Wild Little Hare

The 13th of each month has been especially significant to me this year.

April 13th was the day I realized my relationship was suffering, possibly irreparably. May 13th I met one of my dearest friends, who would later pull me through one of the most uncertain times of my life. July 13th I took the leap I knew I needed to, and moved across counties, to a town I knew nothing about. 30 days, 60 days, 90 days- it’s been since making a life changing decision.

I’ve grown as person, and in a way regressed, to who I was before I allowed an addict to cloud my vision of standards. I’ve found solace in being alone, and happiness in another’s arms. I laugh at most things, and act in ways that represent myself fully. I’m working towards things I want, and accomplishing the things I said I would.

So much can change in just a blink of an eye. So much can change when you put your mind to it. So much can change when you act on your dreams, and keep your mind focused on what you want.

I’m crushin’ it.

[I’ve had this saved on my laptop for years; titled READ THIS EVERYDAY]

“It’s amazing how day by day the steps don’t seem so advancing or extraordinary. You can’t ever seem to tell how far you’ve come, until you turn around to watch the sun set on the perfect path that is your own.

“I am the master of my fate, the captain of my soul.” -William Ernest Henley

I can’t feel sad in the darkness, or pity in the loneliness. I can’t get angry at the people that have hurt me. My soul can’t contribute to the negativity in the world; and I am blessed.

I am blessed to be an intelligent witty human. I am blessed to be born a hard worker, and a loyal friend. I am blessed to hurt without being crushed. I am thankful that I am loving, and grateful that I am able.
I am blessed to be inspired by my dreams, and a product of my relentless determination. I am blessed to understand the universe is none but my own, and I am grateful for every reminder that I am alive.

I am forever grateful for the moments in life, that I can smirk with great satisfaction at the life in front of me. The moments that I think, ‘I couldn’t be happier.’
‘This couldn’t be more perfect.’

It’s those moments all on their own that make this life worth living. Make this life worth working for.

Still open during construction.

I parked next to his Chevy, but walked in pretending I hadn’t recognized it. I saw him alone at a table in the back, but continued to scan the heads at the bar- then snagged the first empty bar stool.

“HEY,” I heard the same familiar voice I’d been falling in love with for months.

I threw my arms out as I spun around on my seat, feet up, smirking with sarcasm, “I can’t even get a drink first??” I shouted back. Drawing attention from the rest of the bar. This whole entire bar knows us each by name.

“Nope.” He threw his arms out in reciprocation, looking to envelope me in affection. I hopped off the stool, and walked across the weathered hardwood floor, into his waiting arms; melting into the same puddle of love I’d been drowning in all summer.

“Please,” he released me enough to take a look at me, “put it on my tab.” I laughed as I shrugged his arms off me, “You better believe I was already going to.” I heard him laugh as I skipped back to April behind the bar.

I ordered a whiskey coke and made my way back to his table, “can I sit with you?” He laughed with a smile- already anticipating my coy behavior.

I made a joke on twitter a couple weeks ago how we always pussyfoot around each other at first, acting as if any boundary ever existed- and then it always just turns into a huge mess of our DNA. “Please do!” he smiled a perfect smile at me, as he pulled a stool over directly in front of him.

We talked about work- and when I’d finally start my new job. We talked about the dates I’d been on- and why I was pretty much just done dating. We talked about how the sale of his farm had just fallen through- and how he’d just rented an apartment in Folsom earlier that day. We laughed at how my new office is just a block away from his office of 20+ years. “Oh my god,” he covered his forehead with his right hand. “Remember when we used to joke about hooking up on our lunch breaks?”
“Do I?” I looked up while sucking the straw of my whiskey.

At one point in every conversation between us, it touches on something deeper than jokes and catching up and making each other smile while howling with laughter in our own world. “The last time we spoke,” he began- and I rolled my eyes, already knowing it had to be acknowledged. “don’t roll those beautiful eyes at me,” he grabbed my thigh, “you were not happy with me.”

He says he’s torn between telling me more than I need or want to know, and just telling me only the things that make him appear less criminal. From the moment we met, drunk in line for beer at a concert, one hundred percent honesty has always been the basis of our friendship. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health.

“You haven’t looked at a single cowboy that’s walked in this door.” He raised his drink, and his eyebrows at me.
“Yeah, well. The only man I want is already in front of me.” I served with conviction and a sarcastic smile.
“I like that,” he set his glass down, and placed both his hands around my face, “and I love you.”

I’m just a heaping pot of honey whenever he’s around.

“Can you believe,” he threw his whiskey glass back, as he settled against the back wall of our bar. The same bar we had our first date. The same bar we both now call our neighborhood bar. “This all started at the show of a Led Zeppelin cover band?”

Earlier this summer I realized just how much I’d been exhausting myself by holding onto relationships that were no longer any good for me. I was overworking myself for shit pay in a toxic work environment, and generally just doing the most for those that did the absolute least for me.

About a year and a half ago I wrote on this blog that I felt fearful of losing my instinct to fight and curse the world around me. I remember laughing as I typed this. It was posted on March 15th 2018- which means it was only a week or two before Jeremiah and I moved into our house in Auburn. I was in such a strange head space. Living with a guy who was constantly telling everyone I was someone who I wasn’t. It started out with small comments that seemingly had no origin. I felt like my character was constantly under attack. I used to tell him all the time, “make up those things about yourself- not me.” March 15th 2018 was just a week after my 27th birthday- which means I hadn’t yet found out the huge lie he had told his family about me.

I bring up the past only because it now has me slapping my knees with laughter. My instinct to fight and curse the world around me had never subsided, it had merely been suppressed while I instead focused and struggled just to remember who I am.

My instinct to swim was awoken the night he drunkenly destroyed our home. Broke in the master bedroom door, put out the cigarette he’d been smoking on our mattress. Poured a beer on me, then threw our mattress down the stairs. I left that night, laughing at myself. Laughing at myself for not having the left first time. “Yep, that’s it.” I muttered as I turned right at our mailbox, “I’m not doing this ever again.”

I returned the next morning while he was working, to pack up my things. He was always so proud of having been able to provide me a “craft room”- the same room I later used as my own storage room while I found a new place to live.

I responded to a rental ad on a Monday. I went to see it on a Wednesday, signed a 5 month lease on Friday, and then moved in on Saturday. Swimming. I returned to the same shit job on Monday. “Next up,” I told myself “new job.”

The Friday I was fired, I’d seen it coming since Tuesday. “This isn’t working anymore.” The owner’s cousin told me in the conference room on Friday morning. “Yeah, it never really has.” I laughed as I traded my office key for my final paycheck.

I responded to a job ad on a Monday, for something I wasn’t sure I was qualified for. I interviewed on Tuesday, and I laughed back down the stairs to my car, “nailed it,” I smiled as I turned my car key in the ignition. I was offered the job on Wednesday. I start on Monday. Swimming.

Next up, my dream home.

“I am the master of my fate and the captain of my soul.”
-William Ernest Henley

I’ve been putting off this topic because I haven’t been able to think of a less dramatic synonym for “heartbreak”. It sounds debilitating. Day darkening, life shattering, breath shortening. None of which I’ve experienced recently.

I made a choice this summer to end a meaningful relationship because I wasn’t able to grow within it. My time and energy began to shift, focusing only on how I could help (ultimately, force) him to become a better person for each of us.

Immediately afterwards, I found myself in a natural groove of laughs and affection and safety of essentially a stranger, whom I’d felt I known forever. A love I felt urgently and purely, yet again, a love I could never grow within.

Being deprived of something that I want, for reasons out of my control. It’s not a heartbreak; but it’s discomfort on a high scale.

I’d been made accustomed to lies and deceit. Fibs turned into stories, stories turned into an alternate reality. A web of lies I’m still separating myself from, months later. And I’m not mad; anymore. I cannot spend another minute being angry. I feel nothing but gratitude. Grateful that I can recognize who I am from who I’ve been. Grateful for the knowledge that none of my experiences there were honest- has been key to my ability to continue foward.

I’d never compare the two; it would be comparing beaches to mountains.

I was picked up and built up, repaired by the hands of a stranger. He restored my ability to love, and wiped away the weakness from my eyes. He set my crown on straight and reminded me the world is mine for the taking. A love so pure, and so honest, I cannot kick myself for wanting to live there.

“In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”

The first time I told a stranger the tale of you, was only weeks after it all ended. I kept the tears back with the crutch of a beer. I stood in his backyard just hours after meeting him, and avoided meeting his eye contact as I explained the beginning of my summer. I’d told the same story before, to my parents, and to my cousins, and to my bestfriends- but not yet to anyone that couldn’t guess the ending before I began. “So yeah,” I let my hair fall in my face before I quickly drank the remainder of my beer. “That’s what happened to my relationship.”
Without a word, he was on his feet, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “Oh honey. That’s awful. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

What happened between us, didn’t happen to me, it happened for me. I knew my solution, to your problem, very early on in our relationship, but I chose to love you instead.

The last time I told the tale of you, I was sitting on my feet, on the edge of my bed, with my bong between my knees. I was in pajama shorts and a flannel. It was 3am, and all the windows and doors were open. I was facing the boy I’d just brought home from the bar. “So that’s my deal,” he sat up briefly to pass me the lighter. “How’d you end up all the way out here?” He leaned back, adjusting the pillows on my bed.
“Well,” I began as I pressed my finger into the half burned bowl and flicked the lighter.

Now it feels just like explaining the plot line of a Netflix series I’d been binge watching. You could guess the disgusting ending, but the beginning was so beautiful, you’d think there’s no way it could end so terribly- I told myself for 3 years.

“Wow.” he raised his eyebrows. “That’s awful.”
“Fuck, right?” I laughed, as I passed the bong back across the bed. “But now it’s all over, and now I get to be here!” I sat back and spread my arms out as I looked across my new place. “My little house on the prairie.”

I like the way you enjoy barstools as much as I do. I like the way you don’t believe me when I’ve said something cynical. I like the way you remember the shit I talked the week before. I like the way the countryside makes you feel at home. I like the way you make me feel like I’m home. I like the way you laugh at me barefoot in pajamas, with my bra thrown over my shoulder. I like the way you turn up your favorite band. I like the look in your eyes as you kiss my fingers. I like the way your hugs feel as if you’ve wrapped up my entire body. I like the way you tell me ‘okay, look’ right after I’ve said something attention seeking. I like the way you stroke my cheek while I’m swallowing your cock. I like the way you snuggle. I like the way you brag about having watered your one potted plant. I like the way you know the way to my house when I’m too drunk to drive. I like the way you make me talk about my feelings. I like the way you care enough to understand me. I like the way you smell. I like the way you taste. I like my fingers in your beard. I like who I am when I’m with you.

I make jokes constantly about finding my next husband.
What are you doing this weekend? “Finding my next husband.”
Do you have plans after work? “Just finding my next husband.”
Do you need anything from the store? “Just my next husband.”

I always follow it with maniacal laughter.

I am having the time of my life.

I was dishonest with myself for the past few years. I lied to myself that the life I had settled into was what I wanted, and that it was okay, and that it’s what life is- but I did just that- I settled. I knew I wanted something else. I knew I needed something else. But instead I told myself that his behavior was okay, because I loved him. I told myself that “love” is about accepting your partner’s self destructive habits.

You can’t keep dancing with the devil and wonder why you’re still in hell.

I woke up in July. Honesty is pouring from my eyes, and my ears, and my heart. Honesty with myself. Honesty with the people around me. I called both my parents a few days ago, and cried in each of their arms.

After July, I had so many voids. Voids I didn’t know how to fill, or what to fill them with. I found myself grasping at straws in order to fill them. A boy in my bed. A boy making my coffee. A boy visiting me at work. A boy on my porch. A boy in my garden. A boy driving my car. A boy here, a boy there, a boy everywhere. I needed so badly to give something, anything my love, and my affection.

My mom asked me recently what I do now to fill my time? I laughed as I listed all the things I love. All the things I’d been sacrificing for years, in order to be a perfect housewife. I worked, and then I came home to clean, and to cook, and to clean again, and to pack his lunch for the following day. I told myself I loved it.

I woke up in July to a completely new world.

I will learn the balance of compromise, not sacrifice. I will remain true to myself as I will not make excuses for someone’s shitty behavior in the name of “love”.

I’ll know him when I see him.

I got a black W stamped on my hand, and I climbed onto the first open bar stool I saw. I greeted the guy to the left, and ignored the couple making out on my right. “What’ll ya have, dear?” Lynette asked as soon as I sat. “7 and 7, please!” I spoke up over the live band that just began to play. “and a shot of, what?” she laughed with a wink as she spun around for a rocks glass.

It was 10pm on a Friday and I’d been off work for only a few hours. Working so late that I ordered dinner to the office, in an effort to not have to drive to Sacramento to play catch up over the weekend. I stopped by my house just for a second, let the cats in, and wash my face before I headed up to the neighborhood bar.

Lynette stacked my drink onto a coaster before she began shaking a shooter for us to share. “It’s been awhile since I saw you last!” she filled two glasses. “Yeah,” I cheered her glass. “I guess it has been.”

I knew what I was there for.

The bar stools began to clear as the band began to cover more popular songs. The clacking of pool balls was consistent behind me, with the occasional profanity, and the shout of “DOLLAR!” as a bartender held a bucket over the bar- collecting a dollar for each time the felt on the table was gouged with a pool cue.

Everyday, I’m learning new things about myself, and the gratitude comes in waves, washing over me in the form of a random giggle at something that happened last week. I was slapping my thighs to the tempo of the live music as I scanned the bar, absorbing all of the energy around me, perpetually grateful for my decisions this summer. As I made a full scan of the room I felt eyes on me; I immediately met their gaze. I smiled, and sat up straight before I turned back to the bar and picked up my drink. I felt him sit down, leaving a bar stool empty between us. I hid my shit eating grin behind my glass.

“What are you having, gorgeous?” Lynette asked him from a few feet away. “Rum and coke, babe.” Then he placed his eyes back on me.

I set my glass down and turned to face him, obviously flirty, and a little tipsy. “That your date?” He questioned me, nodding to the guy behind me. I shook my head with a smile.

“Come here then,” he said at the same time I was pushing my drink down the bar, closer to him. I hopped onto the stool between us, “I don’t fucking know that guy.” I told him with a laugh, lingering during my lean into him. He wrapped an arm around me and leaned into my ear, “then why didn’t you say Hi to me?” I shrugged, with a grin. He ran his fingers through my hair and held his lips to my ear. “If I’ve buried my face between your legs, you have to say hi to me.”

We both grabbed for our glasses after letting our a howl of laughter.

There’s some moments in life that when they’re happening, you know you’ll remember the feeling forever. I’ve had a lot more of them lately.

I moved on a Saturday, but I’d had my new neighbor’s truck already for a few days. He met me at my favorite bar in Sacramento on a Thursday after work, and scooped me up in a hug before he bought me whiskey and dinner, and asked how I’m holding up? “You’re such a strong girl. You’re doing the right thing.” he tucked my hair behind my ear, and kissed my hand. Later in the parking lot he laughed as he paired my phone to his truck. “I’ve never seen anyone else in the driver seat before.” to feel safe and secure in someone’s presence almost felt foreign.

Moving day was long. Two trips, over 100 miles round trip each time. I stopped at my aunt’s house, on the final trip home. Blunts and champagne in the backyard with my cousins, cheersing to new beginnings and never settling. I left around midnight, and called my neighbor on the way home to ask if I could shower in his guest house. A few minutes later I was pulling his truck into the gravel lot of his ranch, and parked it to the left of my own car. I trailed behind him headed to the guest house. “Do you have all your stuff with you?” He asked, holding the door open for me. “I have nothing!” I laughed, slapping the pockets of my shorts. “Umm, also, could I borrow a shirt?” I left a few hours later, I laughed the whole two miles back to my new house filled with boxes to unpack, so content already with my recent creation. You receive all that you ask the universe for.

My first week of my new commute, I called my cousin on the way home from work. “Where are you?” she chimed.
“Dude, finally hit the country roads. Stopping at the bar before I go home.”
“What bar? Where are you?”
“The Wrangler. I’m on Sheldon.”
“I’M on Sheldon! I’m googling the address, I’ll meet you there!” to be whimsical and free of explanation is the life I thrive in.

The night my neighbor made me cry, I told him I was coming over while I was already on his street. I showed up in pajamas and pulled in next to his truck. I checked his guest house but he wasn’t in it. I went out the back door and immediately went out to the pasture. The moon lit up his entire property. I heard the door to the main house close, and heard his foot steps in the gravel headed to the guest house. “Hey,” I called out from the dark. He laughed before he headed over, enveloping me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. After a few beers at his bar I was sitting on the edge of his bed, facing him, beer in hand, and my insecurities at the door. “You know,” he began. “The way you’re feeling is normal.”
I immediately put my beer up to my lips and drank the rest. He was referencing a text message I sent him earlier that day, after leaving my old house. I was filled with doubt about having walked away from what I knew had potential. I was texting him through my tears, feeling like I had abandoned my relationship without being willing to keep fighting for years to come.

It was too late, I was already crying. Tears streaming down my face was a sight he’d seen far too often in the short time we’ve known each other.

“You have to remember that his problem was never your burden to bare, and that you made the right choice to look after yourself.”
This man sees me as clearly as I want to see myself.

One day I rolled my eyes at him, “shut up. I love you.”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “I love you too.”