Tag Archives: love

Sexting with My Ex

21 May

In February, my partner of 2 1/2 years and I broke up. However, since we were still under a lease together, the two months that followed were possibly the most draining of our relationship. Living in the grey area was one of the hardest most confusing things I have ever done. I don’t know if it made the separation easier or harder now that all is said and done. I don’t know if I will ever know, but time gives clarity and I am still waiting and hoping for answers.

I have heard that one of the hardest things one can do is letting go of someone they still love. I didn’t know how hard until that February evening when Michigan told me he was no longer happy in Arizona and he was planning to move back home in April. I wanted to hate him, to be angry, but all I felt was blinding pain coursing through my veins. It had been so long since the last time I felt that way, I had almost forgot how entirely debilitating it could be. I am a stronger person now than I was the last time my heart was torn asunder, but no one is strong enough to withstand that kind of assault unaffected.

I know I acted the craziest I had acted since he knew me and I didn’t care. All walls were down and I was not above yelling at him one minute and begging him to stay the next. I drank a lot and cried even more and I made him watch it all. I would say I am sorry, but I am not. He was the man I loved and he was leaving me. He was not above it all, I knew it was tearing him apart to do it too. Love is a funny thing, even when you know it is not enough, it still feels like everything.

I felt like he had never really tried to make my home our home. Like I wasn’t enough to make him happy. Like all the things he had told me were lies that were now set alight. Of course some of those thoughts were overdramatized, but I think some of them had merit as well. He felt isolated and insecure which only amplified other issues we had. Of course it all makes logical sense now, but in the moment nerves were raw, exposed.

Our last few days were a roller coaster. Our last night was a passionate embrace. Our last morning was a waterfall of sorrow.

In the moment, I felt like that was the end of the story. In my heart of hearts I knew the healthy thing was to accept the failure of our hard won relationship and move on. At first I tried. We would text, but I would be vague and distant. I dated other people, tried to open my heart to options yet to be in my imagination.

Then, I let things slip. It was too hard to pretend I could fall out of love that quickly and move on to the next one. Especially knowing his feelings remained intact. We talked about more intimate things; we talked more often. We talked to end the day, and then we talked to feel something again.

LP one day observed that Michigan and I had returned to the state before things became difficult. Before he moved in, before our sex drives were incompatible, before we stopped communicating. I have no choice to agree, but I also know that things are different here at the end than they were at the beginning. We are different, and most importantly we aren’t together. In a way, I got what I had been asking for, freedom. The irony is that I no longer want it. It has been a month since I have seen him. I haven’t slept with anyone else despite the handful of dates I have been on. Maybe for some this is normal, for me this is incredible. This leads me to believe that what I actually wanted wasn’t what I was asking for.

I still keep analyzing all the things I could have done differently, but I wonder if it would have changed anything in the end. Sometimes what we want is impossible, and accepting that feels equally insurmountable. Sometimes fate just has other plans and we have to keep an open mind to see where we end up.

Valen-ME Day

14 Feb

It is no secret I think Valentine’s Day is a bullshit holiday. I correct myself, it should not even qualify as a holiday. It is simply another way for big business to drum up sheep to spend money. In case you are unaware, the reality behind the “holiday” is a bloody mess (see here if you don’t know what I am talking about).

I don’t often celebrate, significant other or no, because I don’t want to feed the corporate machine more than I already do. I would much rather show my love in 365 little ways than one big way once a year. That being said, it occurred to me this year that perhaps there is someone in my life the day could remind me deserves a little affection…myself.

Self care has been a big focus for me the last six months or so, and I suck at it. It is ten times easier to overwork my body, tear myself down, and ignore the needs of my heart then to spend time putting energy into showing myself the love, patience, and encouragement I pour out to others. In this, I know I am not alone. Many of us are so much better at practicing empathy and tolerance with others and so bad at treating ourselves with that same level of respect. We are our own biggest critics acting as judge, jury, and executioner for the smallest of charges.

This Valentine’s Day I am going to show myself the love I withhold all year. I am going to put energy into what makes ME happy and give myself permission to be selfish. Maybe I will buy myself flowers and chocolates, maybe I will spend the day ignoring my phone and taking a bath, maybe I will leave town and go on a day trip all by myself wherever I want. Who knows! The point is I can use this day for me and give he most important person in my life some attention and consideration. I can give myself the gift of accepting me for me.

Little Boys Playing Big Boy Games and Losing

6 Nov

As a woman I have never felt so disrespected in my life. This week has been a shit storm of disgusting, hateful, derogatory comments about sex, genitalia, and the use of women for the enjoyment of men….no, boys. I expect it to some extent, they are learning, but to this extreme, it has eaten at my heart and soul. No one, men, man or teen has the right or privilege to talk that way, no one. Yet I have been subjected to sit, listen, and put up with a string of commentation about my gender. Forced to keep my mouth shut because if I allowed the words I wished to say out of my mouth I would no longer be a desirable employee.

I lost it tonight on a young man who has the audacity to come into my program and discuss his male prowess in getting females into bed. If a woman, if any person, is giving you the gift of spending a night or even a moment with them, then the very LEAST you can do is give them the respect that action deserves. If you can’t even do that, you don’t deserve that gift from that person or any other. Your sexual partners are not locker room banter or a way to prove to your buddies that you are the god you think yourself to be. You are not a god, you are scum and should not for one second think otherwise.

No one is an object, whether they have slept with only you or with a hundred others. Notches on your belt don’t make you a more worthy person and they don’t make you worthy of love and affection. What DOES make you worthy of that precious event is when you are able to see it for what is is, and respect and worship the one allowing you into their most intimate spaces.

There are not enough showers to wash away the grime I feel coating every inch of my body. These are young boys and they shouldn’t already be so disenchanted with the world to treat it this way. The most unnerving thought I have is that they must have learned it somewhere. What role models do they have that they already believe the words coming out of their mouths and appropriate and acceptable? What state is our world in when from the very start, these boys are taught disrespect and fowl language are acceptable ways to address their counterparts?

To make it even worse, I have only discussed one small part of the bigger picture. Yes, their language about sex is concerning, but so is the language they use about sexual orientation and race. It is hateful language and I could preach for days about how wrong and misguided they are, but they aren’t going to change because it is coming from a 20-something white girl who in their mind doesn’t understand their generation or their communities.

I started by saying I was disgusted, but in reality maybe I am just sad.

Cohabitation

31 Mar

For someone who has never lived with their significant other, it is a difficult transition at 27 years old to readjust. I mean that is almost three decades of patterns to shove someone into. Add in the OCD factor and commitment issues…the WTF moment was bound to come. It took 8 days, but the melt down came like cheese on a grilled sandwich…maybe a nice caprese. The first, was quick, however, compared to the one after that and then the one after that, and let’s not forget the one after that.

It has been two months now and there is a strange balance coming into view. Not always an easy one, but one that doesn’t have me wanting to cry myself to sleep every night wondering if I made the right choice. The situation is peculiar. Going from seeing each other for a few days every month or so to every single day ever. Cohabiting is hard, and we had the unfortunate situation in which it was a quick fix to a problem that would have destroyed us otherwise.

It has taken me so long to write this post, finally, after starting it several times, because words have been failing me. There are so many emotions roiling in my brain and I didn’t know how to phrase my tribulations without making it sound like a horror movie. I will say that the more I try to predict the next page, the less accurate I turn out to be, and I think that is what I was trying to do in earlier drafts, predict the future. I am by no means a fortune teller and I think I am finally coming to terms with that.

I love Michigan. That is first and foremost what I remind myself on a daily basis. Love, however, is adaptable, it changes with time and circumstance. Saying those words is easy, I have always known that which is why I avoided them so much during my lifetime. Meaning them, acting on them, despite every flaw, is a daily effort, a choice one must make again and again. Putting “I love you” to work takes strength, a strength I hoped I had, toyed with, but am still working to fully grasp. Living with someone is giving up some of your control, some of your will to an outside force that may or may not always be exactly what you want. Love is hard man.

There are problems I expected, planned for. Then there were the surprises that took me for a loop. I used to really honestly believe I was easy to be with, maybe not to live with, but I though I was an exceptional partner. No longer do I believe that. I respect him for putting up with my crazy, even if some of the things he attributes to my craziness are totally in the normal realm for me. I get angry and then get more angry he doesn’t understand why. We both suck at talking about the hard stuff and that is going to need some serious work. Sex for instance, sex has been such an issue, and that is definitely something that has never caused problems with us before. I have questioned who I am as a person because we weren’t doing it like rabbits. Why? I don’t know, well I have guesses, but that is probably something I should discuss with a therapist of some sort.

When all is said and done, I love coming home to him, even if the dishes are still a little dirty after he does them. I love falling asleep next to him, even if his sex drive doesn’t quite keep up with mine. I love sitting on the couch together, even if he will sit there while I unpack out whole house. I love going out on the town with him, even if he is addicted to his phone and doesn’t always turn it off in public. There are things I can’t live without, and things I am willing to live with. Balance and compromise. With some small break downs in the mix to teach me where my limits are and make me work on my communication skills.

Now that that is done, maybe I can actually get back on track with posting, I really suck at this goal this year guys.

Acceptance

22 Jun

I wrote a post a while back about not needing to define myself with labels. I still feel labels are meaningless. They aren’t a definition of who we are, just a generic way to try to explain ourselves.

I also talked in that post about how I had never felt the need to try to define myself to my parents, particularly concerning my sexuality. This has been on my mind a lot as of late.

I was recently blessed to be part of a wedding of two dear friends I have made since moving to Arizona. These ladies are committed and beautiful human beings who I feel enhance my life more than I would have imagined. They are those friends you meet and become close almost instantaneously and know they are important practically from the start.

Sharing in their special day was exhilarating for many reasons. First, because we live in an age where it is becoming more acceptable for anyone who loves each other to express that love how they choose (Side note, the day before their wedding ceremony which was to be held in Wisconsin and then legalized later that week in Minnesota, Wisconsin passed a bill which would allow same-sex marriages to be legal in that state. Cool, right!). Second, because this particular wedding was so life affirming, and on a more personal level, I was genuinely happy for them with no taint of any other misgivings.

A week later, I was skyping with my parents for Fathers’ Day and they asked about my trip. They knew I had gone to a wedding, but they also knew I had gone with Michigan, and we had made a detour on the way back to go to Chicago. Knowing my parents, I focused less on the wedding and more on Michigan and the rest of the trip.

My mother, however, had other ideas. She did not ask about the wedding itself, but rather posed the question, “So, why did they feel the need to get married?” To which my response was, “Why did you and dad get married?” As you can imagine this is going nowhere good. Her response was, “Well, hunny, because your father and I were a boy and a girl.” “No, mom you did not get married because you were a boy and a girl, you got married because you loved each other and wanted to share that with your friends and family before God.”

And the spiral continued until we were yelling at each other.

I take what she says personally. She doesn’t know why, because she doesn’t know me. I don’t need her to know me to be happy, but this week I have been mulling over whether I haven’t told them I am not as straight as they think I am because of the reasons I have written previously, or because deep down I know that if I did, she would never accept me and arguments like this one would only get worse.

It is an odd feeling to know on some level your mother wouldn’t love you as much if she really knew who you were.

I am almost 27 years old, shouldn’t I have already gotten past this life crisis?

In truth, it is not just my sexuality they wouldn’t understand, it is all of it. In analyzing how we interact, it is because they don’t know me that we are allowed to continue as we do. I move farther and farther away to avoid dealing with it. The farther I am, the less they need to know. I wonder sometimes if they even know how clueless they are.

Michigan

31 May

The hardest thing I do in my life is to accept I have control over nothing. Sometimes I get it spot on, let go, and find contentment. Then something changes, there is a shift in the status quo and my world is flipped in ways I couldn’t have predicted. It is then that I realize I didn’t actually accept my inability to shape my universe, I simply became comfortable with the direction things were going. Change is inevitable, changes you create yourself are necessary, but they also make you crazy.

I have mentioned once or twice one of those huge changes in life, a new piece to the puzzle which I can now see is shifting my world and making me second guess everything and myself in the process.

Eight months ago in October I started dating this amazing man who I fell for almost immediately. He is kind and generous and rocks my socks in bed. He doesn’t complain that I do my own thing and accepts my crazy, loving me not despite of it, but because of it. On paper he is exactly what I need and despite his flaws, of which I have found few, I have yet to come across anyone in real life that would be more perfect for me.

The problem, however, is that he lives in Michigan. How did that happen? Well by the powers of the internet of course! It is a long story, but short version is that we were both part of this online fitness support group. Out of the blue one day he started messaging me, one thing led to another and flirting turned to feelings which eventually lead to an actual visit. We started talking not long after I moved to Arizona and so the idea never even crossed my mind that this innocent dalliance would ever become more. My life was too unstable for any relationship, let along a long distance one, it was just supposed to be a fun distraction.

Then the distraction lasted all summer, my life became more stable, and my dalliance began to look more sincere. I was in love with him by the time we met in real life, I just hadn’t admitted it to myself yet. It took one weekend, one drunken night and a fight with his best friend for me to admit, crying at a bus stop, that I needed him. Miraculously, despite the tears running down my face, he said he wasn’t letting me go.

It hasn’t been easy. I am not one to be content with happy feelings for very long. I push, I scream, I run in the opposite direction. Which is exactly what I started doing after a few months. Each time it happens, however, he is right there telling me it is ok that I am scared, but he will keep chasing.

This may in fact be a highly romanticized version of reality, but you aren’t here for reality and this is close enough that I am ok seeing it this way.

I don’t always know what to do with all of this, and a part of me wants to run for the hills, end it now before it implodes in on itself. A bigger part of me can’t imagine being that cowardly. I wish I had a plan, I wish I knew it was going to end well for us, but there are only two options: happiness and misery. The misery is the part that scares me, it is a misery I have not allowed into my life for quite some time. Accepting its inevitability if I can’t solve this puzzle is something I am having a hard time doing. However, there is no going back and we can only accept the choices we make and have faith that we are strong enough to face whatever end the path brings.

What I do know for sure is that I haven’t wanted to fight this hard for many people in my lifetime and even fewer have wanted to fight with me.

“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.”

25 May

I always fall in love with the ones that break my heart.

This applies to every kind of relationship I have. I undeniably am more likely to care about you if you are someone that will hurt me.

I started thinking about this the other day when LP and I were amidst a huge blow out fight that left us on non com for over a week. I am convinced this phenomenon connects to my god complex. I want to fix people and I always always always believe the best about people until they give me a reason to believe otherwise.

In my friendships I am the one that gives my time, my energy, and my love while rarely receiving it equally back. I am a social worker because my heart doesn’t feel right unless I am working to better someone else’s life. My romantic relationships, or lack thereof, always end with me finding out the man I chose to pursue will never be able to meet me on equal ground.

In my early years I was so damaged and had so little self worth that I was grateful for any attention any other human being sent my way. I soaked in every hint of anything that could be construed as love because I didn’t know any better.

I have grown enormously sine then, but I still seem to attract the same genre of people, even if I have ceased to accept the same abuse I used to. Mixed in with that personal growth I suppose a harder shell developed. I don’t know how to change the recurring pattern, but I know how to make it hurt less. I think most of the time I convince myself that this means that I have changed how I interact with people, but if I look close enough, I know it has not.

How do you change a part of your life that more often than not seems almost entirely out of your control?

He’s Just Not That Into You

11 Apr

I no longer understand men. Or maybe I never did and I’ve just been bragging that I had them cornered for too long.

Out of all the things I thought I have learned over the years, I am constantly being proven wrong, over and over again. I don’t “love” easily, but I “like” quickly. I am a sucker for attention and I want my happily ever after so badly that sometimes I see it where it doesn’t exist.

That has never kept me from trying.

I was watching “He’s Just Not That Insto You” again for the thousandth time tonight while talking to not only Toga, but the Hipster too. My feelings toward both are complicated and strange and…well so many things except for simple.

Its at moments like this I wish I could see the future. Maybe not even the whole future, just the vague idea of what the future might be. Then at least I’d have a road map, however crude it might be. I wouldn’t pine for the men that I know I’ll never have and ignore the ones that might actually be worth my time.

No tea leaves, no horoscopes, no trying to invent truth serum or use the force to extract information. That shit’s exhausting.

PS the Hipster really just wasn’t that into me…but he liked the head so he kept coming back. Fucking hipsters

The Lessons We Learn

29 Dec

Tonight I have been contemplating lessons, specifically those I have learned from my parents. A lot of what we know is what we we have gleaned from those who have birthed us. Whether we come from traditional families, single parent homes, homosexual couplings, adoptive or foster homes, and so on, we take away basic beliefs and values from whatever it is we have as our roots. I was blessed and cursed to have been raised by my two biological parents (as far as I know). They, miraculously, remain married to this day despite the many, MANY ups and downs that have comprised their pairing.

If you haven’t guessed because my sarcasm doesn’t come across via textual portrayal, my parents have not always been able to call their marriage a happy one. In fact, most of my upbringing was marred by arguments and unhappy compromises. This may in fact be because the human brain biologically and infallibly holds onto the negative more than positive (side note: did you know it takes seven positive compliments to counter act one negative remark? Lesson: compliment EVERYONE you meet, even if its to say they have a nice button on their sweater), but regardless, I remember more ways to make a bad marriage last than a good one. Remind me to tell you the story of the Christmas tree being thrown out the window one day (ornaments and all).

I think this post is sounding rather negative right now, but trust me when I say most of the lessons I have chosen somehow turn out positive.

Lessons I have learned from my parents:

1. The real meaning of what love is.

My parents grew up in a faith-based world. Both of them. This has lead to many other contributions to my lifestyle, but the one I want to talk about here is the meaning and value of real and honest love.

Growing up in a society where there are marriages that are based on touchy-feely butterfly-eske  emotions that dictate when we commit “forever” and then later when its justifiable to then leave the one we made that commitment to, I have come from a world where love is a choice we make, an action we take, rather than a whimsical emotion we guess about. I believe that Kim Kardashian and Brittany Spears marriages are avoidable and fake. I don’t aspire to have a Hollywood marriage, I want what my parents had, just better.

Don’t get me wrong here and think that all of my other posts about relationships are made up. I’m still terrified of commitment and run away every time something good comes along, but that’s a me thing I’m working on. Part of me still wants to be Cinderella, part of me still wants to wear a big ol’ white dress and walk down an aisle, there might even be doves, its just the getting to where that can happen that is the problem. BUT, when it does, when I finally make that huge commitment, it will be based on a mutual agreement that isn’t going to fall apart two year down the road. I will make the CHOICE to be with that person, through all of life’s challenges, despite how I may “feel” at any given moment. Real love grows through the bad and reaches new heights in the good, but both are necessary for a beautiful story that we can be proud of. Its not something to be given up on when things don’t go just the way they do in the movies.

2. Credit cards can quickly escalate to crisis situations.

Financially I am a responsible and mature individual. There are times I struggle to pay the bills, but that’s because I chose to be a social worker (who does that?). I started a  budget, planning ahead, and a savings account all before I was 18. I have exactly one credit card which is more often than not paid in full each month. However, all of this was accomplished not because my parents were model financial blueprints, but rather the opposite.

Growing up I never wanted for anything. If I asked, and the request wan’t outrageous, I got. Birthdays, Christmas, and random times during the year were met with a plethora of gifts. When I was young I was unaware that this was an issue. As I grew up I became wiser, or my parents worse at hiding the burden of the debt they were sinking ever quicker into.

It was later in my life I realized my mother had issues beyond compulsive spending habits. That she felt inadequate and felt that if she couldn’t be the perfect mother who could connect with her children,   then maybe she could buy their love. The guilt was something I dealt with before I had this perspective, and somewhere in my early teens I learned the difference between “want” and “need.” This has proved invaluable and I’m glad I have this lesson in my repertoire, I just wish I could give my mother the same lesson.

3. When basic needs are met sometimes you just have to be content with what you have.

We moved A LOT when I was a kid. Many things came as a result of that. Number one is my core desire to have roots. I often stay where I am even if its not perfect because I just don’t want to make the huge changes that I had so often in my childhood. Its like some part of me just wants to be still. Again, not to discount anything else I have said to this point, I still am in my mid-20s and want to live a life of adventure…its just nice to have something stable to come back to when I need to recharge.

Beyond that there is also this feeling of contentment with just having that. I think it connects to the want/need lesson. I’ll always have things that I want, but as long as my needs are met, then I really don’t have much to complain about. The rest can come with time.

4. If and when you have kids, your whole world changes.

My dad had kids at 21 and he’s practically the best dad ever. Of course he has made his mistakes and of course he’s no where near perfect, but he has rarely let me down and I always know I can turn to him and my mom when times get rough. I think I admire him even more knowing that he had me when he was so young. I mean I’m 25 and I can’t imagine having children even now. I panic every time my period is late (and that’s often since I’ve never been very regular…TMI?)

Working in the metal health field, I work with so many families in which the parents weren’t ready. This has so many rippling consequences on the parents, on the children, and society as a whole (well that escalated quickly). Now that doesn’t mean there aren’t parents out there that weren’t ready and managed to step up to the plate, I just don’t get to see them very often. The point is, if you have a kid, you are responsible for developing a new human life. I will grant that some things are out of the parent’s control and there is a very delicate balance to learn around where that line is, but on a basic level your children learn the values and ethics you instill. That is a big deal! I was blessed with parents who taught me to be a caring, loving, hopeful individual and although I may have fucked up elsewhere, that core belief system exists because of their diligence.

Finally,

5. Once a cheater DOES NOT mean always a cheater.

This is especially important to me considering how my relationship with Mr. Wrong ended and something I constantly have to remind myself.

A few years ago I was devastated to learn that my father had an affair. I was in college and it felt like my world was thrown into an abyss. It hurt us all and made me very unsure of a great many things. I had already been through my bout of infidelity, however, so I was a little more understanding and if I wasn’t convinced everything happens for a reason before that, I was after.

The point is that it wasn’t the end for my parents. My mother found it in my heart to forgive him and my father renewed his devotion to being the best husband he could be. They say that women look for men like their fathers. Not only do I think this is true, but I honestly believe that that is a large part f the reason I am still single.  I just have too high a standard.

My parents frustrate the shit out of me often, but they are solid figures in my life and I am thankful for the upbringing I had despite its shortcomings. Am I who I am with the dreams that I dream because of the family I was blessed with.

My Lucky Penny

8 Feb

There are people that walk into your life and become more to you than you ever imagined they would. I’ve already written a little about Mr. Wrong, TOGA, and HB, but this isn’t about that kind of love. The last few days I have ruminated on the limitless amount of shapes love can take. The romantic kind generally gets a spotlight. In my life, in the stories I hear from others, in the media, we just seem to hyper focus on who we are with or finding the person we should be with. I would beg to argue that we cannot put that much pressure on one kind of affection to fulfill us. We HAVE to have to fuel ourselves as a whole being and romantic love is simply not strong enough for that task.

Over the weekend I helped a dear friend of mine pack to move across country. She and I have spent a lot of time together as of late and she took a piece of my heart with her when she left in the wee hours this morning. Driving home last night, late, and exhausted, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling until I had cried them all out. Reflecting on the road that had lead me to that exact moment, I was amazed at the unexpectedness of it all.

I had met Lucky Penny at a Halloween party in 2009. She was TOGA’s new roommate and part of me was jealous of this girl living with my best friend because he couldn’t stop talking about how great she was. They had clicked right away, I can’t say the same for LP and myself. Those were the days of the infamous Red Room and mid-beginning of the crazy years we now sometimes look back on with disdain, but yet still aren’t entirely over. She was like a firework – loud, bright, colorful, but could explode in your face if not handled correctly. Something about her rubbed me the wrong way that first weekend we met, and I don’t think I entirely got over it until she moved out. Maybe it was all those latent romantic feelings for TOGA I was harboring, maybe it was the general negative attitude my college confidant, Mrs. F, had for her, maybe it was her ability to control a room that I envied, whatever it was, it made us becoming a friends a slow process.

After LP moved out of TOGA’s she was still around often. She’d come over and invite us out on adventures, we’d meet her at the bar, mostly our activities centered around drinking of some sort. That first year is fuzzy. She didn’t play a starring role in most of my memories of trips to the NEK, but she was in the background, intriguing me. The first solid memory I have of an outing of just her and I was exactly a year after our first encounter. I had gone up to TOGA’s for Halloween and we had had a mini-party the night before (the same party that destroyed any remaining hope I had of TOGA and I ending with a happily ever after). LP wanted to go to another house party and dropped by to get us to go. TOGA of course was not entertained by the idea, but I certainly was. We found some hats to wear, took some pictures, and ventured out into the night. The party was lame and if not for it being a meaningful step in our friendship, it may have faded into the recesses of my memory.

LP and I began hanging out more and more. slowly at first, and then she became a part of my Vermont trips I looked forward to. She moved often and towards the end of her senior year of college was within walking distance of TOGA’s house. One of my favorite memories is drinking with TOGA and realizing I was out of alcohol. I was teasing the idea of going to Cumbies to get a six pack of Smirnoff which I probably wouldn’t have done if not for TOGA betting me that I couldn’t get crazy Mary to sell it to me. I determinedly put on my winter boots and jacket to make the quest to Cumbies. After successfully completing my task, I wandered to LP’s to tell my tale and share a victory drink. We had a dance party and I disappeared there for a while, leaving TOGA to wonder what had become of me.

I loved those few months she lived in that apartment because she was never more than a walk away and always up for adventure. Like midwinter snowman invasions, wandering the streets with a beer in hand, determined to build a snowman on the library steps with snow that just wouldn’t stick. Or random no-pants dance parties. Why I hadn’t seen how much we had in common before is still a mystery, but one I’m glad I got solved.

The summer after she graduated college she moved on what felt like a weekly basis. She finally semi-settled near Concord, NH near the fall and I went to go see her more than I saw her the previous year and a half combined. We quickly discovered a shared passion for football and watched more than half of the Patriots games together this past season. Then, after the falling out with my roommate, she became such a huge part of my life, I couldn’t imagine living without her.

That’s the thing about letting someone mean too much to you though, eventually there is a good chance something will happen. In this case, LP got fired, got sick of New England, and drove across country to Arizona to start over. I can’t express how hard it was to not be selfish and convince her to stay despite knowing she needed to leave. Love will make you do selfish things, but real love, forces you to set aside your own needs and lift up the needs of the ones you care about, no matter how much it hurts.

Saying good-bye never gets easier. There are always so many things you want to say, always knowing that whatever you say will never be enough. You have to say it everyday, because if you don’t, those last words are meaningless anyway.