Can You Ever Really Know Another Person ... And Does it Even Matter?

I've come to the conclusion that, when I'm having trouble sleeping, it's far more beneficial to find something to occupy my time and attention than complaining about not being able to sleep (I do that, too, sometimes, although I've definitely gotten better).

Anyway, last night was a "Facebook-surfing-to-occupy-my-time" way to deal with insomnia (rather than reading or watching TV or whatever), and I found myself intrigued by the following picture I found on my friend Jen's Facebook wall.

I put it on my own wall immediately because I was curious to see how many people knew these things about me, then I went back and filled it out for Jen (I did pretty well, by the way ... only missed numbers 5, 9, and 11).  Nobody has really bitten in terms of filling it out for me, other than a friend opining that "You either possess or partake in all of the above.  It is official, I am omniscient", and that's all well and good.

Honestly, it's not like knowing my favorite candy or my shoe size really means that a person truly knows me. In fact, I would argue that the people most likely to answer these questions correctly in terms of me probably know me less well.

There are people that might not know that Barq's root beer is my favorite soda and I wear a size 8.5 shoe but are aware of the basic gist of my nightmares, who know what my dreams and hopes and flaws and passions are.  I suspect that those people know me a bit better than someone able to look at a couple of pictures and deduce that my natural hair color is brown.

I know, by the way, that this little Facebook game was meant to be silly fun.  I even took it that way (I identified Jen's favorite soda as "Coke (especially with rum ;-))", which was her right answer).

It's just that it got me thinking about the deeper question of whether or not you can ever truly know someone else, and even more so whether or not that even matters.

One of my students asked me recently (shortly after we finished reading John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men, in fact) a question that totally blew my mind: "If everybody changes, can you ever truly know another person?"

This young man, a freshman in high school, stymied me with this concept, something I think he was pretty proud of (I am rarely at a loss for words).  He was also fairly incessant about asking me for my insight, refusing to take "I really don't know how to answer that" as an excuse (I cannot imagine where he learned that from ;-)).

Anyway, I finally told him that there's an old saying about how there are three different kinds of friends--friends for a reason, friends for a season, and friends for life.  I explained that this pretty much went along with his question because, if everybody changes, then you either stop being friends with someone as and/or after they change, that you change yourself as a result of his/her change, or that you are able to roll with the punches and accept that both you and other people are going to change but that, if the person is worth it to you, it won't matter in the great scheme of things.  Basically, you can know another person as much as you need to depending on the situation and taking into account the necessary depth (a family member or close friend would obviously be more complex than an acquaintance, for example).

If you're thinking to yourself, "Geez, Katie, that sounds like a deflection", you're right.  It was.  My student didn't realize it--he was just excited as hell that he'd made me think in a way that was challenging for me--but it was.

So, why deflect?

The truth is, I do not believe you can ever truly know another human being, no matter how much you might think you do or want to.

I thought I knew many and varied friends, family members, and colleagues who suddenly and with neither warning nor reason given essentially disappeared emotionally.

I thought I knew my ex-husband, but the person he hid behind a facade of good humor and gentleness was always buried there; I am actually grateful that the wine brought the monster within forward, because I've come to know that it was always there, that it's there still.

I thought I knew my onetime best friend Andy, and his response to arguably the worst thing that ever happened to me just about destroyed my self-esteem, self-love, and feelings of self-worth.

But I guess the bottom line--and the piece that is very uncomfortable to think about--is that if it is true to consider these things about other people, than you really need to look in the mirror and consider whether they're true about you as well.

And I think they are.  I think they have to be.  Nobody is without sin, error, or general screw-ups.  To quote REM, "Everybody hurts sometimes", but to take it a step further, everybody hurts others sometimes.  It is sometimes completely unintentional and almost always done without malicious intent, but that doesn't change the reality that the biggest danger to the psyche of a human being is another human being, frequently one that you care deeply about.

But that's kind of a negative thing to say to a kid, so I kept my mouth shut and let the old proverb rule the day.

Seeing that pic on Facebook reminded me of my thinking on the subject, though, so I figured I'd share and, as always, ask for your input.

To end on a positive note, I do want to emphasize that I believe most people are primarily good.  The pain they give others is largely accidental, or else tied to a stupid error of judgment.  Speaking for myself, I just wish the love I feel in my heart for so many people could keep any unintentional, stupid spikes of pain from reaching out and hurting others.

I would do anything in the world to help another person, and anybody that knows me is aware that this is true.  But is that dedication to helping others the bottom line of my existence?  Does it wipe out my numerous faults?

So my own bottom line is this: no, you cannot ever really know another person, and no, it really doesn't matter because all human hearts have dark shadows within them, crevices that can hopefully be overcome by love and caring.

What scares me the most, though, is that it is easy enough to look at others, to pass judgment, to know them as well as you can and love and appreciate them for that, hopefully being strong enough to overlook the darkness that lurks under the surface if you do not want to write a person off entirely.

It's turning that magnifying glass inward that is frightening ... but perhaps even more necessary.  
       

Friendship is a Good Thing

There's an old saying:

"There are three kinds of friends--friends for a reason, friends for a season, and friends for life."

I am incredibly lucky with the friends that I have (and the friends that I have had), although I've grown wise enough in my old age that I believe that adage is true.

Some friends you have for a reason. You work with them, and socializing kind of comes up. Or, perhaps even more commonly, they're a friend of a friend (sometimes even of a friend). You end up hanging out almost out of convenience. These are the "friends" that, in my opinion, you tend to have a lot of in high school and college.

Then, there are friends for a season. I've had some incredibly intense friendships that I wouldn't trade for the world, but they run their course after awhile. One or the other of you moves on, for whatever reason. You outgrow each other. Your world view changes, or theirs does. These are, from my experience, a lot of the friends of adulthood.

And then, of course, there are friends for life. I'm firmly convinced that not everybody has one of these, never mind multiple "friends for life". They are indeed a rare gem.

I'm thinking a lot about the nature of friendship tonight (as the Ambien kicks in ...) because I spent the evening watching one of my best friends reap the rewards of the hard work she has put in with a group of students. It was amazing, and this woman is a brilliant teacher and an all-around remarkable human being. It is an honor to be her friend.

And also because I have a new friend that I'm still getting to know, which is always a fun experience. You can get silly about tacky green socks and being nice and and how jokes about a politician named Wiener Tweeting his package really aren't all that funny because they pretty much write themselves, and what's the fun in that?

Friendship is a gift. You get what you give, and it's important to appreciate it all--whether it be a reason, season, or life friend; after all, each is good in its own way.

Unsent

In 1998, Alanis Morissette released the album Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. It was no Jagged Little Pill, to say the least, but I was reminded of the song "Unsent" the other day. As the title suggests, it's a bunch of letters that she never sent. I never really got the concept ... I mean, if you want to send a letter to someone, just send the darn thing, right?

I understand very well now about wanting desperately to send a letter to someone yet knowing that it's not the right thing to do.

And I'm not going to be all, "You have a small penis and are crappy in bed and are an irresponsible, emotionally manipulative liar" because that would just be juvenile, plus it was not the state of mind in which I composed my "unsent letter" in my mind.

Anyway, here we go ...

Dear Rivershitter (that's an affectionate nickname),

I thought of you today for the first time in awhile. I don't miss you, exactly, but this made me realize how much less I laugh now. You were way deep inside my head, deeper than is healthy, but, man, was it great to have somebody around who found life to be as funny as I do.

Remember the crazy cashier that freaked the fuck out when we tried to give him a twenty and seven cents to pay for a $15.93 purchase so we'd get a five back instead of a bunch of ones and a handful of change (I'm off on my denominations and naturally off on my math, but I know you remember)?

Well, I met his twin brother the other night. Well, brother in spirit, anyway.

I'm at the gas station looking for Excedrin Migraine, and it's behind the counter with the girlie magazines and cigarettes and the freaking Sudafed (because we want no meth labs ... NO METH LABS). I say to the guy, "Could I get a pack of Excedrin Migraine, please?", and he reaches back and grabs a thing of Advil. "No, Excedrin Migraine," I repeat, and he comes up with Tylenol Cold and Flu this time.

I've got a pretty bad headache and just want to get rid of it, so I go around the counter and point at the Excedrin Migraine.

And the guy? He freaks the fuck out. He yells, "You can't come back here, ma'am! If you take one step closer, I'll have to press the button. I mean it ... my foot's on it!"

And I wished with all my heart for that one second that you were there with me, because we would have been peeing our pants we'd be laughing so hard. And, of course, we would have had so much fun just tormenting the guy (although there's little doubt in my mind that "the button" would have been pressed and there would have been police there, and that would not have been good).

Anyway, I backed up, put my hands up, and said, "Never mind, I'll go to Rite Aid," and thought of you for awhile and laughed a lot and got my Excedrin Migraine at the drugstore and wished for just a second that I could tell you that story or that you could have lived it ... it was one for the books, let me tell you.

The logical side of my brain says, "See, it's good you don't hang with him anymore because you would have ended up arrested ... or at the very least further emotionally damaged" ... but, God, I miss laughing sometimes.

:-) KL

Yes, There's a Banana on My Windshield (or, "Friendship Rocks")

Friendship is an amazing thing. It's so odd how you can connect so strongly and completely with other people sometimes. Perhaps the best part, as far as I'm concerned, is when someone truly gets your sense of humor ... especially when the sense of humor in question is as ridiculous as mine is. What a treasure it is, as long as it is around, to feel completely understood for once.

So I had court today. No, I didn't do anything wrong (much to the chagrin of my students, who thought it was hysterical that I had to miss half a day of work to go to court); this was just the final chapter in the great divorce debacle. To say that I was upset and anxious would be a gross understatement and, despite my trip to Starbucks after dropping Addie off at school (I thought I could use the time to WRITE but--surprise, surprise--nothing was coming), I found myself almost to the courthouse nearly an hour early. I spent much of that time on the phone with Andy, who listened to me freak out as he is so good at doing.

Andy's current job involves bananas. And driving. A lot. I'll leave it at that. We have the kind of friendship where we laugh at everything; even things that are really serious somehow become funny, I swear. Anyway, Andy is referred to by some people he works with as "Banana Boy", and so there's this running joke that his alter ego, Banana Boy, is really a superhero with magic powers. It sounds very stupid when I write it and I'm sure it sounds very stupid as you read it, but it's just hysterical when it comes up in reality. Anyway, I had to explain that so you can fully appreciate what happened next, a lesson in friendship and being there for someone and, most importantly, making life a little more humorous.

I left my CrackBerry in my car when I went into the courtroom because I was scared it would ring in the middle of court or something (and I have a tendency to think it is on "vibrate" when it really isn't). When I got back to my car, I got in and turned my phone on. I noticed that I had a text from Andy, so I read it and could not stop laughing. It read:

"LOOK ... down in the alley ... it's a cat ... it's a dog ... no, it's BANANA BOY!!!! Here I come to peal away ... Banana Boy will save your day ..."

It just cracked me up like you cannot imagine. So I pull out of the parking lot and am on my way to work, and I call Andy to thank him for the text. I cannot stop laughing, and then he starts talking about "the banana", and I stop laughing because I'm very confused.

ANDY: "You mean you didn't see it?"

ME: "See what?"

ANDY: "The banana I left on your windshield."

ME: "There's no banana on my windshield."

ANDY: "I left a banana on your windshield."

ME: "There's no ... Oh, shit, there's a banana on my windshield."

And of course that was it for both of us. Hysteria ensued. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, and trust me when I tell you that it was necessary.

I teach literary symbolism to my freshmen, and it occurred to me today while talking about shoes as a symbol in Sandra Cisneros' The House on Mango Street that Andy's banana, dropped off while he was working in the area, was a symbol of sorts. "I'm here," that banana said. "I know you're upset and scared and hurt and all sorts of bad things, but someone is showing that they are here for you--metaphorically speaking--and thinking of what you're going through." Able to send a message that serious while causing me to laugh hard enough to pee my pants (not literally, of course) ... Andy is the best friend ever, and I will never forget both his support and his laughter today.

What are some memorable moments your best friend has given you?

Such a Thing as Situationally Shy?

Tonight was the student showcase at my school, basically parent/teacher conferences part deux. I've taken to Facebook to express my woes, namely that the very mention of parent/teacher conferences makes me nauseous.

No, I'm not exaggerating. The fact that I only threw up once today is a major victory in terms of my nerves on parent/teacher conference night.

What got me thinking is the response that some of my Facebook friends had. The overwhelming message (and this came from people who know me in real life, one of whom was my best friend in high school) was, "You? Shy? Are you CRAZY? You're joking, right?"

When I've tried to explain this in the past, people tend to say, "You're really funny, K, your freaking JOB is to stand up in front of people all day." Well, yes, that may be true ... but I stand up in front of children all day, children who think I know what I'm talking about. I don't stand up in front of people that might want to criticize what I do, or question my abilities, or imply that last year's teacher (or the one they'll have next year) was a better match.

The craziest thing is, I've never had this happen to me. It's just my own ridiculous perfectionist complex that gets me so worked up. I do stutter, though, and repeat myself and lose my train of thought of do things like refer to "snowboards" as "snowmobiles" and ... well, yeah, you get the idea. I am stricken by a wave of shyness.

And people don't believe that this is possible. I might be a teacher, I might be kind of no holds barred in real life and I'll say what I'm going to say and do what I'm going to do (I told a guy who was smoking right by the door to the ski school to take his cigarettes elsewhere on Sunday ... and I'll walk into Burger King and correct their sign if they say "Whopper's are $.99.") ... but when it comes to parent/teacher conferences, shy is the only word that comes to mind. Well, shy and vomit : (

So do you believe someone can be situationally shy? If not, why? If so, what suggestions might you have for getting over it :)?

P.S. Formspring is open. Ask me questions HERE, no matter how strange : ) I'm enjoying this!

Finding the Best in Four Christmases

I had four Christmases this year. Considering I wasn't expecting to have one (or at least to enjoy one), this was certainly promising. Most important, of course, was that I realized how fortunate I am for the family and friends I have in my life.

So, my four Christmases ...

1. Christmas Eve at my Dad's House.
We always have Christmas Eve at my dad's house. Before he and my mom were divorced, we went to my grandparents' house (my dad's parents) for Christmas Eve. That side of the family has just always owned Christmas Eve. We got to hang out with my dad, stepmother, and my half-sister and half-brother. My dad is a Christmas maniac (there are Christmas decorations up at his house all year long), but as you can imagine, he really goes all out for the big day. There was music and food and family and all those nice Christmas feelings. The only negative was I learned that my dad is having surgery, and I am of course very worried. The surgery is tomorrow, so hopefully that goes well. My dad is a well-intentioned, intelligent, humorous, kind man, and he has certainly changed the world for the better.

2. Christmas Morning at my Mom's House.
Ah, another tradition--Christmas brunch at my mom's house. Addie, Belle, and I were already here, of course, and my sister Mary, brother-in-law (I can't remember the name I've given him on this blog, so I'm renaming him: it's Harrison), and their six-month-old son Eddie were here as well. We woke up, did stockings, then waited for my brother Adam and his eight-month-old baby, Pete, to arrive. At that point, we did presents and ate brunch and just in general hung out. Mary, Harrison, and Eddie left for a three hour drive to Connecticut to be with Harrison's family (they're coming back on Wednesday and will be here until Sunday), then Pete got very fussy (he's teething), so I made a Walgreen's run for Infant Tylenol. It was very low-key. It was the oddest, quietest, most depressing Christmas my family has ever had ... and I'm not even sure why.

3. Dinner at a Chinese Restaurant with Pythagorus.
Yes, I'm serious. Frankly, I'm just glad that Pythagorus wanted to see Belle on Christmas since she would have been devestated if he'd blown her off. Addie didn't come, by the way, since she adamantly refuses to see Pythagorus--this is of course her prerogative, but I don't want anyone to be like, "What about your other child?" Since he is not comfortable at my mom's house and I am not welcome at his family's house--er, his family's trailer--because they are a bunch of Jerry Springer-esque whack jobs who somehow feel that Pythagorus' severe drinking problem is my fault and that, now that he has returned to the bosom of his family, he will be just fine as long as he never sees me--and, by proxy, Belle--again (I swear, I will write a book about that family one day. I will have to call it fiction, though, because nobody would believe the ugly, tawdry, trashy truths). Anyway, we ate Chinese food and opened presents and laughed about how awkward it was. The good thing is, we all laughed--we were on the same wavelength, which doesn't always happen. To me, that was the best Christmas present Pythagorus could have given me.

4. Playdate at Andy's.
Since I had to bring Pythagorus home (an hour and twenty minute venture), Andy asked if Belle and I wanted to stop in at his house afterwards (his house is about a quarter of the way home for me after I drop Pythagorus off) since his little girl Dawn wanted to have a playdate (and possibly a sleepover) with Belle. We did end up staying over at Andy's, although that was not my initial plan (fortunately I brought my toothbrush--I'm resourceful like that ;)). The girls had a ball playing games, creating "haunted houses" in Dawn's room, and telling silly jokes to each other. Andy and I watched a couple of movies (if you haven't seen Meet the Fockers, you must ... it is freaking hysterical!) and played cards. He'd made Bailey's Irish Cream fudge, and it was freaking amazing, and also heated up spiced nuts; all of that was far better than popcorn. Anyway, it was a peaceful, fun night that reminded me that friendship is just as valuable as family.

So yeah, that was my Christmas in a nutshell. It was a very simple and laid-back event. I've decided, I'm either going to cut loose for New Years Eve and walk around a big city with underwear on my head drinking from communal bottles of champagne (yes, that's an inside joke) or I'm going to sit at home with my mother and the girls and watch the ball drop on television.

Or maybe I'll find some kind of happy medium ... the way things went this Christmas, I'm starting to think that happy mediums are the way to go : )

Thankful

In my effort to be positive in a very negative point in my life, here is a list of five things I am thankful for (and a short explanation of why). I have been thinking about posting this all day, and it's been very good for me to concentrate on all the good things in my life. I am very lucky, actually, and it's very important that I stop sometimes and remember that. If you feel compelled to do the same, leave a link in the comments : )

I am thankful for ...

1. MY DAUGHTERS. Addie and Belle make every single day bright for me. They are both sweet, kind, intelligent, beautiful young ladies. Both are also extremely humorous (often untentionally, which makes it all the better). For example, Addie started freaking out this afternoon because Facebook went down for about two minutes and she was all worked up because she needed to fertilize eggplants on Farmville or something. She called up her friends to see if Facebook was down for them as well, and it was just like a bad teenager movie. My mother kept saying, "She could be selling drugs. She could be selling drugs." Freaking surreal! And Belle? Well, one of her recent lines was, "Addie's the tallest, Mimi's the oldest, and Mommy's the fattest." Yeah, it was a laugh riot :)

2. MY JOB. I have the distinct pleasure of actually enjoying what I do. My profession's forefathers were named Jesus Christ and Socrates. I touch the lives of children every day; it's an awesome responsibility but so rewarding at the same time. I told my students once that reading a book then sitting around talking about it was like some sort of heaven to me--I sometimes can't believe they pay me to do it. My students think I'm a little weird ;)

3. MY FRIENDS. I recently reconnected with my best friend Andy. It's very strange being friends with him as an adult. The days of doing 151 shots then throwing up all over the bar and just getting in a car and driving are gone (well, mostly ;)), but it's amazing how much there still is to talk about, how much he still understands me. I have other great friends also--you know who you are!!!!!!!!!!!--but I mention Andy in particular because ... well, it's kind of complicated and a very long story (which is actually on this blog somewhere, but I can't find the link and frankly don't want to dredge it all back up), but it's just so cool how you can go years without seeing someone and have it be like you'd just said goodbye the night before. Weird.

4. MY FAMILY. My family is as dysfunctional as anyone's. However, when push comes to shove, they are there for you. Also, even if most people in my family don't say it (except me--I'm big on "I love you"s), there is love. I've just learned in the past six months how rare that is, so I'm very grateful that my family loves each other, even if they don't know how to say or show it. Or not be dysfunctional. But it's all good : ) And my dogs are family!

5. MY MISTAKES. You learn a heck of a lot more from mistakes than you do from being perfect all the time. I've made many mistakes--many, many, many, MANY mistakes--and I've learned from all of them (not always the first time, but eventually). In general, I like myself very much now. I used to hate myself. I find it remarkable that making mistakes made me a more likeable person (at least to myself). Does that make any sense?

Oh, and I'm thankful for everyone reading this post right now. I would write anyway--to me, writing is like breathing--but that you take the time to come to my blog, to read what I have to say, and to respond if the topic strikes you ... it is very humbling to me that anybody gives a rat's derriere what I write on my blog. So those are my words of the night--humble ... and grateful : )

An Old Friend Joins the Three Musketeers for Dinner

One of my best friends, B.J., came down to visit Addie, Belle, and I. She is just wonderful, and I miss her so much and wish I saw her more often. We taught together for a year and, despite a bit of distance, our friendship has persevered. We went to Bugaboo Creek where Belle told lame knock-knock jokes and Addie actually got the double entendre details of stories B.J. and I tell about out adventures at work (There's a book called Up the Down Staircase--it should be read by everyone in education).

Anyway, there are many invaluable memories I have with B.J., but my personal favorite has been recounted already in one of my other blogs (originally written in 2007, if you can believe it). However, it was such a great story that I figured I'd post it here for your viewing pleasure--and as thanks to B.J., who always seems to know when I need a friend to lean on. And a laugh ... always a laugh : )

So, here it is ... once again : ) The true story of B.J. and the Prayer Rug.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just got off the phone with my good friend B.J. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard. I think we're both going to hell.

In general, B.J. is a very calm, cool, and collected individual. However, she called me this afternoon rather shaken with a story that absolutely couldn't wait until tomorrow. B.J. carefully explained to me that, while horror movies and superstitions don't generally freak her out, she has a slight issue with those that deal with the religious (such as the movie "Stigmata").

Now, B.J. and I went out to dinner last night and reminisced about how she had to attend "God Training" in order to work as a volleyball coach at a religious school. We were laughing about the ludacrisy of the video itself ("Not ALL homosexuals are pedophiles"), and, okay, we got silly about how black and white really were B.J.'s colors if she decided to become a nun.

Evidently God was listening.

In today's mail, B.J. received a package from St. Matthew's Churches (note the plural) in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Within, there was a letter, a sealed package, and a prayer rug composed of two sheets of computer paper containing the face of Jesus Christ. However, it has the disturbing optical illusion feature where the eyes look closed initially but, when you look just right, all of a sudden the big guy is staring right at you, following your every move. B.J. was creeped out, to say the least.

Well, not wanting to further bring down any wrath of God upon herself, B.J. called some people (including her mom--"Jesus is watching me, Mom, he's watching me!") and yours truly.

She started out by reading me the letter she received. The gist of it was that she needed to, alone in a room by herself, utilize the prayer rug for its intended purpose (to wit, praying). After that, she was instructed to put it into her Bible for the night. No Bible? No worries ... just put it under your bed for the night. While J.C. is chilling under your bed, the plan is that you flip the letter over and fill out the "wish list"--money, new house, new job, new boyfriend, et cetera et cetera. You then mailed the prayer rug back to a P.O. Box in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and that was that.

(I should note that B.J. did try to hide the prayer rug under her bed, but her cat started eating it. Realizing that this was likely sacrilegious on a variety of levels, B.J. kept the prayer rug out in the open. I suggested sealing it in a bag or something, but she was concerned that Jesus might suffocate)

After following these directions, B.J. was allowed to open the SPECIAL SECRET package containing her OWN PRIVATE PROPHESY. I should also probably mention the "testimonials" from "real people" who used the prayer rug and saw all their dreams come true.

Of course, this made B.J. uneasy ... it would have made me uneasy too. Therefore, we googled St. Matthew's Churches (again, note the plural) in Tulsa, Oklahoma. There were a number of hits identifying it as a scam (basically, they send you free stuff ranging from "a piece of Noah's Ark" to a shred of Joseph's coat of many colors to completely hook you before they begin asking for money or income tithing).

Well, I think this made B.J. feel a little better. We also did a Google image search and found the church (?) itself ... there were sad and pathetic pictures of scores of people in different churches all over the country. It was just very sad and unfortunate.

Well, B.J. was evidently convinced enough that it was a scam that she decided to open her OWN PRIVATE PROPHESY. I should note that she did put down the phone, go into a room by herself, and use the prayer rug first. To be completely honest, I would have done the same thing ... to not would be like setting up some sort of dark karma. She then opened her OWN PRIVATE PROPHESY and received the same "message" no doubt received by hundreds of people today.

B.J. at this point was no longer seriously freaked out about the whole thing. The more she read, the better she felt about the fact that it was clearly a scam. We got laughing about the prayer rug (thought it might be neat to bring it into work ... it was sort of fun predicting the different reactions our coworkers might have), and I told her I'd write a blog about it, just because it was such a priceless story.

The thing is, as I'm writing this, I'm getting really angry with St. Matthew's Churches (I won't emphasize the plural this time). Religion is a personal and private thing. The feeling of a higher power is something that many people find great comfort in. Taking advantage of people without the means or the common sense to investigate scams in the name of God is just beyond despicable.

You might be surprised to know that I'm a believer myself. I was raised a Catholic and though I'm pretty much lapsed at this point in my life, I think most sects of Christianity are similar in a lot of regards. Essentially, the priests or pastors or ministers or whatever-you-call-them are the "higher power" you deal with. I have an extremely important, powerful, and personal relationship with God; I don't think I need to attend church regularly to maintain this.

I mention this because I don't want anyone to view me (or especially B.J., who is pretty much a saint) as awful. Because I believe in God, and believe strongly, I feel justified in saying this:

I am confident that He was laughing right along with us.

Letting Go of Grudges--Possible?

Maybe because it's the week after spring vacation (or maybe because I've become more astute since committing to this blog on a serious level), I've noticed that people seem to be holding more grudges than usual. I'd expect to see this in a high school, of course, but it occurred to me how commonplace it is in real life (a.k.a. "adulthood") as well.

I think that humans are in a constant state of flux, that we are definitely better people at some times than others. I know that I personally have achieved a level of maturity that I can live with only within the last year or so. Before then, I would act like a five year old at times, realize I was acting like a five year old even as I was doing it, but was sort of powerless to change things.

Despite my leaps and bounds growth in terms of outlook on life, I'm still a grudge-holder. Well, actually, that's not entirely accurate. If someone hurts me, my family, or my friends, I can move on. I never forget, though. Not ever. And forgiveness? Well, as it is written, "To err is human, to forgive divine." I'm nowhere near divine, so I guess it's not even worth thinking about.

But grudge-holding? Getting burned and then allowing someone back into your heart and your life? Is it easy? Is it even possible?

I think it's possible on a limited basis but only in certain cases. Sometimes I wish that I could have a more optimistic outlook, but I've recently been let down by several people that I strongly believed in, and it makes me a bit cynical.

Well, as it's also written (somewhere, I'm sure ... and not in that horrible song performed by Paula Abdul), "Two steps forward, one step back."

I guess I'm as much a work in progress as anything I've ever written ... and I think maybe this is true for everyone.

Somebody Else's Pain

Pain is part of being human, and it manifests itself in a myriad of ways. We all deal with pain differently, obviously, from punching walls to crying uncontrollably (that would be me) to pretending your pain doesn't exist.

What I've found over the past couple of days, though, is that the pain that someone else is going through can distress you far worse than any sort of hurt inside yourself. One of my friends just suffered a miscarriage. She has been trying to conceive for a very long time, was finally successful, was probably more excited about it than anyone I've ever seen, and now ...

I mean, what do you say? I'm so sorry? My thoughts and prayers are with you? Is there anything I can do? Want to go get very drunk, shoot some pool, and listen to bad music?

The truth is, there is nothing you can say in some situations. Calling or e-mailing or visiting or whatever, wouldn't it just be a reminder? I've been in contact, sent my regrets and good thoughts, and so have a plethora of other people, but when push comes to shove, does that just make it worse?

I keep my pain very close to the vest. Most of the very traumatic things that have happened to me are things I do not speak of. They're things that I do not write of. They are things that, like my friend's little temporary miracle, there's just nothing anybody can say or do to make them better. Time passes. Life goes on. You don't forget, and the pain never goes away.

I am incredibly fortunate, I think, in that I've started to categorize some of my own horrific events. The things that it's possible to come to terms with, to overcome, I've made some steps. One of the greatest realizations is being able to incorporate some of my greatest pain into fiction, thereby giving myself some control over it, if that makes any sense.

However, I remain mystified as to what to do with somebody else's pain. I can give hugs. I can make people laugh pretty readily. I can offer all the positive thoughts in the world, but it is not going to change my friend's pain.

I hate being powerless, but even more so, I hate to see people I care about in so much pain. I just hate it!

It's Never too Late to Come to Terms with Nightmares

I've spent the past couple of days pretty much immersed in the blogs of other people. The entertainment factor has been high, but I've also noticed an unfortunate trend in people being bogged down by horrible things happening to them. I wonder sometimes if there's a correlation between indescribable pain and the need--almost compulsion--to write. I think that's definitely the case for me.

Anyway, I haven't slept well tonight (it's 4:30 in the morning now) in large part because I've been contemplating posting my own traumatic sent-me-into-a-tailspin moment here to make the point that it's never too late to come to terms with horrible, unspeakable things that happen to you. I carried this horrible pain around with me for ten years before I was finally able to deal with it, and I have pretty much become a different person since that time. So ... I think I will share. But please bear in mind, names, places, and events have been changed. But what happened to me has not. It never will.

My relationship with Andy was among the most intense I've experienced in my life. No, he was not my boyfriend. Ever. He was not even in the "friends with benefits" category. What we had was somehow more, if that makes any sense. I know that most of my friends and family thought Andy and I had a physical relationship, that the unhealthily close bond between us was connected to some sort of bizarre sexual need. Nothing could be further from the truth, although I'm still not sure, even now, what that bond was.

Basically, I met Andy at a New Years party; I was leaving as he was arriving in a carful of guys. I was pretty messed up, and he came up to me as I was staggering out to my car. "Are you all set to drive home?" he asked me. I wasn't really, but I told him I was and somehow got back to my parents' house without incident.

The next night, I was back at my college apartment when one of my friends called and asked if I remembered meeting a guy when I was leaving the party. I replied, "Vaguely," and she told me the guy was her friend Andy and he wanted to know if it was okay for her to give him my phone number. "Is he cute?" I asked (I was such a shallow idiot).

To make a long story short, Andy came up the very next night. Yeah, he was cute. Like, beyond cute, actually. However, we got talking, listening to music, talking some more, playing cards, and the casual hookup I think we'd both sort of expected never happened. We liked each other too much. We stayed up all night just hanging out, and it was the first time that anyone had seemed that interested in what I had to say.

I was nineteen on that night. For the next three years, Andy and I were tight. In terms of anything beyond friendship, it was kind of strange. I'd start to think of him as more than a friend when he was involved with someone else. When he was free and hinting, I'd be occupied with someone else. And sometimes a few months would go by when we'd fall out of touch, but when we reconnected, it was like we'd just had one of our marathon all-night conversation the night before.

I'm not going to pretend that Andy was a perfect person. He wasn't, and most of the stupid things I did in my life originated with him. He was not dependable and had a hard time holding down a job. He became, in many ways, the guiding voice in my life, and this is never healthy.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if things had continued on the collision course they were on. Fortunately (as I'm well aware of now), destiny stepped in. One night, Andy and I got extremely messed up, went to a concert at the ski resort where we continued to imbibe heavily, went sledding illegally on a ski trail, got caught and verbally reprimanded, then went back to the condo and--the oldest story in the world--had sex. The fact that it was the worst sex I've ever had in my life was distressing enough--I mean, I'd started to think this guy was my soul mate. What happened next, though, was even worse.

The next morning, I asked Andy, "Do you remember what happened last night?"

"Yeah," he said. No elaboration.

"So I take it that happened because we were drunk?" I asked it lightly, expecting him to make a joke about it. Such was the nature of our relationship, and we both knew that similar things had happened to both of us before.

He was very quiet for a long time, then he said, "No. Being drunk had nothing to do with it."

And that was that. I got no answer, then or ever. We spent the day in Portland, but it was a quiet day for us. We bought a new Phish CD and listened to it instead of the never-ending chatter that was usually going on between us. That night, we slept in the same bad we'd been sharing for years now when I was at the condo. We smoked cigarettes on the balcony and threw them into the snow below. He wouldn't talk to me about what had happened, wouldn't laugh it off, wouldn't even say, "Damn, you were such a lousy lay that I'm never going there again." And so you can imagine what this did to me--instead of taking one of the many outs he'd been given (we were drunk, it was stupid, it was late, let's make sure we never do that again), he allowed me to blame myself for the sudden change in our relationship.

A couple of weeks later, things got even worse. I was up at Andy's condo with Andy, his good friend Steve, and a bunch of Steve's buddies so we could go snowmobiling. When we got back to the condo, Andy had one of the other guys, Tom, sleep in the fold-out bed with me and he went upstairs with the others. I was, as usual, pretty passed out, but I sort of remember Tom kissing me, and then it's all a blur. When I woke up, there was blood all over the bed, and the source of the blood was obviously me. I had been abused in ways that no one ever should be by this guy, who wisely left before anyone else came up. I saw Andy's eyes when he saw me naked in those bloody sheets, unable to move without hemorrhaging more blood out, and I saw whatever might have been between us die. Although it was insane for Andy to think I brought this on myself, he obviously did. We did not speak again for a long time, and then only sporadically (you say hi when you bump into someone at Wal-Mart, for example).

It was the words that were never spoken, both by him and by me, that played the death knell to the intense relationship between Andy and me. We were in our early twenties, and life seemed very big and overwhelming.

If I couldn't talk about some stupid drunk roll in the hay with my best friend, I thought ...

If she can't understand why the sight of her naked in a bloody bed with another guy less than a month after what happened between us, he must have thought ...

And so I carried this around with me. Its weight pushed down my shoulders and gave me nightmares for many, many years. Finally, with the advent of social networking groups, I started talking to Andy on Facebook a little bit. I finally realized that I needed to get this dealt with or it was going to drive me crazy one of these days, so I asked Andy if we could get together for a drink at some point, which he readily agreed to.

Although I was scared to death and unsure if I'd be able to tell him, or even if he thought I was ridiculous for not just telling him in the first place or still thinking it was such a big deal after all these years, it could not have gone any better. It's like a huge weight has been lifted; I don't know how to put it any better than that.

It's kind of funny, we went to three places that night, and the evening sort of got divided into three parts. The natural order that the world divides itself into just blows my mind sometimes.

Anyway, we started out at Applebee's and kind of chatted about our kids and what's new and my hatred for Sarah Palin (and how he's dating a girl that looks something like Sarah Palin) and such. Although we had a couple of beers, we pretty much agreed that eating at Applebee's is not exactly fine dining.

Stop number two was this amazing restaurant downtown that somehow manages to specialize in both Italian food and a sushi bar (successfully). We started getting silly, reminiscing about things like the time I did numerous shots of Bacardi 151 and then literally threw up all over the bar, all the way out to the car, all over myself, all inside the car, and everywhere else you can imagine and the time we went to Mohegan Sun and gambled away all our money, leaving us with not enough gas to get home. Jesus, we were stupid. Anyway, then I finally just told him, just spit it out, "Andy, that guy Tom, he raped me". Like, one second we were laughing like idiots, the next I was crying, then he was crying, and we had the whole "Why didn't you tell me?"/"Because you were being a non-communnicative douchetard and I was afraid of how you'd react" conversation. It was a very serious half hour or so, then we got silly again (and had more beer).

Anyway, part of getting silly involved Andy mentioning this dive of a bar that was within walking distance. He said he'd been there once and some lady got hit in the head, and the staff just carried her outside and left her bleeding in the parking lot. I realized that I read an article a few years ago about a murder occurring there. Walking there seemed like a really good idea, for some reason. Yeah. You kind of had to be there.

Anyway, it was absolutely the cheesiest, trashiest bar I've ever been in. However, there were pool tables, so I got my ass handed to me at multiple games of pool, had more beer, and made fun of the bar and its patrons as surreptitiously as possible (the old man that appeared to be masturbating in a corner, the porno video game, the fact that the felt of the pool tables was so dirty that it was repulsive, the steps going into the bathroom that I managed to trip up every time I had to pee, the multiple entrances and exits, et cetera). And rocked out to bad techno music. Haha, good times. I haven't laughed that hard in years.

The thing is, Andy was the only person that could give me any sort of absolution for a pain that I've held inside for eleven years.

And he did. He listened. He apologized. He cried.

And now, with that heavy weight gone, I can move forward.

I share this story--somewhat reluctantly, because it is incredibly painful--because I want you to know that keeping the pain inside is worse. Coming to terms with the things that happen to us, the good, the bad, and the ugly, is the only way we can stand up tall without that terrible oppressive weight on our shoulders.

I'm weak ... it took me eleven years. But it was worth it.

Missing You

Sometimes I miss you so much I want to cry. I know that sounds weird and potentially creepy, but it's not meant that way at all. It's meant in a pure, happy, beauty-of-the-snow-on-the-tree-limbs way.

Stephen King (of course, he had to come into this) wrote, "Friends come in and out of your life like busboys in a restaurant, did you ever notice that?"

Sometimes I think it's absolutely true. Other times (less frequently) I think there are a lot of factors that lead to it, yeah, usually being true. Today, I hope it's a load of shit.

What makes someone a friend? Is a similar life necessary? Similar interests and hobbies?

Or is it all about Ka. Oh, I only wish I knew ...