reclaiming myspace

Yesterday for the first time in what has been a busy few weeks, I had the entire day to myself. I spent it yoyo-ing from working to distract myself from thinking and thinking to distract myself from working. Clearly I didn't want to be doing either, so I took myself out for a long walk by the lake.

The afternoon sun changed quickly; at times shining bright to highlight the gorgeous red, gold and yellow fall colours and at others hiding behind heavy, dark storm clouds. My thoughts followed a similar pattern as I thought about the last few weeks and alternated between creating a mock list of how to breakup with someone (note: refusing to admit you're breaking up even as you hop on a plane to leave the continent or never saying goodbye are *not* on that list) and feeling blue about how things went down.

It's been three weeks since we last talked. Three weeks since the boy said he wanted a life together, three weeks since he talked about coming here in January, and three weeks since he took it all back, admitting that the idea scared him.

It's been three weeks since I put an end to the back and forth and left him my mobile number with the request not to call until/if he knew what he wanted. Three weeks since he refused to say goodbye and instead ended our phone call with a promise to call about January. It's been three weeks and he hasn't called.

As the days passed my sadness was accompanied by a growing realization that he wasn't even going to say goodbye, let alone call, let alone visit, and something began to shift. Maybe what hasn't been clear throughout these last few months is that I can handle a breakup, what I can't handle is this non-breakup. It took me a long time to clue in to the fact that I need to judge by action - not by words. And so after three weeks of non-action, I began to change. I began to think less about what he didn't want and more about what I wanted.

I do want that unique, wonderful person but I also want to be in love with someone who loves me back. I want to be with someone who is brave enough to speak the truth, even when it's painful. I want to be with someone who knows themself enough to take a chance and who trusts themself enough to know that they'll be just fine if they fail. I want to be with someone who includes me in their plans because they want me there, not because I remind them that I want to be there. And I want to be with someone who leaves me with no doubt that they love me. After three weeks I've begun to allow room for the possibility that those two things, wanting him and wanting the list that follows, may not be one and the same.

As I walked, I gave these thoughts space to settle in my mind and I thought about where I am right now: in Toronto, living in my old apartment, back at my old job. I began to feel anxious about whether I was moving backwards but it was less a real feeling than it was trying a feeling on for size to see if it fit. It didn't.

I'm not anxious and I haven't moved backwards. Things are a million times different than what they were at this time last year - and they're good. I think the anxiety came from knowing that they're good enough for now, but not for long. I thought about some of the things I'd been looking forward to this year: living in a different country, learning a new language, the challenge of establishing myself somewhere else, and beginning a life with my partner. With the exception of that last point, all of those are things I can control. I can still change countries, learn a new language, rise to the challenge of establishing myself somewhere else. And I will.

I began to think about my future, one that didn't include the boy, and I was sad but I also began to dream. I let my imagination get bigger than my sadness and I remembered that as different as today is from this time last year, next year will be different from this time today. I'm not anxious about where I am now, I'm enjoying it, and I'm beginning to understand this year for what it could be: a year to dream, search, explore and set the stage for future adventures. I realized that I'm exactly where I need to be, both the good and the bad, and then I turned to corner to find these words spray painted to the ground:

Yeah, I know it's an advertisement but what a perfect, wonderful, awesome moment to stumble upon an advertisement for a stupid website. I kept walking, making my way to the lake where I watched the sun set to my right


and the moon rise to my left


and for the for the first time in a long time I felt that myspace was truly not a bad space to be.

Autobiography in Five Chapters

A poem taken from 'The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying'

Autobiography in Five Chapters
I

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost ... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

II

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place
but, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in ... it's a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

IV

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

V

I walk down another street.

- Portia Nelson

if you don't have anything nice to say...

Kind of quiet around these parts lately huh? I know. But I also know that listening to someone moan about their bruised heart loses its charm fairly quickly so I promised myself I wouldn't write another word about being sad or the breakup. At the same time, I couldn't stand the thought of pretending I'm fine and writing about fluffy things so I chose not to write at all because I'm still working on the fine part of things.

I know, I KNOW it's been ages and I should get over it already. Believe me. I'm working on it. It's been slow going. I have no framework for how to handle being on the receiving end of a break up and even less of an idea on how to do it with someone who talks about love and a life together in one breath but then retreats with the next. It was so lovely to believe the first breath that it took me a few weeks to realize that there even was a second breath - that there was only talk with no action. I get it now. It sucks. I'm sad.

The boy stuff aside, life is actually really wonderful right now. It's just that in the middle of all those wonderful moments are the moments when someone asks me how I am, or asks about the boy, or when I think of something I'd like to tell him and realize that I can't. We don't talk anymore. Those moments happen a lot too. And when they come, they take my breath clean away and knock me on my ass with the force of how sad I still am about it all. They make me feel like I'm not centred and calm or grounded at all and they make me question whether this dream life I live is really so dreamy, whether I can ever get over the missing pieces.

People tell me it's better this way, that if someone really wanted to be with me they might try to be in the same country as me (heh), and friends are trying to send me off on dates with friends. Yeah. I totally get it. But I've never dated anyone just because I was single. I date because I met someone fantastic. Its hard to get over that my fantastic someone looked at the same relationship I was looking at and, instead of seeing it as something great, something to hold on to, he decided he could do without it and walked away.

I have been waiting for that phone call that takes it all back and getting sadder as each day passes without it. Still, at the same as I'm hopeful I'm not a total idiot. I know it's time to move on. We tried (or at least one of us did - ahem), it didn't work out, and I can't wish the whole situation away (tried that ;) so, it's time to really let go. I expect that I'll feel sadder for a bit longer while I release my grip on things working out but soon enough my sadness will bottom out and I'll have nowhere to go but happy.

In the meantime, no writing about fluff but no more writing about bruised hearts either. Instead, some pictures to fill the time while we wait for the bottom to fall out. Like this one from my thanksgiving hike


Or this one of the cute dog on the subway last weekend

Or this one of Mannix and his forbidden love


Or this random downtown picture

Or this self-portrait of a blurry me taken the day I bought my camera

last, perfect kayak trip of the season

chevy didn't come kayaking but she's just too cute to exclude

tuesday

First ayurvedic class tonight. 7pm - the golden hour. The sun sinks slowly behind old Victorian houses, the sky is gold and the trees glow. The Instructor talks his tales of beauty, his words turn my world on its ear. It is soul-ful to be this in love with ideas again. To fall in love with life all over again.

Behind him the window opens to the early autumn evening framing the stage for the squirrels who leap, twirl, and soar through the trees in a joyful dance. They act how I feel. Happy. Happy. Happy.

just a usual monday morning

Walking to the shala in the early morning light; stars still visible, streetlights glowing softly, I almost missed it. Almost walked right by without even noticing. But then I passed a picture so large and blatant - it was impossible to miss.

Someone had torn the pages from a porn magazine and carefully placed them, one at a time, under the windshield wiper of every single car parked along Queen Street. I walked to the shala accompanied by the sight of large, naked, juicy bottoms - and other assorted bits - greeting me every few feet.

Dozens and dozens of cars. You have to admire that kind of dedication.

Love it.

sigh

Drove downtown to meet up with friends tonight. Parked on a side street where I didn't bother buying a parking ticket since it was 8.57pm and parking is free after 9.00pm - I figured the odds on getting a parking ticket in the three minutes before parking became free were slim to nonexistent.

Yeah. I know. If you live in Toronto you're rolling your eyes and thinking I'm an idiot. You're right.

Sure enough, when I returned to my car I found a bright yellow parking ticket time stamped 8.59pm waiting for me. Someone out there can sleep at night knowing that they issued a $30.00 ticket just one minute before parking became free? That's $10.00 a minute!

I guess everyone has to earn a living somehow.

Sigh.

stuff

Today I had free time before my assisting shift so I wandered in and out of some stores trying things on. One saleslady, who had been very helpful, said something to me on my way out the door. While my first instinct was to assume I'd heard her incorrectly, the strange way she scrunched her face and waved her hands with such flourish made me think that she just might have said what I thought she said. Still, I asked her to repeat it. I was right.

"Be a DIVA" she whispered, emphasis on the "DIVA", with the same scrunched face and madly waving hands. Right. Me. A diva. Good call.

I much preferred the way the baby in the stroller, who passed by my car just as I unlocked the doors, chanted "on" "off" "on" as the lights blinked on and off. Cute.

Other sounds from this September day:
-my co-workers telling me to "have a good weekend". On a Wednesday. Hee, my first 4 day weekend :)
-my knees, hips, elbows cracking every time I moved to adjust someone in yoga tonight. Not sure that's the best promo for a committed yoga practice
-'Smokin' in the Boysroom' by Motley Crue on the radio. Just so you know, I never, not once, thought Motley Crue was cool even when they sort of were
-the song of crickets drowning out the sound of traffic as I sat by the lake tonight looking at the water. Calm. So calm.

Not heard but remembered: you used to reach over and hold my hand during savasana. That was nice.

because

Did you ever wonder why I waited until after we ended to dye my hair? It must have seemed strange. Through all of the months of your "wondering" how I would look with red hair I did nothing and yet the week after you left I emerged a redhead. Ever wonder why?

It's because I always wanted red hair. What I didn't want was the feeling that I'd be better if I were different, that I wasn't good enough as is. That's it. Simple. I wanted to be ok whether I was a styled redhead or a style-challenged blond. What do those things matter anyway? They're just part of the shell. There were things I would have changed about you, you know, you weren't perfect for me. But those small, stupid things - who cares? I wonder what I was doing committing myself to someone who wanted me to be different.

I learned a lot and it definitely bears noting that not all lessons were of the painful kind. So many wonderful things. I learned that I can share my space with someone in a way that is seamless and really like it, I learned that it's great going to bed and waking up laughing with someone, I learned that I can love, I learned that I can commit, and I learned lots of dirty words that no English speaker will ever recognize.

But I do think about that a lot, why I thought it was ok to be with someone who wanted me to change.

blessings

Last week I assisted a yoga class for the first of what is now my regular weekly shift. People filed out of the room thanking me for my help as I stayed behind talking with the teacher and a few other students before grabbing my bike helmet and heading outside for what would be a long, meandering ride home in the gorgeous evening air. The whole time I struggled with the sneaking feeling of being lucky. Incredibly, blessedly lucky.

Life has thrown surprises my way, as it does. There are a few things that, although they hold the most personal meaning, haven't yet found their place in my life as I assumed they would but, in many respects, I'm living the life I always wanted.

I'm pretty sure that a couple of years ago I looked at the assistants, wondered how they got the position, wondered if I'd ever be able to drop into Marichasana C with ease, wished I could be more a part of the yoga community, and even wished I had a bike to ride home. I'm pretty sure I thought those things and last week as I was biking home I couldn't ignore the feeling that I am incredibly lucky because I'm living that life.

I almost wrote about it. I penned the entry in my mind, toyed with how I would explain the experience but then deliberately chose not to. I've been so attached to being sad and so focused on what is missing that I consciously chose not to write about what was right. It's as if I carry the idea that admitting happiness negates my sadness. That acknowledging the parts of my life that are exactly as I want them to be takes away from my disappointment over what is not. And I'm not willing to go let go of my sadness yet - it feels so very real.

So I chose not to write. But then it happened again tonight. The same blessed feeling, and it seems childish not to acknowledge what is going well simply because of my attachment to what is missing. I'm both. I'm living the life I always wanted and I'm sad over those absent pieces.

It's a new thought for me - that I can be both - and it's confusing. It's confusing to grieve the end of something but, at the same time, be able to find a place of contentment and it's confusing to mourn the loss of a life I was so excited about but, at the same time, find happiness in the life I have. Just this morning I wrote about my longing for what is lost and now I'm writing about living the life I always wanted? Which is real? Am I crying or am I calm? Am I in the depths of despair or am I hopeful? Am I lost or am I found?

I feel like I have to choose one or the other. I am sad, disappointed, and a bit lost at the moment but I've let it overshadow all other aspects of my life. I don't like endings, particularly those I didn't think I wanted, and the sadness that accompanies this ending may stay with me for a very long time - but I'm also content with what is.

It is possible to be both. As the days go by I find myself increasingly willing and able to make room for happiness. Life is good, even when it's not.

attachments and figments of my imagination

This morning I added a few extra poses to my practice for no real reason other than that they felt good. As I lay back, enjoying the stretch, I thought about how this would never have been permitted in my old shala. I miss practicing there. Miss the discipline coupled with a deep respect for tradition.

After explaining, for the 800th time, that I have two torn hamstrings and wasn't going deeper into the pose deliberately, I thought about the Helsinki shala where I only had to tell one person, once, that I was working with an injury before all of the teachers knew. I miss the warm, yellow room with its creaking floor, community, and the sound of ujayii breathing enveloping me.

I thought about why I was in Helsinki in the first place and stopped my practice for a minute, surprised by a longing for everything to be like it used to be. Just go back to the way it was.

People keep saying that I sound good. Better. I don't know what to say in return. I'm not sick, not recovering from the flu. I've just been feeling sad. I've also been feeling happy, light, depressed, relieved, angry, wry, cynical, optimistic, and excited - often all in the space of just half an hour. Probably not so different from each of you, albeit each for our own reasons. While sadness and confusion do lurk beneath the surface waiting to rear their heads, I know they'll fade with time, they already are. This is a time of transition and transitions are hard on me.

Breaking up is a transition, redefining what we are to each other is a transition, and the loss of what I thought my life in the immediate future would be like is a transition. I was really excited to live in a new city. To struggle with a new language and see how it would feel to make the foreign familiar. I was excited about that. Now I'm in Toronto returning to my old job and that's exciting too for entirely different reasons, I'm just surprised. And confused. It's like someone took the gameboard of my life, changed the pieces around and plunked me back down in the centre to scramble while I process changes I didn't ask for in the first place.

This morning I just wanted things to be what they used to be. Back in the old shala practicing mysore in the company of the yoga girls, a flight booked to colder climates, and fanciful dreams of a perfect, easy yogi life with my best friend dancing in my head. I longed for things to go back, oh, six months. Maybe seven.

But six or seven months ago the shala was oppressive and downright mean, the future of colder climates already uncertain, and the dreams I had of a perfect yogi life were mine alone - what good are dreams for two when they belong to only one? Six or seven months ago things weren't what I remember them as being. I know that. I know I'm attached to something that is a figment of my imagination, but I kind of wish I could just go back anyway.

I think the hardest part of this transition is learning to be honest with myself about what really was and what I imagined into being.

meh

What do you get when you pair a cold, rainy day with a bored human, a cranky cat, and a borrowed digital camera? Well, seeing as all I wanted was a picture of the cat and I together, the answer could have been fairly simple but, this being me and all, it was anything but.

I don't get it. Given that the cat's preferred activity 99% of the time is standing on my chest, nose pressed to mine while meowing incessantly, a happy cat-human portrait shouldn't have been too challenging. Instead, I got this



and this



and this


I wouldn't exactly call it fun but it was most definitely fuuunny. With all the meowing and flying fur, you would have thought I was making him eat the camera, not sit for it.

I'm not bored anymore but he's super pissed. See the second picture? His red eyes? That has nothing to do with the camera, it's because he really IS that evil.

Meh.

quotes

This morning's paper carried an article about Richard Bradshaw, the former General Director of the Canadian Opera Company who passed on last week. I've had a mini-crush on him since 1995 when I discovered him at the outdoor opera series held at the Harbourfront each August.

I'd just returned from my first overseas trip and was experiencing the kind of world weary despair best experienced by 20-somethings freshly returned from their first European adventure. I was stuck in the backwaters of North America, alienated from my friends who'd managed just fine in my six month absence, and depressed by the fact that nothing had changed. Well, nothing except for my knowledge that EVERYTHING was SO much better in Europe. Grasping for something 'cultural' to do, I read about the outdoor opera series, got dressed in my favourite, purchased-in-Barcelona dress and headed downtown.

It was lovely. Richard Bradshaw was charming and witty and made me enjoy opera. He also, with each wave of his conductor's baton, helped me fall back in love with Toronto. I've had a soft spot for him ever since. I'm sorry to hear that he's passed on. The article quoted him as saying: "The only irresponsible option in art is to avoid taking risks". Love that. And don't think the sentiment is limited to art, I think it transfers every bit as well to life.

In the same newspaper I read another quote which I've heard in varying terms for years without ever knowing that the original source was Mark Twain:
"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bow lines, sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

This quote is one of the truths I return to when I'm trying to make a decision - will I regret NOT having done this in 20 years? If the answer is 'Yes', I do it. If the answer is 'I don't know' I give it time. 'I don't know' usually has fear beneath it - fear of the outcomes, the fall out, making a mistake - and fear has a short life span. If I give it time, the answer comes.

Which leads me to the last 2 years. I took the biggest risk I'd ever taken. I fell in love. Maybe not a big deal to some but for me it would have been far less terrifying to do just about anything else. Falling in love was hard. And it didn't have the fairytale ending I was so sure it should have had. And I'm so, horribly, all-encompassing sad about that. Not depressed, not unhappy, just sad. The kind of sadness I didn't realize it was possible to contain in one body. The kind of sadness that I didn't know could co-exist with happiness, excitement, laughter, release and a sense of freedom - because I'm those things too, there's just a sense of sadness lurking beneath it all. I don't want this. I'm not quite sure how I am containing it. But I am.

I am and I have no regrets. In 20 years I'm not going to have to wonder what would have happened if I'd tried harder. I'm not going to have to wonder what would have happened if I'd gotten on that plane to Finland. I'm not going to have to wonder why I let my fears get in the way of what could have been a beautiful partnership. So yeah, I'm sad and I don't wish for this ending - but I don't have to wonder and I'll never have to regret what I didn't do.

I'm also clearer. Clearer that there is no "but" to real love and understanding that soon I'll stop hoping this isn't really happening and just accept that it happened. I'll be sad until sadness runs it's course and I embrace what life has in store for me next. Through it all, I'll never have to wonder "What if...". There is no what if. I didn't let fear rule my choices.

Which leads me to my last quote of the day, this one from Eleanor Roosevelt:
"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this. I can take the next thing that comes along'. You must do the thing you think you cannot do".

philosophy girl

I was really hoping to write this morning. Was hoping that the act of putting pen to paper would help me clarify this mood. This feeling that something is missing - that I'm missing something. Not a person, a...something. A lesson? A sign? An opportunity? I don't know. I kind of like this foggy, daydreaming feeling but I'd also hoped that the feeling of my pen scratching through the pages of my journal would part the cobwebs of my mind and help me see the missing something.

But I can't write.

I'm in my favourite coffee shop with the awesome coffee, free wireless, funky music and wide open doors as opposed to the dreaded air conditioning. Usually its a refuge. Usually I sit, wrapped in the fuzzy arms of the blue armchair in the corner with my legs tucked under me, and I daydream, or write, or read undisturbed for hours. Today it's different.

Today I'm sitting across from philosophy girl. Philosophy girl really wants to be noticed. She really wants us to know that she's immensely hung over from the bottle of wine she had for dinner last night. She really wants us to know that it 'ruins' her life that there's no wine store in her neighbourhood. And she really, REALLY wants us to know that she's working on her PhD in philosophy.

She rattles on about paradigms, about how the "difference between here and there is time", about "we're living in the 'ought' - who decides what 'ought' is?". I remember that feeling. Of being in my early 20's, of being exposed to new ideas, of how exciting it was and how I really thought that I was the first one ever to hear these things, to think these things. I was insufferable too. So listening to this woman would be endearing if it were'nt so freaking annoying.

I would stop listening but she projects so much, it's difficult to. Instead, I'm listening. And mocking. Yes, very enlightened of me. But if you were here, you'd understand how difficult it is to resist the urge to mock.

Her favourite topic this morning is how if someone can't explain their philosophy or their thesis to the 'average' person of 'average' intelligence, then they don't really understand their philosophy themselves. She lectures at length on the idea, however, when her companion manages to get a word in edgewise to ask her about her thesis she retreats quickly with mumbled comments about it being 'complicated' to explain and loud complaints about red wine and how hung over she is.

Ok. I take it back. It is kind of endearing. Cute, earnest, seeking little philosophy girl.

most inappropriate inspirational quote ever

This was forwarded to me today by someone who, for reasons I'm afraid to put too much thought into (you'll understand when you read the quote), thought of me when they read it:

"The faint of heart never get to screw a wildcat. Go out and live, do things that you are afraid of, and then let go of the outcome".

Let the record show that I have never, not once, even contemplated screwing a wildcat.

Back from a few days of silence and solitude at the cottage where I divided my time between wading in the creek and sitting in 'my' tree out back. What could be more magical than sitting in the calm, wise, enduring embrace of a tree? That a small creek bubbles merrily along just below where I like to sit makes it that much better. It was nice.

It was particularly nice because the morning before I left my mind was full of all kinds of happiness, anger, curiosity, mischief, sadness, quiet, noise, calm and hyperactivity all in the space of seconds. One feeling being replaced by another before I could even register the first. The monkey mind was active.

As I practiced this morning I was thinking about what a difference a month makes. I started thinking about it because I was so. very. tired. The teacher training intensive in July didn't allot time for a personal practice and, although my practice grew in many ways during that month, my stamina for a vinyasa practice is gone. So. This morning as I dragged my sopping, exhausted, winded self through the last quarter of my practice I thought about what a difference that month has made to my stamina.

Then I started thinking about all the other things that have changed in the span of four short weeks. This time last month I had only just returned home, was still in teacher training, still in a relationship, still had a tourist staying with me, was still unemployed, still planning to leave Toronto, still had blond-ish hair, had never assisted anyone in a yoga class, and didn't even know that a lovely cottage lay in my future. This month, of course, none of the above holds true. And next month? Who knows.

By this time in September I'll have already returned to work and I'll have a new tourist staying with me but the rest of it? No idea. Some ideas. Lots of excitement. But no real, make a plan idea. Think I'm finally settling into the fact that this is the way I like it best.

stupid mouse man

Sound the alarms, someone in the building has seen a mouse. My landlord lives for emergencies such as these. He brought a pest control team through today, less than 24 hours after the enemy sighting.

I spent the morning at home wanting to be here when they came through; in part to make sure my landlord didn't nose around too much and in part to gloat that there have been no mouse sightings in my apartment thanks to my lovely kitty-cat roommate. That last bit was particularly important as the cat has been a bone of contention with my landlord since day one. The snide comments and references to evicting me were only silenced when I forwarded section 10.4 of the landlord tenant act which states that you cannot evict a tenant for having a companion pet such as a cat or dog. Needless to say, I was happy to be present to wave my mouse-free flag and point out the benefits of having a four legged roommate.

Then the stupid mouse man came and pointed his flashlight under my sink to point out mouse droppings before swinging the flashlight to the bowl of nearby cat food and stating that mice like cat food. My landlord followed him around the apartment repeating that over and over - "So, they like the cat food huh? Isn't that interesting." No. It's not interesting. And it sounds highly unlikely. A mouse is going to scrabble it's way over the edges of a smooth porcelain bowl to immerse itself in food enjoyed by one of its predators? I don't believe it.

The damage done, the stupid mouse man left behind a couple of poison-filled boxes and assurances that the mice won't die in the house, they'll eat the poison and leave the house in search of water to die a slow agonizing death outside.

I threw the poison boxes away after they left. Shhhh...don't tell anyone....



How could you not love this face?

nothing and something

People keep asking me what I'm going to do in September. When I share that I've agreed to return to my old position on a part-time basis, the next question is what I'm going to do with the other days. I don't know.

No idea. Zip. Zero. Nothing.

I'm the only one from my yoga teacher training program who hasn't already sought out teaching opportunities. Partly because I don't feel ready to lead a class yet and partly because I don't want to. While I don't exactly know what I want to do with my free days this fall, I do know that they involve doing a whole lot of nothing. I also know that it will all make sense in hindsight. There's something in store.

This weekend I assisted my first yoga class. It was a sunset class held in the beaches and it was perfect. I parked my car just off the highway and rollerbladed to the outdoor pavilion where the class was held. Mats were arranged to face the lake, small candles were placed here and there. Practice took place with the magic of the lake in front of us, the sound of people enjoying the summer evening around us and the beauty of the sunset above us. After the practice people stopped to say thank you which surprised and humbled me. I should have thanked them.

After practice I rollerbladed in the darkness back to my car stopping several times to look at the stars, stare the the lake, and check out the recent creations of 'rock balancing guy'. It was perfect.

easy

I've been thinking about the 'easy' joke. The one we repeated over and over, the one about how easy I was. The word with its high school implications made us laugh while, at the same time, it was always said with a touch of surprise. Things were easy between us, we slipped into being together so seamlessly that it was strange but great.

I've been thinking about it and I've decided that you were easy too. You were easy to scare away.

The first time I told you that I was having doubts and needed you to be the strong one, you ended it. The first time I told you I needed distance, you retreated without even trying. The first time I gave in and gave up on us, you didn't even pretend to step forward and pick up the slack. When things stopped being easy between us, you very easily threw in the towel, very easily gave up, very easily decided it wasn't worth fighting for.

You were easy.

Thing is, you were also easy to predict. Before you left you filled the air with talk of things not being over, of wondering what it would be like to live in Toronto, of being confused, but even as you talked I knew. I knew it was over because I knew you wouldn't work for it. It'd been the way of things between us since we got together, I just ignored it. I ignored that it was easy for you to retreat and give up because I didn't want to give us up.

Lately I've been angry with you. Angry that you were so easy to scare away and that you don't care to fight but, really, I'm just angry with myself. I should have let things be easy myself and stopped trying so hard ages ago.

That's easy to see now.

bandaids and chocolate

Today I asked the person I love to stop contacting me. If it's going to hurt, it may as well really hurt so I can feel it, grieve it, process it, and move on. Ripping the bandaid off quickly as opposed to slowly and all that.

As with all procedures for the faint of heart - or the big babies - I'm pairing the choice to really hurt all at once (instead of the long, slow, chatty email kind of hurt) with chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate to sugarcoat the fact that this is actually happening, that this is actually a breakup - period.

This sucks. Here's to crappy choices and great chocolate.