Being in the "Middle" Tied to a Broken Heart and Moving On

That's the thing about being in the middle. It's like holding your breath longer than you think you can. It's the point before you black out, right before you surface. The last stretch uphill-the highest part-right before going down. You're not stuck. You're moving. You can do this.

I'm reading this novel (fascinating so far) called Mr Peanut
by Adam Ross. The context of this quote has nothing to do with how the words hit me, but sometimes that's the power of great writing. Needless to say, the middle is the hardest part. Here's to the unshakeable feeling of heartache lightened only by the promise that after the middle comes the end.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

it's mine

Faucet on red and the air is thick with steam and sorrow.
She’s caught in that place I know so well,
The room where the water is splashing the ceiling.
It rises and the only choice becomes: sink or swallow.
(swim)
Fighting the immersion leaves her feeling like the smallest child
Chasing the sinking sun down twilight’s shore
Don’t come, Night. You’re an unwelcome substitute for the brightness of day.
So much undone, unseen, unspoken for.
Still, without apology, it sinks in and offends the gold and soon, there is only blue.
All shadow, all void, the great deep.
(swim)
From the other side of the curtain, the room, the sea
I call to her. How’d you get there? That unlit place- it’s mine.
It’s marked on my map
“Misery” and also, “Release.”
But look around a little, don’t be afraid. There’s treasure,
I’ve left some behind.
The edges are sharp, so be vigilant and thorough. But quick!
(swim)
A longer stay tempts her, the water is warming
And it doesn’t burn her lungs. But I know the dangers in finding comfort there,
And the tranquility of what comes next.
“No,” I scream it loud and it ripples around her,
The tiniest glimmer demands her gaze, it’s far. It’s passing.
“It’s time!”
SWIM.

I wish I could say that over the past couple of days my mind has been consumed by the revolution happening in Egypt or my endless list of important to do's at work or even my clean laundry that needs putting away. But, with a clean conscience, I cannot. That's because my mind has been consumed with this.



Good old fashioned serial killer drama. I think I'm a little behind the times, but this show is fantastic. Adam and I have been hooked. And it feels good. It's kind of our thing- a sick obsession with some outrageously fictitious series. Smart shows with intricate story lines. Vying for a spare sixty minutes at any point throughout the day or night to squeeze in just one more episode. Calling the characters by nickname, as if we just hung out with them last night. As if they are just a phone call away or we are going to be meeting them at Fido for an Americano in just a few. "Dex" is a special one. He's so so seriously disturbed and.. I mean.. a murderer. But you forgive him and love him and root for him nonetheless.

We began this silly break from reality long before we technically started dating (we refer to this time as "The Dark Ages," and this is something I'll refrain from explaining.) We fell in "like" during this phase:



We fell in love during this phase:



We were really bored during our True Blood phase. Our Office phase comes and goes. Our Arrested Development phase is never ending and often used as a filler between the other phases. Our Real World phase.. oh wait, that was just me.

I'll state this so there's a chance you'll believe it, and (mostly) to make myself feel better about the way I've portrayed myself and my relationship here tonight: I share a lot more with my man than just television shows, okay? This is just one of our favorite things to do together: diving into a crazy story, having heated discussions over plot theories, character flaws, and questions over details that are never addressed. And then, sometimes, we go out in to the real world and actually experience real things together.

Come on, we're American, right? You know you love television, too. And your series of choice is most likely Jersey Shore. So quit judging.

Hey! Guess what. I've also been reading a little.



This book is beautiful so far.
I'll leave you with that.

L

I'd first like to publicly recognize the fact that in my last (first?) post, I made a big fat deal about how I just really need to start writing and how I was swearing to be better about it, because I just have to for this list of reasons. That was in May 2010. It is now January, the 25th to be exact, 2011.

This is typical.

Moving on.

Something very exciting and huge happened fairly anticlimactically last week.

I finished my last credits I needed in order to obtain my Bachelor's Degree in History and in Social Studies, and I will be receiving my diploma in May. You might be thinking, "Wait a sec.. I vaguely remember something about you graduating two and half years ago?" or perhaps, "Hold up! I sent you money/presents/that super personal Facebook CONGRATS! like two and a half years ago?!" Well, sir or ma'am, your memory does not fail you. You are correct, and to you I am simultaneously apologizing for the small 32 month delay between my celebrated "graduation" and my technical graduation, and thanking you again for your early anticipation of my eventual completion of college! Two major lessons learned that, at this point, don't really matter anymore: 1. I should have never thought I could handle six distance learning credits (with zero deadlines and no structure) over the summer after my senior year. 2. I should have never thought it'd be easy to knock out these said credits while working multiple jobs. I know myself. And these were bad decisions.

Thus, much much later, I can proudly say, without crossing my fingers or else providing a long-winded excuse, that I have finished my degree. Hallelujah! Now, instead of spending any and all free time either doing schoolwork or procrastinating doing school work (but not by being productive in any other way, ironically enough), there's an endless amount of things I can do, right?

So now what? That's the question anyone who accomplishes a major goal (even when it's supposed to take four years and it ends up taking six and a half) asks themselves. I've been excitedly contemplating the possibilities. Alright, let's be honest.. I've excitedly, and at times, anxiously, been contemplating the possibilities/terror of the unknown that lie ahead.

This is how far I've gotten. It's only been three days. Give me a break.

1. I will create a budget and become much more financially responsible, in order to: tackle my debt, save for travel, save for future endeavors.
2. I will make a real habit of blogging, as means of practicing my writing in case I might regret not doing so later.
3. I will try my very best to cook (or make at home) two meals per week for myself and my man. Gotta start somewhere.
4. I will exercise on purpose and invest in healthier choices.
5. And, I'm most excited about this one: I will read!! what I want!! to read!! rotating fiction with non-fiction, because I never want to forget what it's like to get lost in a story and I never want to stop learning.

So... here's to all that.

L

writing: establishing a habit and why i always regret not doing it

when it comes to hobbies, i am extremely non-committal.
(when it comes to relationships, i have quite the opposite problem. but that's another story completely.)

for some, talent runs abundantly through their veins and because of this, hobbies are easily established. a few people i know can sing, play an instrument, paint, write, build furniture, grow gardens, play an impressive game of any sport, and be incredibly good looking (which isn't really a talent, i guess, but still counts against them in my mind). these are the few people i resent a little bit.

i resent them just a little bit (sometimes a lot a bit), because my list of natural talent is much MUCH less exhaustive and impressive. but one thing my sweet mommy always tells me is this: "but laura! you are a great writer."

"great" is such a mom-term to use for my writing that just is really untrue in the real world but perfectly just in the mom world.

i do love to write though. and writing as a hobby has been something to which i could never truly commit. but i've decided something recently. i've decided that maybe i shouldn't think of it as a hobby, because if i do, i clearly will never really do it for more than a week or two; but that instead, i will admit to myself that i just straight up NEED to write. i get lazy and leave 3/4 of beautiful journals completely empty. i get lazy and let ideas just disappear. on my one trip to europe, i got lazy and wrote nothing about the second half of my time in italy and the entirety of my time in slovenia. i already know that at my ripe old age of 23 my memory is terrible, so i just MUST write.

i need to write to keep myself sane.
to clear my mind and release my hyper-analyzation.
to utilize my way too many years of education.
to keep a record of the best years of my life (which will hopefully be all of them).
to not have to talk so fuhreaking much.

ya know?

okay, let's do this.