My Liminal Life


(Insert Law & Order gavel bang here)

To give credit where credit is due, IKEA has finally agreed to reimburse me for their shitty, faulty bed.

And to them I say….thanks.

Greetings, fellows.

I write to you from a small coffee shop (with unparalleled lattes and cheese scones) at the foot of the Appalachian mountains. It’s beautiful. Looking up into the fog drifting slowly down the foothills, I keep thinking that I should be hiking through those mountains, stretching mind and body, rather than doing lessons plans, and getting distracted by blogging.

I’m thinking of taking a Mulligan on my 20s (my 29th birthday is next month, and though I’m not technically out of the woods yet, I feel emotionally as if I’m already 30, so that’s that) and hitting the reset button on my life. In one way, I’m fortunate to feel like there’s so much possibility to begin anew – not everyone feels that comfortable and strong in their ability to start again in a new place, with another job, meeting new people, and so on. Now, this isn’t 100% by any means – I still plan on heading back to New York when my contract here ends and seeing if we (NYC and I) can fall back in love again. I don’t think my ex-boyfriend and I can find that though. That chapter is closing. Not sure about my job either. There are a lot of skeletons in New York’s closet. But there are so many great things too. The city, for one. I’m never bored. The amazing network of friends I’ve got there. Theatre. Movies. There’s so much good.

But the idea of a clean start is so appealing to me. I just can’t get it out of my head….I guess we’ll have to see. I think I’d have to do a bit of travelling to find that place….the place I’d be happy ushering out my 20s and welcoming in the next stage…

Now onto the generosity portion of this post. I’m typing from a computer (a netbook, technically) that a dear friend simply gave me out of the kindness of his heart! (That and the fact that he had several lying around.) My friend Chris, who is married to my dear and wonderful friend Meghan, writes software, and is kind of a huge deal in his field. Subsequently, there is top of the line technology scattered all over their flat. So when I was there last week for a drink, he asked if I knew anyone who needed a laptop. Long story short, this little machine is a beauty. Fast, lightweight, perfect. It’s like having a Pegasus at the Kentucky Derby. I’m still very humbled by the generosity shown me.

If a product hinges its entire marketability on a single factor, then you’d think the product would be forced to deliver, no?

No. Apparently not.

That seems to be the case with Rimmel London 60 Second Dry nail polish, currently smudging up my digits in shade #230, Portobello Pink.

If you say you’re going to dry in 60 seconds (and especially if I allot you five minutes as a precaution) then you’d better do it, goddamn it! I paid 3 dollars of my very pathetic salary to have nails the color of a 1980s Malibu hooker! I want my money’s worth!

Did I also mention that my boyfriend and I are going through a patch so rough I’m relatively certain it’s over? And that I’m completely shattered about it?

But let’s keep this one to nail polish. I can’t talk much about the other one. I’m not there yet. I bought a fancy nail polish to wear to a dear friend’s wedding this past weekend and was hugely pleased with the results. That’s right, I dropped $20 on freaking nail polish, just because it was pretty and unusual and from a fancy French company. My nails looked nice. I’m ok with the decision. Other decisions? I’m not so sure.

I’ve just gotten off the phone with one of the best friends I’ll ever know in this life…my B! She is a regular reader of this blog (God love her), so I thought I would give an internet-wide shout-out to my best friend.

B and I have been friends since the womb. No, for reals. Our parents are also friends, and our mothers were pregnant with us at the same time. Even though I sneakily escaped from Uterus City a month before she did, I’ve always felt that we were really just sisters from separate gene pools. We even share the same pale, dark, good looks 🙂 We also share a love for romantic comedies, books geared towards teenagers, and the need to plan things in advance.

One of my favorite memories of college was driving from New York to Boston to visit her at school. We hung out, walked around the pond (where I pocketed a rubber duck, which I still have somewhere) and watched Legally Blonde in her room. And I got a sweatshirt from her school – I collect uni sweatshirts, it’s a weird thing I like – gave her a hug, and was on my way. It was so much fun. That’s the kind of silly, relaxing stuff you can do with a best friend, but because they mean so much to you, and time with them is precious, even the ordinary stuff becomes the kind of thing you remember forever.

Some friends drift apart with adulthood. You move to a new state, get a job, get married. Your priorities change. Not us. We actually drifted closer, if that’s possible. I’m like that piece of debris from the sinking Titanic and she is Kate Winslet, holding on to me. We drift together through arctic waters. Leonardo DiCaprio? No thanks. We don’t need him. We’re drifting just fine, thank you very much.

Though B works in a high-powered, intense job, and is happily married and expecting her first child (yay!) she always makes time for me, which means so much. Right now, my dad is really sick…again. And she’s offered multiple times to fly hours (whilst pregnant) just to see me and be there in support. Not a lot of friends do that in sincerity. But she does. And we’ll do that for each other for the rest of our lives. Through all those big growing up moments. It’s nice to know you don’t have to do it alone. And that someone else will always want to make plans with you.

When is a friendship really and truly over?

The answer, I discovered, is when someone you were already drifting apart from publishes heinously offensive things concerning people you care about on the motherfucking internet.

*Now, wait a sec, you might say. Aren’t you doing the same thing, by talking about it in your blog?*

Glad you asked that question, editorial voice in my head. Because I believe the answer is no. I’m going to explain why I’m angry, but not give any clues to my relationship with this former friend, or whom it was she insulted. Subsequently, you won’t be able to guess her identity. To the contrary, my former friend  made it very very clear whom she was insulting.

I seriously couldn’t sleep last night, I wanted to verbally slaughter this girl so badly. I wanted to call her (but luckily, deleted her number before I could do harm) and let her know what a disgusting, useless, hypocrite she is. I wanted to let her know how vain and silly she is. I wanted her to know that if we ever cross paths again, she can look forward to a massive wad of my spit hitting her right in the face.

RAGEY, right? And that’s so completely not my style. After thinking of why this made me so blind with rage, I understood, it’s because this girl and I used to be close friends. I loved spending time with her. I stood up for her, stood by her, and was always happy to see her. When we grew apart, I was sad, but that’s growing up….but when this happened, I feel like I never really knew her at all. The cute, fun girl I thought was my buddy was just a dream. And all I’m left with is an alarming amount of hate in my heart, the kind that consumes your thoughts and keeps you up all night.

So I called my boyfriend and let all this out. Then I steeled myself for what would inevitably be the realization of his terrible mistake – he doesn’t want to date some Crazypants McRagemachine! Talented, handsome guys like him (who can cook like pro chefs) don’t need to put up with that shit. But he didn’t bolt. He invited me to talk about it, and listened to why I was upset. He’s kind of amazing like that. Also, seriously, he’s the most amazing cook in the world. He’s made me like eating salmon and brussel sprouts (!) and I would pretty much commit murder for the veggie tacos he fixed for lunch today.

Lesson? Friendships fall apart. People aren’t always who we thought they were, or who we hoped they would be. But it’s the ones who are left standing with us who will matter in the long run. Especially if they can make french fries from scratch.

Greetings from Wednesday.

For reasons multiple,  I’m not in the best of moods. Though I have a really lovely evening lined up for tonight (friends! theatre! food! a trip to a bar that has a TARDIS…seriously!) all I want to do is curl up on the sofa, sleep and be left alone. Why is this?

The first thought is that I’m sick with worry. A dear friend is currently stranded in Paris, having been barred reentry to the UK, where he lives – he’s an American, and his visa is about to expire, but there’s no reason not to let him collect his belongings and go. He’s being forced to head straight back to the states and I’m waiting to receive him, though I’ve just gotten word that scheduling issues with his flights have delayed his arrival even further. Argh.

Other possibilities? Add-ons, if you would?

Mayhaps it is my hormones. I really should keep a better watch on them. Or perhaps it’s the absolute skullfucker of a headache I’ve currently got going, because I decided to be healthy and have juice instead of coffee – which I’ll remedy shortly, because I just ate the better part of a bottle of Advil and my brain is still throbbing. Or I feel grouchy and insecure about current goings on in relationships.  It’s like a perfect storm to make a woman insane…worry, hormones, caffeine withdrawl and relationship nerves….the true test is if I can just ride out the crazy (keeping it all on the inside, and not starting my own insane webcast, where I’ll proclaim that I too am ingesting tiger blood) then hopefully by the end of the week I’ll have returned to a semblance of my normal self. We shall see.

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