Red is the New Black

It’s been a long time since I felt beautiful.

Years really.

And before you say or think anything...this isn’t a fish for compliments or affirmation or anything of the sort so, yannow, just let me finish.

When I say “felt beautiful”...that has very little to do with physical appearance - although physicality does play a small part. I think what I generally mean by feeling beautiful though is feeling good, positive, energetic, peaceful. 

I hadn’t felt beautiful or ugly or anything in between. I just...hadn’t given any thought to beauty or myself. At all. Completely disconnected. 

Invisible.

2013 was an epic year for major change - a series of (mostly) unrelated events - that would seem to change the trajectory of my life in ways I’d never anticipated. 

You know I bought a house.

You know I moved my dad to an independent/assisted living apartment.

I changed jobs.

What you don’t know is that Spux and I, well, we had a massive falling out. And someone who’d been such a huge presence in my life wasn’t there anymore and I started to withdraw from the places and scene where I might run into her to avoid conflict and discomfort.

You also don’t know that I quit Denhac. I didn’t have the time or energy or the enthusiasm to dedicate to the space anymore and I felt the members deserved a Board who could be there in ways I couldn’t. 

I suppose you might say I withdrew from that scene too.

So I was already feeling kind of lost at sea.

And then?

And then.

In November and December of that year, 2013, Acr0nym - my near constant companion, my non-sexual non-husband, my BFF - suffered a MAJOR mental health crisis. I mean, y’all, it got bad. And then it got worse. And then it got to New Year’s Eve and, well, I did the unthinkable. 

I had him committed.

It was dawn on New Year’s Day 2014 when I rolled back into my garage after having spent the entire night talking him down off the proverbial ledge and convincing him to go to the ER and subsequently sitting in the ER with him while waiting on pins and needles for the doctor to decide whether or not to place the 72-hour hold on him.

I fixed myself a cocktail at 7 a.m, watched the sunrise, and collapsed in ginormous racking sobs as the anxiety and terror and exhaustion of the prior weeks rolled right over the top of me in waves.

He was safe.

And I could shut down.

So that’s what I did. For many, many months.

Before I go any further, Acr0 was hospitalized for 13 days. During that time, his father died and so the staff worked to stabilize him enough to be able to release him so he could be with his family. It’s been a very long road since then but he is better now. So ever much better! For real!

2014 was a blur. There’s not much to say about it except to say, while my friendship with Acr0 was still intact, he had his hands full just trying to get by and so, for the first time in years, I was on my own. I think, after his father’s memorial service, I saw him a total of maybe six times throughout 2014 and even less in 2015. Also of note, my father, already declining in hearing, mobility, and function, was diagnosed with prostate cancer in February and underwent radiation daily for 6 weeks (the treatment worked - he’s cancer free). 

Mostly, 2014 and the first part of 2015, as far as I can recall, didn’t actually happen. (Although something good did happen! Spux and I made amends and are, for real, great friends again!)

Shut down, beat down, withdrawn, disconnected, I had a vague sense of the passage of time but viewed it with apathy - like time was passing but it wasn’t related to me - I was moving on automatic right through it. The more tired I felt, the more invisible I tried to become, and, with invisibility comes silence...on the blog, on social media, on any platform where I might have been heard and/or seen.

I will, however, assert here that I don’t believe I was depressed. I’ve experienced depression and this wasn’t it. Rather, I believe I was physically and mentally exhausted and getting sick...sicker by the minute and much sicker than I realized.

Until…

In the spring of this year, I suffered a series of health problems. 

I won’t go into it here...at least, not tonight...but it was an extremely loud and incredibly close wake up call to PAY ATTENTION! I wasn’t taking care of myself in any way. I thought withdrawing from people in my personal life would help me re-charge, re-energize and that would get me moving in the right direction - ANY direction - again. 

It didn’t.

The only purpose withdrawing did was to allow me an uninterrupted path to a complete physical break down. Woot.

That wake up call, as so often happens, was the exact call I needed to get moving in more ways than one. I started eating better. I started walking again. I bought a Fitbit. I started thinking more about myself and what was good for me and less about what others needed from me. I started to evaluate what was good, what was bad, what was necessary, and what was nonsense.

I started to care about and pay attention to me again.

I started to sleep again.

I started to really feel compassion again.

I started to forgive...everyone.

I started to emerge.

To see and be seen.

And THAT is how we come to now and feeling beautiful.

About a month ago, while I was on vacation, Acr0 took the day off to spend with me and he told me we could do whatever my heart desired.

I made a list. 

• Visit his mom. 
• Tour Tinkermill. 
• Have lunch with our friend, Monk. 
• Tour the Wild Animal Sanctuary in Keenesburg. 

And so that’s what we did. It was a perfect day. The weather was gorgeous. There were no hiccups or tensions. Everything was entirely right with the world and incredibly easy in a way it hadn’t been in a couple of years.

At Tinkermill, where we ran into Monk earlier than we’d expected, the three of us walked out to the parking lot together and, as the sunlight hit me, Monk exclaimed, “You are beautiful!” completely out of the blue.

I was taken aback.

I hadn’t thought of myself as beautiful in what felt like forever. No one had thought to acknowledge me as beautiful in nearly as long.

And so I chewed on that for awhile.

And then I went shopping...for clothes...which I normally dread.

And all of a sudden what appealed to me wasn’t black, black, and some more black.

What caught my eye were reds and purples and blues. Oh my, yes. Lots of red.

I spent way too much money on clothes in colors and patterns...things I’ve abhorred in the past.

And then I wore them.

And, on the first day I wore red, as I drove toward work, I thought, “I feel really beautiful. I should wear more red.”

And so...I am.

Red. It’s the new black.

And I’m beautiful.

Virtual Friends, Meatspace Strangers

In high school, most of nearly every girl's time is either spent thinking about, talking about, or scheming up ways to best subtly approach boys.

I was no exception.

Well...except that I never could work up the courage to subtly approach anyone resembling a boy and, instead, used the not so successful tactic of pining away silently and hoping the object of my affection would notice.

 

It shouldn't surprise you then to learn my first serious boyfriend didn't come along until the year after I left high school.

But this story isn't about that first boyfriend.

There was a boy I liked - let's call him The Honorable Lord Vigo, Scourge of Carpathia and Sorrow of Moldavia¹ - Vigo for short. I really only saw him a handful of times. We didn't attend the same school. Hell! By the time I met him, I lived in another town. So it wasn't one of those angsty, heart-wrenching, watching-him-lean-on-his-locker-and-slowly-dying-inside-day-after-day sort of crushes. It was simply one of those crushes where, from the moment I met him, I just really liked being near him. It felt good to be near him. He was adorable and funny. So, whenever I was in his town visiting, I was always super happy when our paths crossed.

Me, of course, being the shy, tongue-tied, type didn't ever hope to make an impression. If I recall correctly, I may have said all of 10 words to him during that time and likely they were monosyllabic. And, as one-by-one my closest friends from that town - Beasley, Brad, Nykki - moved up and out of it, I didn't see Vigo again...Not for nearly 25 years.

Eventually, the crush floated away on the winds of Wyoming as it blew in other boys who would become men.

Still...every once in awhile, I'd wonder what happened to him.

I would, rarely, get updates through the Beasley-Brad-Nykki vine. Eventually, they too lost touch with him. For many years there was nothing.

And then? Facebook happened. I think it was Brad's 40th birthday party invitation when I became aware of Vigo's online existence and knew he was physically present here, in Denver. He had a new last name and only recent pictures but it couldn't possibly be anyone but him. It was him. That was in 2010.

You have to understand...I wanted to send him a friend request back then. I really did! But! There are many people who date back from that time in my life - people I thought quite highly of - who, I fear, wouldn't even remember me. It was a time in my life I spent mostly in the corner, smoking, writing bad poetry, fearing rejection, deflecting attention. I didn't want anyone to see me...except that I really did...unless I knew they would like me. I was convinced no one actually liked me...except Beasley, Brad, Nykki.

Finally, at Beasley's insistence, near my birthday in 2013, I sent Vigo a friend request. It was weird. I felt weird. But he accepted right away.

Turns out? He did remember me.

Turns out? I intimidated him back then.

I blame it on resting bitch face.

Still got it.

And the fact that, since I couldn't actually formulate full sentences in the presence of testosterone then, I likely just grunted and growled and, occasionally, squeaked which probably made me seem a little whacko.

Anyway!

He accepted my friend request. Subsequently, I learned more about him and the man he's become through Facebook than I ever knew about the boy he was then.

But, even though he was here, in Denver, my adopted city, we weren't compelled to hang out until last week. We'd exchanged a few private messages prior to last week. Mostly about my dad, last summer, when I was looking for an elder care facility for him...something Vigo knows a lot about.

But then, last week, I was thinking a lot about being an empath. I stumbled across an article and, in reading the comments, I developed a theory about empaths. A theory that suggested empaths, including me, feel lonely, even in the presence of fellow empaths, because, in social situations, we are so used to feeling the feels of others and giving away our energy that it's all but impossible for us to know how to receive it. I wanted to test my theory - or discuss it with a fellow empath. So I posted something about it. Asked my friends on Facebook if they identified as an empath.Vigo said yes.

That's what started it. The conversation.

I think I started it - the private conversation - after he commented that he was an empath. We talked. A lot. We shared a lot via email. Not just about being empaths. About lots of things. And then he asked me to meet him on Friday for supper.

So...Friday night, we met, for the first time since 1989.

I was nervous. I was shaking as he approached. The high school crush thing wasn't the issue. It felt as though I was meeting him for the very first time. Virtual friends, meatspace strangers. What would he think of me? Would we have anything to say? Would we argue? Would we meet each other's expectations? Would we run out of conversation before we'd reviewed the menu? Would I forget my words and resort to prehistoric grunts and growls and squeaks?

 

I worry too much.

He got to the table, I stood up, and we hugged long and hard and then we both just started laughing.

The moment we sat down, we were on.

Words, his, mine, tumbling over the top of one another. Tell me this story, that story, OMG! That really happened?!

There were tears. There was laughter. There were stories galore!

Five hours we sat there asking, answering - empath to empath - about everything under the sun. We shared secrets. I told him things I haven't shared with anyone. It was a gloriously stimulating energy exchange the likes of which are exceedingly rare in my experience.

By the time I got home, there was an e-mail from him. We talked via e-mail for a couple more hours. I was so energized, I was practically giddy. I stayed up past 3, writing for the first time in months.

 

My theory was thoroughly debunked and in the best way possible. It would also seem that whatever that exchange was cured me of the constipation of the writing kind from which I'd been suffering since January. Pretty cool, huh?

 

So...that's the story. It's better than the first serious boyfriend one anyway. Trust me.

 

Thanks, Vigo. That was rad. Let's do it again soon.

 

 

1. I asked him how he'd like to be known for this entry. That's what he selected.

Laughter Truly Is the Best Medicine

A day or two after my unfortunate run in with a renegade wine glass, I was bantering back and forth with one of my favorite blog friends, Word Nerd, who is also the leader of the GBE2 (group blogging experience) on Facebook.

Somehow she and I came to the conclusion that we ought to offer up the opportunity to the GBE2 folks to write the tale of how I came by the wound and subsequent scar - considering the blandness of the true story. I was sworn to secrecy until today when the topic was announced to the group at large.

Just after the trauma, before it had really sunk in, the idea seemed like a good one. As the week progressed, my anxiety took over and I questioned the decision. Who was I to think the group would want to write on this topic? It felt presumptuous anyone would care.

So when Word Nerd e-mailed me last night to make sure I was still OK with people making light of the event, I told her I wanted to make light of it but felt as though I were asking people to write about something they wouldn't be interested in and I didn't want the group to resent a dramatic change to the typical prompt format. She assured me it would be just fine. She has a great deal of faith in these people who write for and with each other week after week.

Turns out, she was right.

Several entries have already been linked to the topic post and I have to tell you every one has had me laughing aloud in great gulping guffaws! So far I have danced naked zumba (hee hee), rumbled with a high flautin' society lady with a terrible attitude (YES! Take THAT, snooty snot lady!), gotten tangled up in a fly fishing rod (which is not only possible but probable), attempted to stab a bitchy beauty pageant judge in the eye with her very own pencil (while pregnant with Lex's love quadruplets *snicker*), and attended a rock concert on ill-gotten VIP passes and fallen off the stage (I'm fairly certain I've already done this at one time or another).

This day has been full of coconut bra fun and I've loved every minute of it!

So...I would just like to take a moment tonight to tell all of these phenomenal bloggers who have made me laugh today thank you. You've given me so many opportunities to laugh out loud today and every single story has contributed to my recovery and well-being. You're awesome!

High Maintenance

Yesterday morning, New Year's Day, I was rudely awakened - by complete and utter silence - well before I should have had my eyes open.

It may seem strange that I should be awakened by silence but, technically, it wasn't the silence that woke me. It was the winding down of the fan I keep running 24/7 for white noise that brought me swimming up toward consciousness.

It only took me a moment to realize it wasn't just a dying fan motor. We'd lost power.

Which, in my bleary-eyed state, didn't compute given that I could see from my bed the glow of overhead kitchen lights, signifying both power to the kitchen and the awake state of Lex.

I fumbled for eyeglasses, pulled on pajama pants, and stumbled out to the middle of the kitchen.

No comprende.

"Lex?"
"Yeah?"
"Um...could please come help me?

Pointing toward my room, I mumbled, "Um, no power there. Here, there's power. No power in there."

He investigated thoroughly and then nodded, "Right. No power."

I blinked at him blankly.

Luckily, he'd already brewed the coffee and had ingested some so his ability to make deductions and draw conclusions was far beyond mine.

I sat down on the couch in the living room and watched him as he systematically made the rounds, room to room, until he'd confirmed we'd lost power in the entire front half of the house save the bathroom.

I fixed myself a cup of coffee and went back and sat on the couch.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

He said, "Huh. Well, I'll run upstairs and see if Abram's got power."

"Great! Good idea. I'll wait here."

He went through the front door, closed it, and in 10 seconds was back through it in a flash.

"You need to call maintenance. There's a leak and flood in the laundry room. Power's out in there too. It looks bad. I'll go tell Abram."

Blink. Blink. Blink.

No comprende.

I went out to look in the laundry myself. Yep. That seems to be water on the floor. Yep. That's definitely the sound of water spraying from a pipe in the ceiling.

OK! I started to understand the gravity of the situation.

A) There was a burst hot water pipe, B) there was a leak, C) there was no power to the laundry room or the front half of our home, D) it was New Year's Day. *sigh*

So...I called the emergency maintenance number. No answer, of course. Only a stern message warning me not to even think about leaving a message unless this was a true, unavoidable emergency maintenance problem, the resolution of which could not be delayed until business hours. Then I was assured a prompt return call.

Burst hot water pipe, leak, possible related power outage...seemed like a reasonable problem about which to leave a message. Yeah?

So I did.

That was at 9:53.

Lex returned from upstairs. He'd passed along the message about the leak to Abram's obviously half-asleep (and possibly naked) roommate who finally poked one eye and half his nose out the door at Lex's persistent, insistent knocking.

We checked our water pressure. We checked both cold and hot water. Both pressure and temperature were working as they should. The power outage was a relatively minor inconvenience and only for me once Lex got the wireless router moved from an electricity-devoid zone and into a position of power (heh). Our main concern was that leak. And we were pretty worried about it.

By 10:30, there had not been a return call so I called again and left another, longer, more detailed message regarding the problem. I specifically stated, "Please call me to acknowledge receipt of this message asap."

11 a.m., still no return call. Lex went back upstairs to find an awake Abram who was unaware of any problem. He came down, surveyed the chaos, and promptly went to call the property management company's owner on his private number.

Sweet! Handled. I went off to the grocery store.

I returned about an hour or so later. The leak had been stopped. The laundry room was still dark. There appeared to be no one about still working. Problem solved?

Uh...no.

Lex was unaware that anyone had worked on the leak. Still no power. To make matters worse, he informed me, he'd just washed all the dishes in cold water. Seems we'd lost hot water now too.

By then, it was well afternoon, I'd not had a shower, nor had I gotten a chance to do any of the several hours' worth of writing I'd intended for the day. I called Acr0nym. I was instructed to come up to his house - what we're now referring to as The Grotto North.

I packed up a few belongings and my laptop, explained what I was doing to Lex who was cool getting some Naked Lex time before his date later in the night, and went about my merry way - but not before Lex and I stopped back by Abram's to try and get a repair update.

When we told Abram we were still without power and now had no hot water, he got back on the phone. I figured it was all under control and went traipsing out, happy to have gotten a productive start to the day (since I couldn't get on the computer, we picked up the house a bit, got the trash and recycling taken out, swept up the back steps, and done the week's grocery shopping), and glad to have a fabulous second (non)husband I was going to get to spend the rest of the day and night with.

Poor Lex.

I talked with him about 6 p.m. The power had finally been restored but there was still no hot water and he was furiously boiling water in every large pot and kettle we had in order to be able to fill a bath to a somewhat tolerable temperature so he wouldn't smell on this first date.

At least maintenance had been back and seemed to still be trying to figure out why we had no hot water.

I spent the night at Acr0's where we threw an impromptu, scrumptious supper party to greet the New Year in style, laughed late into the night, and then slept soundly.

NY strip steak covered in Acr0's homemade compound bleu cheese and herb butter and then grilled to perfection, broiled asparagus in olive oil and balsamic, french baguette, and homemade sorbet for dessert followed by homemade limoncello.

When I got home this afternoon, Lex was in a Very. Bad. Mood. We had hot water, we had power, the laundry room appeared to be functioning. I thought perhaps he was angry with me for leaving for greener pastures overnight while he had to boil his own bath water, but knew not to jump to conclusions or press for information. I knew, from experience, to wait until he was ready to talk.

It didn't take long.

What it boiled down to is that it took us 2 initial phone calls - which still have yet to be returned - from me, 2 phone calls from Abram, 3 e-mails from Lex to the maintenance e-mail address, and 2 additional phone calls on Lex's part throughout the rest of the evening to get this issue completely resolved.

Then Lex, because he was feeling grateful for the extra effort on a holiday, sent a lovely and gracious e-mail to say thank you for resolving the problems so quickly.

In response? He got a rather snide e-mail from our property management company implying we'd been alarmist by suggesting there was a "MAJOR" leak when it was just a pin hole leak that had been easily fixed and there was "no evidence to suggest a major leak or flooding". There was no mention of the power outage or the loss of hot water. Never mind that it was our onsite manager who made the decision to call the property management company's owner when he understood the scope of the flooding. The whole tone of the e-mail was rather rude and thankless - as though we had cried Wolf...

As though we were terrible people.

When I read the e-mail, I was seething mad.

I raised my right eyebrow and simply stated, "Let me handle this."

I sat right down and wrote the most politely scathing e-mail in my arsenal. Polite because it won't accomplish anything good to threaten or come across angry and I certainly don't do passive-aggressive (at least, consciously). Scathing was appropriate though as we were both inflicted with steam coming out of our ears. It was quite well written, if I do say so myself. I'd post it here but I'm apparently longwinded when I'm being politely scathing and I don't want to get any tl:dr comments - especially since this is longer than it should be.

And then?

Then, I took several deep, cleansing breaths, took a hot shower (thank you for fixing our hot water, Maintenance People), ate a huge salad, drank two cups of Sleepy Time tea, and let it go.

So...that's where I was yesterday. That's why I got even further behind on reading about the comings and goings of my blog community. It's why I was late posting my year-end wrap ups and it's why I have yet to greet the New Year in writing with the joy I've got in my heart.

Joy I continue to have in spite of this pittance of a snag.

I had a great time yesterday and I got a lot accomplished outside of writing! Plus, I got to spend the evening with Acr0nym, Bomb Betsy, Spux, Kelli, and Jive Turkey. Who WOULDN'T want to spend the first day of a new year surrounded by awesome people? Even if it meant you were the unshowered one?


2012, two days in, is still shaping up to be a wonderful year!