Daydreaming my life away

My imagination rocks

The real world simply can not compete. Sorry real world. I had a kick ass daydream today which I naturally sabotaged because my imagination rocks but it is also still generated by me which means there are no happy endings. In real life, long ago in a college physics class, I sat next to this beautiful man--we'll call him Marc. Marc was ridiculously good looking to me, dark hair, suggestive of some kind of Greek or other European heritage. He rode a bike to school back when no one did that and he was just the nicest guy. He sometimes doodled on my paper or corrected my equations when I was clearly off the mark. Maybe he only did each of those things only once but he did do them.

The thing about Marc though was I would get a feeling that someone was looking at me, I would look at him and he would be staring at me. We would just stare at each other and then break the gaze. I didn't feel weird or awkward or anything. It was so completely natural like, 'hey there, of course we're just going to stare at each other for 15 seconds.' I never understood what was going on there but thought it must be something. It's possible he was looking over me at someone else or through me but I thought he was staring at me, that we were staring right into each other's eyes. I could literally stare right into his eyes all day. It was like nothing I've ever experienced before or since.

I don't think about him often but today he popped into my head and it.was.awesome. It goes without saying that I'm not expecting great things to come of my pending trip abroad--I'm never expecting great things and this is not a time to break set with what's been working for me. But man, this daydream was *sweet*.

*Begin dream sequence*

I walk into work the first day and who is there? Marc with the beautiful eyes. Hot damn. And Marc is miraculously single, not gay, and not a man-whore. The eye lock commences and I feel, literally feel, something in my heart/soul/upper GI-tract *click.* This is why I'm here, this is who he is, it is written. Even in this day dream I know this is the one that will end me if it ends, if it turns out to be falsehood or manipulation. So naturally, my daydream skips the rails and he turns out to be a bad guy of some ilk.

Now mind you, this is a daydream. I am awake. I am literally fighting with my imagination, to carve out a happily ever after and can not get there from here. Imagination is a place where labradors can deejay or I could be a multi-platinum hip-hop artist--a place where absolutely ANYTHING is possible.

As my good friend put it, I am "beautifully broken." Seriously, how lucky am I to have someone who means that with all his heart and soul in a way that I can't articulate but know he wouldn't change a single thing about me? That's so awesome. I seriously love that dude. He's the kind of guy who wants feedback on his wedding invitations because they worked really hard to find something unique and in the next sentence is breathless about being able to nerd out on some motorcycle testosterone vrooom vroom something something or a gun. I don't doubt that marriage is all the hard work married people say it is, I have a hard enough time living with myself, but man do I want his heart to swell a million times over making a family with a really great woman.

Something in me is always prepared to be jealous when my friends have made the decision to make someone their 'final answer' but it's just never happened. It's not like I'm thinking, 'ha-ha suckas! Imma be over here marinating in my own filth, wearing cotton underwear EVERY NIGHT, and only shaving when *I* want to! Have fun being married!' They'll probably be living that dream eventually anyway so I'm not really besting anyone. I think I've shed the ideal(ism) that anyone has an ideal existence. There are benefits to the way that all of us live that lead us to chose our present circumstance over another. This is how it is.

In other news

Being inside is awesome. I love being in my house. I love being outside with Baloo on a crisp sunny morning, listening to the storm drain creek, watching her sniff the air. Life is damn near perfect at those moments. Those kinds of moments; beautiful moonrise, leaves crunching under dog paws this is the stuff that makes my life, my life. It is an Edie Brickell, Me By The Sea existence but it has its upside.

Word jumble

Oh Wise One

Don't you just love someone who dishes out helpful advice even when it isn't solicited or necessary? I know I do. Take today when someone suggested I schedule my language test later in the morning after I said I wasn't a morning person. Hmmm....you don't say? The test I'm scheduling for myself at a time of my choosing, I should make that at a time convenient for me? Quit your day job, Oprah! I want YOU running my life if you've got more gems like that. Can't wait to be in a foreign country away from my family with you, you special person, you. It will be like sitting at the feet of Jesus or Buddha. I am in for a *treat.* Maybe you can even remind me to wear a hat and gloves when it's cold or to watch out when I cross the street. I can't figure out if giving advice is your full time job, or you just like to hear the sound of your own voice and want us to feel like we're getting something out of it too. Perhaps you do not have enough to do? Or you just think everyone around you lacks common sense?

Ugh. You are wasting everybody's time.

In Memoriam: Steve the would-be-lymph-node

Oh Steve. You were such a potential bad-ass 24 hours ago. Now you're a discarded fatty mass that almost got your own spinoff sitcom from the Ava show. Prime time is hard, lots of pilots don't get picked up Steve. Don't beat yourself up about it. Just think, of all the fatty masses I'm rocking, you were the one who was recognized for your star potential and plucked out of obscurity. I know you wanted more for yourself but I think you're great just the way you were and cancer doesn't have a thing on you. You rock. Thanks for being you.

So.....

I guess we're back to this leaving the country thing again. *sigh* While Steve was being screened to focus groups, I kind of back-burnered language and worry and dread about this assignment because I figured there may be much bigger fish to fry. When the doctor came in and told me Steve was an impostor, I had about .3 seconds of great relief before the ungrateful '*sigh* Guess I'm going to eastern Europe,' followed by 'oh shit I've got so much to do before I go' thoughts moved into the vacuum Steve left.

Maybe my memory fails me but I think this is the first time I've been crazy enough to think something like "Well, if I have cancer, at least I won't have to go to eastern Europe." I think this is first time I've considered a serious disease having any upside at all. Cry/blood curdling scream/guttural moan for help perhaps?

Need to rally or find the reset button on this because it's an exhausting process without having to drag myself through it. I asked a friend to keep her eye out for a job that might trump this one in terms of people willing to put up a fight to get me. I think that's the last I can give this before just riding the current out there and beginning the countdown to leaving upon arriving. I know, A+ attitude Ava!

Just some random

Good News; Bad News

No matter how this (sick/well) turns out, it's a good news bad news story. I guess it's good enough news that there is an upside for each bit of bad news. Of course I wish it was either all bad or all good but I guess there must be balance. But only me, and for a fleeting moment before she mentally flogged herself for even letting it cross her mind, my friend DJ, and possibly my parents see a relieving upside to being me semi-unwell. Of course I don't get to pick the degree of un-wellness but if you can humor me on such a serious subject, it's not unlike a kid trying to get out of school. In an ideal world, he's sick enough to stay home but well enough to enjoy it. I know I'm not a kid anymore and this isn't kids play. I don't want to be ill and tossed into the valley of poor health. There is a point of diminishing returns on its blog fodder value. However, I'm going to give myself kudos on advanced coping skills for thinking of all the good things that can come from a medical detour of my previously laid plans. A lymph node or two have swelled in protest and are now unhappy and sore, mourning the loss of their brother in arms. I thought Steve's neighbors (I've named the lymph node who started it all, Steve) might be upset after witnessing his sudden and graphic eviction but they have been pretty quiet until tonight. I'm thinking that means antibiotics so glad I'm seeing the doctor in the morning. Fearfully and wonderfully made...fix one thing, make a new thing to fix.

A Full Life

Whenever my computer goes into sleep mode, a slide show from my photos starts. When I saw a picture of me in the plane I "co-piloted" (emphasis on the quotes) when I was 19 or so, it occurred to me that one might get the impression from my photos that I've lived a very full life. If you only knew me through what I write about myself, I'm not sure you would get that impression. In this space, I'm often looking for something that the photos say I have. If nothing else, the pictures are a testament that I'm at least getting around while in pursuit of some other magical life. I think that's why I've changed my attitude about pictures. There are few, very few that I like myself in but I wish I had more because even if I don't feel like I've done anything with my life, the pictures could trick people into thinking I have. It's all about appearances, you know.

For the dog(s)

Oh the places I've been with you sweet, softly snoring Baloo. I have a lot of mental vignettes staring you, a couple of prominent scars courtesy of you, many inappropriate songs I've inserted your name into (e.g. "I'm trying to find the words to describe Baloo without being disrespectfuuul. Damn Baloo!" or my personal favorite "Promiscuous Dog, you teasin' me. You know what I want and I got what you need") but tonight was super fun. You pooped next to the passenger side of that unmarked cop car and I thought, yay. But he didn't notice you, black dog in the dark, he noticed me standing at his passenger door, staring down at the ground looking for your poop. Bonus, I was rocking the ipod so I didn't hear when he rolled down his window to ask if he could help me in that way where it's clear he is not at all concerned if I need help. Caught off guard, I couldn't muster any courtesy and just waved my plastic bag covered hand at him and said, 'I'm picking up poop.' He rolled up his window and got on with his life. Thanks dog buddy for trying to get me shot.

Former friends (aka poking the Bear)

When I first moved to Philadelphia I decided to get in the mix, you know, single gal in city, hanging out with other single gals, doing all that stuff that looks so fun on TV or when you see other people doing it. I'm super glad I did it. It was the antidote to my curiosity about what I was missing out there and the joys and drains of hanging out with women who aren't really your friends. I don't mean that in a malevolent way, like we didn't like each other, I'm just making a distinction between being friendly and being friends. I liked everyone there but no one was dedicating 'Lean on Me' to one another.

I don't have many Facebook friends and even fewer from Philly but one of girls I used to hang out with on the regular, my closest girlfriend there, hasn't said a word to me since I left. She was mad at me for refusing a going away dinner/birthday party thing and I had no interest in fueling her backwards thinking by trying to smooth her feathers about it. When she asked why I didn't want a party, I said since it was my birthday, I should get to do what I want and I don't want to do anything. I was hoping she would have a moment of clarity and realize she was making something for me about her but instead I am pretty sure that was the last time we spoke. It's a shame. When she's not being high maintenance or passive aggressive, she's hilarious and fun to be around.

I've got plenty of Facebook chaff, really I could have 4 friends on Facebook and be set, 8 if I count folks who comment on a status update at least once every 6 months or so. But having on her my friend list feels like being at a party where you can tell someone is deliberately not talking to you. Maybe I'm making it up in my head but I feel like we're in a Facebook detente, she won't de-friend me because she has over 200 friends plus hobbies and interests outside of me (gasp) and I won't de-friend her because it *will* be a thing among the 2 people I met through her that I'm still in occasional contact with. A part of me just wants to call a spade a spade, but nothing that happens in her life happens alone and she will bring in at least her immediate family, the two other people we know in common, and folks I've never met to discuss me ad nauseum in very unflattering terms. No thanks. It's only boredom, desire for distraction, and procrastination that even drives me to think about engaging her to clear the air.

Newman!

Remember those moments during Seinfeld when Jerry would suddenly recognize some odd or terrible going on was the work of his nemesis neighbor Newman? That's me recognizing a spell with depression and anxiety. It's to be expected given the wear and tear of the last few weeks and quickly approaching overseas departure. I guess I've been a little bit in denial about my excessive desire to shelter in place and mounting personal clutter, a hallmark of my particular brand of mental rhinovirus.

I got up and at 'em this morning, fixed a big breakfast, did a load of laundry, ran the dishwasher, walked the dog, and then went back to bed for 3 hours. I just get so tired. Maybe it's the seasons changing as many people seem to be complaining of grogginess but given the state of play in my house, it's probably a mental blue screen of death that makes it hard to get anything started indoors, and really, really, really, does not want to venture out into all the humanity that comes out over the weekend to accomplish the same chores we all save for the weekend.

Because I was at the point were all my easy meal solutions had been exhausted and I had been compelled to eat barely seasoned mustard chicken strips and tater tots last night, I ventured out today. It was awful. So many damn people. So many people it is impossible to faithfully execute your grocery list because people are in the way at every stop. I was in front of a woman in line who was on broadcast with all her thoughts and musings. She had a toddler and a husband with her but if I had not turned around, I could have easily believed she was by herself. The baby barely talked and the husband understood how to use his library voice to speak to someone mere inches from his face. It would have been so satisfying to ask her why she was a: trying to teach her barely-speaking-English-toddler French when it was obvious she was in no way from France and there are far more relevant languages to expose a child to in the U.S., like, I don't know Spanish/Arabic/Mandarin/English? and b: why she needed to use her broadcast voice to ask her daughter questions in French (that the little girl did not answer or seem to understand because I suspect Mommy only pulls this shit in public in long lines so she has an audience). I caught myself actually clenching my jaw.

I got home and sat in the car again, not ready to start in on the chore of putting away groceries and walking the dog. I finally came in, did the needful, walked the dog miserable and tired of walking the dog. I was ready for bed again but I stayed up and watched several episodes of Storage Wars-a show I have never seen before today and not likely to tune into again. Now it's 1 am and I'm all set to repeat today's cycle.

Newman...

A-hole friend

Absolutely everyone needs one of these people. Someone who lets you know just how much trouble something is, not one to make great sacrifice or extend themselves beyond what is convenient for them. These are people I trust in a weird way. I feel confident whatever I get from them is given freely.

So I found out my procedure will involve sedation instead of a little local anesthetic as I had hoped so I will not be able to drive myself home and for a reason that probably has its origins in a very unfortunate incident, hospital regulations forbid me from catching a taxi home. I had a ride lined up but the procedure unfortunately ended up being scheduled while they are out of town so I decided to ask my friend Maybe.

Naturally, he wasn't sure at first and I told him I really didn't need him to be unsure, he could just say no and be sure. As sure as he was my plan B, I had a plan C. He works from home, btw. He decided I was worth missing the weekly sales call if it came to that and then asked me in typical Maybe fashion if it was only a drop off or was I going to need other things like food or something. I assured him no more would be required of him beyond pushing me out of his still moving car. He was relieved and said they had just helped one of their other friends and it was a huge pain in the ass. It will be nice to share this event with him. He's a good guy, he just has absolutely no tact. That's part of why I love him. It's nice to know what's on a person's mind for real.

What me, happy?

I don't know about you but about the worst thing someone can wish for me to my face is for me to be happy. Nothing quite takes the wind out of my sails and makes me feel like I've accomplished nothing in my life. Am I alone here?

It's been a banner day. You know, feeling worse than usual about all that didn't get done on the weekend, overwhelmed and unprepared for the week ahead, less nuts than usual about the chick checking me out in the mirror after my shower. But I was plugging along until I dropped a piano on myself and my dad followed it with an anvil, just like in our favorite cartoons.

I've been at this exercise thing for a couple of years now and it's been great. I'm stronger, I feel better, my clothes fit better, and I kind of like my body. I decided almost that long ago that I wasn't going to gauge my progress via the scale since a number wasn't my goal and blah, blah, boring philosophy. Since I started, my pants are looser, I've had to buy new bras, and things fit that I couldn't even button before. My endurance has increased, I can run for the first time in years and not think I'm dying when I do it. It's been fantastically validating and has kept me motivated to keep investing in myself blah, blah, self affirmation.

I was curious about the number but knew that whatever it was, it wouldn't seem like enough. I never expected it would be more but indeed it is. Either I'm a muscle building mo-fo or I need some serious psychiatric intervention because I have *no* idea what the fuck I look like. Maybe the jackets that I think are zipping up have mangled busted zippers with fat spilling out of every crease and all I can see is a cleaner, smoother silhouette. Maybe I have finally lost my mind and am incapable of seeing myself. It's possible.

I feel a little crazy but the crotch kicker is I did this in front of my dad who is both a man and my dad which makes him the worst person to be armed with this information. First he suggested Weight Watchers which he started (again) 3 weeks ago after gaining 7 pounds in his previous 6 months on the program not attending meetings. I have never ever met a person who welcomes the suggestion that they should join Weight Watchers, AA, or that they look tired, or pregnant. People can not fucking help themselves can they? I was processing this hateful number that I knew better than to view and my dad was rambling on about how I'm the psychology major and what would I tell someone who engages in avoidance behaviors like not opening their mail like I was sitting at the table with a fistful of lard in my hand and a lard-smeared oxygen mask over my face waiting for EMS to cut me out of my bedroom.

That I could deal with. I became frustrated however because he wasn't hearing me and kept at it with gems like 'well when you go overseas, you'll lose weight,' and 'to me, you're pretty and you look fine' but the kicker was when he told me that he just wanted me to be happy and that he and mom had been praying earnestly and fervently on this point. OMFG. You want me to be happy?! What the fuck do you think I'm working on over here? This is fucking happiness factory. I'm just about over your bullshit, just about over work bullshit, just about over things not matching up with some rom-com ending I had in my head bullshit (and gaining awareness and appreciation every day for all the things that come with that 'happy ending' that I don't have to deal with), just enjoying the freedom of late 30's and the clarity it brings as less and less becomes possible and the life you always had becomes the one you think you'd chose.

But since you're petitioning God on my behalf, you know what would make me happy? You not fucking sending me a text message when you think you are dying and then arguing with me for 2 hours when I ask that someone let us know when you're concerned enough to send just-in-case last words via SMS. I mean really. Ask Him to help you understand why that was very not okay. Ask Him to make you a better listener and to not offer me a ziploc bag full of face-sized cookies after suggesting I join Weight Watchers. Can you even hear yourself?

And in all this, driving away from the house on the brink of tears after telling you that you were completely missing the point, wishing it wasn't so late where Soul Twin is so she could talk me down, wishing it weren't so early on the West coast so my other friend could talk me down (they are specialists at talking me down), I'm happy Dad because I knew this story would end up here. This makes me happy. I don't understand what happiness is supposed to be or look like but I do know that this awful evening is great blog fodder so all's well that ends well. I guess God hears you.

Open letter: So you say you don't watch television, eh?

Dear person who 'doesn't watch television',

Big effin deal. I don't murder people or referee dog fighting rings but I don't bring that up when I'm talking about someone who does. I don't actually care if you do or do not watch television but you make such a deal about not watching TV and how it gives you time for 'other' things that you are tacitly passing judgement on people who do watch TV. Btw, for the guy who said that to me today, watching sports *is* watching TV and DVR'ing shows is *also* watching TV so I'm not sure why you made such a point of how little you watch TV since I don't know any sport that lasts for less than 2 hours.