A LOVE LETTER:

Dear California,
Yeah, ok, so maybe I miss you. Finally. It took me long enough.

I miss the gentle caress of your salty ocean air, the way your roads are wide and vast. The little hills I took for granted all those years. God I miss your sweet, sweet hills. The curves and textures of them. Truly, I get excited even at the thought of those hills.

I miss the way the pollution taints the sunset over the ocean into exotic neon colors not normally found in nature. Neon pink? So beautiful. Only you can create such a feat.

I miss the faces I grew up with, the love of dysfunctional family, and the peace of lounging with a good friend on the couch and talking about nothing. I can do that in Chicago too, sure. But its different with you, California. Knowing I have to drive in order to "get out of the house" makes it that much sweeter when I just don't.

I enjoyed wearing a T-shirt in December. I could always do that with you. And flip flops have never felt better to my suffocated boot-ridden feet. Thanks for that. Thanks for just being your usual self the whole time I visited you. I apreciated that. I felt really close to you as a result.

And finally, after 2 years apart, I miss you. Sometimes it takes a while to realize what you lost. I know I gave up a lot to be without you. But we had our beef with each other and I know it is ultimately for the best that we be apart for now. Absence certainly made my heart grow fonder. You and I had our moments of greatness, but we are both better off for now. I know you can see that as clearly as I can.

But I just want you to know that I miss you, and think of you often. I hope you are doing okay without me and moving on just like I am.

You will always hold a piece of my heart, California, no matter where I go or who I end up with. I love you so much. Thank you for all you have given me. It was swell.

Good Luck!
With warmest regards,
Leanne

Wow. Today I realized just how much I DON'T want to work at the place I have been working as a temp for the last 3 months. I went back and forth at first, when permenant positions came available, as to whether or not I could handle this being my life for a while. Sure, there are perks. No one seems to pay attention to you if you step out, leave late or stay late, flex your schedule to meet your needs a bit. You can wear jeans. There is always someone baking all night and bringing in tons of awesomely bad-for-you treats the next day. There is soda on tap. And coffee. And occasional free nice lunches. And the Xmas party was some place I would never go on my own, could not afford, and I drank effen vodka all night for free.
Then there are the lamenesses. Everyone is really dull and boring and from the suburbs. I still don't know half the peoples' names. My boss is a psycho hose beast. I can't look at the internet for more than 5 seconds, and most of the sites I wanna see are "Surf Alert Blocked!" I stuff envelopes all damn day and have the paper cuts to show for it. I feel like I am being judged secretly all the time. It's stupid work. blah blah blah.

But today...
Today really sealed the deal for me.

Yesterday my boss wanted me to stuff more Xmas cards. This entails me folding pre-signed cards from the President, sticking in a 150 dollar gift card (which I don't get as a temp and which makes me more bitter with each envelope I stuff), and sealing them into an envelope, then labeling all the envelopes. I thought we were done with the mass mailing Friday (the entire office took time out to power horse through them) but apparently the Toronto and Vancouver restaurants were still cardless. So, thankful to have something to do where I could read a book and mindless work my hands at the same time, I sat down and pushed through them quickly in order to please the boss lady.
I did notice that these particular cards were not signed by the Prez. They had her name printed in boldfaced type though, so I assumed we had run out of signed ones and who cares cuz its just the Canadians and the cards weren't even labeled personally anyway. The whole thing stunk of impersonality either way, so I just did what she told me, ignoring the urge to double check about the lack of signature. After I complete the task, there is this whole annoying misunderstanding due to my boss's lack of competancy about who and how they are to be mailed. Finally, the sweet office manager tells us it is complicated to mail to Canada so she will just take care of it for us. Very kind. Very Xmas spirit of her.
WHOOPS...

Today my boss comes barreling up to me (like she does) and says in her typical frantic spaz voice, "Did those cards I gave you yesterday have (nameless president here)'s signature on them?"

Mid-filing, I paused and stared at her with my best confused face, pondering whether or not to tell her the truth. Acting like I was really having to think back when I knew the answer was clearly NO, IDIOT! YOU GAVE ME BLANK CARDS AND NOW I KNOW YOU ARE GOING TO THINK I AM AN IDIOT TOO BECAUSE I DIDN'T NOTICE BUT I DID I JUST DIDN'T CARE!

So I finally say slowly, with much debate in my vocal quality, "I don't...think so. I would have to say no, I don't think they were."

She runs to check if they have been sent, and of course, our always-on-top-of-her-shit office manager has already taken care of it. They went out last night.

Then bossy lady comes back and raves about how we can't let them open them. "I have to get a hold of them and tell them not to open them," she mumbles crazily, "And (president) isn't here till tomorrow, so we can't send and new ones and..." she trails off, honestly looking like she is going to cry. Seriously.
"Sorry," I say, mustering up whatever ounce of sympathy I can find for something so stupidly trivial.
"Oh, its not your fault," she says. No shit.

I feel slightly bad about ignoring my urge earlier to question the lack of signature, but I let that go because honestly, its so incredibly idiotic to care at this point. In fact, why does SHE care?

"Her name is still on the cards," I offer. But she is too far gone at this point to recognize logic. All her tiny suburb-raised brain can comprehend is that these people, these Canadians so far away, with no other restaurant nearby to compare cards with, aren't going to have a shitty fake signature (which the president's assistant probably did for her anyway) on their mass produced, generic Xmas cards with 150 gift certificates inside them.

"Yeah, but..." she is at a loss. She proceeds to get to her office and return with a stack of cards that do have the signature on them. "These are left from the other mailing," she explains. "Just stuff these and we'll have enough for Vancouver at least."
She shoves them in my hands and I resist my intense desire to shake her. What I would say if I could would be:

WHO CARES???
These people are going to laugh at the attempt at personalizing, tear open the card, grab the gift card in glee and throw the remaining signed card away immediately. Then they will wearliy return to table 8 and ask if they need more iced tea. That's it. Seriously. I KNOW!!!

When I overheard my boss in near tears asking everyone in the office for advice about her predicament, and when said individuals all seemed to take her situation really seriously and offer the best advice they could, I realized right then and there that I could never stay here permenantly. I could not deal with small things like that being of vital importance. Perhaps that makes my boss more successful than I will ever be--her desire to be anally retentive about EVERYTHING. But I think I will be aware of things that are worth stressing about, and perhaps my blood pressure will be lower and I will live longer. Who knows.
And to think I get upset when I have to put more money into my car I don't drive. I freak out sometimes about that. Really. But even that looks valid compared to the ado I witnessed today.

Tis the season, people.
To get a grip.

A fax sent to the office I am currently temping at was asking for old cell phones to be donated to "Make the Call" or some group named something like that , a group whose mission is to distribute cell phones all over the place to those who need them to call 911 sometime (ie battered women shelters, homeless, elderly, etc), because I guess according to them, every cell phone can call 911 even without a plan. I found it odd, because we have really become dependant on cell phones these days. These people never had cell phones before. And neither did most of the population in America. So when did this need become so great and life threatening? Its weird to think we just keep finding new ways to make our lives easier. But when do we draw the line? When do we think enough is enough?

I can't remember a time when I didn't have a cell phone--how I managed, how I made plans, how I paid bills or had the time to sit at home on hold all day with a credit card company. But I know there was a time. And everyone was just fine, right?

So now some people have gotten together to ask us all to return our old cells we no longer use to their company, so they can do this selfless, important act of giving bums and poor people cell phones. Don't get me wrong, I see the impact. Maybe that battered woman can call 911 when her husband runs into the kitchen to get the frying pan. Or maybe the bum who is puking his innards out on the street and near death can call someone to take him to the hospital where he cannot afford to be saved. These are all important moments to try to prevent. I guess I just have a hard time comprehending that we are even at this point in society. That we are so dependant and fearful of a life without cell phones, that we feel it vital to make sure everyone gets to be "connected" as well. Not that these people aren't deserving of a way to get help. But I just feel that we have survived this long without EVERYONE having cell phones, and I think the world would still have tragedy and pain even with the access to a phone to call good old 911.

The weirdest thing about all this--
We keep creating so many things to "better" our way of life, and as we do so, we are constantly creating new needs we never even knew we could have.

Remember when our basic needs were water, food and shelter?
Those are some pretty heavy hitters that take a lot to keep up with.
Now there are other "things we just can't seem to live without..." ie. the Internet. Cell phones. Central Air. Cars. TV. ipods.

Its just really weird to think about. And this new selfless group, intent on arming the masses with cell phones to protect them, is the perfect example of just how far we have gone in creating more and more seeming vital "needs".

Maybe I will feel more supportive of the cause when I am walking by a homeless man coughing and wheezing and using my tiny little old cell phone to punch in 911.

We shall see.

I am hesitant to write today but was pulled to my blog nonetheless.

Life is going along, but lately I am feeling as if it is going along without me. I am pulled through situations and sort of bending and flexing, like a drunk person falling down a cliff--they say they survive things like that because they are numb and flexible when intoxicated. Trouble is, I am not intoxicated, nor do I want to be. I need to be present for all this. This is all really big to me right now, and later it will probably appear very small. A mere dent on the car I am driving through time...

Until then, I am walking in a bit of a clarity haze. Can I say that? Does that make sense to anyone but me? I feel really clear, sort of peaceful, but also constantly in my head, wandering in a head space I don't really know what to do with.

I am starting to doubt myself. What I knew, what I know, what I trust in...
I am not really sure what kind of person I really am in difficult situations. I used to know--I was a little weak, I was insecure, clinging to the past, intimidated into doing things, or even sometimes doing things for the wrong reasons--for the drama of it all.

Do I still like drama?
Yeah...I do. Can I consciously try to avoid it? Sure.
Do I want to? I don't know. It follows me anyway, it seems.

I guess drama and suffering is the stuff of life and I should embrace it. But having had a taste of what felt like comfort and support, ease and contentment, I found myself avoiding drama just to try to maintain that stasis. But it is impossible. It always comes up, as long as people keep trying to be intimate and connected to one another.

All of this probably sounds really criptic and sort of surface...I think that is all I can write, without getting into too much detail. I don't even know if I can think about details right now. The big picture is what is glaring in my face right now. And that whole "forrest for the trees" saying is working oddly for me right now. I see this huge fucking forrest and it is all fuzzy and vast and I can't make out anything close up--the outline of each individual tree is blurring before my eyes. Or maybe its just the tears. It could be that too. Either way, I can't quite grasp what baby steps I need to do. But I am attempting to walk them anyway, blindly almost.

I don't know what else I can do...
or write...
I am spent...

There is something so calm about the moments after a good cry. You feel light, centered, at peace for a fleeting second. It is very spiritual and cathartic. You are able to open your mind to truths and not react to them, but just see them, clearly, for what they are...truths.

I feel bad for people who dont let themselves experience this clarity more often. Non-criers miss out, I say, on the simple, human moment when the body drains all its stress out in tears. Where does all that stress go when you dont cry? It cant stay bottled up forever. And if it does stay inside, and eventually dissapate, where does it leak to? Other parts of your muscles? Your stomach lining? Your intestines? That cant be good for your soul, mind or body...

I would much rather get it all up and out of me. I feel free afterward.

Till I cry again in fits and starts and it happens all over again...ahh the cycle of life.

And just like that, my world shatters around my feet. I stand blinking and dazed.
That is all I can write right now. sorry.

Ok kids, its been a while, and Mama's been sick with a winter cold and traveling all over the frickin East Coast for Thanksgiving with the boy. So sorry about the hiatus.

I was thinking about something that happened in the summer that was very cathartic that I never got to write much about. So I am going to do that now. Perhaps I will experience another cathartic feeling. A re-catharting, as it were?

There was a ring. It sat on top of a shelf, getting absolutely no attention for a very long time. While he packed to leave for good, while I sat on the bed and watched him pack himself out of my life, I happened to notice the ring.
"Is this yours?" I asked
"Oh, yeah."
"Where is it from?"
He paused in thought. Then, "I think I actually found it on the ground somewhere."
I picked it up and put it on. It looked lovely. "Can I have it?" I had to ask.
"Sure."
To me, it was a symbol of our connection, to be cherished long after he was gone. To him, it was just a shitty thing he found one drunk night and kept accidently. This could have been the metaphor for our entire relationship. I know that now.
He would never have given me anything like that on his own. And I wanted it--something crappy he found, because I could invoke meaning out of it where he couldn't. Just like in our relationship. Strange, the correlation.

So time passes and life passes and long after my heart was broken a few too many times by his disinterest and lack of compassion and whatnot, I still wore the ring. New life, new city, old stupid ring. I rather liked how it looked on my finger--black onyx with a flowery band of tarnished silver...I didn't wear any jewelry, just this ring. And once I truly felt his hold on my aching heart slip away into the black waters, like Leo at the end of that Titanic movie, I felt the intense need to rid myself of the ring that didnt even symbolize anything all along.

But I didnt do anything about it for a very long time. I had the plan all set--take my girlfriends out to lake Michigan with a bottle of wine and have a little ceremony before tossing it in with strength and pride, a purdging of sorts. But I never found a good time to do it. Months and months passed, I found a wonderful man I love more than I thought possible, but still the ring remained. Who was I, Gullom?

Then one night, after one too many Strong Island Ice Teas or 6 shot Margaritas or something to that effect from my favorite watering hole, I found myself with strangers and friends all drunkenly lounging on the concrete shores of Belmont Harbor, Lake Michigan yawning out before me as far as the eye could see. I felt so drunk I knew the bad time was coming for me, the time when I yack and call it a night. But before it came, I had a duty to perform. I was inspired to throw the ring here, now, among these strangers I barely knew. It was time, I just knew it.

I called for everyone's attention, and proceeded to explain my situation. Everyone was very supportive of the ring tossing, so I pulled it off, freed myself, and chucked it out into the murky depths of Lake Michigan. It felt so overwhemingly good to do.

And as I sat drunkenly down at the edge of the water, I realized I had been holding on to the past, and all my anger and hurt. I felt it slipping away with the rings demise. I deserved what I had now--a loving, wonderful boy to explore the world with, and I deserved not to be taken for granted or fucked with. It was a calm, peaceful feeling. Satisfying.

Then I crawled away from the group and leaned over the edge of the concrete and hurled all my insides out. Right into Lake Michigan. Right into the waters in which I had thrown the ring. And I gotta tell you, it felt good. I puked all over the ring. I purdged literally and figuratively.

Embarassed and newly sober, I wiped my mouth and lay on the cool concrete, thinking about how strange it all was. But how good I felt now. It was over. Finally.

So that is the story I wanted to share. I was happy to do something so dramatic and silly, since I have never been the type. I tend to keep everything people give me and cherish things boyfriends give me, even if they are as meaningless as a shitty found ring. I have learned not to form attachments to such things. Its the feeling between two people that carries a relationship through this lifetime. Not supposed symbols.