I’ve been MIA again.
While I was sick, Robert installed new hardware on the front door, removed the kickplate, painted the back of the door & the trim, and replaced the storm door hardware only to discover it wouldn’t close (so he moved the storm door to the back porch, where the previous door was falling apart). I didn’t take pictures of any of that, though (and I’m not sure we have “befores”, but I should take some “afters”!). He has also been helping out at our friends’ new house, prepping the walls for paint. I’ve mostly been eating chips and chocolate cream Oreos, and planning a mini makeover for our front porch.
In addition to not helping and taking pictures, I also did a lot of thinking during my bout of strep/an ear infection. (And we’re not even going to discuss the fact that my throat may be starting to hurt. Again.) I’m not much of a talker. I prefer to listen to others, observe, and interject only after I’ve thought about exactly what I’m going to say. I’m also not the sort who can just sit and think. I sometimes have trouble doing just one thing at a time (my mom says I’m a kinesthetic learner), I prefer to occupy myself with something else (be that far too many reruns of Grey’s Anatomy or wallpaper peeling) and let my mind go where it may. When my maternal grandmother passed while I was in college, I spent the better part of a week on Robert & Ryan’s couch watching Law&Order reruns with Freckles. I didn’t talk much, I was content to know that they were there if I needed them. It seems that these days I generally prefer company of those who will sit quietly with me and not try to force conversation.
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In 193 (this makes 194) posts, I haven’t talked much about our personal lives on the blog. Not in ways that matter, really. I’ve mentioned that Robert and I live in North Florida (and I’d prefer not to narrow that down any further), that we have a few close friends who mean a lot to us, and that my parents live around the corner from us, but I never did much of an introductory “this is who we are” kind of post. The reason for that is the fact that I’m not great at spilling my guts about how I feel. I can’t list the reasons why I love Robert, or my parents, or anyone else. I can sure as heck try to show them and hope they understand the meaning behind my actions. In literature I generally prefer authors who weave descriptions of their characters into the story, rather than telling you at the beginning that Suzie has red curly hair and big green eyes. I guess you could say that is sort of what I am trying to do with this blog, show you who Robert and I are a little at a time.
I’m not really one for organized religion, I’m more of an “everything happens for a reason” kind of person. I can certainly understand the comfort that others find in religion, but that isn’t something that speaks to me. While some people might prefer to pray when times are tough, I prefer to surround myself with those I care about. As I mentioned in this post, over the years I’ve lost so many people who mean the world to me in ways that were unavoidable, and all I want to do is hold on to the ones who are making the conscious decision to cut me out. Suffice to say, unavoidable losses tend to resonate within me in a way that causes my thoughts to center on the avoidable losses.
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I don’t make friends easily these days. It has nothing (ok, almost nothing) to do with the crippling shyness that hindered me when I was younger. These days I am much more “this is who I am, like me or don’t”. The resistance in making friends stems from years of opening myself up to people just to have them walk out of my life later. I know that people grow apart, and that not everyone is still friends with the same person they were when they were four. I have had many “best friends” over the years, some who moved away and some who I simply grew apart from until we had nothing in common aside from the fond memories. I don’t mourn the loss of those friendships, they made me who I am.
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Having said that, I am tired of showing people who I am, and giving them my trust, only to have them break my trust later. When someone says to you “I’m not going to walk away. You want someone to talk to, I’m there. Someone to hang out, I’m still there. Whatever it is. If I were the give up on friends type, I’d have been gone long ago”, and then turns around and willingly walks out of your life it hurts. It’s heartbreaking in ways that should not be possible by someone who is not a lover. And it’s hard for me to trust after that. It’s also hard for me to admit how much I’ve been hurt, so sometimes I yell instead. And after the yelling there is only silence. Not the good silence like before, but the silence that comes after a desperate act. Sometimes that silence is a brief moment, and sometimes it spans weeks, and months, and years.
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I know myself, and that I am not the sort of person who has a huge group of friends. It it rare for me to find someone who gets me. Someone who is not shocked by my blunt nature, who understands my cynical side and my inability to express how I feel, and who sees the intent behind my actions. When a person like that walks away the loss is every bit as raw and real as a death, and yet there is not the closure that comes with a service. There is only silence.