Time Time Ticking On Me
What a week…
It’s been a monumental one for me. Unlike in the past, I have begun to learn the art of treasuring time–savoring it like the precious commodity it truly is. I can feel each ticking of the wall clock reverberating deep within the core of my brittle bones–signifying one less moment I will have in this world. It’s foreboding. It’s ominous. And yeah it’s morbid and morose, but is it not true? We only have so many tick-tocks left before we are expunged from this earth forever.
We are on borrowed time, so to speak. And it’s what we choose to do with those seconds that will go on to dictate the quality of our existence. Prior to recent weeks, I spent the bulk of my days dawdling about. I was more than a little unsure of which way to turn, unsure as to which direction to follow–my internal compass needing significant alterations in determining my coordinates. I can honestly say that in the past, I tended to view time as more of an enemy than an ally. I harbored nothing but deeply seeded hostility for clocks and the iron-clad grip with which they controlled our entire lives–drunk off of the power they wielded over me. I was constantly at its mercy–pleading with it to speed up it’s gears–to catapult light into dark so that I could lay each wasted day to rest at my bidding. I did not wish to die, but only to accelerate the process of getting to whatever place or time it was that my life stopped sucking. I was ready.
But, you can’t will change to manifest itself into an alternate avenue. You can’t mentally persuade Father Time to wave his magical wand and fast forward through the boring parts and into something new, sparkly and marvelous. You are his bitch for all practical purposes until fate finally grows tired of that cryptic cat and mouse game and instead opts to relinquish its suffocating grip from around your neck. But, the exact coordinates continue to remain enigmatic to you–the when and where continue to elude your consciousness.
So, you just drift along somewhat aimlessly, clocking in at a simplistic mind-numbing 9-5, a cog in the system, just another number, another nameless faceless insignificant entity trained to view themselves as an intrinsic part of something bigger… something more important. You do what society has conditioned you to believe is “right,”– and so you buy into it as you struggle desperately to obtain a semblance of happiness–a taste of the American dream.
And then on a not-so-special day–everything changes.
You are completely knocked off of your well-worn path, forcefully grabbed by the hands of fate, tossed into the wind and then all of the sudden find yourself at the feet of your future. You stand up, dust yourself off, shake off the disruption and the debris that formed in transition and finally get up the gumption to stare into the eyes of she who will alter your life forever.
And that’s where I am.
Well, figuratively that is… literally I am sitting in bed, back against the wall, fan whirring in my right ear, tegan and sara infiltrating the other with their catchy beats and scathing lyrics, lights dimmed to a lulling degree. I’m sitting in a room that was once mine–in a house that was once mine, but I now feel like the stranger here–a visitor merely passing through. It’s an ephemeral state of mind, however, for I know that it will pass. I know that it will. You see this room is now hers–it’s filled with her things, her stylistic flourishes pepper the walls and each square foot bears her mark, eliminating any trace of my previous dormancy here. My memories of this house include my ex-girlfriend. I remember this as my room. I remember cooking my first meal for her in the kitchen–chicken, garlic mashed potatoes and green beans, of watching Moulin Rouge! while in bed, of the time our kitten got stuck inside the couch…and of long talks, arguments and romance. These memories haunt me. But, I’m getting better. With each passing day these memories dull and blur as they become nothing more than ticks on a timeline, as blips on a radar of a two year epoch of my life that I now wish I could just erase from my mind- Eternal Sunshine style. The scars have stopped burning with each mention of my name– my heart has stopped searing, and now I’m lying to rest this “weight upon my chest and ghost upon my back.”
I’m moving on. I have moved on.
But, it is a process. I did not have the typical period of bereavement. I went from one relationship to another with no break in between. In many ways it has been a life saver to not have to deal with such heartbreak and sorrow on my own, but on the other hand I’ve just been delaying the inevitable. It never even felt real until I had to pick up my things from my ex’s house. Talk about a dose of reality. I had not stepped one of my supah gay converse all-starred feet back in that city since June–the weekend after I was unfaithful to her for the first time. True, our relationship was held together by frayed string at that point–and I am pushing it when I say that we were even a real couple–only a shadow of our former selves… but to her it was a crushing blow to both her ego and our potentiality as future partners. It should have been a nail in the coffin, but that is neither here nor there.
Being back in San Antonio was an eerie experience…it was never my home, it was merely a transitory location to where I moved some of my things on a temporary basis–all for the sake of Emily and I’s relationship. She would never have considered relocating for me, but I’m nomadic at heart so I took it as a chance to experience a different lifestyle for a while. It’s a kinda shitty place to live. It’s hot, it’s dry, there is absolutely nothing scenic about it in the slightest and the only positive element was Sea World–and I never went there…not even once.
But, it was a necessary step revisiting the city where I had so many shared moments between Em and myself… I had to get my belongings from her house. I had to make the dissolution of our relationship official. She had previously made it very (VERY) clear she had no desire to see me ever again–so she informed me that a friend would be letting me into the garage to gather my things. What she neglected to tell me was that this “friend” was also a girlfriend–or so it would appear. She comes strutting out in Em’s clothes, from Em’s house, with only Em’s car in the driveway…smokin’ a cigarette and watching me with an eagle eye as I hurriedly stuffed my shit in Mal’s little Nissan wanting desperately to high tail it out of there as quickly as humanly possible. But, all the while trying to make small talk with the new (less pretty)replacement me.
And then we were done. We closed the trunk of the car and drove off, me slightly yearning for the past…a nostalgia for the comfort and simplicity of a 1.5 year long relationship looming just below the surface of the skin, but knowing full well that years of unhappiness would have followed had I made that choice… had I made the decision to stay with Em. I knew that this was the last time I would ever drive down Potranco….the last time I’d ever soar down 410 towards I-35. This was it. Final answer. Chapter closed. And with that knowledge I turned to my gal, grabbed her arm, clasped our fingers tightly together, kissed her, looked into her brilliant green eyes, tears streaming down my face…a salted mixture of despair and delight… and knowing that hers would be the only hand I would be holding for the remainder of my life.
Yeah, yeah, yeah I may be jumping the gun. Why the rush, right? Well, the truth is.. I’m hardly rushing. I’ve been chasing after this girl for months, allowing myself to fall for her more and more everyday, learning everything about her and growing to indubitably love and admire who she is as a person. These emotions I’ve conjured up are anything but hasty. I may be a capricious kid, but I’m not irrational and impulsive when it comes to my heart and my soul. I’m almost spookily omnipotent when it comes to determining the value of a relationship–friendship or otherwise. I can analyze it to the point of exhaustion–thus allowing me to make an almost immediate call on whether or not someone is worth my time, effort and loyalty. I can do this fairly prematurely. When someone has a heart as weak and shoddily patched up as mine–you learn to preserve it at all costs. You learn little techniques such as this to protect yourself out of sheer necessity. But, sometimes you ignore what your instincts try to tell you. My gutteral instincts inform me of danger ahead, of steering clear of what appears right in front of me, that things that seem too good to be true probably are.
I’m taking a risk on this one. I’m taking a risk on this girl….for her…for me…because I know what could be. What SHOULD be. I don’t know what truly resides deep within the confines of her brain. I do not know if her heart truly beats in syncopation with my own. I don’t know if each breath she takes throughout the day is taken for me. I do not have knowledge of her having feelings for me that penetrate deep into her cartilage. I don’t know if she sees the future as I do. All I know is what I feel and what I perceive. I will never leave this woman. I say that not out of an obligation to her–not because I’m afraid of hurting her…but because I love her in ways that I never even knew were possible. I love her that much already. I wake up in the night searching for her hand beneath the sheets. It seems mundane. But, for me that’s a big deal. I’m someone who craves time alone. I’m someone who would typically prefer to sleep on a couch instead of in the arms of another. I feel smothered in those instances. Traditionally I would get unbearably uncomfortable sharing a bed with someone else– but now a night alone is a night I stay awake longing for her touch. It’s scary.
A part of me believes that I am losing control of my rationality–that I’m allowing myself to get so wrapped up in this, throwing caution to the wind, lowering my guard to an unsafe degree. My armor has so many chinks this time. I’m letting her get into my head. I’ve shown her all my insides. I’ve shown her the darkness. I’ve told her my weaknesses, my flaws, my fears…and yet she still stands by my side. I am a simple girl. I want to love and be loved. I don’t need it. I don’t need to be in a relationship. I think that is the biggest misconception about me–that I am needy. Fuck that. People don’t take the time to understand me. I can be independent. But, if I am involved with someone, I’m all in–no holds barred, no limits…I’m all theirs. And I expect certain things in return–so sue me. I expect decency, patience and sensitivity. I don’t believe it to be too much to ask.
So, here I am. Head over heels. Probably in over my head. I have been burned more times than I can count by her. I have heard warnings of her tendency to break hearts SOS’d to me more times than I can count. It’s whatever. It’s my battle to fight. I can make my own mistakes. Each day I wake up is now the best day of my life. I’m enthusiastic about something for the first time in years. She fills me with hope and makes me feel special. I don’t know what else to say. I’m lucky. I might be stupid, but I’m lucky. I’m lucky to have even spent a day by her side. I’m honored to be able to hold a place in her life at all. I can’t ask for the world, but I know that I deserve some happiness. I know that. And this is it. I know that I can learn and grow from just being near her–her brilliance and playful nature instilling in me a thirst and desire to grab the bull by the horns so to speak. I feel fearless with her. I feel as though no obstacle is insurmountable.
She may tire of me. I may be a fling for her. I may be a disposable toy whose sole purpose is to boost her confidence. I could be used. But, I’m opting to maintain some optimism. I will never leave her. And until she leave me…. my life.is.awesome. And there is now not enough time in the day to spend with her and let her know how love should be.