Nevermind

I know what I said a couple of posts back about not questioning the journey once the challenge has been accepted but sometimes I'm wrong.  I'm over it.  The only thing I like about my life right now is the ability to get stuff done during the day because I'm not at work.  Everything else is a lonely frustrating verb conjugating, gender/article/number agreement hell.  I'm full circle back to America, fuck yea, speak English.  When you become the center of commerce and science, we'll speak your language.  Until then, I've got a smart phone with internet and Google translate.  You'll probably speak English; I'll get by with Google when you don't.

So this post won't be about growth and accepting professional dares because they sound cool or you're bored.  It will be about the courage of quitting.  Of letting yourself down and letting others down and realizing nobody dies when that happens.

Street Fair

'If I see you again, I'm going to attack and harass you.'  Might be the best thing anyone has said to me since I moved here.  I was a little worried when I left Philly I was leaving all the kooky fun and random encounters with strange people behind.  Not so.  That gem of a line above came courtesy of a visiting construction worker from New York who insisted even though he said 'attack' and 'harass' instead of 'say hello' or 'ask you out', he meant me no harm and my ninja would not be necessary.  Per Ronnel, that's how they say it in New York and it does not mean I should get some pepper spray in anticipation of our next encounter.  Phew!  Glad he cleared that up for me.  How awkward would that have been?  He'd be trying to rock his attack and harass mac and I would be bear-macing him and screaming.  I know I was sending somewhat mixed signals because I was smiling so broadly during his awful alarming pickup attempt but I just couldn't help it.  It was that awfully good.  Even better, this was after I told him I had a boyfriend.   Thanks Ronnel.  You were even better than the white lady with a little white dog who commented when Baloo barked, 'Well you know, big black dog, little white dog...' and trailed off like I knew something about the race wars between (colorblind) white and black dogs.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child

And shortly after I turned 36, I returned to speaking like a child.  I never thought learning a language would be so emotional.  I never thought I would get frustrated like a child just starting to talk. Every child has to cross that bridge between gesturing, sounds that mean words they would say if they could, and actual words.  There are tears on that bridge, meltdowns when a parent guesses wrong and the kid screams bloody murder because they are frustrated that they can't get their point across.  That's how I feel right now.  I can't be me in this language.  I can't say what I would say, I can only say what I know how to say and naturally after just one week, my repertoire consists of robot phrases; good morning, good night, thank you, the weather is ____, the date is _____.  Almost every piece of electronics I own can say or write these things. In at least 2 languages.

I'm feeling constrained both by my lack of vocabulary and ability to communicate but also by my imagination.  I can not conceive a day when I can even count in this language.  Wish I had the 3 years to learn that I had when learning how to count as a kid.  This process is like being introduced to numbers on Tuesday, doing a couple of multiplication tables on Wednesday, long division on Thursday, and Calculus on Friday.  Every night I want to sit down and figure out numbers to some level of mastery but I also feel a pressure to keep up with the Calculus because we are for sure moving on to theoretical physics.  I'm having mini-freakout meltdowns on the regular and it's only been a week.  So that's what this will be.  An emotional and educational journey.  Tantrums are to be expected.  After all, this process is taking away my words.

Some random false starts...

from a few weeks ago that I felt like publishing....unfinished and unlikely to ever be finished but I wanted Lodo to at least know I wrote him an open letter.

14 September

Forgotten but not gone

 I've missed you blog. This move has been especially disruptive for writing which is a shame because I'm frankly constipated with all the shit I've been wanting to sit down and sort out. There was the joy of camping out on the air mattress after the movers came, the final messy disjointed Beverly Hillbillies Clampett-loaded car roll out of Philadelphia, the initial separation anxiety over the culture shock of returning to the D.C. metro area, the unpleasant spade work of searching for a place to live, the move in, the power outage, the Soul Twin departure, and today, the 6 hour road trip to Philly and back to tie up that last loose end.

On the subject of today's road trip, I didn't want to do it. I was a little emotional about it really last night when Ashley texted she couldn't unscrew the coax cable on the modem I forgot to return with my cable box. It was my issue and my fault for overlooking it. Still I hoped to get some pay it forward return on investment for all the things I think I do for people just because. *Cue self-righteous martyr mode* Maybe I'm not as considerate as I think I am and only hear what I want to believe about myself but if what I spend my time thinking of is any indication of my priorities, professionally, I obsess over how to get things done and how to help people get things done. That does not seem to be the case for most of the acquaintences I made in Philly and it certainly isn't the case for my family.

Though it's not good material, I have a desire to vent and be vindictive about it. Moving is stressful and I'm off for sure. I feel vulnerable and sad and alone and then I feel strong, amazing, proud and fully capable of taking care of myself. I'm sure my Prius can tow, but it's not built for towing and it will take its toll. That's how I feel today about not coupling. I look at lovely Baloo and her confident well mannered and balanced approach to life; she isn't afraid of anything, she's wonderful and predictable with people and children, she considers every open door to be an invitation. Except as it concerns other dogs. She is anxious around them and projects aggression as a means to protect herself. She grows tall, fur stands up, posture is erect, and she is about the business of letting the other dog know she's in charge and won't accept them as dominant. It they want to test her, she will flip out, say some nasty things in whatever language dogs speak and commence the mount and/or stealing of toys/warm visitation with the owner of the other dog. I look at her and I see myself. Minus the mounting and taking of toys.

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Dear Lodo

I keep composing this in the car or in the shower or while out walking the dog or doing anything that prevents me from writing this down when I know what I want to say and how I want to say it. I addressed this post to you because you are the person with whom I've had the most consistent dialogue on here and you are the only person I don't know who reads regularly. Not only is that encouraging because someone who has no sense of personal obligation/relationship to me is reading, but also because I admire your talent for storytelling and insight. It is hard to tell a good story and you do a great job.

It's been a long month Lodo. I moved, then helped a friend move. I wallowed in a bit of a sad sack feeling not at all helped by my abandonment of exercise and the routine I had going. I'm up late, up early, I'm watching hours of TV, it's spiraling into a full out funk. It's an act of will to bathe. I can't sleep until I do and I won't do it until I'm so tired I ache. I've been thinking a lot of the guy, the guy from over a decade ago who isn't really a guy anymore. He's more a representation of what I thought that had the potential to be. I think he's somewhere in the D.C. metro area and I keep bracing to run into him. I haven't run into the same person twice in the apartment complex I'm living in right now, not sure why I'm bracing to run into that guy.

Challenges: Abstract and Actual

There are many things I believe I'd like to do someday. Having children, rock climbing, writing a book, a safari, visiting Alaska (during a Palin off-season), skydiving... It's not quite a bucket list, I wouldn't be devastated if most of those never happened but if the opportunity presented, those are some of the things I think I would like doing. Learning a language was on that list too. Something about being in on the secret, being an insider to the code of communication somewhere outside of America has always appealed to me. Old Boss would be on the phone sometimes with his parents speaking his mother tongue and I just loved it. I loved it but it also frustrated me because I wanted in. I wished there were some way I could understand what he was saying. Now I have that opportunity and it's daunting. I was thinking this evening about the big talk before the expedition on every documentary ever made; the thirst for knowledge, exploration, good of mankind...blah, blah. Then the journey begins and there's suffering,unexpected challenges, setbacks, pain and exhaustion, worry. Then the questions. Is it worth it? Why are you doing this? What are you trying to prove? But none of that matters once the challenge is underway. The challenge has been accepted. I can still ask those kinds of questions but they are completely irrelevant now. Now it is time for choices. I can chose to forge ahead, I can chose to quit. I can chose to spend precious energy lamenting that the one language I chose to study is the only remaining romance language with three genders or I can devote time to learning them even though I not so secretly think if you're the last language standing using three genders for nouns maybe you hold on to dying trends too tightly. What I will say is that it takes a special kind of person to teach a language. Not only in skill but in patience. I could not listen to an adult learn how to read English slowly and deliberately, sucking every word and ever sentence dry of its meaning be-ca-use e-ve-r-y l-e-t-t-e-r is r-ea-d l-i-k-e t-h-i-s. Stay in school kids, stay in school. Literacy is a gift.

Transition

I have a Soul Twin. She was the only person in my life who had near unlimited time for me; no kids, no significant other. The person you could always count on to call back the same day. I don't resent other friends with their spouses and kids and hobbies (i.e., lives) but I know they don't have time to hang out with me on the phone while I pick out my clothes and walk my dog or browse the internet virtually with me while I look for shoes and clothes. Soul Twin did. Soul Twin also picked my brother up from the airport when my mom was in the hospital even though she had never met him and watched my dog even though she had two cats and a concussion. Until last Saturday, we talked almost every single day and often several times a day, sharing funny circumstances, consulting on purchases, passing the time while stuck in traffic or cleaning house. As is her custom when starting a new job, Soul Twin has completely fallen off the radar. If she were a plane, it would already be a search and rescue mission as there has been no sign of life since I talked to her as she was boarding her flight. It might be one of my least favorite things about her but no one is surprised to have not heard from her.

Now I have oceans of empty space where there was once conversation and no one to talk to. At least not with the intimacy that comes from long conversations about everything from the random text I got from some guy to when I'm finally going to schedule that surgery I've needed for years. Old Boss and I have been keeping up fairly regularly but there is a part of writing him that makes me sad and frustrated. I don't want to be good friends with married men while I'm unattached. There is nothing untoward about our friendship. It just frustrates me because what I have with Old Boss and all the other guys I'm friends with, I want in my own boyfriend. Doesn't mean I'll stop having men as friends but I want the first person I want to share something gut busting with to be mine. I don't want to derive my joy in life from a random e-mail from Old Boss or a text message from a friend. It is bratty to reject the places I mine for joy since joy is completely optional in life but I can and I do. It's not enough. I want more. I needed this nothing buffer before I got busy again but it's clear my mind is not healthy on idle. Doesn't help I haven't been to the gym either.

Being back in D.C. has me a little messed up in the head right now as well. Last time I checked in an ill-advised late night reckless Facebooking incident, 'the one that got away' was now residing in the D.C. metro area. D.C. is a place you run into people you haven't seen in decades all the time; in the hallway, in the metro, in a meeting. It's the seat of government, it's the Headquarters for everyone. If your past will meet you anywhere, it will meet you in D.C.. Right before I left 3 years ago, I ran into someone from college at the grocery store. They had been living down the street from me. I ran into someone I last saw as a teenager on the escalator of the Metro. That's the D.C. metro area. The potential exists. I don't know if seeing him again would wreck me or heal me but in the idle thought space before starting language, I wonder about it everytime I leave the house. Good thing language starts Monday.

My philosophy remains that transitions suck. I don't anticipate ever savoring the journey and the space between broken and healed, the chaos of trying to organize your old life in a new space, it's just not me. But I think I will keep forcing upheaval into my life, pulling up stakes, throwing my life into disarray simply because for me, it is more interesting than sitting still. If I were to indulge myself and sit still, I think it would be my undoing for sitting still is my default. If I didn't have a dog, I could easily not leave my house for days. Speaking of leaving the house, the lab is moments from silently guilting me with her intense brown eyes to use my opposable thumbs for good and take her outdoors where we have mutually agreed is the best place for her to use the bathroom. Thank God for her. I would be 500 pounds and even more socially isolated were it not for her.