Happy Anniversary

“Happy Anniversary” Jay’s whisper floated through the haze of my dreams every year on this day – spoken as he went to bed late in the night. “Happy Anniversary,” my groggy reply. “I love you.”

Today is the second year I woke up after midnight and whispered into the air that wish to an empty room. “Happy Anniversary,” spoken to the empty side of my bed – no longer our bed.

Someone told me I was strong today – for no particular reason, they just mentioned it. They had no idea that today was any different than any other day, and I suppose it’s not – not any more. It’s just a day whose lost its meaning.

I went to a quilt show once. Of all the random stories you get to hear about that now. At this quilt show hung a beautiful work of art that read, “My Son is Dead”. The card next to explained that this is the invisible sign the artist wears every day. A sign no one sees, but that she now shouted out to the world with the creation of this quilt. And I get that.

I talk. I laugh. I tell stories. And all of that is part of who I am, but the invisible sign I wear every single day screams out, “My husband is dead” with the subtext “My favorite person is dead.” “His beautiful face.”  Some days it’s painted in bright angry colors, others are softer/more blurred, but it’s never not worn.

Over the next several weeks, I’m going to talk about suicide and the aftermath. I haven’t chosen my direction, but I need you to be prepared. This may not be your topic. That’s ok. You don’t have to read or bear witness. I just have things to say, and they may not be beautiful or perfect or particularly meaningful, and that’s ok for me, too. But if you get to say I’m strong, then I get to show you all the cracks and imperfections that are also a huge part of who I am and my experience.

Schrödinger’s Shopping Trip

I actively dislike Edwin Schrödinger, maybe not in the same way that I dislike Thomas Edison. I mean, I don’t want to go back in time and remove Schrödinger from history. (Tommy, hope that time machines forever elude me. Where tons of people will be on the “let’s take Hitler out” case, there will just be you and me… and a whole lot of volts. Historic karma, baby.)

On any given day, I don’t think about Schrödinger nor his boxed up cat. In truth, my brain mostly goes through a pattern of: “Why all the days? Song stuck in head. I should sing it.  Jay Jay Jay. GRRRRR! Seriously? OOO SHINY!!! Stupid song. Jay Jay Jay. So many words from one face. SHOO, kk? Jay Jay Jay. Do I have that song on my phone? We do not “hug” us. No no. Hands to ourselves. Audible! Story time! KITTY! Come back, kitty!! Jay Jay Jay. Ok, night night.” No seriously, that’s my brain on any given day. This is why it would be a bad idea to read minds. You’d just get slammed with a gigantic wall of nonsense and images. Well… at least from me.  But now and again that man and his box re-enter my world, and when they do I get irked.

It’s not that I don’t get the paradox. For some strange reason when I kvetch about it there is always someone who decides that my problem is clearly based on a gross misunderstanding of it, and if they just tried using little words I’d have my “oh! Now I see! It IS both alive and dead,” I’d be convinced that this was a great mental exercise. Of course, when they do try to explain it in a sad attempt to sway my thoughts, and declare, “golly, that is a neat mental game – alive? dead? We don’t know!,”  they never bring up quantum superposition, quantum mechanics, or the Copenhagen interpretation theory, which actually is interesting.  And it’s not because they know I’d get glassy eyed, hop onto a yawn Ferris wheel that I’d never exit, and would end up demanding more coffee and a pony to pat in order to be bribed into listening. No, they just want to take shortcuts, and try to bludgeon me into understanding that the cat is both alive and dead until it is observed. See? Get it? Again, alive and dead! ALL AT ONCE! My personal take on it is this:  you put a cat in a box with no air holes, you introduce a radioactive substance and poison, and you have A DEAD CAT.  So, in my unwillingness to open my mind to this bit of mental gymnastics, I tend to use my adult vocabulary and declare the whole thing as being both “stupid” and “irritating”. That’s also not a paradox! I observed it!

So, of course the stupid cat and the death box recently came up, and I was without caffeine, and had just entered into the “why all the days?” part of my day, which makes me less tolerant of things and more likely to see words as “too many” or “word drool” when a friend of mine figured something out. “She has a problem with it being a cat.” Yes! “Beth, imagine it’s not a cat, but…” and then he came up with something that didn’t involve a helpless animal being trapped and murdered. A light flipped on. I can play this mental game if this game doesn’t involve fluffy creatures. (By the way, if it was Schrödinger’s Flying Water Bug, I could get behind it being stuffed in a box – no problem there whatsoever. Much like my issue with Edison, the heart of my problem comes down to the animals. If the man had just electrocuted anything but dogs and elephants, I’d be fine with him trying to demonstrate the dangers of AC (or his ego, I always get those mixed up). For example, say he made his point by sacrificing himself – applied those 6600 volts to his face, then we’d be ok. (I “may” have an issue with animal cruelty and animal testing. You probably caught onto that.)

This brings me to boxes in general, and the one I currently have sitting on my table. It’s a long running joke that I don’t open boxes. I have no natural curiosity when it comes to what they might hold. I genuinely don’t care about presents. I like them, I’m thankful for them, but I’m not going to go nuts trying to guess what’s inside. So, earlier today I was thinking about that package, and how I have to open it, then it dawned on me “it’s Schrödinger’s cat!” Hear me out. Currently, it’s in an unknown state where it is both amazing, and incredibly underwhelming and disappointing. Right now it’s “special,” a state that will disappear when observed. Once opened the contents become just things I own (or in this case determine whether to send back). So, the box sits on my table with the best things ever inside, and the worst things I’ve ever seen.

Schrödinger should have gone shopping more – appealed to those with a softer, non-murdery, pro-animal side. Just sayin’. Maybe once I’m done with Edison, I’ll swing by to pick Erwin up, take him down 1930’s 5th Avenue – we’ll talk clothes, wrapped gifts, and making our theories accessible to everyone while simultaneously enjoying the magic of alternating current… and how nice cats can be.

The Cruise: Final Installment

I suppose I’ve dragged this out long enough. This declaration has nothing to do with me running out of story ideas. Nosirree. Well, maybe… So, let me start where we started – the part where I decided I wasn’t a cruise girl, and the why behind it, picking up after some Galveston gal named Ginger tried to do me in with her obnoxious love of Scentsy, and questionable food recommendations. (Next time, we’re going to Gaido’s. I want zero arguments on this front.)

Any of my friends will tell you I’ve always wanted to travel, and they’ll probably follow that statement up with the fact that I’m exceptionally great at coming up with excuses for not travelling. Refusing to travel because of these excuses, and therefore, having never traveled, I have learned to live rather vicariously through my friend’s adventures as they regale me with tales of the distant songs of African tribesmen approaching their lodges, of fellow German tourists incensing Chinese chefs to the point said chef felt compelled to throw a cleaver into the middle of their table, to sneaking into the Forbidden City, to their private tours of the Roman baths in Malta, to “that one time in Spain…” and to drooling over every single photo my ex-pat friend takes on her hikes around New Zealand. On separate occasions, two friends have come back from Edinburgh, and not realizing the other had said it, expressed with absolute certainty that I needed to go and would love it. Each had gone on a particular tour, they knew I would completely dig beyond reason, and they’re right. Instead, on my one trip out of the country, I went to Montreal, which was lovely but… (No offense Irina. If I’d only known you and Ben then… Well, we would have had to have received your parent’s permission to hang out with us. Is the couch still open for visits/living if I become an ex-pat myself?)

A few months before Jay passed away, I got a passport. We were going places, I was excited, we would explore the world together, and then one day in July we weren’t. And then I blew out my knee, and then Sam passed away, and all the excuses piled back up along with a firm understanding that I would always have these unrealized dreams. Forget that I have a place to stay in Japan. Forget I have a friend to hang out with in New Zealand. I wasn’t going, but I would do my best to enjoy the postcards I’d receive, and sing praises about the posted photos from friends’ trips.

So, there I was on a cruise heading to three separate ports: Cozumel, Belize City, and Roatan (off the cost of Honduras). We had excursions planned for the first two, and a relaxing day on the beach planned for the other.

In Cozumel we did a Tastes of Mexico tour where we sampled tequila, made chocolate, and enjoyed some tacos.  The tour was solid, and my take away was: I like tequila in many things, but sipping tequila, swishing it around my mouth, and holding it there doesn’t make it any better – it just kind of burns the whole inside of your mouth instead of the back of your throat, which is right and proper despite what our guide was saying. And while I appreciate that our guide’s grandmother did this daily and lived to be 200, she is tougher than I am, and she likely has no taste buds. (And also may have questionable taste – no offense.) Also, you can dress Jose Cuervo up, call it the 1800 series, and it’s still not that great (unless in a drink). I also learned I love pineapple margaritas, and have now learned how to make them. Swing by my house; I’m ready to serve! I even have the chili/salt mix to rim the glass – so much better than plain salt. We also learned that everyone at that location would like a tip, and by the time we reached the fourth tip jar, we were kind of done, which was right at the taco server’s station, and I’m pretty sure she wanted to throw tacos at our heads.

Jose Cuervo 1800 Series – “Sipping” Tequila

In Belize we drove to Xuantunich, which I mentioned is on the border with Guatemala. Here we had an amazing guide who told us about the culture, history, politics (they just recently held an election in March), and natural features of Belize. In fact, if we pointed out an animal, he’d reach down, grab a laminated info sheet, and have us pass it around. If we pointed out a butterfly, out came the laminated butterfly info sheet. I suspect, he had a laminated sheet for everything. He was kind of the Belizean Mary Poppins with a magical bag of laminated info sheets.  We learned there were two major political parties, that a disproportionate amount of critters in Belize are deadly and murderous, and the country produces a million (exact figure) varieties of mangos – along with having no zoning laws, $10/gallon gas (approximately $5 US, but still), and howler monkeys! (Also, some rather amorous lizards who perform a happy little hoppy dance at the conclusion of their good times. High claw, iguana dude! Sorry about the voyeuristic gals taking photos. Humans. Am I right?)

In Roatan, we just looked at shops, went on a nature trail, and spent the day on the beach and in the water.

And when I first started talking about the trip, all I could say was it felt as if I never left the US thanks to the commercialization, and how everything is bent around capturing dollars from tourists – all the duty free shops, the “Made in China” goods, etc. My first trip out of the country seemed like a let down – like I hadn’t gone anywhere, and I was disappointed. And it wasn’t that I didn’t have a fine time, it just felt like I’d hit the Mercado in San Antonio and slept on a boat.

While on the ship, we’d spend the nights looking for things to do, and found ourselves at places like the piano bar with a Rod Stewart wanna be who went by the name “Roddy,” and who didn’t quite get the songs he was playing – he wins for oddest version of Bohemian Rhapsody I’ve heard to date, but let’s say that by the end of the trip I was prepared to punch anyone who started singing “Sweet Caroline.” Then there was a couple of nights listening to bad karaoke, some trivia contests, a 70’s club, and a night of 80’s Rock & Glow dancing where there was a dance-off, and I was unfazed… until I stepped away from it all, so let me recap this paragraph after having time to really think about it.

While on the ship, I danced! I had forgotten how much I missed dancing. It started in the lobby one night, then there was the night at the 70’s club while I clung to my disco ball glass that I love, and ended with all of us dancing until they closed the party down for the 80’s Rock & Glow night – where we were completely decked out in every glow stick piece of jewelry one could imagine. This was the night my beautiful cousin Kim WON the ladies dance competition, and was completely robbed when she went head-to-head against the male champion. I’m sure he cheated. 🙂 The crowd, who’d formed a circle around them, knew it was “on” when Kim kicked off her sandals.  It got real in that moment, y’all. Kim wasn’t playing! At the end of it Kim said, “if I can do that, I can do anything!” Yes, she can! She was AWESOME! and AMAZING, and BEAUTIFUL!! I may have hurt my own ears scream cheering her on. Kim had been selected from the crowd after showing us all how it was done in the Thriller dance – best ladies zombie dancer out there! I also learned I need some work on the electric slide, but I’m up for the challenge!

Dancing reinforced that my knee could take it (within reason, of course) when I really thought I would never be able to dance again.

We won not one but TWO trivia contests. The last one was 80’s music trivia where we all received medals and a golden ship. Also, I need to say here I’m embarrassed for the other participants who couldn’t identify Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love” from the first two notes. Come on!! I had a good showing in the Game of Thrones trivia, but really needed someone who’d read the books on my team. Pike, are you kidding me? By the way, I kind of love it that a friend of mine found me by looking at the schedule of activities and realizing, “yep, that’s where Beth is going to be.” Also, without having ever watched GoT, she helped me answer the first question. This is the same person who knew I’d be in the gym early in the morning. My friends get me.

I swam in the ocean! I haven’t donned a bathing suit in years, and there I was bobbing away and happy as I could be. I could have stayed out there all day. The ocean was the best! I love the water!

I went to Belize! I had a two hour trip to and from the Guatemalan border learning all of these things I’d never known about Belize, and I want to go back and spend time, and eat at least a ton of the millions (actual number, as mentioned before) of mangoes. Apparently, there’s a non-stop flight from Austin to Belize City, and it turns out that I have a passport. I also climbed Mayan ruins with a banged up knee, and I didn’t get winded, AND I didn’t go tumbling down, AND I didn’t have to be part of some emergency med evac as I’d anticipated.

I did abs with Gaybor, and was happy when I could keep up, including the plank part. (We will not mention here that my planks at home always get adjusted, and I may have figured out a way to easier planking. Go me! Shifting forward makes it so much harder.)

Gaybor – Exceptionally Inspirational Ab Coach (Hey, I’m old, not dead. Plus, Heather took the photo, so… well, I know my inner 16 year old cheered when she did it. 🙂 He’s a solid volleyball player, too. Just sayin’.)

During the entire trip, I had my phone off, which was absolutely liberating. I slept better than I had in months, thus ending months of insomnia. I’ll also admit, that until the super choppy day on sea, I didn’t really feel the ship move. I could tune it in or out, so I was showing off this newly found skill whenever I could. I brought Dramamine, and I never had cause to use it.

I watched the sun rise and set over the ocean.

In sum – I laughed a lot, I danced a lot, I relaxed, and I spent a solid week with my family and my friends – uninterrupted time I never get with them. I had the absolute best time I’ve had in a long time with people I love. I couldn’t ask for a better experience.  And while I still want to travel properly – wander the hidden paths, escape the commercialism and the demands that I “consume” things, I would do this all again with the same people. (Though, I’d take on an additional friend or two who couldn’t make it.)

Sunset with the Girls

So, who wants to sail with me from Miami to Havana?

Now go read the Game of Thrones series, and memorize this opening (I need you to be prepared):

Spa Day: A Fancy Cruise Story

I’m not really a fancy lady. I’d never gone to a proper spa nor had I ever had a professional massage until this cruise.  You see, spas and professional massages seemed like things fancy ladies did with their fancy disposable income. Whereas my disposable income tends to go towards things that appeal to say goofy men with Peter Pan syndrome. You know, the absolute antithesis (or arch nemesis, perhaps) of a proper “fancy lady,” but definitely someone Mary Martin could sing about.  And here I was on this fancy cruise, with my fancy friends and my fancy family, thinking maybe my fancy little back might deserve a fancy little rub on one of these “fun days at sea”. It turns out that for me, my fancy little traps, thanks to fancy leisurely rowing, are a little (lot) tight. In fact, they sense I’m typing about them now, and they’re tensing up just to get some attention (or it could be that I’m sitting at a desk and have been all day – or it could be that I threw a lot of axes last night (I’m not kidding, I totally did that) Anyway, I can anthropomorphize my trapezius muscle if I want to – you worry about yourself).

(For Heather :))

So, on Day 2 of the cruise I made my way to the ship’s spa and signed up. Now the original idea was to get a deep tissue massage, but that turned into The Manager’s Special with its promises of bamboo, hot oil, a facial, something with my feet, and the clear promise I’d emerge relaxed and fancy. Dream massage was sooo… dreamy.

My friend Heather prepped me on what to expect. See, one reason I dislike a lot of fancy things is that sometimes I fear there are certain unspoken rules, or rituals one must follow that everyone else is in the know about except for me. I mean, what if I did something wrong? I could be spa-shamed! Then that information would likely travel through the back channels of the masseuse/masseur world, and the next thing you know I’d be eyed warily every time I passed a spa, massage parlor, or sidewalk carnivorous foot nibbling fish bucket purveyor. I wouldn’t live it down! EVER!!! Breathe Beth, BREATHE! I can do this.

When I enter the room it’s pleasantly dim, smells delightful, the music is peaceful if a bit new age-y, and the masseuse speaks in a soothing calm voice. Whew. I can do this! She begins my brushing my arms and legs with a cactus bristle brush. She explains it’s used on autistic children to calm them down. I ummm… wait. What? What are you saying? Am I being odd? I don’t know. Quick check. Ok, well other than the talking in your head thing. People do that, you know. Don’t be a freak. Breathe. Make polite conversation. “Interesting.” Good one. Nice save. I can do this?

I’ll fast forward a bit, because pretty much it could be boiled down to: hot things on my body feel great, and all of my muscles being rubbed also feel great (save maybe some knots that couldn’t be worked out in my shoulders).  And being called “dahhh’ling” excessively is vaguely annoying, but tolerable because of the aforementioned hot things and massage. Then we hit part of the appointment that was the hard sell, and the hard sell went a bit like this:

Dahhhling, your back muscles are a complete MESS (in the most disappointed/horrified/silky voice ever). There are crystals forming in your back, and the muscles are LEECHING calcium from your bones, Dahhhling.  For $170 you can buy this amino acid that you just apply a few drops to your shoulders, and that will break up the crystals.

What? I’m not sure that’s even real science. (Inner voice)

Dahhhling, you may need a back massage once or twice a week, and it will never be right. It’s just a temporary fix, Dahhhling. Are you sure you don’t want the drops? No? Let me put those away then.

Dahhhling, your skin is so dry. You look old! You must moisturize. Here are (insert a host of products being lined up one by one starting as low as $45 and scaling up to about $80) that will make you look much younger. Even I use them, and I am 27, can you believe it?

No. I would have gone younger. (Inner voice)

Dahhhling, now here’s the final bill. You’ll see the 18% tip has been applied; however, you may tip more if you wish.

Bless your sweet little heart, darlin’, I do not wish, but thanks for the opportunity. (Inner voice)

By the time Heather got to me in the spa lobby, having had a wonderful massage, I was in a fetal position (on the inside) and feeling vaguely sticky, withered, like an un-moisturized husk who clearly looks every bit of 80. We won’t even talk about these parasitic muscles.

And that’s how I spent a part of the second day while trying to be fancy on the cruise, and six days later, when people asked for my opinion about the cruise, it added to what annoyed me. And yes, this always had to be the second story. It continues to set-up my initial knee-jerk reaction, but as I mentioned before, there’s always more to a story, and there’s still more to this one.

Welcome to installment part deux!

Stronger Than You Think

I know, I know, this still isn’t about the cruise. I promise I’ll get right on it. Right now I need to prep the photos I want to share, and figure out what I want to write about. Cruise – check, but what’s the story angle? Basically, I need a weekend to get it all together. Excuses! Now those are clearly well-prepped.

You’re probably wondering why I’m posting, since really what’s the point? No cruise story? Do I think I can really string you all along? Force you to sit through another, “this one time at the gym” story? Yes. Yes, I do.  But I blame Jenn, you know Jenn, who on Tuesday said something akin to, “I’m surprised you never put that story in your blog” followed by some possibly hurtful words about how I may not have let some particular gym incident go. Pfft. I’m totally forgiving if by “forgiving” you mean “great at holding grudges.” Then by definition I’d easily be the most forgiving person you may personally know. Oh, that’s not what that means? Weird. Blame Texas public schools. This conversation just got a bit awkward.

In my defense, let me start with some mitigating circumstances. First, when I go to the gym, I’m there by around 5am-ish (an actual time). Second, I’m not a morning person. I’m a person who gets up early in the morning. There’s a difference – namely, my sunny disposition doesn’t start shining until about 9am. At 5am, there’s still four hours where my ability to ratchet up a crank-fest is on a hair trigger unless I’m left alone in my quiet bubble. That means I get to claim exactly 1/4 of the gym based on where I’m standing, and you can find something else to do somewhere else – like the elliptical or maybe the stair master or go do an early spin class. I’m magnanimous like that. File this under early morning generosity. You’re welcome. Jenn would point out here that I’m mostly cranky in my head, and that I do not and will not speak the horrible things that dance across my thought bubble. In fact, if you saw me at the gym you would likely say, “oh, that nice lady with the fluff layer seems to have a crush on the rower.” (I love you rower. If I ever win at the Oscars, I’m thanking you first.)

But here’s the thing about me – I’m stronger than I look. This is to not say I’m strong, I’m just stronger than people think I am, and that can lead to trouble especially at 5am-ish when I’m vaguely cranky. So, here’s the story – for Jenn:

Before the infamous tank with its gears (are you kidding me? gears? it’s not bad enough you have not one but TWO spots to add weights to, but gears? What kind of Machiavellian torture device… c’mon!!!) joined us at the gym there was our beloved sled with its wonky messed up carpet. On sled days, I’d add 90 lbs to the thing, then shove it up and down the basketball court (careful to not scratch the floor lest Andrew lose his mind – we once had a chat about it that basically went, “if you’re saying I can’t push the sled, I’m happy to not do that, but YOU tell Jenn you told me that.” Unfortunately, Jenn scared him way more than me scarring the floor, which never happened. Right! I digress again!) So sled, push push. That day some impossibly cute girl, the kind that doesn’t sweat, who has matching everything, came bouncing into the basketball court, and grabbed the sled from from me. Rude. Plus, I think she broke some kind of “can I work-in” etiquette/code before attempting to run the sled down the court. I watched as the wonkiness and the weight wore her down, and by mid court she was in rough shape. She clearly thought it was going to be an easy task. “I mean, the fluffy girl can do it, and I’m way stronger. Easy pease. Plus, my clothes-matching game is strong, y’all!” By the time she got it back, she was barely able to push it to the wall. I smiled on the inside. I’m stronger than you think I am. Also, I nearly high-fived the sled like some how we were in it together. Who’s my sleddy? You are. Yes, you are!

This story bubbled back up again, because yesterday I was pushing the tank (must try out spike strip idea), and discovering that there were gears. Again, gears? Are you kidding me? And another gal came over to move it (though, this one actually asked). I had been having to really dig-in in order to shove it around, and she reached out with one little hand clearly thinking she could just gently move it away. I mean it has wheels. I’m not sure if she thought I was struggling pushing the equivalent of an empty grocery cart or what, but she quickly had to give up on her initial one-handed-half-hearted maneuver, and she was forced to actually grab it with both hands and engage her legs.

I’m stronger than you think I am.

And it all reminds me of one time where I was picking up a package and having to walk it to another building. I’d asked the delivery people how heavy it was, and it was something I knew I could manage. I was fine. I mean, it wasn’t great, but completely doable. A chivalrous colleague asked if he could help. Sure! I passed it over. He made an audible “oof” sound as he accepted the weight, and then for the next half block I got to hear about how heavy it was. I had carried it further and up a slight incline, and you’re the one carrying on? Again I’m not saying I’m strong – just stronger than you think. I don’t want to get into a thumb wrestling match with most people at my gym, much less try to out bench, curl, pull, press, stare or really anything against them. But that said, it does please me when the light goes off and a person realizes “oh… that’s kind of heavy – the fluffy girl wasn’t messing around.”

I can row two hours without stopping. I climbed Mayan ruins without getting winded. I can get on a stair master and nearly stand upright for whole minutes.

See, I’m stronger than you thought I was, too.

Navigating a Mine Field

A few words before I start. This post is for my nearest and dearest. Those who continuously put up with my insanity, and yet some how still hang around. It’s also a quick note to say that this was the post I meant to write at the beginning of the year. I also meant to send out Christmas cards, and well you all see how that went. Actually, you didn’t, because… well… I just blew it. Love you!

The Mine Field

I want to acknowledge that over the past year and a half navigating my emotions can be a bit like tip-toeing through a mercurial mine field. Without warning I can go from sunshine (and lollipops, of course :)) to wanting to crush all the things… with a sledge hammer… across someone’s head as Carmina Burana: O Fortuna plays loudly in the background. (Wait, you don’t have a soundtrack to your life, too? Oh, I’m the weird one. Mm hmm.) So, I thought I’d help you negotiate the path, by asking for your help in return especially as we edge closer to Jay’s birthday, our anniversary, and of course the anniversary.

One of the things I’ve learned is that sometimes I need to be direct about expressing my needs. Apparently, wishing people understood doesn’t go as far as one would hope, so here they are:

I need your unconditional support. Before you agree to it, hear me out as I break it down. Cue the sweet-sweet beat-box sounds.

The Gym

Support my goals. Whether you think I’m working too hard, or that I’m not working hard enough. Whether you believe I go too often, or merely wonder why I can’t go seven days a week if I’m going six. I need you to support me. “Why must you get up at 4?” That’s ok to wonder, but what I need from you is to merely say, “way to go!” It’s simple. I’ll worry about the other stuff. That’s my job.

My Weight/My Dietary Stuff

You may not agree with it or understand it, and that’s ok, too. Trust that I can also read, that I also have used the internet once, and that I’m quite capable of researching information. My choices are not up for debate. I’m actually an adult human being, so you’re going to have to trust me. Don’t call me out. Don’t suggest, “one glass of wine won’t hurt.” It’s great that you can eat baskets of chips and buckets of yeast rolls. You do you. Know that only three people are truly invested in my health. One of them is me, and the other two aren’t you, and that’s ok, too. Those guys will worry about that stuff.

Boys

I love you guys. I love that you think I’m great, and you want to circle the wagons when it comes to dating especially if it involves rejection. You guys are awesome! A couple of things: I will always do my best to be safe. Please don’t send me a photograph of my car while I’m on a date to show you’re lurking nearby. It’s a little weird, and by “a little” I mean “a lot.” Thank you for giving me a story, but it’s a strange little story, right? Thank you for caring enough to stalk me. When I get security cameras installed, it might be partially to keep an eye out for you.

When I get rejected, and that’s just going to happen, guys – probably a lot – brace yourselves – that’s ok. It’s not because the guy in question is a bad person. We just weren’t the right people for each other. It’s also ok if I’m a little heartbroken, and I mourn a bit. You have to understand I’m mourning more than this person, I’m also mourning the loss of Jay, and how much I wish I wasn’t finding myself in a dating situation at all. It’s not as big or as overwhelming as it once was, but it’s always under the surface.

And here’s some of what I don’t need. I don’t need you to deride the person out of a sense of loyalty to me. I don’t need you to quantify that person’s place in my life or try to divine its meaning. Only I can do that. Unless you’re a renowned clairvoyant with a 99% accuracy rate, I don’t need you to tell me, “there’s someone out there, you just haven’t met them yet.” Many things could happen – I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. I could win the lottery tonight if I find the right store. I could take up tight rope walking or even or be discovered by a Romanian ballet troupe. There are an infinite number possibilities of things that happen to people all the time – things that could happen to me tomorrow. Unless you’ve got someone very specific in mind, you don’t know. That’s just something you say when you don’t know what to say – in an attempt to lift someone’s spirits. In an attempt to life my spirits. That’s incredibly nice. I don’t need my spirits lifted. I need you to listen.

A good friend of mine and I were talking about this, and she expressed that it’s oftentimes hard to know what to say in those situations. Here’s my best advice. You don’t have to say anything more than to acknowledge the person’s feelings. “I know that must hurt.” “I know you were hopeful.” And maybe then you can offer advice or offer help. Sometimes what I need is a sounding board, a movie to watch, and a girl date to go clothes shopping. Or maybe I need a pedicure and a final decision on that phoenix tattoo. Or maybe I just need to mourn the loss of a boy, a dollhouse, and staying up late laughing in a garage without anyone telling me that the experience didn’t matter in the bigger scheme of things.

In return, I’ll try to be more present. Though it’s still often more challenging than not. I’ll try to be a better friend who remembers there are other people in the world with their own significant struggles. I’ll try to tread a little more gently.

And still you’ll need to sweep the field for mines, and understand that sometimes you’re just not going to see them before you hear that sickening “click” sound (just stand very still). Know the field is less littered, and each day the path gets clearer. Thank you for continuing to walk it with me.

The Day I Turned Off the Phone

Back in the day, when the only season was Spring, rains were always gentle, puddles demanded splashing, hills were always “down,” and my friends were all impossibly attractive and incredibly intelligent (oh wait, that still holds true), I had my very first network account. This was a time long before the internet as we know it now, but still younger than ARPANET. Mosaic was someone’s pipe dream, there was no Netscape, and the world had yet to discover the joys of creating art from the million and a half AOL installation discs we’d eventually receive weekly. Meg Ryan wasn’t trained to wrinkle her nose adorably at the sound “you’ve got mail” and neither were we for that matter. I was a beth@ then, because there were no other Beth’s out there, and I tunneled around using “telnet” occasionally FTPing a bit so I could “get” and “put” things. I sent notes using something called “Elm” although “Pine” worked, too. And I knew the very basics of Unix – well, enough to occasionally (and sometimes accidentally) open the vi editor, and would promptly get stuck for long moments of irritating, swear-fest fun. My MMO’s were on things called MUDs  (LP, not Diku, of course) or MUshes. It was new, wholly consuming, and exciting.

I was addicted to what would become my personal slippery network slope.

My roommates would roll their eyes as I’d make weekly runs to Taylor Hall just to check-in with this new and strange emerging world. I’d peek into my mailbox and immediately thrilled if, on the off chance, I received one of these virtual mail gems. It was fantastic! The world was quickly becoming smaller, more accessible, and I was able to chat up my fellow nerds (all around my age) who sat somewhere around the globe – likely on their own campuses. It was new, exciting, and quite honestly one I’ve been indulging in for all of these long decades since.

It took awhile, years in fact, but eventually friends and family members discovered it, too and the world became even smaller.

Then came cell phones, and we were even more connected than before. I should mention here that I gave up talking on the phone years ago. While I had my own line in high school, and would talk for hours (10 was my high school record) telemarketing for several years broke me of that need to speak to people on the cursed thing. (FYI, if you speak for 10 hours then try to convince your parents you’re “too sick” to go to your summer job, you “may” get a lesson both responsibility and accountability, and a ride to work.)  I remember that first cell phone. It was chunky with a ridiculous looking antennae, and I’d practically hold it away from me with two fingers as if it was offensive. Really, the only good thing about it is it allowed me to talk to Jay. Then there was the Nokia lollipop in hot pink, and the electric Motorola Razr (also hot pink), and the best thing I could say about them were “they’re hot pink” or “hey, I’ve made the Pink Panther my ring tone.”  I used those early phones as tools – things only in my life to contact emergency vehicles should my car break down. Even texting back then was a special nightmare as I mashed keys multiple times hoping I could eventually work out “hello” or something close enough that I could just stop typing on it. You know the infinite monkey theorem was probably blown apart here, because there’s no way any works by Shakespeare would ever be produced. I just couldn’t think of a good reason to have one (save the emergency vehicle thing).

And then I received my first smartphone. On that day the heavens opened up and the angels sang (true story). I had a mini-tablet with me all the time – one with a keyboard – one with unlimited texts. GLORY BE!!! I finally understood the micraculousness of this electronic wizardry! I know the weather ALL THE TIME!!! Why go outside? What does outside know anyway? All of my music! (err… I went too far – just put in “a lot” there) is right there! (Not ABBA though; I’m not sure what happened there.)  All of my contacts! My calendar! It’s electronic magic! Notifications tell me of people’s birthdays, so in theory I can’t forget. Who knew they were even born? I do now! And having it gave me that old familiar thrill as if I were typing > /telnet > open bessel.umd.edu 2000 for the first time. You see that, right? You had that same experience?

Screw being present any more. I had access to the most useless information (and some useful, sure) 24/7. What happened last season on the Expanse? I have no clue, but if you need information on Jason Statham’s latest movie projects, I got that! I have a babysitter to hold my hand through awkward situations. Why worry about not knowing anyone at a gathering, when I can ensure it by starting a text exchange with a known friend? And I finally get all of those friends who have made me insane over the years as they’ve checked out while we were doing things. No longer do I try to announce myself by being right there – in person saying, “Hello! Oh no? Ok, I’ll wait until you’re done.” We can now spend time together without all that bothersome spending time together.

The thing I’ve tried not to be. Well, here I am!

Thursday I realized I’d become more than a little obsessive about my phone, and particularly about waiting for texts, so I stopped. I turned it off.  I chunked it into my purse, and decided not to worry about it (which I’ve been fairly successful at). And you know what? Its been ok. I’ve somehow managed. I went to a meeting and remained attentive the entire time – on a Saturday, no less. I navigated to a new location by looking at a map. I actually wrote out a list for the grocery store, and I’ve talked on my land line. People actually called here to just check-in, which was awesome. Now granted, I have been informed that I’m quite old fashioned and a bit quaint for having a land line, but hey I’ll take that.

Tomorrow I’ll flip the thing back on, and we’ll see if I missed anything. I strongly suspect I haven’t. I also strongly suspect, I’ll dive back into my co-dependent relationship (see that, I’ve kind of anthropomorphized the phone to make it share a small bit of the blame – authors can do that – it’s the magic of words), but I do see more days like this in my future – days when I may just shut the thing off and re-engage with the world a little more – and it will be ok then, too.