Wild Little Hare

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.”

I knew that I had to leave, long before I did.

I grieved our relationship while I was still in it. We lived together as strangers for weeks. Part of me hoped one of us would stop this train in it’s tracks but I knew it would only prolong the inevitable.

The day I finally said out loud to him that I was leaving, was in response to him telling me what he was making for dinner that night. The words pierced the air, but they were no surprise. Nothing was a surprise anymore.
“I’m moving out this weekend.”

I was going through the motions of what I needed to do, while not feeling much of anything at all. Survival mode engaged. I finally closed the door I’d been struggling to hold open and crossed a threshold back to myself. I am the same person I was; it feels like spending time with an old friend.

It’s been a month today since I began this new chapter and while it hasn’t been easy, it’s been simple. Sometimes you carry more than you’re aware of. Sometimes you adopt characteristics and thinking patterns, without even realizing who you became.

Process anger without holding onto it. Forgive without being asked to. Don’t scorn the people that have hurt you, they’re likely hurting themselves.

God it feels good to be home.

The man I loved after you, told me the things that you were too cowardly to say. The man I loved after you saw my tears and told me he understood why I was crying. He told me it was okay to be mad, and okay to be sad, and confused and doubtful. The man I loved after you told me the way I felt was normal, and that this moment in time will make me invincible.

The man I loved after you told me that I deserve a lot more than who you were willing to be.
That your addiction had nothing to do with me.
That your decisions did not equate to my value.
That there was nothing I could have done to keep you sober.
That it took a powerful woman to walk away.
That I absolutely made the right decision to leave.

The man I loved after you gave me the tools I needed to love, and to realize, and to heal; and for this, I thank you.

Once a winter, every winter, I struggle to survive. This is not to say that I fall into depression, as I have explored every corner of seasonal depression, and I can’t say that that’s me.

It’s that I quite literally fall dormant with the plants, upon the homecoming of colder weather. I refuse to feel desolate, as I know all things need rest to grow, and I know that the sun and it’s warmth will return to me; as will I, return to me.

I haven’t been much of a writer as of late, and I ignorantly shout the excuse that it’s damn near impossible to tap into a deep pool of emotion when the deepest emotion I feel everyday is the furthest thing from turmoil.

I spent most of last year looking for a career, and after being let down by so many prospects, I finally began to get shockingly motivated about starting my own business. Starting my own business, and working for myself, is something I’ve been talking about since I was 22. It was sort of one of those things that I know will eventually happen, I just wasn’t sure how, or when. The book I’ve been talking about writing since I was 17. I know it will happen, I just wasn’t sure how- or when.

It is time. It is time for all the things I know I’ll do, but have never set a time limit on. Dreams don’t work unless you do, or whatever they say.  It is time to get real.

Winter is coming to an end, and spring is right around the corner. The sun will be here soon to yank all from it’s roots and grow it tall with it’s hoarded rainfall. We’re coming up on the season of new growth. The real New Year.

Make a wish.

Like everyone else, January 2018 I had no idea what was in store for me.

I knew that I felt belittled by my job. Reduced to the confines of a glass desk, waiting on the beckoning whine of a telephone. Bored to literal tears 10-12 hours out of my day, 5 days out of my week.

I knew that I felt trapped inside my apartment. Perfect for what it was, but lacking any dirt of my own. Eating dinner each night on a stack of noise complaints. Surrounded by people that couldn’t stand us for neighbors.

My relationship was hurting. I was so absolutely sure in my decision to be there, but we both were suffering so immensely in the wrath of addiction. Living in white noise of the unknown. Living a ticking time bomb. Living on the actual edge of insanity.

At the beginning of this year I knew what I needed. But I had no idea how elegantly it would unfold. ❤

Recently I’ve found myself in a recurring situation.

Before I learned to communicate well, (or what I think is well) I kept quiet about the things that I did not agree with.  In fear of relaying something other than what I truly meant.
After my communicative skills became a bit more refined, still I kept quiet.  I started to become aware of the fact I would rather remain docile, than stir the pot and allow my way of thinking to enter the world.
Recently, I’ve realized that I am just as entitled to my opinion as those that seem to cram theirs down the throat of the Earth.

So this situation I’ve repeatedly found myself in- is folks no longer speaking to me, after I’ve spoken up to them against their ultra-loud [obnoxious] opinion.

 

I no longer care, who decides not to speak to me.
I no longer care, who “likes” me.

I no longer care to listen to others, who decide they can not handle an opinion different than their own.

I feel like I’ve taken a beating since 2016.  And I say this, because I honestly don’t remember 2017 at all.  2016 was the year I found out most of my friends were fake.  I had many doors slammed in my face, and I scrambled most of the year to find somewhere I belonged.  Lucky for me, I was rescued at the last minute by the world’s most amazing man.  And that’s just it- I let someone else rescue me, and I’ve seemingly forgotten how to be my own hero.

I find myself only caring about the day-to-day activities and not the “grand scheme of things” because I know my boyfriend will figure it all out for me.  I’m trying to be delicate with my words because this is really not a ‘problem’ at all.  I’m just so terrified of losing my instinct to fight and curse the world around me.

:)

I’m exhausted by thinking I’m the sole reason I don’t have a decent relationship with my father or my mother or my brother. I’m tired by wondering why they don’t seem to ever consider the way their actions could make me feel. I’m sickened by the blame my family shoves down my throat for the equal absence we’ve chosen to be in each other’s lives. I’m exhausted, and I’m tired, and I’m sickened by the relationship I’ve been trying to force with my family. I’ve been balancing between hope and realism; and I’m slipping at rapid speeds.

I felt an overwhelming sense of peace today as I carried grocery bags up to my apartment. The sun was setting and it seemed everything was a fiery cool orange. The past few days have been so sunny and warm that these winter evenings don’t have the bite quite like they used to. Or maybe it’s me that’s different. Finally grateful enough to just take in the world for the beauty that it is, instead of complaining about the cold weather year after year.

Even though I call them beers, my boyfriend always corrects me. “They’re ‘near-beers’ because they’re not beer.” Whatever. I doesn’t matter.

My boyfriend had a really rough day today. He called me around 11am yelling at the top of his lungs about the incompetence of those working around him. His own voice echoing through my phone, obvious that he was using the bluetooth feature in his work vehicle. “I don’t even know why I’m so mad,” his voice cooled a bit.  “I just want to go to the fucking bar.” he paralyzed the air, he paralyzed me.

I don’t know what I said, or how I said it, as I tried to keep from making a sound that indicated tears were streaming down my face.

My alcoholic boyfriend came home from work today with a pack of non-alcoholic beer.

I felt an overwhelming sense of peace today as I carried grocery bags up to my apartment.  The sun was setting and it seemed everything was a fiery cool orange, and nothing else mattered.

I had been fired from my corporate job for calling in sick too many times.  I had been fired on a Friday, and started my new job the following Monday.  It was a low paying, weekend working, zero benefits, start up company that more-or-less stayed afloat on the false promise of “commission”.  It was advertised as a receptionist position, which would later hold the training strategy of a sales position- an underhanded attempt to  put any ass in their chairs to compensate for their soaring turn-over rate in every department.

My interview was actually just a meeting with three middle-aged men with ring imprints on their fingers, wedding bands probably shoved into their ash trays.  I tried so hard to take them seriously as they childishly gazed at the 22 year old in the room.  I left laughing, “Yeah fucking right, never in a million years.”  I told my roommates at home that night while lighting the joint hanging from my lips.  But after a conversation with my father that night, which I thought would end with him “maybe”, “possibly’ covering my bills for the following month-  I was back on the phone with the hiring manager the next morning, accepting my new role as the fresh piece of meat at the front desk.

So there I was on my first day, 5 minutes late- just to set the precedent for my employment there.  The office was tiny.  Four cubicles lined up outside a tiny office with a tiny window that looked out at the vast warehouse.  I only knew my office manager apart from the technicians buzzing through the office because he was at my interview.  Before I left my interview, clearly turned off by the whole interview experience, he shook my hand 3-seconds too long, and then very specifically pointed out his cell phone number on his business card.  “Call me anytime.” He smiled a bright squinty eyed smile.  I had glanced down at the glossy business card now in my hand.  Wait.  Is this guy’s first name really Red Cloud?

Job requirements included answering the phone when it rang, giving buzz cuts to the technicians in the warehouse on the weekends, and making sure the office Labrador had a bowl of water.  I quickly became familiar with various garage door components, what my boss liked on his sandwiches, and one particular phone number that called in a few times a day.  We had technicians in different cities across the state, and the best part of the job was getting to talk to them to hear about their days- most of them hated the the company as much as I did.  One technician in Stockton was always exploding through the phone with jokes and impersonations and foul mouthed humor.  Aside from his name, all I knew about him was his phone number, his love for Redlines, and that he really fucking hated being in traffic.  His phone calls were my favorite.

One quiet Saturday morning we were over-staffed with managers in the office, myself being the only dispatcher.  They each took a turn between phone calls to ask if I had plans that weekend, or if I was dating anyone, where did I grow up?  Maybe I could come over and barbecue with them on Sunday night.  “I really should be getting paid more for this,” I would remind them occasionally while ignoring all their elementary flirting.

A company truck pulled into the warehouse through the roll up door, and all at once they were on their feet, echoing with banter as they headed out to the warehouse to greet the technician that just arrived.  I leaned back in my chair to check the clock, literally feeling every second tick.

The back door swung open and suddenly the air filled with the same roaring laughter that I’d been romancing for the past few months.  I got a lump in my throat as his beautiful blue-green ocean eyes bee-lined it to my desk, the only occupied desk in the office.  “Hi,” he announced with every ounce of enthusiasm, his right hand already out, ready to envelope mine, the lights swinging from the ceiling as I slowly drowned in his sea of perfection.

“I’m Jeremiah.”