Say what?
So it goes like this: I moved to San Francisco, lost one of my closest confidants to shitty circumstance, got a promotion complete with an actual office to go to, went home with a stranger, slept with a friend, herbed with my personal guidance counselor and, most recently, was forced to evaluate my life on the fly when Jesus Christ popped up on my caller ID. I’m not exactly sure how I’m still standing.
The move was fairly sudden. In December my good friend Bern hit me up on chat to say that her roommate was probably going to move out and was I interested? Hot damn! I couldn’t respond because I was too busy packing.
By February I was waking up to the sound of gulls, traffic and pissed off crack heads. It was glorious. On the not so glorious side, a rent bill. But just as I was mentally preparing to revisit the ramen section for the first time since my metabolism left me high and dry my boss was all, Hey, I just moved to San Francisco from Paris so it would be great if you could find us an office and then work in it with me for more money than you make now. Hot damn! I couldn’t respond because I was too busy consulting Craigslist.
Things have been falling into place like that for the majority of this year, which simultaneously makes me happy and freaks me the fuck out. I so desperately want to to lean on 2011 like an old friend, exhale, and say something to the effect of, I'm so glad you're finally here! But a tiny bastard of a voice named EVERY EXPERIENCE I'VE EVER HAD tells me that as soon as I do that, a storm will come.
***
I wish I could say that the accumulation of all this good stuff is the reason I haven't been writing much, but no, the accumulation of all this good stuff is why I'm becoming increasingly paranoid. I wish I could say living above a pub is the reason I haven't been writing much, but no, living within stumbling distance of a beer fountain is the reason I need to seriously look into getting some health insurance.
The reason I haven't written is because Life didn't forget about my steaming side of WTF, and this year's model is so deviating, so marvelous, that thinking about it exhausts me almost to the point of illness.
Things took a turn for the strange when I went home with a dude I met at a bar immediately after epically losing to him at Street Fighter. I want to say I don't know why I did it, but I know the reason and it is sick and twisted. The hat, the face moles, the delicious self-deprecating humor -- it all reminded me so much of another life. In the end it worked against him because I couldn't bring myself to sleep with someone who was already somehow so tragically familiar, and our weird month-long fling ended with a slap on the ass and a couple's kiss on 4th and Market.
I mentally tore the situation apart, wondering over and over again which fucked up part of my mind it was that made it impossible to undress for someone who was so very much like someone I desperately missed, and stitched it all back together so I could relay it to my most trusted friends for their own evaluations. But before I could say a single word, I was officially ditched by one of said confidants and the world became an even sadder, more confusing place.
And then the Universe said, Hey Chelsi, I'd like to make up for the sudden departure of someone you never thought would leave with the return of someone you never thought would have the balls to come back.
***
When my homie Jesus called me I was in a crosswalk on the way to my new office. I saw his name and immediately fell apart, reformed, and fell apart again. What would he say if I answered? Would I be tested? Had I been living my life right? Would I feel ashamed relaying it? I didn't have any of the answers so I just let the phone ring. Later, a voicemail full of telltale signs of ass-dialing was all I had left.
Distraction came in the form of sleeping with someone I really, really enjoy -- both in the bedroom and out -- but we put an end to it the following week for oh, about 192873918273 good reasons. This is significant because it's one of the only times I've really looked a situation like this in the face without fear of what I'd find. The relief I felt afterward was almost tangible, and changed the way I handled what came next.
Of course Jesus didn't really call me, but the emotions I felt when I saw that the aforementioned ex had were so intense that I can't think of a better comparison. After all, this man was practically my religion and I hadn't heard a peep from him in years.
The accidental voicemail lead to a text, which lead to a reply, which lead to a phone call, which lead to many phone calls, which lead to an in-person visit, which lead to a realization, a confession, yet another rejection, and then a letter that was so heartfelt, so deserved and so relieving that I still can't read it without crying.
The next few weeks in this storyline lead up to today, and there is no way I can do them justice in this medium. But I will say that I'm living out some kind of strange sequel, and that even though it's nowhere near as exciting as the first version, I can feel that long lost urge to hug someone/something to near death because I'm so grateful starting to creep up. For that, I am happy.
***
If anything in recent times suggests that I've finally crossed some invisible threshold into adulthood, it's the way I'm dealing with life's surprises. That and the moment my old teacher/current friend/favorite person in the world passed me a suspicious looking cigarette at a small Funk show here in the city.
If you're having a hard time navigating through all the shit life is throwing at you, I recommend getting lifted with a group of people you previously thought knew everything there was to know about the world. It won't give you any solid answers, but there's something about knowing you're in the same boat to crazy-ville as a handful of really awesome people that's more comforting than anything else.