re.set.

Since I have been AWOL through most of the past 3 years, I would like to make my comeback. I need to make my comeback. While I used to have a small following on another blog, I think I want this one to be more organic. Maybe I will just be writing for myself for a while and I am okay with that.

my first post after freedom.

attacked by beer.

The talented Zoey strikes again. She ran head on into a 12-pack of bottled beer that was (annoyingly) sitting on the floor in the kitchen. (My housemate thinks that the floor is an appropriate place to store things.) It wasn't even that Zoey had come around the corner and been surprised by the new obstacle. We were in the same room the whole time and then I said we should go upstairs. Maybe in her excitement she miscalculated and ran head on into the pack of beer. (Which was also not in the direction of the stairs.) The best part was that the pack only had a few beers left in it so upon impact, bottles fell and made clanging noises. Nora jumped, or rather hopped, a couple of feet from where she'd been seconds earlier. See, Nora puts on a strong, scary exterior but in reality she's absolutely terrified by any thing that would not be easily anticipated. Or anything out of the norm. Or anything startling. Or any grates or ground coverings that make the ground appear to be unstable.

So, Zoey plows into pack of beer. Beers fall and clang. Zoey, unphased, walks/runs towards the stairs. Concurrently, Nora is having a freak out about the noises so much so that she drops the toy that she was carrying in her mouth and runs towards the stairs too. As though, somehow, the toy was also involved in the conspiracy.

Ah, the pair of them are endless entertainment.

Introducing Nora and Zoey

So my two dogs are a large part of my life. They make sad days less sad and happy days happier. While they are both (almost) equally entertaining, they are two very different sidekicks. First, there is Nora who is a 7 lb apricot toy poodle. People assume Nora is my favorite because I talk about her first. (She is my favorite.) And then there is Zoey, a 6 lb (soaking wet) rescued maltese poodle mix, who has not a clue about the world. (Or at least she's really good at faking it. Jury's still out.)

Zoey has very difficult things happen to her. This morning she ran out into the backyard (the same backyard we've had for over a year) and did her business. She started wandering around the yard and ran into a bush. Ran into it. Startled, she looked at the bush as though it'd magically appeared in front of her. After establishing, yes, this was in fact a bush in front of her, she slowly walked around it. Here, is where I made my mistake, I called her name. Maybe it was the confusion of the moment but she looked at the bush, then at Nora and finally at me, after I called her name again. I do have a copy of the Bible somewhere in my house. Maybe she found the talking bush section and took it to heart. I firmly believe that Zoey believes that Nora can speak-- in perfect English, a loud. After all, Zoey has to have realized in the 3 years that we've all lived together that she did has inferior knowledge of the world. (Zoey is pictured below.)

Nora believes that she knows most things. At the doggie creation shop, Nora stood in all the lines. She picked up cuteness, smartness, cleverness, exuberance, endless energy, toy obsession, food obsession and neuroticism. Nora ignored the friendliness to children and general friendliness. She must have just picked up a bit of the selectively friendly. Meanwhile, Zoey failed to realize that there was a smartness line. She focused on the colors and the beauty of the world and the loveliness of everyone. Happy to be alive was pretty darn important. All those other things would come in time... or not.

Zoey, while oblivious, has her redeeming qualities. She is a cuddler. She will snuggle you happy. You want to feel shitty? Lay around and not think there's an ounce of happiness in the room? In comes Zoey. She is not going to let you think those horrible things. After all, she is however many ounces that six lbs is of happiness. She is the flower child. The happiest because she does not recognize danger in the world. After all, she lived on the streets of Miami for months before someone found her and rescued her. I still cannot imagine how she survived. Though it was probably helpful that she is the least confrontational animal. She does not fight. She hardly stands up for herself. Nora can take a toy out of her mouth and Zoey just lets her do it.

this thing called sadness.

I really have no idea how to cope sometimes. I have this detachment between my heart and my mind. Between what I think I should do and what I actually end up doing. And I think it is getting worse. I think that I want to be positive and be in a relationship but I feel on edge when I am actually in that circumstance. (Yes, I just called a relationship a circumstance. Just like the time that you pull the wrong potato out of the pile and they all come toppling down. And everyone in the produce section stares. Circumstance.)
The positivity is decimated. Part of me questions if it ever existed. Could it really have existed if we can barely be in the same room together without the uncomfortable, on edge feeling taking over all oxygen. No room to breath. Much less any room to say anything. Because anything is a trigger. Avoidance is a trigger. Any hint of feeling slighted, even if no one intended that perception.
Now, when I think of happiness or, at least, contentment, I think of solitude. The thought of forging on alone is much better than the uphill battle of trying to exist every day with this other person. This other person who breaks me more than builds me. This person who has taken his love away. This person from whom I've stepped away. The distance is there. No expectation of it going away. It will just get worse. But I will still have to pull the fucking trigger to finish it off.

triggered.

I can't say that I can identify the emotion. But I feel like something is missing. I feel like a negative event happened and I cannot shake the feeling that it will happen again or that it's not been cured-- for lack of a nonlegal term. I don't know how it can be cured. I know that I've pulled away. I know that abandonment is not an easy thing to deal with. I know that the whole context of the fight has nothing to do with me. But I can't shake it. I can't shake feeling this way. Something that was said on Saturday triggered something deeply sad inside me.

first date.

So, I went on a date with this man. We'll call him Marc.

Marc was quite the gentleman. He did all the gentlemanly things. Opened the car door. (For once I actually let someone pick me up at my house... must be delirious. I never do that shit.)

We went to a taco joint. It was delicious. Delicious tacos. Great banter. A walk down the street in the cold.

There was something about him. Something about his face. His demeanor. His genuineness. It bored through me like a drill. A drill that I fucking adored. And I'm not sure what it was but it was comfortable. We were comfortable.

We went back to my place. (And not in the fun, fuck 'em and leave 'em sort of way... it was unspoken but the dirty biznass was not going to happen that night.) We cuddled on the couch and then he told me that he knew I wanted to kiss him. My first thought was "um, who do you think you are? telling me that I want to kiss you?! I want no such thing." Okay, no, my first thought was, "wait, how does he know? I don't even know. Having I been doing shit like staring at his mouth longingly?" And then, I had my knee jerk reaction... something about annoyance at the presumption and feminism, blah blah. And then I stopped myself. That old me, the me that reacted poorly to any invasion of my autonomy and independence, was silenced. Yes, I would like to kiss him. Fuck it. I'm going for it.

And I did. And it was wonderful. There was a couple of minutes of the slightly awkward but butterflies are still fluttering in your stomach make out session but then the connection fell into place. His lips were delicious. Sensual. Luscious. I grabbed his face. I wanted more. I wanted more to not stop. He told me I was beautiful. And that was the beginning. The beginning of the week when I gave my heart away.