Uh oh, here come the meat dreams.

About 8 years ago I made the choice to be vegan, and shortly afterwards my best friend joined me. We were vegan together, and if you know us, you know that we tend to do many things in tandem. Partners in crime, if you will.

Based on the other’s glowing recommendations, we’ve been known to buy everything from the same purse, glasses, cat food, hair products, lipstick, and even underwear. The other’s opinion is something we each prize even more highly than our own. We know it’s a little sick; its okay, we’re self-aware. So it’s no surprise that we would make this huge lifestyle change together; with very little warning, jumping in head first and fully trusting that we would do this thing together -- as partners.

So shortly after we became vegan, I had these intensely vivid dreams where I would walk into a room and find my best friend eating a steak or a chicken, and she would look up at me and say in-between meaty bites, in defiance, “What?! I eat meat now.” And I would be horrified, and I guess now that I think about it, these dreams were about my fear of being betrayed by someone I loved and who was my partner in something huge.

So it comes as no surprise to me that over the course of the last few weeks, I’ve had dreams about my ex mixed in with images of my bestie eating meat. It’s weird and undoubtedly kinda creepy, but not a total surprise.

I realize now that I feel betrayed by him.

I had dreams that he and I lived together again, but still broken up; living is some dirty old apartment. I dreamed we were fighting in the backseat of our friend’s car as they drove. I dreamt I was trying to talk to him but he was dazed, falling down a lot, falling onto me, not really able to speak. Then I dreamt his face kept shifting. In all the dreams, there was one common theme… I was like insanely angry. And then once in a while my bestie would pop into the picture eating a ham or something. One thing is for sure, this means that (a) I feel betrayed by him, and (b) as a result of “a,” I’m angry all over again.

I thought I was done being angry, but I’m not. I’ve been feeling a seething hatred for him very much like how I felt 2 months into this and would wake up in the middle of the night with clenched fists after dreams of smashing him in the head with various household objects. I’m angry again and I want to scream at him, jab forks into his face, etc. You know the drill.

I wrote a post about blame (see: Blame?) two months ago. At that time, I wondered who was really to blame; me or him? I had this feeling that we were both to blame. In the post, I explained that I didn’t push hard enough to get him to understand what I was going through, and alternately, he wasn’t really capable of dealing with my feelings. So in a way, we were both to blame. But I don’t think that’s fair anymore. Because I did push; I did for a long time and then, after being very unsuccessful, I gave up. I tried to get him to see me, to understand me, to see how his carelessness affected me; and he was incapable of certain things, yes, but he refused to get help, go to therapy, and improve himself and how he related to others. And for that, he is to blame.

And that’s what feels like betrayal to me now.

I tend to be understanding to a fault. I try not to judge others. If someone said, “So have you ever tried bashing a baby seals’ head in with a club? It’s really fun.” I would think, “Hmm. That’s odd ....” Seriously, do your thing, even if it’s not necessarily my thing. I’m sure you’ve got your reasons.

This attitude came to bite me in the ass in the end. I watched as my ex was barely civil to my best friend, barely engaged in conversations with my family, barely engaged in conversations with people who weren't stroking his ego, barely participated in holidays because he hated them, barely acknowledged my graduation day… you get the picture. I watched all this and did nothing because I thought that he had his reasons, I didn’t want to judge him. I thought that’s just the way he was. And I thought that I accepted him completely.

Well fuck that. It’s inconsiderate and above all, it’s bullshit. Because no matter what your reasons, you suck it up because your girlfriend loves you and would do anything for you. She's your partner and you're hers.

But he wasn’t my partner.

Because no matter what I did or how much I gave, tried to understand him, didn’t judge him -- no matter what, he didn’t work as hard as I did. I worked on us and on myself because I thought that’s what you did in a partnered relationship. And did he? No.

Much like my best friend and I dove into veganism together as partners, navigating through vegan cookbooks from the 70’s and sprouting mung beans under our sink, my ex and I dove into our relationship together -- I thought -- as partners too. But where I was navigating how to have a better relationship with his mom, support him in his career choices, deal with the late hours, organize our home, and fit into his life -- he was doing what? Well, nothing of the sort. He wasn’t involved with my life like I was involved in his. He wasn’t really my partner.

And I’m slowly beginning to realize that this is how he betrayed me.

….oh, and he would never have sprouted mung beans with me under our sink either.

photo by richard.heeks

Le Bonhuer

Okay, so here is an explanation of my alias.

I use an alias because I don't want my ex to read this thing, or at least not yet. Therefore, I don't post my real name or his or anyone elses. As a result of which, I created an alias that is a combination of the following:

1. le bonhuer means "the happiness" in French -- a concept I am currently invested in fully.
2. bonhuer sounds an awful lot like my last name.
3. My last name sounds like an awful lot like "boner."
4. I find the word "boner" very amusing and use it as an expletive, a descriptive word, etc. very often in my daily life.

If you know me, you get it and you think its funny.

If you don't know me, at least you kinda get it now and maybe find it amusing.

P.S. There is french movie named "Le Bonheur" -- no relation but you can watch the trailer here, its kinda creepy. Enjoy.

6 Months. Half a Year?

It’s been 6 months now. 6 months, that’s half a year. Half a year is nearly One Whole Year. So it’s kinda like a whole year has passed, right?

But I tend to skip ahead.

I do this often; skipping ahead. When I’m reading a magazine, I never start at the beginning. I flip to the end and scan backwards. At the last page of a chapter, I scan my eyes to last few sentences -- I can’t help it. When I was 29, I often told people I was 30. When it’s just the first few days of Fall, I skip ahead to February in my mind, anticipating snow to roll around in maybe a month, maybe less. I don’t know why I do this, it’s not that I dread the passing of time, maybe it’s the opposite.

So when 6 months started approaching, I began skipping ahead, thinking that a year passed. But it hasn’t been a year; just half of one.

Six months and no communication, well, at least by phone. We’ve emailed only occasionally, no calls, no visits. I think this has been the best thing for me. Not communicating has sometimes been heart-wrenchingly painful, other times it’s like living in peaceful oblivion. But it’s consistently done one thing; given me no choice but to focus only on how I’m feeling.

I will admit that there are moments when I obsess over what he’s thinking and feeling, but eventually I have to stop because I have no evidence of either thing. All I’m doing is making things up in my mind. And who can live that way? And I’ve got to thank my bestie here, without her saying to me, “You can’t live like that!”, I wouldn’t have realized that I better stop making up fantasies about him sitting on top of a pile of cash, wearing dollar sign glasses (a la Riche Riche style) record deal in one hand, skinny bitch in the other, all the while thinking, “Thank god I'm not with her anymore!”

Yeah, you can’t live that way.

So instead, I focus on myself. I moved into an adorable apartment in a cute neighborhood which more and more feels like home. I’ve got some really wonderful new neighbors, made new friends, reconnected with old friends, pushed myself to do things I would never have otherwise done, and generally relearned how to live my life with only one person in mind, me. I’m making plans for my future and I’m finding that what I need out of a friendship, a boyfriend, a job, and a life – is slowly coming into focus.

And now I'm skipping ahead again and anticipating the person I'll be when a year has past. I can picture myself even more settled, more secure. So much so that it makes me want to wait an entire year before seeing him in person. Maybe then, when I’ve become this more settled and secure self, there won’t be any chance that my resolve will break down.

Because I fear that it might.

Because no matter how confident I may feel, how much I may skip ahead, it’s really only been 6 months, not a year, not 2 years, just a matter of months; a drop in the bucket of our 9 years together.

So it's no wonder I anticipate the One Year Mark, no wonder I want to jump ahead. I want to skip to being totally confident, with no doubts, and breeze past all my "bad days," all the bad dreams, and all the times I wonder where he is. Because the feelings are still there -- all the years, all the good, all the bad -- lying under the surface, shakily waiting in the background for something to crack.

But maybe a year from now, when I’ve lived through all this, I won't crack.

What happens when you purge your long-term boyfriend. -- by Mia Timpano.

I posted a link to this article a while back, but I'm not sure if enough people clicked the link and read it. I think it's wonderful and therefore am now forcing you all to read it.

What happens when you purge your long-term boyfriend.
By Mia Timpano. (column: Frankie #16 Apr/May 2007)

T-Bone and I broke up. Now all I have is crap in a box.

Actually, no, scratch that. That’s not all I have. I now have a world of morons dribbling their greeting card wisdom all over me. “Don’t worry! The right guy is out there for you, somewhere!” Somewhere? Wow. What a prediction. No, seriously, barf me another cliché — barf me a river — because that is exactly what I want to hear.

The sweet world of love in which I once laughed and frolicked has been blown up and pissed on all at once, and now I have to listen to shit you’ve read on bumper stickers.

A long-term relationship is not Chernobyl, inasmuch as it goes boom. A long-term relationship is that fake gelatine hand people buy from that store, World of Crap or whatever, inasmuch as you can hurl it against a wall, it sticks for a period, but inevitably gathers crud. And though the hand is clearly rancid, it requires six months (minimum) for you to say, “Uh, why do I own a novelty gelatine hand? Why is this shit in my house?” and finally purge it.

Then, once effectively dislodged from the existing relationship, three distinct phases follow:

1. Crying over assorted bullshit.

2. Seducing a man you wouldn’t otherwise spew on.
Though some people manage to bypass this phase, most don’t. The emotional storm of shit is such that you crave the intimacy you suddenly lack and your perception of others is grossly distorted.

I, myself, bounded keenly into the arms of Benedict O’Fey (not his real name), my university lecturer. Clearly blinded by both my tears over T-Bone and the sun that Benedict had me believe was radiating out of his arse, I found myself unable to recognise certain obvious problems, e.g. the fact that Benedict annoyed me, the fact that he dressed like a Medieval retard, the fact that he was pretentious — even his dreams were pretentious (he claimed that he dreamed in black and white) — and the fact that he worshipped me spasmodically, as opposed to loving me sincerely (there is a difference). That, and the fact that he was borderline gross.

After months of to-ing and fro-ing and finally groping, I experienced a moment of total clarity; while locked in Benedict’s sweaty embrace, I ran my hand under his shirt in an effort to reach and hold the back of his neck, but found myself unable drive my fist through the valley of fat that surrounded it. My hand came to rest on a freak bulge of fat that was nestled between Benedict’s armpit and gut. And as I held it, and he held me, I realised, “Uh, why I am holding this man’s lump of fat?” and finally purged him.

3. Realising who you are and that you never actually needed a boyfriend in the first place.
I came to understand that, in many ways, T-Bone was to me now what my doll Tubby was to me as a child. I loved Tubby sincerely, so much so that when I failed to pack Tubby when travelling interstate, my bitching did not end. Ultimately, my parents had the doll couriered. My loss was real, yes, but I do not cling to Tubby now. And so, with a similar passage of time, I will move on from T-Bone.

And, certainly, I like to believe that I have already. But then, when I think of T-Bone, dressed as a pretzel (T-Bone works at a Pretzel World franchise, where he dresses as a giant pretzel, handing samples to lard arses), I feel the goo of my heart, much as I did the day I met him, in the studio audience of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? , much as I did the day he told me, “You’re achingly beautiful,” and kissed me, much as I did every night we sat in bed watching Star Trek TNG . Because I miss him. Because the last time I saw him, “as friends” or whatever, he broke off mid-sentence, looked away and said, “I’m still madly in love with you.”

http://miatimpano.wordpress.com/2007/04/05/what-happens-when-you-purge-your-long-term-boyfriend/

How filling out a Customs Declaration Form can break your heart.

Last summer, about 6 months before we broke up, we took a vacation with a fellow couple to Costa Rica. This trip was about 2 years in the planning. One would never assume that a trip that took almost 2 years to plan would proceed to break your will to live.

Let’s just say, it had its ups and downs. Some of the “ups” were: hanging out with sweet little monkeys, eating a lot of pineapple, drinking a lot of rum, and seeing some of the most beautiful sites. And as for the “downs”, well…. that includes a series of nightmarish events and a lot of breathy whisperings of, “I’m scared…” while walking through the pitch-black Costa Rican rain forest in the pouring rain while listening to monkeys howling in the distance.

But we survived, and eventually boarded a plane for home while sleep deprived, tanned, burned, peeling, haggard, hungry and hung over. Despite all that, the trip had awakened in me an appreciation for him. He was strong, supportive, took control, and took care of me. Amongst the chaos of the trip, I felt reconnected to him. Finally seated on the plane back, we settled into our seats and happily anticipated returning to our apartment. Many of our problems seemed to fade away on this trip and I started to feel like maybe we had a chance after all. I saw the person I loved; I saw him as strong and helpful, care taking and kind.

Then came a small piece of paper hell bent on destroying my little fantasy -- the “U.S. Customs and Border Protection Declaration Form.” As the steward passed out the forms he stopped in front of a happy, young couple seated in front of us. He advised them to fill out one form per family. He smiled at the couple, asking them if they were married, the couple laughed back something along the lines of, “Not yet!” And the steward smiled back at them. Then he turned to us and asked if we needed one or two forms. One each, please.

This sinister little form asked me to fill in my Family Name and the number of family members traveling with me. As I began filling out my form, I started to picture an alternate reality, one where we were nonchalantly filling in just one form for our happy little family of 2. And at that moment, I pictured us as a family and felt a small beam of happiness and hope that someday we would be. And I turned to him, touching his arm with a loving smile and said, “I wish we were a family.” And he glanced over to me, sideways, and said “Um hmm.”

Yeah. He said, “Um hmm.”

I sunk into my chair and we silently filled out our separate forms.

At that time, just 6 months before we broke up, I still had thoughts about getting married. And had he asked me, I guess I would have said yes. But I wonder if we would have ever gotten to the actual marriage part. I can see myself, with a ring on my hand, and how it would have played out. Elated at first, maybe for a few months, but eventually we would settle back into normal, all our problems would flood back in, and the logistics of our future married life would become clearer. I would see that a ring wouldn’t fix what was broken between us.

The more time passes and the more I change, the more I see that no matter how much we may have loved each other, we just weren't right for each other. Apparently, there's a difference. Who knew?

My life is very different now. I felt like I had no control over my life before, I was consumed by the relationship and what we were going to do with our lives, how he felt about us, and what he was thinking. But what about me? My happiness was an afterthought. What I needed from him never entered into my mind -- things such as a true sense of partnership, a deeper friendship, attentiveness, empathy, more encouragement, and an interest in what truly made me happy. What I really needed from my life was cloudy and in the distance. I couldn't figure it out. I knew there was something more that I needed -- a change had to happen, but I just couldn't picture it. To quote my fellow blogger, I perseverated.

And so, there were many little tests like this one on the plane. Many times where I would have my heart broken somehow and then just push it aside, vowing to perseverate -- just do the same thing over and over -- just push my own self further and further away so I wouldn't have to take a good look at what was going on. I just didn't want to face it, we would suck at marriage and if we would suck at marriage then I better leave, but it was too difficult -- until one day, when I guess I was ready, I did.

Thinking about that day on the plane, it makes me wonder how many shaky relationships that tiny form has tested.

So what about you? How was your relationship tested? And where did this test lead you?

Sun Spot Cycle

One of the blogs I check-in on almost every day is called "Sun Spot Cycle." The author started this blog when her 11 year relationship ended.

I feel a connection to her. We both started blogs when our long-term relationships ended, I think we are about the same age, we both haven't dated in nearly a decade and have no idea how to do so, and we are both starting our lives over. Her blog focuses on her recovery and I love that. The reason I started my blog was because I wanted to read about someone, like me, recovering from a break-up. So not only did I start one, but I've got one to read too. In fact, she found my blog first somehow and linked to me.

So today I checked in on her blog and found a great post entitled, Summer Thunder. When I read it, I could see myself in my past relationship standing on the edge of a storm too. She had a line, "The signs were there and instead of moving, instead of self-preservation I went for perseveration." This struck me, instead of saving yourself you decide to perseverate, to do the same thing over and over again. I did this too. I did the same things over and over in an effort to stay in my relationship. Once I figured out that I was only harming myself, by repeatedly doing things that only made me feel awful, the spell was broken and I was able to leave.

So read this post, Summer Thunder, and follow her, and celebrate her awesomeness too.

Unconstricted

From the Art and Flair of Mary Blair

This was my first weekend in my new home, all by myself.

Success? Maybe. Insightful? But of course.

I liked it, but every so often my mood would swing from elated joy in my newfound freedom and independence, to a sudden pang of fear that I'm doing everything all by myself, no witnesses. And in those moments I missed him the most.

He was my witness. He knew what I was doing every second of the day. He knew about every appointment, every new piece of clothing, what I ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He knew if I was having a bad day or a good day. He was there for all of it.

Now no one is there to see it. To see me.

So is a significant other a witness to our lives? Without that witness, who are we?

I’m doing all of this for only one person now, me. And I know that’s what I needed the most. To live my life for no one but me, because I believe that for the past year, or 2 years, I lived without myself in mind.

I was consumed with what he was thinking, doing, feeling. I was making choices, sometimes, that only had him in mind, not me. His best interests were somehow far superior to mine. And now I’m living for myself. Making my own choices and doing things that only concern me. And while that sometimes makes me feel incredible, it sometimes makes me sad. I can’t help that.

But I had this feeling one day, as I got out of my car in the parking lot of Target, that feeling you get when your body has been constricted and then all of a sudden you are released, like from a tight hug. You can distinctly feel the sensation of being unconstricted, the memory of the tightness still holds onto your body and you feel nothing holding you, you feel freed. I felt this feeling all of a sudden. Why in the parking lot of Target? I have no idea.

Orchids

My mom has had an orchid plant for years. It had big, full, white flowers growing all over it when she first got it, but then the flowers fell off and it was just a grouping of long, green leaves and one stem. But she's cared for it for about 3 or 4 years and wondered if it would one day bloom again.

Shortly after I moved in with my parents, we began to see 2 tiny bumps on the main stem. We thought it might be sprouting new stems or leaves. Then a month later she and my dad went away for a week, and before she left she said to me, with her eyes wide like an excited kid, “If something happens, take a picture and call me immediately!” It was like we were waiting for a birth.

When I was alone I didn’t pay much attention to the plant, and then one day I glanced over at it and, as if out of nowhere, I saw 2 big purple buds on the stem.

A few weeks later those buds became 2 huge, lion-faced, purple flowers. Unfortunately I have no pictures of the blooms but trust me, they were gorgeous, kinda like this....

Then she told me more about them and how they grow. Orchids have to grow under very specific conditions. They must be planted in a pot full of wood chips, not dirt, since orchids grow in the wild on desiccated trees -- they grow where things have died. They prefer humidity, so its aerated pot sits atop a pile of glass rocks that she keeps wet. She took care of this plant for 4 years hoping to see it bloom again.

So why now? Why at this exact time, a time when the whole house is disrupted, amongst this chaos, when its about to be relocated to another part of the country, why is it blooming now? And why did it change from white to purple?

This got me thinking about the act of lovingly caring for something even with no signs of life present.

Having faith and waiting patiently for something beautiful.

Blooming in the midst of chaos.

And then proudly displaying a new face.

A new color.

A new life.

I moved!

I survived it... kinda.

It was intense, stressful and emotional. I feel like I was living in asylum for the last few weeks as my parents and I got ready to move. They headed to their new home in the southeast and I to my new apartment here.

My new home is fresh and clean and filled with sunshine, I have access to a huge communal backyard, I have friendly and helpful neighbors, green grass, big blooming trees... and I absolutely love it.

Almost everything I have now is brand new to me. I purposefully didn't keep a lot of what he and I shared together from our old apartment. I didn't want those reminders. I wanted to start from scratch. And I love that when I look around all I see are things that have no ties to him; its all completely mine.

Uprooted... again

I’m moving soon. And my feelings about this change hourly.

After the break-up, I moved in with my parents. Living with them has actually been one of the most positive things to come out of all this. It’s changed my relationship with them for the better.

I fully thought that this was going to be a big mistake, but I had nowhere to go and I knew I needed support. My relationship with my mom and dad had always been good for the most part, short of a few screaming fits here and there over the years. They've lived in the house they live in now for only 7 years. I've never lived there before, didn’t have a room, and the things from my childhood were in boxes in the garage. It felt very foreign to me in the first weeks. There was nothing inherently comforting about it.

I remember the day I moved in; I could barely deal with what was going on. It was the middle of February, cold but sunny. I was just going through the motions, doing what I needed to do to get out of my apartment and into their house. Movers filed into my apartment, took everything I owned piece-by-piece and piled it into a truck. My mom pulled up, I heaved the crate containing my giant cat into the backseat, and as we pulled away from the apartment she burst into tears. Feeling so awful for me, she cried more than I did, and we tearfully drove to her house. That night, after this long day, I went into my room, closed the door behind me, and scanned what contained the life I shared with him -- all boxed away and surrounding me, the giant cat wondered around the boxes and bags. I felt a wave of relief, what I had been dreading for so long, moving out, was over. It was done. Finally. I sat on the floor, grabbed the cat who was purring over to me and we laid down on the floor in a heap. The life I shared with him, our home, what took 9 years to build, had been completely dismantled and transported in a matter of hours.

In the next month, I slowly started to feel at ease in their house. This took some time, but soon it felt like my own home -- and I really enjoyed it. I read the paper every morning as I drank my tea. At 5pm dad served us cocktails, mom cooked us dinner, we all solved our daily Suduko puzzles together and ate variety of desserts and candies every night (See: The Infamous Candy Drawer). I had a schedule, a routine, and this was so helpful to me then. The more time I spent with them, the better I got to know them too. We talked about their childhoods and mine, and what we all thought of the fact that we've moved 7 times as a family, across the country, since I was 8 until age 18-- it's kind of amazing how many times we did this. But, I learned a lot about them and I think they learned a lot about me as an adult.

This makes me think of honesty. Honesty seems to be something coming out of this break-up. I never told my best friend the extent of what was going on in my relationship; how I felt lost and alone. She assumed I was happy and we were getting along, she assumed this because I didn’t talk about it with her. I just couldn’t bring myself to face it. Same thing goes for my parents; they didn’t know what was truly going on with me. But now, everyone knows, it’s all out in the open, and it feels good to be known in this way.

Soon I’ll be uprooted once again, this time though I'm on my own. I’m nervous and excited, anticipating the independence but also fearing it. So we'll see how this all pans out, but I plan for my new home to be a happy place -- fun, colorful, calm.... full of candy, Soduko, and the newspaper with my morning cup of tea.

Wise Words from Mia Timpano

You must read this:

"What happens when you purge your long-term boyfriend"

by Mia Timpano

And read Mia Timpano's blog.

Ladies, One Word of Advice: Lipstick

Ladies, I have some advice. Never, ever, ever leave your house under any circumstances without doing your makeup, fixing your hair and wearing something super cute. I'm not talking about full on makeup and hair, or a red dress and pumps (although the idea is tempting). Just wear a gorgeous shade of lipstick, thick black mascara, and cute jeans. I thank god that I did that today because you never know who you'll run into.

Today, I had to run out to the shops in my neighborhood in search for a dress for a wedding. It was kinda rainy and grey (yes, its July) but I put on a cute outfit, did my makeup, put on my lipstick and curled my hair. I like to look good when faced with myself in dressing room mirrors, don't you?

So as I was crossing the street, I spotted a familiar face from my long lost, 4 months ago, past. It was one of his band mates and he was walking towards me. We timidly walked to greet each other and awkwardly said hello. "How are you?", "Good, you?", Good." I glance at the floor, touch my hair nervously. "What are you up to?", "Oh, just shopping." It was all smiles and nervousness, paired with a knowing look that we both knew something substantial, but wouldn't dare bring up. And then we said goodbye. It was all very pleasant, but it was like seeing a ghost, a pleasant ghost I guess. My past became real again, real life and in my face. We didn't know each other that well but he was one of the good ones, always sweet to me, very kind. But seeing this person felt as awkward as running into an ex-boyfriend might feel. This is the only person from my past that I've seen since the break-up, who wasn't a close friend.

A few months ago, I began to turn my focus onto myself. I got swept up in hair, makeup, and clothes. Purging all of my old clothes and getting a new haircut gave me a feeling of change and difference in perception. I needed more confidence and I needed to think solely of myself, because for a long time I was so consumed with my relationship that I couldn't see much else.

So this run-in today has granted me further proof, crystal clear evidence, that I must a) always dress as if I were going on a date, even to the grocery store, even to take out the trash!, b) flee from this city and never look back, and c) find myself some supportive friends, ones that wont walk away when shit gets real.

And flee is what I am about to do. But not without my trusty lipstick, ladies.

Blame?

The source of the negative feelings I'd had towards him had been vague for a while. They were just sitting on top of me, heavily.

So I began to wonder, what was the source? People would ask me, "What do you want to say to him?," and I didn't know how to answer that. Then one morning I thought about what I would say if he were standing in front of me. As I thought about it, I realized what I was really angry about. I thought, how could you not deal with what was happening to us?

Lately, I've begun to wonder what he was really capable of dealing with. I think he could see what was going on, but wasn't able to talk about it or even react to it.

So now I wonder if it's fair to blame him as much as I have. It isn't entirely his fault that he wasn't capable of dealing with my feelings. That's just the way he was. And I didn't push very hard for him to understand what I was going through either.

I think that the more I see things for what they were, the more I realize how different we were, how incompatible, and that we processed our feelings and dealt with each other very differently. And although we loved each other, we were just too different.

Neither one should be angry at the other. Now I can see, with clarity, how I deal with things. I have a much clearer view of what I need in my life and that's what's really important now. Writing about this has helped me to do that and it helps me make some sense out who did what and why. Neither one of us is necessarily a bad person. It just wasn't right.

Grass Stain Green

I am an avid note-taker, list-maker, letter writer, and journal keeper.

Field Notes has just come out with a new color for spring and it's very exciting.

“Grass Stain Green” FIELD NOTES feature a letterpress-printed super-heavy 100# French Pop-Tone cover, with a light green ruled graph paper grid to match."

http://fieldnotesbrand.com/grass-stain-green-preorder/

Guarded Trees

For a while, this site has been void of images.

So here are some from my tumblr blog, Guarded Trees. I like doing it. It's fun. And it helps me think about what I like, and what I see as beautiful, charming, interesting or inspiring.

Credits for all images here: http://lebonheur.tumblr.com/