...That Ends Well

I find myself writing these either shortly after some sort of catastrophic event has taken place or while waiting impatiently for one to occur. This time it's the former--the end of a relationship--that makes me wish I could capture exactly how I feel right now. All the confusion, fear, regret, emptiness; as if writing it down means getting it out of my system. I don't want to feel lost.

So I don't. Not really. I'm quite adept at pushing my feelings aside and pressing on. But apparently pretending not to feel lost just makes me feel...not more lost, but apathetic? I'm not even paying attention to what I'm doing anymore, just blindly bumping into walls, some sort of trial by error therapy. Friends weren't making me feel better, getting dressed up and going out wasn't making me feel better, and trying to get laid and backing out at the last moment certainly wasn't either. So what's next? Writing, apparently. And I know that won't make me feel better.

Not that this post should be an emo sadfest. There are lessons that have been learned, barriers that have been brought down, a relationship that has evolved despite the crippling pains of inadequacy and self doubt. No one is dead or broken. Nothing has been lost that can't be regained or replaced with something else.

And assuming this blog will continue to reflect nothing but new beginnings, completely detached from any middles or endings: here's to a fresh start!

French Bingo at the Patisserie

"O soixante-quatre."

O...sixty...four? O sixty-four.

No. Crap.

"N trente et un."

Thirty and...yes!

So close.

"N quarante-trois."

Dammit.

"Bingo! Bingo!"

Dammit!

"Bring that up... Well, congratulations! Which one did you want?"

"Uhh...the Concord?"

"Nice. The last one, too."

What?! DAMMIT!

(2:24AM) Nicholas: Play Message

At exactly 12AM on August 23rd an unidentified woman deemed it necessary to leave me a message on my voicemail that consisted solely of her saying the word "penis" in a crowded room before hanging up.

About a month before this, Gabriel called from the Greek restaurant I had been working at for several days to tell me the batshit crazy woman who ran the place had decided to hire someone else and didn't plan on paying me for my work because she considered it "unpaid training". I didn't pick up because I already knew.

Two months prior, Daniel called from the airport to set up what we would do when he got home from California, and I would have picked up if I hadn't polished off two bottles of wine with his roommate.

Last night the messages were about safe rides home, Disney movies, and the end of a 4-month sex drought.

Does anyone save my messages?

Working the Double Shift

Today's theme for lunch appeared to be Christianity. I saw three women actually pray in the dining room (ending by making the sign of the cross), and overheard a man discussing the second coming of Jesus. I do little to hide the fact that Christianity and organized religion in general absolutely terrify me, and I can only wonder if any of my guests saw my eyes widen and bulge and my jaw drop at these occurrences.

The theme for dinner? ANGER. Well, no, not quite, but for some reason every server (including myself) had something awful happen to them today and was not in the mood to take care of others. Oddly enough, being in a terrible mood makes me a much better server. Being cheerful and attentive to my tables when I'm in a good mood is taxing because it detracts from my good mood. Acting cheerful and attentive because I'd rather be drinking in bed means I'm trying much harder than usual.

But at the end of the day, after I've formulated countless calculated last words designed to emotionally cripple my foes with the full fury of my vengeance, the only thing I can bring myself to say is:

"I understand."

And I think I'm OK with that.

Reversal

Oof, I got it wrong. Be willful. Be strong and defiant and pigheaded, even when you're in doubt. Stand tall and act with swift certainty. Plow through and evaluate the damages later, or else you'll be the slippery, wet noodle that writhes in discontentment.

I am a discontented noodle.

Few men can tap this floppy, wriggly inner demon of mine; two of them managed to in one day. One with the slightest action, the other with dubious inaction. How quickly I topple and fall from my mountain of self-esteem--just this weekend I received compliments ranging from, "You seem so independent," to, "I find you fascinating." But I'm not looking for compliments, I'm looking for closure and clarification. Spell it out for me. Draw me a timeline. Carve it into my eyeballs.

I'm not going to lie; I feel pretty lost. I have goals, but I've purposely distanced myself from them because I want time and space to feel things out before I set off down a road I might not want to be taking five years from now. I can't tell if that's helpful or harmful. Am I growing or stagnating? What does that even look like? The smoking and drinking and hopeless romances aren't boring by any means, but I feel like I'm fragmenting into various habits without anything to really bundle them together. Like the sudden evolution of my name amongst coworkers and friends--where once "Nicholas" was the standard, "Nickelbag", "Nick Arrojo", and poor English-as-a-second-language-Rico's unsettling and unnecessary addition of five randomly chosen syllables to the end of "Nicholas" have sprouted. It's as if they don't have a grip on who I am, either.

Or maybe I'm just loopy because I woke up at 4AM for absolutely no reason this morning.

Cheers

Late addition to the New Year’s resolutions pile: try to avoid deliberately complicating situations with willful, short-sighted actions.

This morning I woke up at 6AM. There was no alarm, no thumping from the apartment above, no creaky footsteps in the hallway. I just woke up, painfully aware of the uneasy line I had drawn in the sand over the course of 36 hours, 12 drinks, and three relationships.

Apparently vibrating an inch away from my face wasn’t enough to tear me away from my dreamless sleep, because there was a new message waiting on my phone. It was junk. “Cum over.” A familiar enough plea but from a highly unusual source, probably sent to the wrong Nicholas.

But what was I expecting?

An apology, a demand for an apology, something starting with a term of endearment and ending with a smiley face, something starting with “Look,” or “Listen—“ and ending with an ellipsis; I wanted someone—anyone—to know exactly how they felt and to make it glaringly clear in 160 characters to be read at my leisure from the comfort of home.

By 7AM I was skyping Amsterdam. Katie knows me better than I know myself sometimes, and if my webcam didn’t freeze so often she probably could have read the story from my face alone. Of course it goes both ways—stories about 70-year-old men winning prostitutes in bar raffles and would-be suitors with hip-length hair and gold lame’ bandanas certainly distracted from the casual mention that her long-distance relationship had ended, but I know it hurt more than her chatty demeanor let on.

And now it’s noon. I don’t really have any food to eat in the apartment, but I keep looking in the fridge anyways. Every time I do I stop to stare at the four pound elk heart my roommate left on the shelf in a box, citing her love of organ meat when I inquired as to why something labeled as a biohazard was sitting on my pizza box.

I imagine it sympathizes with me.

Optimistically Resolute

Christmas is…



…ugh…



Christmas is not my thing.






In fact, I’m generally not crazy about the holiday season in its entirety. Expectations of cheerfulness run high, consumerism runs rampant, and seasonal affective disorder runs my friends into the ground. So I’m pretty glad we’ve left that all behind us to start a new year.

Now, more than a week into 2010, I’m actually beginning to wonder what I want to accomplish during the next 12 months. I don’t want to go back to school yet, but I think I’ll take a few classes here and there. You know, keep my brain from atrophying beyond the point of no return. Along those lines, I’d also like to read more than I did last year (and read more varied material). I want to do more travelling while I’m not locked into school or a career, and I know for certain I’ll be couchsurfing my way up and down the east coast in the spring or summer. Then there’s a whole bunch of little things I want to do just for the stories and enjoyment--visit the coast more often, go to more concerts, go camping (never been!), etc., etc.

And there are those things that I want which I can’t really make happen in a year. Falling in love? Yeah, that could fit within the timeframe, but I can’t really treat it like something to be checked off my list (“Oh shit, it’s October? I need to fall in love fast! Hey, you! Love me!”)

But I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I hate New Year’s Eve because I feel like everyone is excited over nothing. Why is January a good time to change yourself, when if it was really important you’d have started before? And yet I can’t help but think about all the things I can accomplish in this fresh, new decade.

I may not be looking to reinvent myself, but the start of a new year still marks another chance to grow, learn, and move forward. Let’s get cracking.