oh, fuck it. i’m gonna have a party

It’s pretty much been a lifetime since I wrote on this.  Which makes some amount of sense, I guess, because I spent a summer working a shit job that I hated, which led me to write pretty much nothing, followed by a horribly painful break up that made me too depressed to write anything, followed by a sudden, huge change in my life that made me too busy to write anything, followed by some more depression, then resolve, then today.  When I am writing.  Hello.

I have to say that I’m kind of proud of myself for being where I am right now.  The last time I had a break up that really affected me negatively I spent two solid years sad and messy, in and out of therapy and with little success, going from depressed to ecstatic to suicidal to numb over and over again.  And here I am, about a month after the biggest bomb I could’ve gotten this summer (well, not the biggest bomb, but definitely on the larger end of possible bombs I could’ve gotten) was lit and dropped unceremoniously into my lap, and I’m…okay.  I’m really okay.  Sometimes I’m sad and most times I’m furious and every now and then I have fleeting thoughts that he’ll come to his senses and decide he doesn’t actually need to have ephebophilic tendencies and maybe we can work this out after all, right, kiddo?  But at the same time, I know that’s not going to happen.  And I know that he’s a creep.  And I know I’m better than all that and I did nothing to bring about all the shit he pulled and I sure as hell didn’t deserve it.  And that helps.

Shortly after all this shit hit the fan, my da pulled me aside one afternoon and he said something that I was never expecting:  He said that I needed to get out.  Move to Chicago: try this whole theatre thing out and see where it goes.  I needed to hear that from him.  Maybe it’s cheesy, but I was kind of sticking around for Da.  I’m not ashamed to admit that.  I know things are really hard for him at home and it was awesome to see him so much this summer and have adventures and bond over ridiculous things like we usually do.  Getting his blessing, as it were, gave me the kick in the ass I needed to start applying and asking around about apartments and make a necessary change in my life.  I love my da.  I really lucked out in the father department.

And now I’m here.  And I have a job that I love.  And I live in a beautiful apartment in a beautiful neighbourhood of a beautiful (albeit smelly) city.  And I get lonesome sometimes and I miss my friends and Carbondale and Da and all of the things I’ve left behind for now.  But you know something?  Things are better here.  I always told my shrink that Chicago felt like home because it was the one place I knew but didn’t have substantial, traumatic memories of, too.  Yeah, shitty things have happened to me in Chicago, but they’re always clouded over by times of going to the beach with Paiga and watching Wire until all hours of the morning and seeing The Decemberists in Millennium Park with Randy the summer we were dating and going to Lollapalooza and almost killing Bozarth and trips to the Science and Industry museum when I was a kid and coffee and play dates and pancakes at two in the morning and and and

I love Chicago.  Because it’s someplace where I get to make memories all my own.  And He doesn’t have to be in a single one unless I say He is.  And it’s the best New Year present I could have given myself.  L’shanah tovah, kid.

i had the blankest year/i saw life turn into a t.v. show/it was totally weird/the person i knew i didn’t really know