What the F***!

It is just about the final week of classes this semester. I had every intention of finishing up some of my projects today. I haven’t. It is now half past 10 in the evening and I spent all day doing Windsor Pilates, watching TV, watching my Dune DVD, and playing a computer game called Cubis. The funny thing about this is that the projects I have to complete are really not that difficult. I just don’t WANT to. This happens to me at the end of every semester. Am I lazy, or does this procrastination thing hit everyone?

My ex fiancé called me today. I am writing a Web page for his band. I need pictures; he’s trying to schedule the band to meet at the rehearsal space tomorrow for me to take pictures of them all. I forgot today was my ex fiance’s birthday. Wow. I felt like a bitch.

HOWEVER, he is no longer my “love muffin,” which, though in itself is not a reason to forget a birthday, it is reason for me to take on the attitude I did as the phone conversation progressed. He and I aren’t together anymore because I was not important to him. He would make time for his band, for his Mommy, for school, for his ex wife… yes, you heard me right… the ex wife that actually did him wrong... but not for me. He would even re arrange the plans he had with me so that he could go and fix the wiring (he is an electrician) on his ex wife’s friend’s house. The clencher for me happened last week.

Yeah, we're broken up but we were still "friends," if you know what I mean. We had talked on the phone and decided to do dinner together one night. Well, that night came and he told me that it was too late to call Mommy and change his regularly scheduled dinner plans with her so he could go out with me -- so no, he wouldn’t make it for dinner with me. I realize that is generally a nice courtesy to do, never cancel a dinner at the last minute... BUT he lives in a duplex with his Mommy that he bought about a week after I moved out of the condo we shared. He could have told his mother he wasn’t going to make it for dinner after he had made arrangements with me (which was the day before) OR he could call he up now and tell her to please put his dinner in the fridge. But no. It was OKAY to cancel a dinner plan with ME at the last minute.

Grrrr.

Come to think of it, he never extended that courtesy with me. He’d make plans with me and change them at the last minute all the time. THAT pissed me off. He’s NOW going to become the considerate man when he lives with Mommy? So I wasn’t worth the same courtesy?

Anyway, back to today... Feeling bad about forgetting his birthday, I figured I would offer to take him out for dinner. I asked if he had plans for the night. Nervously (am I really that intimidating?) he said yes. I suddenly pictured who his plans were with. “Well, have a great birthday with Mommy and your now pregnant ex wife.” He said thanks. I was pissed. Then I was pissed that I was pissed. What do I care if he is almost 40 years old and lives with Mommy (well, essentially; they share a duplex, but she cooks all his meals – that is another story). I had to remind myself that he is my ex for a reason. And thank God I found that out he was a self-centered prick before I married him.

Incidentally, between his moving into the duplex and moving out of our condo, my ex fiancé moved in with his ex wife and her new husband. He had been living with her and her then-boyfriend (different guy) when we started dating. Hello – shoulda been a clue. Oddly enough his mother used to down-talk her when I was engaged to her son. Now she chats with her all the time. I am sure that now they exchange recipes or some such.

So now I am writing in my blog that no one reads anyway instead of doing my homework. Guess I should get started. Though it’d be nice to have a bubble bath… I feel better now that I wrote down my frustrations. After reading what I have written in this blog I am beginning to think that I’ve been attracted to the wrong kind of men. We shall see.

A recent photo of me 

Lett It Be; People are People

I realize that the musings in today’s entry might not seem so brilliant after I write them down; but last night when I had been out with my friend, Scarlet, and we were in one of those deep conversations, these ideas were mind warping in their brilliance. Okay, perhaps I exaggerate a little bit. Whatever; I will let you decide.

Aaaaaaw, Scarlet crashed at my place last night and she is still asleep (and it is 1:30 pm) on my living room futon. She doesn’t snore; that is a bonus. It’d be more difficult to write this with a snoring symphony going on.

Okay, Scarlet and I went out last night. She needed to find a job, and I just needed to get OUT! So I was sitting there, at this one bar/restaurant, eating some steamed veggies (I am a demi-vegetarian) and drinking a Diet Coke. She was having a beer. I mentioned to Scarlet -- I forget how the topic came up -- how I don’t get to talk about books with people anymore.

There was one guy; many, many years ago. He used to talk to me about books. He got me reading Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina (sp?) and a series by… well, the Clan of the Cave Bear series. I forget who it’s by. And he would talk to me about philosophy.

So I turned to Scarlet and I said… (and I am not going to put quotation marks around everything, that’d be too intrusive to the central idea, so pay attention).

I imagine that there are a bunch of souls floating around. Waiting to be born. Each is a component of the (positive) energy put out by the universe. The universe will never lose energy; an object in motion wants to remain in motion. So, the universe will never run out of souls (and I believe that humans are not the only life form to have a souls; I think all living things has a form of a soul; perhaps just not exactly like a human’s. Also, who are we to say that other living things don’t have souls?)

I also think that one’s life is predetermined to a certain point. Each of us has a destiny, if you will. So, I am destined to begin my life at point A and end it at point Z. Here is the cool part; HOW I get to point Z, and how quickly, is up to me. That is where free will comes in.

My life has been interesting so far. I went to high school and did well. I went to college (the first time) and I failed out and just gave up, really. Immediate gratification, at the time, was my “thing.” I partied, I drank, and all the other stuff that seems to go along with college when you are 18 years old. I got in a car accident, I fractured my skull, I went through Hell, I was married (in a bad marriage), I started on a career path that I love now…. Etcetera, etcetera. The point here is, I lived my life, and I learned some valuable things that formed who I am today.

I am now back in school. I will graduate with two degrees in December. Then on to my master’s at, hopefully, UNT.

So here is my point. I believe that I was destined to get my degree. However, I also believe that I was destined to learn those lessons of life to get me to where I am today. I know there is still more that is coming in my life before I can reach point Z.

If I had not failed out of school all those years ago, and I did really well and let’s (for shits and giggles) say I went all the way through school and received my PhD. I would still not be who I am today without going through those life lessons. So, I submit that though I had completed one part of my destiny, my education, I would still need to complete the other part of my destiny, the life lessons, to bring me to the point I am at in my life today.

I know, very “Sliding Doors” of me to say that. BUT, let me take it one tiny step farther. At school I run into fellow students all the time who look down on me because I am so old to be completing my degree, or they look down on those who didn’t go to college and instead went to work for Wal Mart. Now, I don’t know about you, but I am a reasonably smart person. I also worked at Wal Mart. I was also an animal attendant at the local medical school (talk about condescending students!). I have had shitty, low-paying jobs. Those medical students judged me as “less than.” Life SUCKED and my positive energy balance was in a bad state. But I learned some valuable life lessons.

I am not "less than." NO ONE is less than. We are all intended to reach our point Z, whatever that Z is for us. Some of us, however, just take the scenic route to get there. Some reach it quickly. The difference is created by free will. Your life is what you make it; no one is “less than,” and that guy who delivers news papers to you today might be destined to someday be the next Gandhi. Who do you think you are to decide that you know what point in life another person is on, or if they are worthy of be in correspondence with you? Who are you to judge that I (for example) am not worthy to talk (or email) to you?

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Okay now I was also thinking. Do I want my blog to be Googleable? I tried to Google it the other day and didn’t find it. Let’s try an experiment. I am going to enter some key words here, and see if I get more visitors. Just for “fun.”

Julia, blog, English, books, philosophy, communication, analyze, UTSA, UNT, Dallas, San Antonio, Austin, Texas, love, heartbreak, bliss, education, school, college, university

THANK YOU, GOODNIGHT!

This is a cool picture I found a long time ago. Really "captures" what I am talking about. 

Forever, in a day, lost

Memories are forever; happiness is finite. I don’t really know what I hope to accomplish by writing things in this blog… perhaps it will just be a barfing of emotional turmoil and philosophical musings of what I am figuring out my life to mean. I just don’t know. All I can do is wade through and hope that too many happiness leaches don’t suck all the bliss from my soul. Or something.

I am at this point of my life… well, I am almost at this point of my life… where I need to make a decision about the rest of my future, or at least the beginning of my near future. I will graduate from school in December (2005), and I am unsure if I want to go to graduate school and study Journalism (my love) or get a job and keep going on the path that I am currently on as far as that goes… Right now I am in a paid (nicely paid) internship as a public affairs specialist and writer/editor. I LOVE my job. I am doing what I have wanted to do for over a decade now. BUT, I am just doing one part of that job; I can't do more until/unless I am hired on full-time. I could, conceivably, get a permanent position doing what I do now and make a nice pay check with good benefits and travel opportunities… OR, I could go to graduate school and broaden my scope of knowledge and understanding and fulfill a lifelong quest to know more “stuff.” Although, I am finding that the more I learn, the less I seem to really know…

I have looked into several schools that have good graduate studies in Journalism…

-- …Ugh, I am hearing my cat in the background. She’s barfing up a hairball. I hope that a hairball manifestation isn’t symbolic of my making the wrong decision…

…I have the schools I like narrowed down to three: University of Georgia, University of Texas at Austin, and University of North Texas. The University of Georgia sounds great to me. It is in the South, and I love the South. The program is good. The school is in a nice city (I think – never been there) that I will not be too stressed to drive in. BUT, it is far away and it is out of state and I am already worried about how I am going to do this whole school option as far as funds, etc., go. The University of Texas at Austin is a great Journalism school. It is nearby (I’m a little south of Austin) and I could move there and set myself up a little easier than at Georgia. But, and please don’t hate me for saying this, I hate Austin. My ex sister in law lives there. Bad Chi, Man. Bad Chi. University of North Texas… Well, that is my favorite so far. I emailed one of the faculty members, and he emailed me back (WOW!). We actually corresponded a few times. He liked my writing. He was helpful in coaching me on what I need to do to get into the school. He told me about scholarships. He helped me come to the concluding feeling that me and my frame of mind and love for journalism and for writing would “fit” there. I want to go to UNT.

There is, of course, a problem. Two problems, actually. I am not a fan of Dallas. “Dallas,” the city. Not “Dallas,” in reference to any sports teams. Though, I could probably, in time, get over “Dallas,” the city. The pace is fast, the traffic is awful and where do I go to find peace and quiet and bliss?? It would definitely take me time and a lot of stressed out moments on the highway to get over “Dallas.” The other problem is kind of silly. Well, it’d be silly to most sane people.

I think I am not of the sane variety… Not “IN”sane, but just not the same “sane” as everyone else. –Sigh-

Here is problem number two. The guy I loved in high school, almost 20 years ago (holy crap, I am old), works at UNT. I won’t say how or in “what capacity” he works there, in case someone reads this and puts 2 and 2 together… but I don’t want to go to that school for any other reason than for ME (capitalized on purpose). And I am not sure of my intentions. He and I have been apart for, as I alluded to earlier, a loooong time. We have been in touch with each other on and off, though, for these many years. Now, you have to get the full picture. I loved him way beyond what words or music or paintings can portray (and I have tried all 3). He was my first love. The first man I made love to. He was my heart and soul. He’d talk with me about books. He’d talk to me about music. He loved me despite me. Well, he loved me for awhile anyway. Four years, round about. No… three. Three and a half. We even lived far away from each other for a while. He’d fly to see me. I’d fly to see him. He’d write me a letter every week. I’d spend hundreds of my parents’ dollars calling him. The relationship lasted through tenth, eleventh and twelfth grade for me… he was in college after my 10th grade.

Then came our demise. He fell for this chick at his college (let’s call her “Bitch”), and I reacted by sleeping with someone else… We ended. BUT, you see, the ending was different. Well, for me it was. It wasn’t a “screw you” ending. It was the worst heartache I have ever experienced (and I have been married – I know heartache) and yet my heart just could not, would not quit loving him. There was always this “pull” that kept some part of me bound to him. He’s in my heart still. To this very moment.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I went on with my life. I went to college, partied too much and failed out. I lived in Europe for 6 years, was married for 6 years, lived in poverty, had the worst jobs in my existence… but I never forgot about this guy. And I learned A LOT about myself and about life. And a little ‘bout love.

There was even a time, a few years back, when I was researching schools and I found him again (at a different college). His address was listed on the school’s Web site, and so I wrote to him. I’d forgotten all about that letter I sent him, until one day he called and left a message on my machine. I played back that message a million times. He didn’t leave his number on the message, but I had caller ID. I debated calling him for a few days… but I finally gave in to that “pull” and called him back.

This really strange thing happens to me when I am on the phone with him. I can’t speak, at least not intelligently. All sense of sanity flows out of my brain. I sound like an idiot. A love struck, stupid, dumbfounded idiot. It’d be really cute if it wasn’t so frustrating and embarrassing for me. Though, oddly, I do not remember what we talked about in that conversation. I just know that I sounded like an idiot. It was almost like I was hearing myself through a long tube and watching myself on a theatre screen… and I was saying all the wrong things and I was really frustrated with myself… but after the conversation ended, I couldn’t remember what I said after, “hello.”

So anyway. Life went on. There were a few times when I called him again, after carefully rehearsing what I would say in my head. Then I would hear his voice on the other end and crap would spew forth from my mouth.

Well, I write better than I talk, I told myself. I will write him a letter. He will be swept away by my writing abilities. Happy happy, joy joy. I wrote him a few (seriously, just a few) letters. He never answered them. There was a small fraction of my mind that was beginning to think that maybe I was coming across like a “psycho stalker chick.” That wasn’t me. Surely he’d know that wasn’t me. I “let it go.” No more letters.

-- My other cat just walked over and demanded attention. You know how cats are. I HAD to pet her. Poor, underappreciated, little softy. Okay I am done affectionating her. On with the problem.

Okay. So one day while I was at work I decided to Google him. Holy crap. What to my wondering eyes should appear… but HIM, working at a school that I liked for graduate school. Wow. He was in my state. He was just a drive away. I felt the blood rush down to my toes. I forgot to breathe, and my heartbeat rebounded off the walls of my work cubicle.

Now, let me get the record straight on one issue. By the time I Googled him, I had got myself back into college. I was even doing well. National Dean’s List, Who’s Who, Omicron Delta Kappa… I did not have a man in my life, and I did not necessarily want one in my life. I feel the same way today. My life, right now, is for me. I gave up a lot for the life I had with my ex husband, and now was “me” time. Plus, I had just ended a serious relationship with a man I was engaged to. I do not want romance right now. PLUS, I don’t even know him (high school love guy) anymore. He could be really boring. He could be ugly. He could be stuck up. He could be one of those “positive energy sucker” types. He might not like talking about books anymore… I just didn’t know.

I still don’t know.

So anyway, I emailed him. No answer. Well, he couldn’t possibly be ignoring me. No, not “him.” He might just not have access yet to his work email. I sent him another. I found another email address for him. Maybe I should send to that address? I sent another one. Now, this went on for a few months, so it is not as bad as it sounds. So anyway, I get an email back from him one day. Again, the feeling of blood draining out my ears.

The email I receive from the man that was so important to me in my memories, says that he hadn’t answered my emails because he was hoping I would just figure out that he thinks I am the spawn of Satan and wants nothing to do with me. Please, don’t email him again.

-- Ooops, cat again. I am petting with one hand and typing with the other. Okay, she is good now. Spoiled little purr engine. She likes music, though, my cat (her name is Grace Jones). She digs Mr. Bungle. Weird cat.

Well, this reply I received from him told me a lot about this guy. First, he was the kind of guy that practiced habits I despise. The “if I don’t call her or email her or visit her, then eventually she’ll leave me alone and I won’t have to deal with her” bullcrap.

Ha ha ha. I am afraid to use swear words on my blog. That is funny.

It also told me that the relationship we had, though he feigned “true love” really well, was just a temporary affection. A chance for a young virgin lad to finally slick his dick.

Okay, then why would he carry on a relationship with me, long distance, for over a year? Why would he spend his money to buy an airline ticket to visit me? Why would he write me a letter once a week? WHY would he return correspondence with me every so often during this last almost 20 years?? No, he loved me. There is just more to this scenario than I am getting from that one email. A side B on the proverbial LP. Time to analyze.

And I am one to over analyze everything. There must be another chick involved. Probably “Bitch” back to take him away again and keep him within her gangly, steel clutches. Geez, and all I wanted to do was be friends again. Who turns down friendship? Especially with someone you loved once? Remember, I don’t want to date him. Hell, I’d probably be too nervous to even smile at him without making an ass out of myself. Sex would be a disaster.

OR, and this is SO unlikely… He probably misread my attempts at communication and thinks I am a “psycho stalker chick” that wants to pursue a relationship… “Capture her rainbow.” Though, if he thought about it he would certainly see how insane that idea is, and that I am not insane (well, not in THAT way) and so I couldn’t possibly think that way. Je ne suis pas une (I am not a) “psycho stalker chick.”

So you see my problem.

IF I go to UNT, it would be a great school, and I would probably really dig it and learn a lot and have a great time. Plus, I have friends in Dallas (well, A friend – but she has two friends, and they have two friends, and so on, and so on…). But, though my program would not involve him in any way and I may be able to go my entire graduate career without EVER seeing him… I might run into him. And, he obviously has such an overgrown ego that he’d think I was there solely for the purpose of capturing him…

So what do you think? Should I still apply to UNT? Should I just stay with the job I am doing and NOT fulfill my dream of higher education? Should I wait until he doesn’t work at UNT anymore?

Deep thoughts, Man. Deep thoughts.

This is a black and white photo that a photographer friend of mine, Darren Abate, took a few years back. 

Peeling an onion

This is a creative writing story I wrote for class last semester. The point of perspective changes throughout the story. Originally, the font changes with each perspective to avoid confusion. Hopefully, you all will have no problem with it. Maybe I'll insert a line, like this one _____ between each perspective...
... Well, let me know what you think. ;)

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There are times when I wonder if things could have turned out better for me. I wonder if the guy I fell in love with in 10th grade would have remained my one true love, like in fairy tales, or if we were destined to grow up and grow apart. I wonder if I would I have been happier if I had stayed in the small town that I grew up in. If I hadn’t married Wayne, would I still have this same jaded outlook on romance that I have now? I wonder if I will ever truly feel like I am in love again. I wonder if I will be one of those old ladies with a bunch of pet cats. I wonder if love even really exists.

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Glancing out the window Steffanie saw a single snowflake hit the warm asphalt of the road and melt away into non existence. Cars were droning by with their headlights dimly separating the night into thin cords of white. It was cold outside and she was glad to be indoors, home, away from the bitter chill of the November weather.

She had laundry to do. She should do some housework and tidy her apartment. Instead Steffanie sat at her computer and thought back to that time in high school when she was in love with James.
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He used to write her poems. Thoughtful poems that made her insides feel warm and pliable like pulled toffee. Every time James would see her in the hallway he made a point of saying hello. He always looked deep into her eyes and didn’t let go. He talked to her. He touched her – just a quick brush against her arm, or a hand on her shoulder. Small gestures, and yet it was enough to make a gloomy day bright and the boring school classes rush by. He made her laugh that silly giggle that only girls in high school do correctly.

When she went to James’ prom, Steffanie felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. All the others at the dance were only there as a backdrop for an evening that felt like a dream. No one truly existed but Steffanie and James. She remembered the kiss that lifted her from the chill of the rest of the world and placed her gently in a moment that lasted forever. Happiness. That was what happiness felt like.

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With a mist in her eye Steffanie paused for a moment and looked to her stack of CDs. Lennon. She’d put in Lennon and that’d make her feel better. Maybe a few candles too. Her fireplace had never seen real logs like a fireplace was supposed to; she didn’t need it to warm her apartment. Steffanie had a candle stand that held eight small candles. She kept it in her fireplace, and lit each candle when she was in moods like this.

She would check her emails later. Right now she needed a moment for herself.

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Steffanie met Wayne when she lived in Europe. Her father was stationed overseas, and Wayne was one of the enlisted soldiers at the same base. Wayne used to make Steffanie happy.

They had gone out to the BX together one day. She recalled the drive back to Wayne’s barracks. Steffanie was driving and Wayne was singing along to a Beatles song that was playing on the radio. “Happiness is a warm gun… bang bang, shoot shoot…” Out of the blue, Wayne gave her a crazy look that she didn’t recognize. Suddenly, he undid his seatbelt.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

Wayne scooted the seat back and began to crouch on one knee, down on the car floor. He positioned himself carefully and reached for Steffanie’s hand. “Marry me, Steffanie.”
She pulled the car over and hesitated for a moment.

Wayne was like her best friend. They talked all the time. They went out together all the time. They laughed. They told each other everything. He liked the Beatles. Wasn’t that the kind of love needed for a marriage? It was the kind of love built on friendship. One rooted in reality. Perfect for marriage. When the romance fades away, the friendship will remain and carry the marriage through eternity.

Steffanie had a warm feeling in her breast; it was welcome and familiar to her like the warmth of hot cocoa on a frosty winter night. With a smile, she turned to Wayne and said, “Okay.”

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Hot cocoa, there was a good idea. Cocoa and candle light – what better way to take a moment and bid another workday farewell. Steffanie walked into her pantry and hunted down a small packet of powdered chocolate. She placed a mug of water in the microwave for a minute and a half and then stirred in the sweet cocoa.

Steffanie sat down on her fluffy futon. A memory of her relentless hunt for the fluffiest, softest futon mattress came into her mind. Strange how such small details could be so important to her. She appreciated the suppleness of the futon again tonight, though. Steffanie snuggled down into its softness, holding her hot mug of cocoa and looking at the warm, flickering flames on the candles.

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Brian had been the most handsome man that Steffanie had ever dated. She closed her steel grey eyes to recapture that memory, took a sip of her hot chocolate and remembered a cold evening that she had spent with Brian at his house. He lived on the other side of the city. She’d driven an hour to meet him for a barbeque.

Brian had made sure to place veggies on the grill along with different cuts of meat. Steffanie was a vegetarian, and he had remembered that she would not eat anything that walked on four legs or had fur. He teased her about her diet choice, ravishingly ate meat in front of her, but never forced the issue. Steffanie remembered that Brian liked his steak very rare.

After eating and drinking a glass of blood red wine, Steffanie kissed Brian goodnight and got into her car for the long trek back home. The night was so cold that she had to wait ten minutes for her old 1984 Mustang to warm up. Once the engine was warmed up and happy, Steffanie still had to drive with a window cracked open, or the inside of the car would fog up.

After the maze of endless twists of cold dark highway was behind her, Steffanie was finally home. She opened her door to find that her answering machine was blinking. With a hand that was still chilled by the night air and the long journey home, Steffanie pressed play. The voice was Brian’s, “Got love?” he said with some laughter. Steffanie felt herself smile. A play on the old milk commercial. Clever. A familiar warmth reached inside her and created a laugh that stifled the cold she had felt just moments ago. Happiness again.

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A long finger of wax slowly reached for the base of the candle stand. The flames blinked shadows on the wall. Steffanie wiped a tear from her cheek and stood up from the futon. She placed her empty blue mug in the sink, and returned to the living room to turn off her computer and blow out the candles. Time for bed.

Soft fur from her cat found Steffanie’s leg as she walked into her bedroom. The warm downy comforter on her bed welcomed her into its embrace, and she shut her eyes. But Steffanie did not fall asleep.

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What did I do to turn them away? Every time I’ve thought that it was okay to give my heart to a man, it always seems to turn into a tragic love story, like Catherine with Heathcliff and Edgar, Anna Karenina with her husband and Alexei Vronsky, and even Paul and Linda McCartney or John and Yoko Ono. I was taught that love is precious. The most important thing in the world. We must do everything possible to preserve love. Give it everything we have. If romance gets tough, we must get tougher. Why would each man tell me he loved me if it wasn’t true? Was all romantic love for me doomed to fail? I have loved and lost and I think that if I had the choice, I’d rather not have loved at all.

I’m not even the same girl I used to be. I’m a good fifty pounds heavier. I am out of shape. I smoke when stress hits me. I don’t keep a good home. I hate cooking. Small children annoy me. Let’s face it, if I were a man dating me, I wouldn’t want to stick around either.

When is it romantic to do things, like never forget someone? Dream about them? Aren’t we supposed to stay in love with someone forever, even if life splits us apart? If I were to die tomorrow, would I leave behind a man who loves me enough to put flowers on my grave every year? Would I come back in a new life and interact with the same men I loved in this lifetime? When am I supposed to just let it go? When her husband, Osiris, was killed, Isis put his body back together and moved the forces of nature to bring him back to life. Why can’t I have a love that goes beyond time and death and all the other forces of life, like the love Isis and Osiris had? Why can’t I have a love that would even be stronger than the envy of possessive mothers?

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With that thought, Steffanie rolled over in tears.
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She’d been engaged again since Wayne. After years spent recovering herself after the divorce, Steffanie met Anthony. A musician. This guy had a heart of gold. He was always doing things for other people. He even helped his ex wife remodel the inside of her house. Anthony’s mother was ill, and every weekend he went to see her and do the chores she was no longer capable of. Even Steffanie’s friends liked Anthony. So did her parents. So did her cats. Anthony didn’t smoke. He didn’t drink to excess. He would never intentionally be cruel her. He was polite. Steffanie’s cats would often come out from their hiding places and grace him with their presence. If one of Steffanie’s cats likes you, then you must have a good soul.

She really thought things would be different with Anthony.

One weekend they went driving around neighborhoods to look at houses. It was so romantic to talk about having room for all Steffanie’s furniture and Anthony’s music equipment. They examined areas where Steffanie’s cats could comfortably keep watch through a window. They looked at yards with pools, and bathrooms with huge tubs.

Anthony loved to talk. He had something to say about everything. Steffanie loved to listen to him. She often found it amusing. While they were driving to another open house one Saturday afternoon, Anthony turned to Steffanie and said, “Wow, I have been talking you to death. You must wish I’d just shut up…”

Steffanie turned to Anthony and replied, “You have a lot to say. Who am I to tell you when you are finished?”

His eyes locked on to hers, and a smile spread across Anthony’s face. “I love you,” he said. Steffanie felt happy again. Her stomach warmed with affection and she leaned over to kiss him.

Anthony asked Steffanie to marry him one night over dinner at Denny’s. He turned to her, and with a strangely serious face, Anthony asked her to be his wife. Steffanie was very happy, and said yes.

They were engaged for over a year. She never got a ring, but he helped her buy a car. That was okay, a ring wouldn’t safely get Steffanie to work everyday; a car was much more practical. Anthony offered to buy her an inexpensive Wal-Mart ring to hold her over until he bought her the “perfect ring,” but Steffanie turned him down. She figured it was better to save the money and someday apply it toward the perfect ring.

Anthony’s mother didn’t like Steffanie. She could never do anything good enough for her only son. She didn’t cook the right foods. She used the tap water which was contaminated with fluoride. Steffanie was “mean.” She was five inches taller than Anthony. She was too book-smart for him. But most of all, Steffanie took her son, her only reason for living, away from her.

Yet Anthony spent a lot of time with his mother. She was old, and dying of emphysema. He would tend to her car (bought from his ex wife), her computer issues, and any chores that caused strain. Anthony also would go out with his mother to support such causes as the anti-fluoride movement in the city.

Now, to be sure, Steffanie supported her fiancé in his interest in his mother. She bought his mother things such as an air filter and a humidifier (to help with her breathing problem), books, and gave her paints and even her own easel (as Anthony’s mother loved to paint pictures). Steffanie often went along with Anthony on his visits to his mother. She even took them both out for dinner once. She helped Anthony’s mother pick out a dog to adopt from the local animal shelter.

Anthony’s mother still disliked her, and Steffanie began to hate her right back.

Anthony’s band took up a lot of his time too. He had practices that ran twice a week and lasted late into the night. His band had “gigs” that often disagreed with any plans that Steffanie wanted to make. Yet, she always gave in. She even gave away her tickets to see Paul McCartney perform because Anthony had a gig that night, and he wasn’t willing to tell the band that he was not available.

He worked six days a week. Not only did Anthony work Monday through Friday, but he also worked every Saturday. He did not have a lot of time for Steffanie.
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Maybe it is my fault. Not everything can be about me. I am just so tired of always giving in to whoever I am dating… I swore I would never do that again. I have to live my life for me, and if others want to be in my life then they’d better fall in line.
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Steffanie grabbed the sheet on her bed and wiped the tears from her eyes. The tears didn’t stop. She took a deep breath.
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After James had gone off to college in Tennessee, they had made sure to stay in close contact. They each ran up phone bills that exceeded $500 per month. They wrote many letters to each other. They visited every holiday.

One late night Steffanie decided to call James. She’d had a hard day with work and school, and she really needed to hear the warmth of James’ voice. She dialed the phone. After about five rings a sleepy female voice answered on the other end of the line.
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Heartbreak number one.
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Wayne came home one night with a friend from work. They were both drunk. After a short and rude conversation about how Steffanie wasn’t “into” oral sex, Wayne walked over to Steffanie’s purse and removed her wallet. She had just cashed her paycheck earlier that day.

“Hey, Dude! Let’s go downtown and find ourselves some girls that like to suck dick,” laughed Wayne to his friend. “Then we can come back and give Steff some pointers!” He took the money from her wallet and Wayne and his friend laughed their way out the door.
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Heartbreak number two.
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Brian had an ex girlfriend in another state that just couldn’t let go. She arranged for Brian, herself, her son and Brian’s father to go on a trip to Disney World. Brian assured her that everything would be fine; he was just going on the trip to be with his father and to spend time with his ex’s son, who he thought of as his own. Being supportive, Steffanie said, “okay.” She even lent him her suitcase and drove him to the airport.

He came back to town a week later claiming to have had the time of his life. He told her lots of stories about Disney World. It was warm and the sun was out and everyone had a great time. Brian didn’t bring Steffanie back any souvenirs of his trip, other than his memories of a great vacation spent with his ex girlfriend.

A month after he had returned from Florida, Brain’s ex girlfriend flew into Steffanie’s town to retrieve Brian for good. Steffanie picked her up at the airport and helped her rent a car. They went out for coffee together. Steffanie did a great job of being the nice and mature “bigger person” in the scenario from hell. That afternoon, Brain and his ex girlfriend drove off into the sunset to rekindle a lost romance.
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Heartbreak number three.
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Steffanie and Anthony were driving back from grocery store one evening. She had just learned that Anthony would not be joining her to see Paul McCartney. No, he wouldn’t try to reschedule the band for a different night, though he had known about the ex-Beatle’s performance for weeks ahead of time. “Thanks,” whined Steffanie.

“You know, I just don’t see us getting married,” stated Anthony.

A few months later, Steffanie moved out of the condo she shared with Anthony. Within twenty-four hours, he and his mother were out looking for a house. They found one and put a bid on it. Until the paperwork went through, Anthony moved in with his ex wife and her new husband. His mother often came to cook and to spend time with all of them.
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Heartbreak number four.
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This too shall pass. It seems that saying applies to all things, good and bad. I guess there is nothing I can really count on, except for “death and taxes.” Well, my parents will always love me. My cats will always love me, too. I’m lucky that I am no longer with those men, really. They obviously couldn’t give me the love that I deserve or the love that I need. It is a good thing that I am free; now, when the perfect guy comes along, I will be ready. So why am I lying in bed alone, crying, if I am such a “worthy” woman?
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Early the next morning Steffanie woke up to the annoying but familiar buzz of her alarm. She showered, got dressed, and watched the dismal morning news while sipping her hot coffee. Then she slipped on a thick sweater, a hat and some boots and headed warmly into a cold, new day.