Rest in Everlasting Peace, Corey Ian Haim, Friend of my Childhood, thus, Friend Forever.

Peace and Love,
Bella

It upset me greatly and I am still a bit turned around from having this happen to me. Sad too, as I don’t make very much and it’s so hard to put money back and still “have a life” and enjoy time with friends by going out now and then.

I reached out to some people when it happened and my sister and one of my best friends were extremely sympathetic about the situation and talked to me for a bit about it, which did help me feel better to an extent. However, I am at a loss as to the reaction of another person who is close to me. They did not take any time to address what had happened and I felt once again as if there is something more to it than what I am aware of. I feel that at this point, it would be best if I did not rely on them for emotional support as this comes on the heels of another experience which recently left me feeling similarly surprised at the apparent lack of support and concern.

I am understanding with my friends and family and realize that they cannot always be there for me, however it only takes a moment to show someone they are important to you by reaching out and being there, if only briefly, when something bad happens. It just perplexes me. I’m giving of my time and generous with my loved ones when they need me to lend an ear or express that I care.

So now I’m home, listening to my Pandora.com and working out my feelings about both the workplace theft as well as the loss of confidence I’m starting to experience. It’s amazing how feelings translate to a physical sensation. Like a big loaf of stale bread sitting in my tummy. Or a weight on my chest. A shabby little day it’s been, at best. I am grateful for the people who do show me that they love me and that I’m important to them. It goes a long, long, long, way.

Tonight is remarkably quiet. I live on a main thoroughfare street, which feeds into the belly of downtown, 5 blocks west of my building. I expect there to be more noise, always. The layered sounds of cars hurdling by are not constant this evening. The breaks in between are very still. Then, the hush of traffic when it’s moving closer, closer, then the swoosh as it travels past my apartment, followed by a final hush that gets quieter until it’s a wisp of a sound.

Just as the night is quiet, so am I. No music on just yet and I’ve been home for two hours. Spending time this way is very rejuvenating for me. I wish I could afford to spend a week confined with just my thoughts, filtering ideas and my surroundings with an ever sharper lens.

I suspect that it is a luxury to be this alone. To commune with one’s self only. To be my age and have the option of coming home and doing whatever I please, even if that is sit in the dark and regain some clarity, some perspective. The “bright lights, big city” (thank you, Jay) are just outside my doorstep. If I choose to, I can walk to a movie, to people-watching, to affluence or to poverty. Or I can remain in the solitude of my 1 bedroom flat, listening to the sounds of cars and buses in the darkness.

It’s almost 2:00 a.m. and I am going to rip into my brand-spankin’ new “Photographic Atlas for Phys. Anthro.” supplement. I don’t need to, but I’m wired for sound at this point, having caught my sixth wind, and it’s either look at photos of fossilized remains, listen to mind-warping guided meditations on youtube, or watch porn. I’m so proud of myself for taking the high road.

Tonight I decided that I must always have orange juice in my fridge at all times. I’m talking about maintaining two, gallon jugs. I love orange juice. Can’t get enough of the stuff. If I keep it up, I’ll be turning a shade of tangerine by the end of summer.

I’m glad to be in school this semester. I missed it. After all these years, I still can’t plan my week for shit. My lofty goal for this week is to shower and set my outfits out the night before, catch the bus early every day and be organized in general. Dear Lord and innocent bystanders, watch out – Bella is trying her damndest to grow up.

Post-Script: in retrospect, I should have saved that tall can of mocha flavored energy drink until at least sundown, but ah well – live and learn.

I am a serial blogger that, of late, has relieved the bellaverse of my meandering, daily posts during an unintended and lengthy hiatus.  Never a fan of playing let’s-catch-up-on-the-last-several-months blog, I will refrain from doing just that, despite the gaping chasm of time that is the break since the last blog that truly shed any light on what life is like.  Maybe I’m just lazy, as catching up would require an enormous amount of story telling and explanation.  Though the telling would no doubt be steeped in sarcasm and self-deprecation, which I definitely weigh as the argument for making an effort.  However, tonight I just want to crawl into the deep end of the claw foot tub. 

I am once again living downtown, in the Sherman House apartment building.  I feel so perfectly at home in this old house, that returning to it was the best possible outcome.  When I was an adolescent, I remember daydreaming about the rooms in which I would live in when I was “grown up” (I was probably thinking ahead to all of 21). The rooms I envisioned were so much like this. 

I’m already used to the sounds of the buses rumbling past and the occasional ker-chink, ker-chink of a metal shopping cart making it’s way down Market St. I have yet to visit Cotija’s, the taco shop up the street, but it’s comforting to this bachelorette to know that food is never more than 3 minutes away if I’m in a pinch. “A pinch” being what happens when you open your fridge and realize you’ve run out of chocolate and pinto beans.  Again.

Today the handyman hung new blinds in the two windowed rooms and they make such a difference.  The oversized dresser looks just right now in that space and atop it sits a huge vase of pink and white stargazer lilies, courtesy of my very charming suitor.  I counted 13 huge blooms and buds!  The arrangement is altogether lavish, luxey, aromatic and perfectly lovely. 

There were stressful moments today, but I overcame them.  Jumping them felt challenging – like running hurdles with your underwear around your ankles – but I did it.  One day at a time, I remind myself.

Which reminds me, tomorrow I have my Alanon meeting.  I’ve missed it in favor of avoiding an hour+ trek home on the city buses.  Yet my issues ran wild when I wasn’t paying attention and it’s a terrible thing because I have a big heart that is full of love and patience and kindness and joy.  And it is so overshadowed by my messy head when that happens.  I owe it to myself to work so very hard on my progress.  I owe it to myself to push and work and feel through so many fears and layers of learned behaviors that only serve to obscure me, time and time again.  It may sound cliche, but when the going gets rough as it has been, I remind myself that if nothing else, to love myself endlessly and unconditionally, the way I have always deserved to be.  And so I do.  Which is why my tired behind will be on the 11 bus to the 1 bus to the 2 bus to the bloody 13429532 bus tomorrow night. 

Dear Ikea, thank you for making cheap ass Billy bookcases so that bibliophile girls like me can afford to store their many cloth and paper bound treasures. 

I have three Billy cases in my apartment.  And four boxes of books still yet to be unpacked.  Madness.  I contemplate this excess while listening to the classic and perfect ”Still Ill” by The Smiths.  “Does the body rule the mind or does the mind rule the body?  I don’t know.”  Thanks, Moz.  That helps me with my book paradigm a lot.  And by a lot I mean not at all.  Then again, this song is so utterly fucktastic, it has me thinking about what I want played at my funeral (no, really) and thereby, distracted me from the whole “my 1 bedroom apartment is drowning in paperbacks” issue.

(You know, I really should use those wee silver L-bracket thingamabobs the bookcases are packed with.  Come the next earthquake, it’s quite possible that I could suffer great harm under a pile of hardcover Steinbecks and Whitmans.)

I spoke to my soul friend Mandy Lou in Aberdeen tonight and miss her terribly.  Yes, the bellaverse is allowed to bandy about new-age terms like “soul friend” at will, thank you very much.  I can clearly picture her at home in her oversized Bob Evans night-shirt with her ponytail undone and spend several moments just missing a hug from her and thinking about the time we spent together in March.

I think I’m burned out on futzing about Chateau Bella for tonight.  Instead, I am resolved to start my 4th step inventory on paper, then fall asleep while watching The Labyrinth, a copy of which I found while unpacking tonight.  If I’m lucky, these consecutive activities will result in my dreaming about the Goblin King sharing openly at an Alanon meeting.  Or, conversely, dreaming about Jennifer Connelly.  Doing pretty much anything, anywhere.

Break your walls down

With love and charm.

I needed you.

Was THAT the problem?

Are you so stubborn

That to love me now

Would be viewed as an

Act of surrender?