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.
Neophyte
I’ve been meaning to write this post for several weeks now, but it’s just such a beast of an entry that I reverted to my four-year-old self and have been sitting in a corner playing with toys, pretending not to hear my laptop calling and ignoring life almost altogether. Then I made the realization –well, not the realization, more like I finally chose to address the fact –that the reason everyone is so freaky about getting things done in life as soon as possible is because we’re all trying to make something of ourselves before the inevitable. It’s all a race against time, isn’t it? So if I can’t move on and maintain a proper website until I get over this hurdle, I should just get it over with.
I realize how psychotic that sounded. Please don’t e-mail me about it.
A few weeks ago a good friend of mine that was going through some relationship issues told me she’d once found the answers she was looking for right here on this website, and since then she’s been coming back hoping for more. A few weeks before that another friend of mine all the way on the other side of the world sent me an e-mail and the first line was: Dear Chelsi, Queen of LOVE. -Both poor friends are actually under the impression that I actually know what I’m talking about half the time. But the truth is, dear Internet, when it comes to relationships, I know nothing. Sure, there are times when I’ll spout off some things that sound logical because often we can make sense of our lives when we look at them in retrospect, or if we’re just coming from a third person’s perspective, but there are more times, times like the ones I’m currently living, when everything is just a jumbled pile of crap.
When I’m going through relationship, or what-the-fuck-is-this-ship problems, they are more often than not ones that have lasted years, involve the same stupid person, are always either on the forefront of my brain if not floating around in the periphery, and just when I think I’m getting over it, getting stronger, something happens and I completely fall apart. You’d think that I, the one they call Queen of Love, or Girl With Answers to Life, would be able to step back and look at my heavy situations and find that one tiny pinprick of a malfunction, like a single defunct wire in a bundle of Christmas lights, and just fucking fix the shit. Or better yet, I’d just go buy a set of new lights and call it a day. But in all honesty, I’m just not as smart as I come off to be. And I suppose if things were ever that easy, I wouldn’t feel the need to send my problems out into the electronic, unrelentingly judgmental abyss that is the Internet, now would I? (Side note: for my newer readers, if you were around to read my high school entries, you probably would have pulled out a gun and shot yourself because I was the biggest sack of self-pitying shit ever.) Of course, I stay in denial by not opening up my comments because I’m sure strangers would gladly rip me another asshole, but that’s another story.
Denial doesn’t work for this relationship stuff, I do know that for sure. The longer you stay in denial the better chance you have for monumental heartbreak on top of monumental heartbreak from the same person, and I really don’t think anyone deserves that much power over another human being. It just isn’t right. But, another truth is I am masochistic, so, even though this paragraph alone sounds like it came from a fairly level-headed person, I rarely ever take my own advice. Instead, when I’m going through problems of the heart, I do the following things:
- Sex and the City on repeat. I know how girly that sounds, I’m sorry. And no, I’m not going to go into how many times that show has saved my life because it’s too ridiculous to actually put into words, but it has definitely been more than like, a hundred.
- Music. Music has saved my life even more times than SATC, if you can believe that, and I’d be more than happy to suggest some tracks that can make you feel temporarily invincible, and I promise that none of them will be I Will Survive.
- The banner on my phone says DON’T DO IT. “It” being drunk dial of course, (another problem I’ll save for another post) but it also means don’t text, don’t call, don’t sit there and think up reasons to call the person you so desperately want to talk to because if they’re making you feel like a big fat pathetic slug, they’re probably not worth it.
I feel really dumb for just typing those out, but it’s all I really have to offer at this point. So to the two gals I mentioned earlier: I hope this helped. If you can’t connect to me through my false all-knowing-ness, then maybe we can just relate through our own girly stupidity.
Cheers.