Love

I push back with both hands. I have been standoffish since I learned what the pain of being broken hearted felt like. There is no convincing me that it will ever be different when there is just no such thing; all my experiences lead me down different roads but ultimately take me to the same old cabin of hurt. Notches line the fence post of the ones that had brought me there before. I don't want to be in love, I tell myself. I watch horror movies hoping for my exhilarations to bubble forth from fear and gore and the macabre. Today was different though. Today I needed to just be in love, a different love with a different road that might take me somewhere else. I'm weakening my resolve and it's such a shame because I feel less attractive than i ever have before, no one wants this. I get so angry at the arrogance of Mr. Darcy and then fall over for his resolve and his loveliness and then (fuck) it hits me like a ton of ribbons, Mr. Darcy was for Jane Austen. He was her desire put to paper. People who write books with these stories that just burrow into your secrets are really writing for themselves and thereby extending the fantasy for the rest of us love-poor, lonely twits. We want the man that tries/tried. The ones that have done it did it because they wanted something from me and when they got it the game abruptly ended then, a clear winner defined and the loser left standing there, car keys in hand with a stupid look on their face (usually me). 

My furnace broke today. When the repairman came in I was disgusted with the cavalier way he tracked muddy snow all over my carpet on his way around my living room checking the registers. I refused to get up from the couch citing how absolutely fucking freezing I was (which I was) and at one point he was going into my bedroom and then just stopped. Is this a meet-cute? Hardly. Was he even cute? I honestly couldn't tell you. Do I wonder if he would have fucked me had I asked? Yes, I do. 

I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood
I know I could, always be good
To one who'll watch over me

There is that saying "if you hear fireworks, bells ringing and birds singing you should probably have your ears checked." 

I'm trying to let it go a little. In the movies they want you to experience "suspended disbelief." I feel as though I should try to in parts of my real life as well. If this is Gods way of showing me to have faith then...good move dude. It's going to be the new year very soon and I am turning 30 a little bit after that and I just want to find some equilibrium between my heart and my skepticism. The latter hasn't let up in so long that my heart is like a Woody Allen character at this point. Retreat rebecca, retreat. This is a losing battle but the war for love is far from lost. I need to change my tactics and stop pretending I am not making myself vulnerable in the most unattractive way: by being a bitchy girl. 

The truth is: I do like the challenge, I'm not afraid of work but I want someone who loves me so much and cares about my day and what I'm feeling and thinking and couldn't stand to be indifferent towards the menial if it was something I cared about. Where are you? 

Island fever

I drank coffee out on the lanai while the trade winds ripped through me like a rude stranger pushing me aside on a sidewalk. I watched the clouds roll over and the sun turn their bellies pink and it was more beautiful than anything I've seen lately. We rode the bus to the Honolulu Museum of Art and saw the Art Deco Hawaii exhibit as well as their collection of Picasso etchings and drawing, O'keefe, Gaugan, Van Gogh, Rivera, Matisse as well as Monet's famous Water Lilies. We had a weird, rude encounter with two Japanese women that I'm too tired to recount right now. We ate Thai at the Bangkok Chef and then went to the huge mall to the Macy's to buy shoes. Oma said her heel hurt and it was like she had a nail stuck in her shoe and my mom flipped the shoe over and we were shocked the see a huge screw with a washer attached stuck straight through her shoe. After that we took the bus home and rested before GM , GD and great aunt Glenda got in. We ended up going to a Mexican restaurant named Mexico (go figure) and to get there I had to take an appallingly hellish bus ride. 

Alone in the ocean

Hawaii is beautiful, just like the movies show it. It mists on you and is humid and warm and sunny and cloudy and bright and beautiful. The grass looks spray painted, the plants look fake and there are Asians everywhere you look. The tap water smells like you swam in a pool and forgot to wash your bathing suit after. I'm laying here in my room in our rooftop penthouse suite with the balcony door opening and this insane seabreeze rushing over my naked body. I'm hot and cold at the same time, desperately wishing I had a joint or something. The lights are bright in everyone's condos, Christmas Palm trees and lit up snowmen in cabana shorts. I feel unsure about being here in the middle of the ocean, nothing for a very long time, just the island and the water. 

I can't see it

We must move at a snails pace in the eye of the universe. Light years ahead our story is told over a warm fire on a chilly night that has a zillion stars. I can hope for it, I can visualize it and think it but I haven't felt it yet. I haven't figured out the secret yet but somehow I imagine that it isn't me.