  I ended up ahead of schedule on one assignment.  I had food in my stomach.  I finally found the time to not only schedule the doctor appointment, but found my schedule next week will accommodate the actual appointment itself.  I even had a *gasp* semi pleasant conversation with my mother.  So why am I up at 4 in the morning writing this?

…….I know I bitch a bit.  And I’m sure that translates to a “Crying wolf” opinion of me at times.  I’m okay with that for now.  I can’t help if I’m vocal and need to vent, though frustrated at times if that venting is failed to be taken the slightest bit seriously.  There are times I feel a bit bi-polar with voicing the good and bad, because I can be rather passionate about both.  For example: today was a good day.  A series of small wins, that I’m sure plenty would take as, “wow she must be leading a very good life right now.”  And tomorrow’s status updates may read to the contrary, and have my followers thinking, WTF happened?

There are some problems here.  More than a few.  Take my relationship with my mother.  It’s not always been a pleasant one.  …rarely been a pleasant one.  About a month ago, I was informed that there is a (very small) chance that I may have cervical cancer.  But enough of a concern to start referrals to specialists and start further testing.  That’s fine.  I’m too overwhelmed with other things to really process that.  Or at least I was, until a conversation with my mother that ended in her saying, “well you didn’t want kids anyway.”   ……um…  Don’t really have a response for that.  Or a good reason for the baby outfits I have stored up in boxes in a closet for “someday” if that's the case.... 

Okay…  so, this leads to my next current “issue.”  Work.  When transferring to this location, I was supposed to be part time, roughly 24 hours a week.  They began scheduling me 5 days a week roughly 28 to 32 hours, and made a comment on hiring additional help of, “I don’t think we need another fulltime position.  Maybe just a part time.”  To which I can agree, IF….  It wasn’t for the next statement.  I tried to talk to them about my schedule.  I am working 5 days a week, have school two of those nights, and school all day the other two days a week.  Remember what I said about needing further testing and doctor appointments?  And when am I going to squeeze that in?

I tried to explain this to work but before I could explain my reasons WHY I could only work 4 days a week instead of five.  He explained that they can't afford to cut my hours, that they need me to be there.  ...but...  you just said we're slow enough that we don't need to hire a full time position and only a part time...  ...oh.  Enter angry Aimee.  I got the additional response of “Well, you aren’t going to get any sympathy from me, because I went to school and worked at the same time.”  

WHAT I WOULD HAVE LIKED TO HAVE SAID.  *clearing throat.

• ·         Is that why you still have a job that requires you to wear a plastic name tag?
• ·         Awww… that’s so cute.  Did you get gold stars and everything?
• ·         And were you a divorced 30 year old woman trying to support herself without outside help or support?
• ·         Are you implying I’m a lesser person than you for recognizing and accepting my limits?
• ·         You’re welcome, for training your staff and carrying all of the work for my section of the department since the grand opening.

But instead, I composed myself and told him WHY I needed the one day off from both school and work per week.  (though I really didn’t want to have to tell my MALE boss that I may have cervical cancer.)

He accepted my request and claimed that he would try to accommodate my schedule request, but continued to give me gruff about needing off for an upcoming school function as I was 2 days past deadline for requesting it off (but still roughly three weeks prior to the function) and, “weekends are really hard to give (me) off because the other cake decorator needs every Saturday morning off.”  …I’ve heard this rant before.  So… you hired someone for cakes, that can’t work on the busiest day of the week and expect me to be there EVERY Saturday alone?  What makes my education a lower priority than her church activities?  Don’t misunderstand.  I’m happy this person is active in their church…  but why do I have to sacrifice for it.  That was the COMPANY’S decision.  NOT mine.

So let’s fast forward.  I have an upcoming day that I’ve been very much looking forward to.  A proverbial light at the end of my stressful tunnel, if you will.  A mini vacation.  A way of celebrating after finals, and a break from this hectic schedule that has me SO stressed and overwrought that I have experienced actual hallucinations for lack of sleep, and odd memory lapses, where I’ve done things and don’t remember doing them.  …at all.  Like writing on friends’ facebook walls, or buying food/things I don’t remember.  Or asking someone to do a project with me for school…  I really feel like I’ve lost my mind.  The hallucinations, I didn’t mind.  Sure, it was an annoyance when I kept trying to reach for the glass of water on my desk that didn’t exist…  but a new and intriguing/fun experience.  Not remembering full conversations or missing an hour from my recollection?  Not so fun.  Just scary.  But in a couple of weeks the semester will be done, and it will be Christmas.  The point at which all the students leave, and the town will get quiet, work will be slow, no more assignments…  a vacation in itself, and the perfect time for me to take a day to myself.  That light at the end of the tunnel.  …Or so I thought.

I put the date in for December 26^th.  The day after Christmas.  A Monday.  So let me recap.  That means Christmas Eve lands on a Saturday.  Remember what I said about Saturdays?  I will be handling Christmas Eve alone.  We’re only open a half day, more or less, and it would be pointless to have the other decorator come in after her church stuffs.  But I don’t mind.  Until they denied my vacation time for the day after Christmas.  I can work Christmas eve, by myself, rushing to get all of the holiday orders completed, but the other cake decorator can’t handle the day AFTER the holiday?  Compile this on top of my other frustrations, and the fact that I already paid for the hotel…  I’m not a happy camper.  I REALLY needed this bit of hope to carry me through this rough patch.

So.  Today at work, I will be making it clear to them that they can either lose me for the one day, or they can lose me for the entire week.  I have had enough, and will quit, leaving them dry for the duration.  Their choice.

So, with all that said…  if you could please click on a sponsor, just to the side of the screen there….  Yup that’s it.  Every four clicks earns me about a dollar.  (You don’t have to sign up for anything.  Just close the sponsor ads after they pop up.)  And don’t “over click.”  They track for “scamming.”  Just a few clicks each visit will do.  But it REALLY does help me out.  With enough clicks, I can quit, concentrate on school and my writing, and maybe start enjoying my time here.  Thanks in advance.  Wish me luck.

PS... I promise to explain more of my class experiences later this week.  Including events such as, girls taking pictures of my underwear, and if grades were stars, at least I could wish on them as they fell...  :D