Run Away, Run Away!

A friend recently asked me, in so many words, how I handle living here in eastern Kentucky because I don’t belong here. In all honesty, it is probably one of the nicest things anyone has said to me.
Before anyone gets too fired up, I took it as a compliment not because I hate my home, but because it feels like I have defeated the stereotype.
Unlike the image of the ignorant hillbilly that has been burnt into the social consciousness, this person sees me for who I am – an art loving, Star Wars fan that loves to travel and learn….a person that refuses to be defined by where she is from, but, at the same time, is trying to find the positive in living in an area that is, sadly, dying.
I don’t plan on discussing the economic life blood of my home (it’s coal, if you weren’t aware). I could give you my thoughts on how a middle ground could be reached to improve the area, both economically and environmentally, but that is for another day.
Right now, it’s taking a lot not to run away. To run far and fast towards something different, something promising, something – anything! – other than……other than this place where progress seems to be stalled by greed, corruption, and snuffed out by those who don’t see beyond their own bottom line.
I moved back home for a variety of reasons – to heal a broken heart, figure out my next step, spend time with my family. It’s the spending time with my family that is keeping me here…for now. Beyond that, and the fact that I love the students I work with, there really isn’t a lot to hold on to.
I’ve become very proficient and making the arguments to myself to justify staying: It is easier to hop in the car and go spend one…two…seven days somewhere else and then come home to family and some close friends. In this Age of the Internet and interstate highways, that long distance affairs can be maintained – and I believe they can be, if both parties are interested. Anything is possible if you try….right?
What I want is it all. I want access to things that will make my life more vibrant and what I want it to be, but I also want to be an active member of my family, spending time with them and having those all too precious memories with them.
As those who float into and out of my life keep reminding me, you can’t have all the things, all the time. I also can’t keep running away; from home, from possibilities, from the uncertain, from x, y, and z, from myself.
At some point a decision will have to be made. It will be difficult, it may not make a lot of people happy, but it will have to be done for myself. Until that day, I will keep making choices and decisions that let me be happy and hope that, along the way, where I should be becomes a little clearer.
At the end of the day, I’m just getting tired of running.

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The Low Spark Of A Newly High Heeled Girl

I tend to add soundtrack music to my day. It’s not an intentional or a conscious act, it just happens. Something occurs and I think of a song…and honestly, it doesn’t make much sense most of the time. So, after I bought my first real pair of high heeled shoes, it was only natural that Traffic’s epic song, “The Low Spark Of High Heeled Boys,” came to mind.

Yeah….totally natural.

I have purchased high heeled shoes before. A pair or two for weddings, my proms, but beyond that, the rare high heeled shoe was purchased not because I wanted them, but for what I thought they would help me with.
THOSE heels would help me be more attractive, sexy, wanted, enter adjective of choice here.
I truly believed that the problems I was having with my relationship, and with my self image, would totally be fixed by THOSE shoes.

Crazy…right? Not really. People project on to things all the time. To me, THOSE heels, were what attractive women wear. Women who are sexy, wear THOSE shoes. It never dawned on me that I was just so desperately unhappy with myself, my situation, that I was throwing out any kind of line to anything I thought would help. Hindsight..am I right?!

So, THOSE shoes obviously didn’t do what I thought they would. They were worn once, and I didn’t feel any better. THEY didn’t work. I threw the shoes into the closet, got rid of them eventually, and didn’t buy heels for a long time.
During that “long time,” I made some changes, learned some things about myself, gained some confidence, and have finally gotten to a point where I truly feel more like me – as cheesy and cliché as that sounds.

I wear pop culture t-shirts with skirts. I like dressing up, playing with makeup, and watching football. My Chuck Taylors are my work shoes and I will write some pretty explicit things because I think it’s fun.

Too much information? Did I mention I will over share because I like being straight forward and don’t particularly like, or understand, the games men and women play with each other.

What does all this mean? It means that the high heeled shoes I purchased Friday, the shoes I have been practicing walking in, are MY shoes. THEY don’t cause me to feel more attractive, or wanted, but are an accessory that accentuates how I already feel the majority of the time, which is not half bad, but not always great. I have many moments during the day when I question myself, where I wonder why I’m alone, or what role I’m acting out in this world. Still, thanks to lessons learned, I can get past those doubts and keep moving forward because that is what I, and I believe most people, do.

Don’t misunderstand, I don’t feel I am anyone special…I’m just me…and I happen to want to rock these blue, faux suede, high heeled shoes. I want everyone to rock that thing – that dress, that coat, that haircut – that thing they are afraid of making them stand out when all they want to do is stay hidden because they aren’t sure about themselves.

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Hard to get a good pic when you don't have a dressing mirror.

The shoes don’t make me anything in particular, but I make them pretty awesome – rather, I will make them awesome when I learn to walk in them and not look like a baby horse stumbling around.

Going Through Spurts

*just another stream of conscious rambling attempt at poetry, clarity, staving off the inevitable blahs I feel coming on*

I shouldn’t be surprised, yet I always am. Trying desperately to find a bright spot in the encroaching gloom.
Rainy days breed rainy thoughts, and I am flooded in them.
I can plainly see the positive and the good. It shines and, at times, truly consumes me.
Then the clouds roll in.
There is no thunder.
No lightening.
Just gray from horizon to horizon.
It’s cold…and lonely…and my best bravado cannot keep the shading effect away.
I’m not allowed to feel like this…not good, not bad.
The brave face has to be put on.
Everyone needs to know that you are fine.
You are making it.
Nothing bothers you.
It’s not true. That doesn’t matter, though.
This won’t last. It’s a moment to wallow in.
Float with the gray waters. Let your heart hurt just a bit.
I’ll land in the shallows and get to my feet.
Walking back to where I was, I’ll verbally kick myself for allowing the hurt and gray to win again – especially after so long of holding them off!
Then, somehow, I’ll walk a little further up from where I was when those clouds rolled in and took me away.
Bathed in light and then half light.
In small spurts I move forward.
On and on to regions unknown…
Paths untread….
All in spurts.

Just A Letter For You

At least that’s how I’m starting it. You know by now my mind makes great leaps between ideas that, to most, don’t make much sense. To me, I don’t understand how you cannot see the threads that tie them together. That’s not what I’m writing to you about though.
I want you to know that I think you are amazing. You are smart, funny, kind, sweet, tender, and potentially loving. You are also a coward in some regards. It’s OK, so am I.
I truly believe if you gave it, us, a chance you would be happy. But you won’t. Sometimes I feel this rejection is some kind of payback for my own lack luster response to those interested in me – with whom I have justified my lack of interest as having more to do with distance and circumstance than through an honest “I just don’t feel that way,” but this is for you, not me. I beat myself up enough. I destroy myself, if we want to be honest, but, again, this is for you, not me.
I want you to be happy. Sure, I want you to be happy with me, but that doesn’t seem like it will happen. I know, you care for me, you want to help me, hold me, but that just makes it worse. You love me but you don’t. Some of that is on me. I understand that distance sucks. I have made some choices – choices that I do not regret one bit – but those choices are holding me in a standby pattern with regards to my personal life.
Do you think I like being alone? Away from the opportunities a city brings?! No, honestly I don’t. I feel like I’m missing out on things – you, for example – and I’m unsure what to do about it. I love my family. I love being with them and being in their lives and having them in mine, but I want you too.
Have you given me a reason to give up my absolute love and my desire to be around them? No….not really. You gave me hope and then you promptly dashed it once I was here. Sometimes being closer doesn’t help…at least not in my case…so it seems…anyways…
If I can’t make you see that, there isn’t much I can do.
I understand that you have stuff going on. We all do. I guess I just put my heart out there so quickly. It’s easily torn asunder, only to be patched back in some hurried, unfixed way, and then torn up again.
Sadly, I’m accepting that as my lot in life. I shouldn’t, but I am.
That isn’t your fault.
Your fault is in not taking the time to call me and tell me hello. Or asking me to walk around the Riverfront and swing in a giant swing facing the Rhine. Or inviting me over to watch a movie. You could have done any of those things – or a thousand other small gestures – and I would have moved Heaven and Earth because I like you.
All I wanted was a real chance, an opportunity. I haven’t even fallen in love yet, but I really like you.
See, it’s not in the past tense. I honestly like you.
I have meant every word. You are smart, funny, sweet, kind – you make me laugh and make my day – and in some way I do that for you, but it’s not enough. I get it.
It doesn’t change the fact that talking to you puts a smile on my face. That it will hurt putting all the pieces back in place and smiling while you tell me about how well you are doing with her, but I’ll do it because I’m strong enough to go on. I won’t wallow. Well, I won’t wallow more than a few hours. Sometimes a little wallow helps…at least for me it does.
Now, you shouldn’t feel bad. That’s not my intention here. I genuinely want you to be happy. Recently I read an article about how accommodating people (ahem, right here) are the most destructive and I KNOW it’s true – why else would I accept a role so far from what I hoped for just to be there?!
That, again, is for me. This letter is for you.
So, text if you want….call if you can. I’ll still get excited to hear about your day and what your plans are. I’ll move on with my patchwork heart, and, believe me, I’ll tell you about it because you are my friend and I like you. I’ll need your support on a few things here and there, so, heads up.
It would have been pretty great, though, you and I. It would have been something for the ages. It could have made it if we both wanted it badly enough, but logistics, my friend, logistics.
Time and place…they don’t always line up.
They didn’t for us, but for you and her – whoever she is – it may.
Good luck. Much love.
Take care….my friend.

This Has Potential To Get Dark

I do believe it’s only fair to warn you, hence the title of this, the first blog post in a while. I believe it brightens up quite a bit at the end, but…just be prepared.

It’s not that I haven’t wanted to write. I have two, maybe three drafts that are incomplete or, really, just garbage.
Forced attempts when there really was nothing to say.

Today…today I find myself full of things to say and, with any luck, these words will work their magic – taking thoughts plaguing me and expelling them; making sense of of the jumble that is how my brain works.
To understand the process, let’s start at the root of the issue: a date.
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What IS the “Catch”

Last night, I chose to drive from Cincinnati to Pond Creek after the Reds game (which they won, Go Reds!) – but more on that adventure in another post. Normally, I sing my guts out, but last night I did more thinking than distracting myself. Yes, folks, it was a thinking weekend, which isn’t so bad, but that’s what happens when I’m left with only me for company.
The day had started out rough due to a dream in which I was told/shown by all involved how I have missed or messed up everything. Ab-so-lute-ly everything. Breakfast and Free Comic Book day helped to reduce that nagging feeling, but it was always there, lurking under the surface.
This thought/fear of my dream being prophetic, came to the forefront as I drove the nearly empty highway along with another thought. What is my “catch” and do men worry about that?

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Captain America: The Winter Soldier – Yeah, I Liked It More Than The Avengers

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There, I said it…and I loved The Avengers! You all know my Loki love and I would put this film, The Winter Soldier, on top of my Marvel  movie list. Chris Evans, who I praised after seeing Captain America: The First Avenger, is the ideal performer for the role and reminds us, yet again, of this fact with his most recent, and evolved, portrayal of Steve Rogers – Captain America himself.

He is Captain America, dang it!

He is Captain America, dang it!

Now, The Winter Soldier has been in theaters for over a week, and I have no intention of giving any spoilers away here. I figure if you haven’t seen the film by now, you either are going to soon or have read/heard enough to know that a lot of things happen in this film that move towards Avengers 2. The Hail Hydra memes are a pretty big clue at any rate. What I would like to focus on is the story and what makes this movie the best of the Marvel films to date.

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