It’s, uh, Monday, right? So . . . happy belated Father’s Day to my amazing mother, who is by far the best father a girl could ask for, even if she never chased off my boyfriend with a ten-gauge or taught me how to change my oil.
Happy Friday to me, as I work Thursday through Monday, even though my work-week actually started last Monday and will end tomorrow. In the spirit of every country song celebrating Fridays (serious what-the-fuckery in that video, by the way), I honored my Friday with 4 ounces of Kilt Lifter at my favorite bistro of all time, Carly’s in downtown Phoenix. 4 ounces because the lamotrigine/alcohol combination is starting to kick my ass. (I asked for 8 ounces and could only stomach 4. *sadface* A far cry from putting away three bottles just three weeks ago.)
I told one of my coworkers about my mini-epiphany last week, though in a very different way than I stated it on here. I told her how much fun I had in Charlotte, how I was chasing software problems and watching the IT guys work, hoping to learn something new. My coworker got this weird look on her face and said, “You’re in the wrong department.”
“I know,” I told her. It was weird to admit that out loud to someone other than my family. It felt like I was telling a closely held secret that could make or break my world as I know it.
An hour later, I was in downtown Phoenix and staring at the giant hole where the Scientology building used to be. Five years ago, when my lost friend first moved to Phoenix, It was a four story building with Ron L. Hubbard’s name blazed on the front door. It was the only thing you could see from his apartment window. The only thing we could see from our apartment window last summer.
Now, there’s this giant sculpture looming over the area where the street preachers used to stand on First Fridays, and a hole in the ground. Our favorite coffee shop has changed locations and our favorite restaurant has a new front patio (but is almost completely inaccessible due to construction on the street itself).
I know that grieving a relationship like ours takes a long time. I know that I’m not expected to be okay yet (or for a long time–six years at 23 is basically forever), but I want me to be okay. Today it hurts because walking through Phoenix . . . barely reminded me of him at all.
Everything is changing so fast that our places–our coffee shop, our restaurant, our apartment–don’t look the way they did with him just ten months ago. It was like I saw them for the first time. It means I can go there again, I can make new memories and not feel guilty, but it also means that our history is gone. Today, I experienced a kind of soul-deep sadness that can only be described as peaceful.
I feel insane. I feel out of control. I feel like it’s almost time to move forward, professionally and personally. I want to put the brakes on for awhile, take a little more time, but I know it’s when you try to take control that life takes control away. There’s this feeling in my chest like Phoenix isn’t the only thing changing. My epiphany in Charlotte, the comment from my colleague, the fact that I met a very handsome man and immediately started to internally freak out about breaking up with my lost friend last October, and then watching our past disappear with the dust from a jackhammer . . . nine days is too fast for all of that to happen.
God, it’s only been nine days since I landed in Charlotte. This is crazy. I feel crazy. This can’t be happening. This feeling needs to go away before tomorrow. Tomorrow, I need to be in full control. This feeling needs to be Cinderella’s coach, and it needs to turn into a pumpkin at midnight. (I literally mean midnight.)
This needs to slow down fast. I’m impulsive. I’m impatient. I’ve finally managed to get one of the two under control, but I feel like everything around me is saying this isn’t the time to be patient. This is the time to be impulsive.
What if it doesn’t slow down? What if everything changes tomorrow with the snap of a finger? Among the many things I shouldn’t confess on the internet: I am so scared of what might be coming.
I’d settle for a slow down.