one foot in. . . one foot back.

It's december now. And I miss Brooklyn with a raw and primal ache. Sometimes I wake up wishing for the subway and the local parks, the dirty snow and the greenmarkets. I'm utterly homesick. . . for brooklyn. . . For lost love. . . For old friends. And at night the tears roll down my cheeks, releasing the tension I've created throughout the day by feigning happiness. I pretend I'm fine. I smile constantly. I laugh freely. . . but late at night, when everyone has gone away. . . I weep. . . And it's not for badger. . . or maybe it is. I weep for home. . . because wherever home is, I'm not there yet.

I let someone else kiss me today. The first man I've kissed since I broke off the engagement. And I felt nothing. I don't know what I want anymore. I've spent the past several months hiding, scaring people away. It's easier to shield myself from love than to give in. I don't want to be hurt again. And I have no intention to allow myself that kind of pain. I don't know what I have become. . . I want to share my life with someone, but I don't want to give myself away again. . . only to be crushed underfoot and cast aside like a broken doll. It hurts too much. . . and here come the tears. After all, it is that time of night. . .

Home Sweet South . . .

Oh my. . . it's been too long since I've updated. . . or had access to a computer, for that matter. As I write this, I am sitting in my parents' living room. It's a strange and beautiful . . . and strange thing to move back in with your parents after being gone for so very long.

I don't have too much time at this very moment. But I want to give you a brief synopsis of the things that have happened since I last wrote:

• My dad flew up to NYC and we road tripped home with my cat and the few belongings I had left.
  
• I visited Le Cordon Bleu in Atlanta.
  

• I enrolled in the JANUARY 2010 class for Culinary Arts.

Well. . . I suppose that isn't too much. (And to be honest, it isn't ALL that happened: you're just getting the solid, factual, real-life sorts of things).

I borrowed my mom's car this afternoon and drove . . . just to get out of the house. Driving is precious alone time. My mind relaxes and I really start to think about things. . . the speed of life. And as I drove down a strip of Southern road, the tears began. Badger. Brooklyn. My old life. Have I done the right thing by coming home? I left my whole life in Brooklyn. . . and now I'm here. And I feel so very small.

gone baby gone . . .

Well, shucks. I really thought this blog would turn out to be a proverbial victory dance, championing the plight of a broken-hearted girl in Brooklyn, who rises above the adversity and eventually ekes out a living among the stars (veiled as they are beneath these bright city lights)

. . . But friends, I'm going home. Back to the south. Back to my family. Back to my roots.the truth is, I'm just too tired. I'm too alone. And I'm afraid that if I don't find some peace I might actually fall apart. There's nothing left for me here. I've lost everything I once owned-- not that it mattered-- it was all just "stuff".

More devastating have been the heart-losses. My heart is still shattered to pieces. I'm tired of quietly crying on the subway as I make my way back to my empty house. I miss Badger.

I actually called him earlier this week to see if he was up to spending just one more day with me. He, characteristically, insinuated that he thought I was silly and that he really didn't care one way or the other. It's quite possible that once I'm gone he may never see me again. . . AND HE DOESN'T CARE!!! (Ouch).

So Badger, I'm leaving. If you wait 4 more days you will have missed out on one last chance. . .to be with the girl you swore you once loved. The girl you swore you would never leave. The girl you swore you couldn't live with out.

(Does this make me pathetic? Yes: most definitely.)

Has anyone ever been hurt like this? Itks changing the color of my entire life. . . So I'm going home. So long, broke-lyn.

. . . gypsy heart. . .

if my life were a screenplay, it would be face down in the rejection pile. It's just not "believavle" enough. Really. So I was robbed on saturday. Some guy crawled up my fire escape, jimmied open my window and took everything that had any value.
I guess it's a blessing I don't have anything of real value- save my laptop and an old blackberry (both of which he took)- I'm writing this post from my phone! Hah. . .
I'm just so tired. It's been a rough go for me lately. And you know what? I think it's time for a change. I'm going home, folks!

"beautiful"

Ever so often you meet a person who sees something in you . . . and has the confidence (audacity?) to vocalize his/ her thoughts. . . and what a blessing it can be for the recipient. I was lucky enough to meet such a person this afternoon at work. . .

I work in a restaurant and was manning the door this afternoon when a young man walked in, looking for one of our servers. He walked up to the podium, sort of spaced out for a minute and then said, "My God, you're beautiful."

I had absolutely no response. I haven't felt "beautiful" in a very, very long time. Thank you, gutsy stranger, for sharing your opinion so boldly. . . I didn't even realize how badly I needed it.

and then on days like today . . .

I think I might actually be "too blue to fly" . . . my world caves in and all I can see is this vast emptiness . . . and endless and barren desert stretching on for leagues ahead . . . My very soul yearns and weeps for the losses that have gone before. Why does life have to hurt so much?

I miss Badger, and I keep wondering when I get to stop missing him. When does the longing for him end . . . or at least diminish? I feel so utterly and terribly alone. I spend my days surrounded by friends and colleagues, laughing and working together . . . and then I come home to my empty box (well, it's not empty: there's always my cat, Olive). . .

And on days like today . . . on lonely nights like tonight . . . I lose the desire to carry on. I don't want to do it all over again tomorrow. Pretending to be fine is killing me. The tears stream down my cheeks and I wonder . . . do you miss me, too?

stuck between the pages. . . or free to fly away . . ?

I feel so strangely. . .

In many ways I have been set free. . . Free from the future that I had so carefully planned, free from the prospect of a marriage to a man who could never truly love me, free to create a life on my own . . . I've been simply set free. . .

But I've discovered that "freedom" is, (at first?), terribly discomfiting. I'm fearful of the new wings I've been granted. I haven't learned to control them and glide along. . . Rather, my flights come in short, powerful bursts that leave me breathless and generally end with a crash-landing. See. . .

• my apartment catastrophe
• my craigslist fiasco
• the bicycle incident
• my first few attempts to "see" other people . . . ugh.

(the list goes on, really)

I miss Badger. But I know he's bad for me. I feel like an addict: The only thing I crave is the one thing that is the very worst for me. The drug has been taken away for good, and I find myself in rehab . . .

And I wonder if he misses me. I'm still so hurt. How long will it take for this wound to heal? I'm happy for fall. . . October has always been my favorite month. . . and it's almost here. I can smell the leaves turning already. . . come on, Autumn. Take me home. . .