A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes When You're Fast Asleep

I ran across a really cute guy a couple of weekends ago and before I knew it, I'd made up our "happily ever after" story in my head complete with what our first fight would be about and all the way to how and when he'd propose and just what a wonderful husband he'd be.

And before you think I've lost my mind, I always do that and so do most of my girlfriends. Maybe it's a girl thing, I don't know, but it's fun to imagine what your relationship could be like with an attractive stranger.

There's a thin line, however, between enjoying the fantasy as a happy fictional story you've made up and hoping it'll actually happen. Because when you get your hopes up too much it can really hurt.

Even getting your hopes up a little can hurt.

Like, let's say you gave this cute guy your number and hoped he would call? When he didn't, as much as you'd tell yourself you're still awesome and hot, you'd still be a little bit hurt that he didn't and you'd probably wish you hadn't gotten your hopes up.

Inside Thoughts

The world I live in inside my head is pretty darn hilarious most of the time. And many of my closest friends appreciate my slightly silly sense of humour.

I have to remind myself, however, that my "tee hee, that was funny" in my head doesn't always translate well out in the real world.

A good example of this?

I made a funny (to me) joke in the store the other day about some toasters I was looking at. I asked the guy who worked there if he "knew these toasters." He said no, so I started laughing (because it was already funny in my head) and said "so you don't know their names or anything?"* Because, you see, in my head I was thinking "you don't know their names" as in, Bob, or Steve or Marjory or something like each toaster was an individual person with names and home phone numbers and see how funny it is in my head?!

I could tell I shouldn't have said anything by the look I was getting from the guy. And then I realized that all the toasters had names printed on their boxes and that dude was thinking "why would I need to learn their brand names when you can just look on the box and see them?"

So, I have to remind myself that sometimes what's funny inside my head is *only* funny inside my head.

Ahem.



*See, even now I'm chuckling again at it even though I know most of you will be going "Huh?" Heh. Heh.

So I Did

So I left. Told him I couldn't afford to pay rent anymore and wouldn't move in with smokers. And I still felt guilty somehow.

We both moved out, to our separate places, him in with his buddies, me back with my folks.

I was devastated.

I'd given so much of myself to him for so long and this was how it'd ended.

I never wanted to be in another relationship again. I never wanted to be intimate with someone again. I never wanted to even consider falling in love again.

I don't remember how it ended, exactly. I remember going over to his place a time or two, always leaving stinking like cigarettes and feeling worse for wear. I don't remember anymore if we called it quits or if I told him it was over or if it just faded painfully away. I don't remember and it's funny that I don't.

But, it did, eventually end. And I did, eventually, move on, and I guess he did too.

I didn't keep in touch, obviously, and I don't know where he is or how he is. I used to Google search for his name, hoping for his sake that he did make it in the music industry. Jeff was a beautiful, talented musician. That much is true. I should be able to end this story by telling you how I lost my virginity to that famous musician you hear on the radio, but I can't. And that's a loss. I'm not being dramatic when I say I just hope he's alive and well, but that in my heart I'm not sure he's either.

I hurt for a long time over that relationship.

I hurt for longer over the way I gave myself up for something that wasn't giving anything back to me.

I think it, honestly, took me years to get over the ways I twisted myself up and into paying back the guilt I felt over one reckless evening with an old flame the summer after I'd met Jeff. I can look back now and know the lessons I've learned.

I just sometimes wish I'd been able to learn them an easier way.

And, that, my friends, is the condensed version of what happened to my first serious boyfriend.

Thanks for asking, The One in the Back. Hope that answers the "500 lb gorilla in the room" question.

Endings

One of the first things I did after finding Jeff and his (coughcoughyeahIcallbullshitcough) friend together in his bed was call up one of my close friends to go out for coffee. I hadn't seen her all school year, a fact she was kind enough not to mention when I called.

When I told her what had happened and what was going on, she said the words that would change my life. "That sound like an abusive relationship to me."

"Abusive"

It echoed around in my brain and I knew she was right.

How had I not seen it earlier? When had this happened? How had I not noticed?

And, more to the point, how lucky was I to have a girlfriend who was able to gently show me what I'd been unable unwilling to see?

It took me a while to leave, as twisted up as I was in Jeff and whatever tatters of the relationship I thought remained. And ironically, I wasn't able to tell him I wanted out until he told me he wanted us to move in with his friends, all of whom smoked.

I've never liked smokers. I can't be around cigarette smoke. I won't date someone who smokes. That Jeff would move us to a house full of smokers was the last straw. The voice in my head wasn't quiet any more. It was loud.

Shouting.

Get.

Out.

Now.

So I did.






To be continued . . .

Worse and Worse

Probably, if you'd asked him, Jeff had completely forgotten that I'd been unfaithful to him, once. Maybe he hadn't thought of it as being unfaithful. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd done the same with his ex and just never told me. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But I hadn't forgotten. It was stuck in my mind like a festering sliver. Throbbing away so painfully, but so deep under the skin you can't see it.

I knew I was unhappy, but I also knew I had to stay.

I just didn't, consciously know why.

I was still going to school and working evenings and weekends. Jeff got a part time job bussing tables in the evening, but his money went to buying gear. Amps, better guitars, alcohol, illegal substances I turned a blind eye to, but would be spoken to by the landlord about. So I covered for him. With landlords and workplaces and soon I was paying our rent, buying our groceries.

I didn't mind in some ways, because he was a genuinely talented musician and I believed he could make it.

And I loved him.

Didn't I?

I took out a student loan, the first and last I'd ever take out, to help with costs and I kept telling myself he was "the One" and that all this hardship was worth it. You can convince yourself of that sometimes when you're in a really really dark place. You can convince yourself of that sometimes when your relationship is killing your spirit. There's that whole teenage grunge angst thing that makes you feel like you're really really part of it all. Like you "get" it.

I was twenty, living on my own with my hot, musician boyfriend. I was holding down a job and University.

Why did I hate my life so much?

I probably could have ignored things with Jeff for a lot longer, but then he started sleeping on his own.

He put a mattress down in the living room and told me that his late shifts at the restaurant were so tiring he needed the sleep to himself.

He started putting me down while we were making love, pointing out the things I was doing wrong. Something in the back of my head started telling me, very quietly, that this wasn't ok. This wasn't right.

Someone who loves you *wants* to share a bed with you, no matter how tired they are. Someone who loves you appreciates you while you're being intimate, loves sleeping with you, enjoys your company. This wasn't right.

But I felt like I had no real proof, that maybe the voice in my head was wrong.

And then one night he had some friends over. I headed to bed while they were still up because I had to work in the morning. You know, to pay our rent.

When I got up to catch the bus for work the next morning, I found him cuddled up on his mattress with a girl. One of the girls had stayed over, and apparently his arms were the only place she could find to sleep.

"Nothing happened," they assured me. "Look, she's still wearing all her clothes."

But I finally agreed with the quiet voice in my head. It was over.

Now I just had to figure out how to get out.



To be continued . . .

The Twisting Began

I wasn't exactly sure how, but suddenly my fun trip back home to see friends had turned into an awful mistake and I wanted to make it right.

I took an early ferry back to Victoria and called Jeff that night.

I can almost remember the entire conversation we had, the words I used, how I tried to explain that I knew I'd hurt him and that I was very sorry.

He didn't say anything. His end of the line was very quiet. I must have asked him what he was thinking, but I don't remember his answer.

Had I been more mature, well, that's a moot point, really, but maybe if I'd had more confidence and trust in myself I'd just have ended things there.

But I didn't. We didn't.

We didn't talk about it again, the fact that I'd slept with someone else while we were maybe possibly still in a relationship, but in my mind I'd cheated on him. And the guilt was horrendous. I'd have done anything for him. Anything to try to erase the guilt I felt. Anything to make up for what I felt I'd done.

twist, twist, twist

Much of the summer is a blur, and soon enough it was September again and he was back in Victoria and we were together.

I twisted my life around to be with him. Took classes he was taking to spend more time with him. Hung around with his friends, not mine, just to be around him.

I felt like I owed him. That I'd done this horrible thing to him and now needed to give him all of myself.

Things got rough at home (my folks had retired and moved over to Victoria) and my parents didn't approve of the relationship.

Which sent me even deeper into Jeff's arms. And life. Forbidden fruit. He seemed like a saviour to me then. I think we both fed off the drama. We were beyond Romeo and Juliet, we were modern day nineteen year olds not allowed to see each other. Irresistible. Utterly.

We snuck around. We did whatever it took to see each other.

twist, twist, twist

Jeff quit school. Dropped out of the music program. Changed instruments and set his path on becoming a rock and roll guitarist.

Boy had talent. Potential. A darkness inside him that was growing moodier. But he also had my heart.

So we moved in together.

Very much against the wishes of my parents.

What did my friends think?

I don't know. I didn't talk to them or see them anymore.

Jeff had become the centre of my everything. I owed him that.

I was all twisted up already.




To be continued . . .

And Then

So summer came, and Jeff headed back to his home town to work and save and I stayed in Victoria to do the same.

We lived a ferry ride and five hour drive from each other so travelling to see each other wasn't an option.

We hadn't really talked about what a summer apart meant and we'd never taken the time to define our relationship (who does at that age?) so I didn't know if we were boyfriend girlfriend or if we were just two people who'd slept together and then been cruelly split up by fate or what.

I went home for a week that summer, to see friends and have some fun and it was a fun week. I was legal drinking age for the first time in my home town and was able to walk into a liquor store and purchase alcohol. Oh, the power. The freedom. The coolers!

I was staying with a girlfriend for a couple of nights and we went out with her and her boyfriend. I'd introduced the two of them and had also dated his best friend for a month or two before leaving for university.

It was great to see him again, and all the feelings I'd had for him came rushing back and in one of the most romantic evenings of my young life one thing lead to another and we slept together.

My girlfriend, the next morning, asked me the obvious question: "What about Jeff?"

I didn't know.

Had I cheated? It felt like I had, but we weren't even together, were we? No promises had been made, he rarely called me, this was an old flame of mine and things had just happened that should have happened before I went away, and it shouldn't be that big a deal.

So why did I feel so guilty?

I didn't know, I just knew I'd screwed up and I had to get home. I had to talk to him. Somehow if I told him, it would all be ok.




To be continued . . .

Oh What A Difference

I had such a better weekend this weekend you guys.

Such.

There's good news and bad news out of it, though.

The good great news is that C and I went out on Friday and had an absolute blast. The stories I have to tell will last for weeks. It was an awesome, epic, seriously fun night. And well needed. And deserved by both of us.

It's very usual for me to crack up laughing while hanging out with C, and Friday was no exception. In fact, near the end of the evening I asked her if she had a pen so I could write down and therefore remember her hilarities.

And here's where the bad news comes in:

C would from now on, like to be referred to on this blog as "C-Dawg".

I'm hoping she was just really drunk and didn't mean it, but I think she might.

I'll have to call her and ask.

I'm just scared of the answer.

Oh well, at least I have two sides of an envelope's worth of funny stories to tell you.

Hope you had a great weekend too.

Fast Forward

The details are fuzzy of what happened with Jeff and I after our first kiss, but I do remember some things.

It was near the end of the school year, so it felt like we only had the shortest of time together before we had to move out of residence and back to our very far from each other hometowns for the summer. That feeling of being limited by time made everything more intense.

We spent all our non-class time together, he stayed in my room most nights. Jeff was a music student and that was intense too. He was working hard, studying and practicing for his finals. (The name of which I can't quite remember, "adjudication" possibly?) And he was talented. Jeff was a pianist, and it was amazing.

I'd never seen anyone with a gift like that, anyone with that amount of talent and dedication and focus and it was beautiful.

He liked to read, he was smart, he seemed worldly to me, and he had something about him I wanted to save or help or rescue or take care of or pull out of him. He wasn't loud like so many of the nineteen year old loudmouths that populate Universities.

It was all very much driven by feelings and the drama of knowing we had limited time together. Jeff wasn't the first person I'd kissed, but he was the first person I slept with. It wasn't the thing dreams are made of, but it was what it was. And in that moment it was everything to me.

I think maybe being eighteen is all about drama and lust and hormones and intensity and drama and the angst of just everything. So take that and mix it in with the heady freedom of living in residence and my first time and who Jeff was and it was romance novel perfect.

And then the term ended.




To be continued . . .

Hrm

I've discovered,that my old posts that had music clips in them no longer have music clips in them, rather just have these ads for what used to be where I played music clips from but is now something else.

Which means I have to (ok, no I don't *have* to, I want to) go back and find and fix them all. Not sure how to fix them yet, but I'll figure something out.

Grumblegrumblechangeisbadgrumble.


Updated to add: I think I got em. (Just can't be sure I got all of them right)

When You Never See It Coming

I went away for University. Not far, but away.

I'd been accepted to a few places, good places, but I decided to go to the school that was holding a spot in residence for me. UVic.

My first time away from home for real, not just summer camp an hour's drive away, or a camping trip for the weekend, but a whole ferry trip away from parental influence and curfews and someone watching to make sure I was being safe and good and oh the freedom!

I don't remember the exact moment or way I first met Jeff; he was the friend of a guy from another building that one of my friend's friends were dating. You know how it works, six degrees of separation but all one big hormonally driven group. Everyone knows everyone but no one's really sure how.

Jeff was this strange mixture of dark and brooding but hopeful and shy. I remember when we first started hanging out, he'd lean against me but with barely half of his weight. It was like he didn't want to impose himself on me even when he wanted to be close.

He was quiet, but sweet, and for whatever reasons I was drawn to him. Moth to flame-like.

I actually hooked up with his friend first, in a beer fuelled evening that still boggles my mind because we both really disliked each other. Maybe there is some truth to that whole love/hate sexual attraction thing. I don't think Jeff was around that night, and I certainly never mentioned it to him, but making out with his friend made it clear I had to be a little more bold with Jeff if I wanted him to know I liked him.

So, I kissed him.

As I said in that post : It was back in first year university and I'd had a crush on this guy {who we now know is Jeff} for a while. One night, a few weeks into our attempts at flirting (or whatever it is you do when you're young and ignorant / innocent) we were all heading back to our residences and were hanging outside my building. Someone started talking about finding the right person and this guy mentioned how he'd heard people say you had to kiss a lot of frogs before you found your prince.

I looked over at him and he was sitting on top of a garbage can and something about the light, he just looked so vulnerable and like he figured he wasn't anybody's prince, more like an ugly frog. And I leaned over and mumbled something about how he looked like a prince to me and I kissed him. It was really sweet.

And that was our first kiss.

First time I'd ever done that, kissed the guy first.

Guess I should have done it sooner, because before you knew it, we were an "us".




To be continued. . .

Awwwww

I got this nice email today from a lady called Olga:

Good day, I accidentally found a letter from you, I remember how we communicated with you.
You were so hot, let's talk again - drop me to the page - I'll wait for my very sweet!

I don't actually know who she is, but it's a nice change from the email offers I keep getting for 80% off Viagra!

Thanks Olga. I'm sure you were so hot too. I'll drop you to the page tomorrow,ok? Good day!

Twenty Six Days In

I'm still feeling bruised and battered from this weekend, but since forward is the best way to move, that's what I'm doing. Step, step, step. Onward.

John Mayer's helping. I bought his new album with an iTunes gift card and it fits my state of mind perfectly while still making me feel just a little bit better each time I hear it.

Did you know we're twenty six days into the new year / January / the decade?

I've managed, so far, to take a photo every day. I don't love all of them. I don't always love doing it, but so far it's resulted in a few great photos I wouldn't have taken had I not been out there with my camera. So, that's good, I guess.

Another interesting side-effect (?) is that on the days I get a photo I love, I end up with a bunch of others that I really really liked. So that's good.

I just thought about something, with regards to the music. I think part of it is that the music's good, but I also, as I'm sitting here typing and listening, think it's that putting on the music forces the part of my brain that rehashes the situation to focus on something else; the lyrics the tune, the harmonies, the instruments.

But, anyway, twenty six days in. The things I said I'd commit to daily, I've done every day so far. Forty days to make a habit? Guess I'm more than half-way there.

How's your January going?

Unfortunately

I got emotionally slapped around this weekend in a completely unexpected way. (Isn't it always that way?) Which is really unfortunate, because it should have been was a great weekend and this one thing is eclipsing all of that.

Ordinarily I wouldn't mention it, would just wait for it to blow over or to hurt less, but right now, it's occupying all of my thoughts and is heavy heavy heavy on me like the lead blankets you wear for dental X-rays.

My instinct right now is to never ever ever let anyone in to my life ever again. To never have friends any closer than outside of my safety bubble. And that's a sucky way to feel. So I guess I'll just curl up like a hedgehog or something until it feels safe again.

Things like this make it feel easier to be alone and lonely. At least then you feel like you're in control of the hurt.

I hate that this has turned everything into something it's not. Hopefully the eclipse will pass.

Soon.

Send me a hug, would you?

Regarding That

About a month ago, I wrote a post that mentioned a former boyfriend of mine.

The One in The Back posted this comment:
"I guess I'll be the one to ask the "500-lb Gorilla in the room" question...
What happened?"

And I said I guessed that was something I'd have to post about.

And because these things often feel big until you start, let me start.

His name was Jeff. I gave up so much for him. I don't know where he is anymore. My life twisted around him for years. The twisting didn't leave me for years. There's a lot to the story, I suppose. But today I'm just starting.

His name was Jeff.