on running

Ready, ready, ready, ready...ready to run, All I’m ready to do is have some fun, What’s all this talk about love?- Dixie Chicks (Ready to Run)
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Can I paint you a picture?

The sky is a baby blue- just a hint of blue, really. There are clouds scattered, none of them spectacular in shape or size- just there, but unobtrusively. The sun shines down, and I think despite this obvious indicator, that the weather is a little cool- and so I should bring my jacket with me. I slip it on as an afterthought, as I run out the door and down to my car. Nothing I wear matches, my tennis shoes are bright yellow, my sweatpants are gray, I have an old white and red homecoming shirt, and a black jacket. I'm walking eye sore about to let out some pent up frustrations on a 1/2 mile track not far from my apartment.

The track looks as gorgeous as ever. It's this little oasis that I only recently discovered. The black tar stretches and twists in a large circle. A few tree's have been planted in the large open space that the track envelopes, but for the most part it's just a deep green grass that you want to lay out on, and stare at the sky. Sometimes I see little kids there, flying kites, mom's taking their kids for walks, the stroller bouncing along. Today there is just me, an older man running like his life depends on it, a woman who looks like she's in her mid-twenties walking the wrong way on the track, and an elderly lady, going for a stroll.

I put my ipod on, and start off walking- there are benches all around, marking off certain distances to me. I start to run. I am the kind of runner who sets a mark to run to, but doesn't want to see it at first. I want to look at my feet, and wait for the approach, know that it's coming, but not when it's coming. Just that it will be there. And then I look up- and that bench is so close, and I look at the sky- and I run as fast as I can, that burst of energy comes that I didn't really know was there before- but deep down I always knew was there to help me.

I stare at my feet- pounding on the black pavement. Right. Left. Right. Left. Yellow shoelaces flapping about- I wish I had tied the left one better, I think to myself. It's a little long, and keeps smacking up on my ankle. The song is playing loudly in my ears, as I run and think all the bad away.

I didn't need you, anyway.

I never liked Texas, much...

You didn't even like Wilco, or chinese food.

I somehow find these ridiculous thoughts comforting, as a I near my marker. I get my last spurt of energy, as I slow to a stroll. I gasp for breath, looking up at the sky.

Does it ever get any easier?

on openness

Perhaps I am a miscreation, No one knows the truth there is no future here, And you're the DJ speaks to my insomnia, And laughs at all I have to fear...- Dar Williams (Are You Out There)
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When did I become such an openbook for the world to read? I used to be so good, good at hiding my true feelings- I could smile and forget that which made me sad.

My dad dragged me to a therapist once.

It was the spring of my junior year of high school. It was a stressful time because I was about to be emancipated to have my sister and Ben as my guardians and my dad was about to move to Kansas. But it was more then that- while it seemed like I had a lot going on in my life; I'd just qualified to nationals in LD and been named student body president for the upcoming year- I was terrified to go to nationals, though. Because nationals were in Atlanta, and there was a man there who had decided he was in love with me, and that I loved him too, and that we should get married. I was 17... he was in his 50's, and a friend my mom's that I'd hardly spent any time around, except when I visited her a few different summers. The first time I met him my gut told me not to like him. He was a photographer and asked my mom if he could take my picture. I pretended to be asleep when he showed up to photograph me- and fortunatly he left. I've been uncomfortable around strange older men, ever since. My dad was concerned about the effect the situation would have on me; it was contained quickly, a restaining order was put in place, and my coach was fully aware to keep me close while I was in Atlanta for nationals. But I was still ill at ease. So he said he wanted me to go talk to a therapist- his therapist- and made me promise to go at least three times, and then after that she could decide if I needed to go back. I begrudgingly agreed- but had no interest in talking about my "problems" with some lady I didn't know.

So I didn't. I smiled and told her about all the exciting things in my life, and my future plans. She said she couldn't believe I was so well adjusted for the family past she was aware I had. After visit #3 she said I was fine, and sent me on my way.

She wasn't a very good therapist. But I guess she could only do so well with what I was willing to share.

And what am I willing to share? It's so much easier just to write it down for the whole world. It isn't directed to any one individual.. but it's out there, and I feel more at ease, in the end. But I've noticed anymore I'm not good at hiding my feelings. People at work keep telling me that I don't seem as happy as I used. David (who always pronounces my name "Nat-al-ee") told me I always seem angry or sad anymore.

I need to learn to contain myself, again. I need to remember that Smile anyway. What's the point of being sad? You don't gain anything from it. Sometimes tears and punches to walls are effective.... but usually it's not. Unnecessary sadness/anger is pointless. It just prolongs negativity.

I'm still naive enough to believe that everyone is good at heart.

Crazy, huh?

on love

I always thought if I held you tightly, you would always love me like you did back then. Then I fell asleep and the city kept blinking, what was I thinking when I let you back?- Wilco (I Am Trying To Break Your Heart)
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I had my first "serious" boyfriend when I was in 8th grade. His name was Josh. We'd been good enough friends in 6-7th grades, but something about that 8th grade year made me fall head over heels. Josh and I were the "perfect" school couple: I was student body president, he was the football, track, basketball, you name it-sport star, and we starred in the school play together. How sickeningly sweet. We'd pass notes in class, and one day he wrote that he loved me. It really freaked me out, and I broke up with him for it.

Did I mention i'm kind of neurotic about that sort of thing?

We ended up going back out, and the whole time he prodded me to say "I love you" back to him, but I wouldn't do it. I was 14. What 14 year old really knows what love is? Come off it. It just seemed silly to me. Finally, I said it back- and I didn't really feel like I meant it, but to get him to leave me alone. A week later he cheated on me with this girl Brieanne, and broke my heart.

I haven't said I love you to a non-family member since then, meaning it in an all serious way, anyway.

Not to suggest that an 8th grade boyfriend cheating on me has traumatized me for life or something, but rather I've just stuck to my original belief: People throw around the word "love" an awful lot, and I wonder if it's really understood. Love is hard to describe.

I like to think love is something that occurs mutually... but that's probably not always the case. It's when you find that all the imperfections in someone, make's them perfectly imperfect just for you. When you can fight, and know that it's going to be okay- when you can sit in silence and be comfortable. When you don't have to say a word- you understand. I don't know if I've ever been in love before. Maybe I have. I like to think I have. But I guess I'll never know, now.

on peanut butter cookies

well my heart knows me better than I know myself, so I'm gonna let it do all the talkin'. - KT Tunstall (Black Horse and a Cherry Tree)
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I'd leave her for you and your peanut butter cookies.

I crack a smile at such an innocent and silly joke. My calming force these days; all I wanted was to give you something back. That's what my peanut butter cookies do.

Don't you like to make cookies for people? It makes you feel better. Because they all talk about wonderful and amazing they are, and it makes you glad.

I agreed with this sentiment too- It took me probably 3 hours to bake all those cookies, and they were gone in about 10 minutes. That's why I had to have that separate stash for you- I promised you you would get some, and I knew if I waited for you to get to work, they'd all be gone. You grabbed me and hugged me and almost knocked me off my feet when you found out I'd saved some for you- I guess I'm just nice like that?

The suggestion was made that she and I should both bake you a batch of peanut butter cookies, but you wouldn't know who's was who's- and you'd have to decide who's you liked more. I said I wanted nothing to do with it. Seems morbid, doesn't it? Set the guy up to see if he likes his current girlfriend- or his ex-whatever's- cookies more? She laughed and said she didn't care, adding flippantly-

He'll have to eat my cookies for years to come, anyway.

That sounded so weird to me. I guess it makes sense. But I just can't picture him tied down, even though you've been together for awhile. I miss sitting up at night, while he'd play his guitar and we'd laugh and talk and make jokes. I miss showing him my stories- and him telling me that I'm talented. I miss how he wanted to show his dad my story. I miss how he used to be- and how muted he seems anymore. But I'll take my hugs at work and thanks for peanut butter cookies. And maybe one day I'll show him another story, and he'll sing me another one of his songs, and we'll be friends again.

Maybe. But for now, I'll say that the secret to the world's greatest peanut butter cookies is just this:

Honey Roasted Peter Pan Peanut Butter.

on normalcy

broke up and i'm relieved somehow, it's the end of the discussions that just go round and round, and round and round and round...- Modest Mouse (Broke)
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I'm leaning against the host stand at work, as my manager Kelly swings the door open for yet another customer. I force a smile onto my face-

How was everything?.... Have a great day!

The smile disappears as the door shuts behind the couple. I sigh and look at Kelly-

Can you just make everything be normal in my life?

She laughs at me-

Honey, abnormal is the normal thing these days.

What is normal, anyway?

Is it having your grandfather pass away, getting your heart broken, and having your sister betray you- all in a months time?

Is it being sick and miserable at the last tournament of the year for an activity you try so hard to prove yourself at?

Is it struggling to get by, each day, feeling so alone?

Maybe it is normal- maybe this whole time I've tried to smile and say it's all okay... but it's not. It's broke, it's upsetting- it's tearing me up... and it's just another part of life.

Doesn't make it any easier, though.

on want

It could be so simple, but you'd rather make it hard. Lovin' you is like a battle, and we both end up with scars.- Lauryn Hill (Ex-Factor)
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I wanted you here next year so badly-

I thought it would be perfect. God, how nice would it be to get to see you every single day? To get to travel with you- to know that you'd be at the same tournaments as me because we're on the same team. To not have to strike you as a judge because you're my boyfriend- but because you're also my coach. It was what I wanted so much. I think our relationship died when we talked on the phone and you mentioned that you'd emailed the head coach here, and he said there wasn't an opening for an assistant. You wouldn't be in Missouri next year- you wouldn't be with me.

Then there was yesterday. And as I finish registering for school for next year and I'm checking out what's new in the debate world, I see that post

"Graduate Assistant Spot Open at Missouri State"

My heart dropped, and of course I thought about you first and foremost. Wouldn't it be amazing? Wouldn't it be great if you applied, and got the spot, and I got to have you here next year, after all?

But what about now? What about where we're left? Can we ever recover from this? Could I ever actually be with you again? And do you even still want to come here- now that we're done?

Confirmation says you're considering applying. I want to be happy- but I'm afraid if I am, that i'll get let down again by you not applying, or you not getting that spot.

And really what it comes down to- is what I realized before-

you can't take back what you've said.

I can't take back my tears, I can't take back yours- or those weird silences, or our attempts at understanding via email. I can't take back my jealousy, I can't take back the last two weeks I've tried to move on.

It's this sad realization that I don't know what I want- I want you to be something you can't be, I want assurance that I have some worth- and for some reason the only assurance I ever knew was you wanting me, too.

And now that you don't, I'm kind of at a loss for what I REALLY do want.

Tricky.

on time

Truth is just like time it catches up and it just keeps going- Dar Williams (As Cool As I Am)____________________________________________

I'm picking up my living room, and a guy's name comes up amongst the girl's i'm spending the evening with. I smile, and mention-

hey, I used to date him.

The surprise is so apparant on their faces, and I just kind of laugh. I recount all the drama that has led to him in a happy relationship with his current girlfriend, and us as good friends that flirt more then good friends should. He is perhaps the wisest guy I ever let into my head, and almost into my heart. We've strayed from talking as much as we used to- but I still feel like I can tell him anything. He'd always ask me how "Texas" was. He even joked about how he wouldn't bother to learn his name, because he didn't know if I'd actually keep a guy around that long.

That aside, I remember back in January once when I was talking to him about Texas. We stood in the back of the kitchen, rolling silverware and chatting. I told him how things with "Texas" weren't so hot- because it seemed like he didn't want to be with me, and I wasn't sure if there was anything I could do to change his mind. We were quiet and rolled silverware for a moment, as he thought of correct response to what we were discussing.

I once told you that timing was everything-

He glanced up at me, smiling slightly, at the reference to our past.

And I meant it. You can like someone so much your heart hurts to not be with them- but there's nothing you can do about it, because you just can't be with them right then; you have to accept it and walk away. If it's meant to be, the timing will eventually be right.

I sighed, not wanting to listen. That night I sent you a long email, and I managed to prolong your spot in my life by a few months. I wouldn't give up those months...

but I guess I knew all along that he was right. Timing is everything.

on the key to my heart

give back my TV, it don't mean that much to me, and while you're giving back my things, give me back the key to my heart...- Uncle Tupelo (Give Back The Key to My Heart)
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Around this time last year, I was getting ready to go out to Atlanta, for my brother's graduation. I went shopping for something nice to wear, and while I was out I came across a very pretty silver necklace. It was a small heart shaped locket, with a key that could be put in it, dangling on a thin silver chain. While I'm not one to spend much on jewlrey, I thought of you, and it made me want to get that necklace. And so I bought it. I had the key to my heart safe and sound, hanging around my neck, and I had you.

Flash forward, and I break up with you a few months later. I can't take it.

The summer won out...

Isn't that how you put it? Mid summer I got the chance to see you. I carefully picked out the cutest outfit I had, and as I left the apartment to make the drive to lawrence, I instinctively grabbed the necklace, and put it around my neck. You didn't want me there- and my heart broke all over again. I sought solice elsewhere... and so the summer month's dragged on, and the school year started again, and still fresh around my neck was a thin silver chain, a simple necklace that always made me think of you. I thought you were my past, and I couldn't wait to meet my future, and than I ran into you again. It was nice to see you- it had been awhile.

I hope I don't throw you off your game.

The innocent message you send me, as I prepare for outrounds at that same tournament. I lose in the first round, and don't get to see you before we leave. It figures. The next time I see you there's a dangerous feeling in the area- a longing that's obvious to me and obvious to you. It's the first time I 've really gotten to be around you much since the break up, and it's so great to see you. I'm wearing the necklace, and when I get home after the tournament, I realize I can't find it, and fear I left it at the tournament hotel. I'd lost the key to my heart, and found you.

A couple months passed, and as I cleaned out my purse, I realized the lining was torn, and inside was the key to my heart necklace, I put it on, and got ready to go to Texas. I had spent the past few months torn, unsure of what I wanted to do, if I really thought we belong together. And then I saw you in Texas-

and I knew that I wa a goner, again.

That night when I got to see your house for the first time, as I leaned to kiss you, the necklace swung and got in the way. I told you how I'd gotten it when I was dating you before- how it was important to me. I took it off and you placed it on your end table, and I asked you not to let me forget it.

Everytime I saw you after, I always wore that necklace. A reminder to me, I guess. It made me think of you.

The last day of CEDA, before I started drinking and things went downhill, I was in my hotel room packing my bag. I knew I'd rather have everything ready to go now, then try to pack it with a hang over in the morning. I remember seeing the necklace, and I put it on. At dinner, I got a stain on my shirt and had to go back to my room to change. The only other shirt I had had a necklace preattached to it, and so I slipped the key to my heart off, and left it on the sink in the bathroom.

That night you broke up my heart.

The next day, I returned home.

This morning, as I got ready for work, I looked in the mirror, fixing my hair as always. As I smoothed my hair down and forced a smile I realized I was missing something- I didn't have a necklace on. I went looking for the key to my heart- only to realize I'd left it in Texas.

How fitting.

on complications

I am just a worthless liar. I am just an imbecile. I will only complicate you. Trust in me and fall as well...- Tool (Sober)
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It's like this cruel thing you do to yourself. You know it's going to hurt- you know you don't want to hear it, you know you just want to walk away and go to bed and maybe it won't seem so awful in the sunny daylight, from the warmth of my own bed. But that's not now, and now I have a slight buzz, it's pitch black, and i'm irritable. I have tried so hard for you- what else can I do? Who else can I be? There is nothing I can do, is there? I'm at a loss.

Just tell me what you want me to do-

I can't tell you what to do.

You have to. I'm telling you to- because I can't just stay like this.

I can't do this-

can't do us?

Yeah.

At first I cannot cry. I'm willing myself to- just do it- get it over with, the tears are inevitable. It's this shock. You won't look at me and it breaks my heart. I think that maybe if you do- maybe if you see the pain in my eyes, you would change your mind, you wouldn't be so willing to walk away from me, from us. I place my hand gently on your arm, your head is in your lap-

look at me-

He looks up, and his eyes are bloodshot and I can't tell if it's because I think he's about to cry or because inevitably he was smoking before I found him tonight. Still, no tears come. My voice is hardly a whisper-

can I have a hug?

And as we awkwardly sit there on the steps of the basement of this hotel that is being renovated, I start to cry. The tears at first silently roll down my cheeks, dropping onto his neck as I clutch him like there is no tomorrow. I start to pull away- I start to sob, and he holds onto me, not letting me go. This is my final straw- I can't do this. I can't be strong, I can't be there for you, I can't be happy, I can't be anything but heart broken right now. I finally wrench free, turning away from him, sobbing into my arms, as I try to gather myself.

Composure, I think. Just be composed. Don't let him see how much this hurts you.

I tell him I'll be right back- and I walk down the hall to where I know a bathroom is. Earlier that evening I stood in front of the large mirror, meticulously fixing my hair, making sure I looked nice when I saw him. Now my eyes are bloodshot as a I stare at my unhappy reflection, and I try to take a moment to breathe. Why do I always have mascara on when I cry? I grab some paper towels to try and clean my face off. It doesn't help much. It's still obvious that I'm upset. I take a deep breath, and I go back out to find him.

I can be the bigger person.

I walk up to him, he is still sitting on the second to last stair that leads to a fire exit, and I stop just right in front of him. He looks up at me, and I grab his arm, pulling him up into a hug again. I'm not ready to let go just yet. We hug like there's no tomorrow, and my tears start to come again. God it sucks to have a fucking cold and be crying, my nose is runny and I feel disgusting. I wipe my face and pull back, just looking at him. He leans against the wall.

Don't be a stranger okay?

My voice sounds foreign to my ears, strained and cracking- trying to hold it's composure.

Of course.

I reach out and touch his face, smiling faintly. I run my hand along his jawline, as he stares at me, looking so forlorn. I want to memorize his every feature-

I'll be really hurt if we don't stay friends.

Keep me up to date too-

You know I will.

We grab eachother again, hugging as if we're a couple about to be separated for months, who's hearts are breaking. I know mine is- but I can't understand him. We pull away again, and he looks at me, kissing my forehead. I step back, placing my hand on my hip, trying to laugh the situation off.

Jesus, the guy I'm in love with breaks up with me, and I'm trying to pretend life is great? Fuck.

What do you want me to do?

He looks at me, questioning me.

I'm not ready to let go yet-

And he grabs me into another hug, before the words are even entirely out of my mouth.

You're going to have to walk away from me, because I can't walk away from you.

It seems like he doesn't want to hear this, and yet it is the truth to me. I can't walk away from him. It's just the cold hard truth in my mind at that moment. I step back again, glancing at the stairs where his blue cap with the big orange H sits. I sit next to it, picking it up to play with it.

What's the H for?

Houston.

Oh, right. The 'Stro's.

A faint smile plays on my lips, as he too sort of smiles. They're both sad, but we're trying.

Well, I'm going to go.

I nod, begrudgingly handing him his hat. He looks at me one last time, and walks away.

I break into sobs again, as I sit on the stairs, alone.

I never thought it would end quite like this.