Absent Angst

After my last post Lydia says to me “I read your post and it was good but while I respect Will I miss the guts”. I knew what she meant, but wasn’t completely aware of what she meant until I re-read what I’d written. It’s not bad, but eh. She’s right. There was a certain quality missing...a certain something gone from the prose. And that certain something is angst.

Angst- a feeling of dread, anxiety, or anguish.

In previous posts I had spilled my guts upon the page detailing my tortured feelings about an important relationship gone off tracks. I had omitted key details from my description of my date with William in deference to his desire to remain anonymous. In short…I betrayed my voice for the man I l-l-l-l-love. But is it angst? Do I have an overwhelming feeling of dread, anxiety or anguish with regards to Will at this moment? Put quite simply, the answer is no. We had quite a talk that night…a talk in which I detailed how I felt about things that had been happening in our lives. In the course of this discussion I put myself out on a limb when I told him that I felt he and I were supposed to be together in this place…in this time. Can one truly feel angst when the person whose touch they’d craved for almost a month looks them in the eye and says “I think so too.” Or is that just mushy gushy pea soup for the romantic soul? Is it angst when that touch finally comes and it is all that you remembered it to be…all that you had been hoping for that had not been lost?

The answer, my friends, is no. That is not angst. The fact that not a day has passed since that night that I have not seen or spoken to Will is not angst. It is not angst I speak of when I tell you that he texted me on his way home from his evening on Saturday to ask “Are you ok”. My heart swelled when I realized that he wasn’t asking if I were very drunk, or very tired, or very angry, but was asking if I’d had a confrontation with Leila. He was asking if I needed him. Was the evening without incident? No. Did I need him? No. But I wanted him, and when he turned his car around at my request and headed to my house through pouring rain and flooded streets I knew…I knew he wanted me too.

Saturday night Paul and I went for drinks. We began our evening at a small beer pub down the street before heading over to the Zone to finish out the night and see our friend the bartender for the night, Sally. When we got there the first thing I saw was William, and the second…Leila. Paul secured seats at a table far from where Leila sat with Sheila. When I first approached the bar William kept his gaze straight ahead, though I know he sensed my presence. My hello either not heard or ignored I returned to my seat wondering if Wednesday had actually happened. I kept my disappointment to myself when Paul finally joined me at the table having spent a few minutes chatting with Will. When the time came for my second round Paul followed me to the bar and got Williams attention…effectively forcing Will to put me in his eye line. Again I smiled and said hello. This time I was rewarded with kind eyes and a soft hello. Wednesday had happened. I made some silly small talk with the two of them before returning to the table where I observed Will making a few adjustments to his appearance that he personally doesn’t care for, but knows I find appealing.

Shortly thereafter Will left with his drunken and obnoxious “friend” Simon for Loons and Goons. I approached him and asked if he were leaving. “Yes” he said “I have to.”…no doubt recalling previous times when this action would send me into spiral of insecurity. I ignored his look of trepidation, smiled and said “Have a good time. Come over or call me when you’re done”. I tickled his tummy when he told me he didn’t think he’d have any fun and that he’d call me in a bit.

If you are waiting for the part where I tell you of fireworks between Leila and I you are just going to have to wait for it never occurred. She snubbed not only me, but Paul as well. Paul who had joined Molly and her for drinks on Thursday night didn’t even rate a hello for his association with me. To this day I have no idea what is going on in her head…why she has not characteristically tried to mend fences…broken by what I don’t know. Perhaps broken by my desire not to have her dictating how I live my life, who I associate with, and what I feel about situations? What I do know is the broken tie between Leila and I has not gone unnoticed by the various norms that populate The Zone. This fact was made pointedly clear to both Paul and I as we sipped our after hours beverages.

“What’s going on with you and Leila” belted Patsy, the drunken barfly of this tale. A bit taken aback by this question from a woman I know not from Adam I replied “Nothing”, hoping this would put the issue to bed. But that was not to be and what follows is the condensed version of what followed.

Patsy: Well…you guys used to hang out all the time and I see that you guys didn’t speak tonight.
Me: Oh…yeah…well…we haven’t really been speaking lately…I’m not sure what’s up…she hasn’t called me and I haven’t called her.
Patsy: Why not…you guys used to hang out all the time.
Me: I don’t really know but I don’t see that it’s any of your business anyway.
Patsy: Oh…c’mon…she’s hurting.
Paul: She’s hurting? Patsy…you have no idea what you’re talking about.
Patsy: Well I could tell she was upset…she didn’t even say hello to you guys.
Me: Well…that’s her problem.
Patsy: Oh can’t you guys just kiss and make-up.
Me: No…I don’t think we can.
Paul: Patsy…you are way out of line. You don’t know Leila and you have no idea what you’re talking about. She’s a really hard person to be friends with.
Patsy: Oh…I think I know Leila…I’ve known her for years.
Me: Chatting with her at the bar from time to time doesn’t really constitute knowing a person and if you were as close to her as Paul and I are you would understand why we have no interest in mending fences.
Paul: Yeah…Leila has no concept of give and take and until she can learn that both of us are done with her shit.
Patsy: Oh…I know she can be difficult but she’s lonely…she needs you…give her what she needs.
Me: (fire blazing in my eyes) Give her what she needs? Give her what she needs? What about what I need? What about what Paul needs? I’m empty…done…used up…tired…I can’t continue give give giving and getting nothing but crap in return. You don’t know what you’re talking about…just mind your business.

I saw Sally looking uncomfortable as she was experiencing her own troubles trying to get the bar closed down. I put my face in my hands and chanted to myself “Just shut up Julie…just let it go”. At this point Paul put his hand on my shoulder signifying he would handle the situation from this point forward. He, unlike me, actually knows Patsy well. The above conversation played like a loop and continued on into the car as we gave Patsy a ride home. Finally…tired of hearing Paul defend me…defend himself…I turned around in my seat and said “Patsy…I don’t know you, but I appreciate that you care about Leila…believe me…we do to…and we wish her well…we just cant continue giving up ourselves trying to make her happy…as it just isn’t possible”. My words either finally sank in or Patsy was too drunk and tired to continue her defense of this woman who she barely knew as she finally said “I guess I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Really? Ya think?

After we dropped Patsy off we headed off to get some post bar grub. As we waited in cue we discussed the conversation with Patsy and how I still really didn’t understand why Leila had set me up with William if she thought he was such a bad guy…did she want me to be happy or not? As Paul was conjecturing that she wanted me to be “happy, but not too happy” my phone beeped. It was that text from William asking “Are you ok”. I turned my phone to Paul and asked “Is this the kind of thing a bad guy does?” “No” he replied with a smile. I texted back letting William know that I was indeed OK, and it actually wasn’t a lie…I really was.

That night when Will came over I didn’t mention the conversation with Patsy. Nor did I mention it the following day as we listened to the rain pelt the ground outside, safely cuddled up watching movies, laughing at each other and chatting about this that and the other thing. After he left to go do “guy stuff” Lydia came over and we shared girl talk and a meal with Paul. And while you might expect that Will would skip his nightly check-in call having spent the entire day with me you would be wrong. I still have not gone a day without hearing from him...tonight included.

And I know that Will still worries about pleasing me, and he still worries about being the man he feels he needs to be. I know that he can’t make any promises about the future and I know that he has too many worries about his own future to worry about us, but what I said to him when he voiced these concerns to me on Saturday night was, “You have nothing to worry about with us. This is the one thing you don’t have to worry about…because us is just fine”. And I meant that as much then as I do now because I know...I mean...I really know that he feels for me as I do him.

And that…is a wonderful thing.

Social Sociability

Wednesday night I went to see the movie Cloverfield. When Will asked me if I’d like to go with him to see it I had no idea what it was about but said yes anyway…because even though it sounded like some kind of horse whisperer make me want to puke fare when the object of your affection asks you on a movie date you do not pass go…you do not collect $200…you just go.

So, since I didn’t know what the flick was about, not only did I not have high expectations I had no expectations. And you know what…I liked it. I liked it a lot. If you are like me and don’t get out to the picture show often then you might have as little clue what I’m talking about as I did when I walked into the theater. The whole movie is centered around a Godzilla like attack on Manhattan yuppies. Filmed in the style of “The Blair Witch Project” there is never a moment that you wonder if this could possibly a real event. If it had…you would most surely have heard about it. Unlike “The Blair Witch Project” this movie was actually good. Borrowing on the accidental genius of Steven Speilberg in Jaws you don’t really get a good look at the monster until the end of the movie. But that doesn’t matter because all you really need to know is that it’s big…and it’s angry. This thing is hungry baby I want a toy throwing a tantrum angry. Aside from the fact that the general public would have been made aware of such an attack long before the tape surfaced there were a few things that let you know that there is nothing real about the events that took place in this movie.

First off, the movie opens with our gang attending a going away party for the hero of our tale. The first thing I noticed was the complete absence of any unattractive people at this party. Where were all the ugly people? Surly this guy had to have at least one visually unappealing comrade…or is our hero Rob a complete and total snob? Secondly, why does Hollywood always show women running from things in heels? Toward the end of the movie I noticed one of the heroines scaling a wall still wearing her party shoes…her heeled party shoes. This is despite a clear shot of the gang standing outside a shoe store while trying to figure out what to do next? I’d like to think the next thing on my to-do list at that point would be to grab some trekking shoes…even if they didn’t quite match my Mizrahi party rags. And finally…the whole reason these cats are still running around Manhattan instead of boarding the evacuation copters is to rescue Rob’s best-friend/jilted lover who has fallen and can’t get up. Now…I really like Will. I like him a lot. But…I wouldn’t trek a block down the street with Godzilla close on my heels to lift a bookcase off of him much less journey through the dark deserted subway tunnels snaking underneath Manhattan where just about anything can lie in wait. He’s a big guy with rather nice fore-arms. He can lift the damn bookcase off his own self…he doesn’t need me risking my life for that. Besides…who would there be to mourn demurely at his subsequent funeral if I get myself torn in half by some hungry baby Godzilla. Nope…he’s on his own and I would hope he’d do the same. Though…I must admit…such gallant efforts to save my life would only deepen my affection for him…while at the same time making me wonder if I’m not falling for a complete and utter fool.

All in all…it was a good movie and I’d recommend it to my friends. Afterwards we went for drinks and conversation where I found that non-bloggers don’t fully get blogging. While he completely understands “the writing process” he isn’t completely comfortable with being a character in my story…even with all of the names changed. The following evening Lydia and I double teamed him trying to explain that not only are very few people reading this and of those it is highly unlikely that anyone that knows him is reading this and of those it is highly unlikely that they would know it’s a blog written by yours truly much less that he is the hero of this tale. But…despite our efforts he remains bugged. We are at an impasse on this and as I told him that if I’m going to write about my life, and he is going to be a big part of my life that he would also have to be at least a small part of my blog tale. Un-fazed he told me that he’s not mad…it just gives him a bit of anxiety thinking “he’s out there”. I assured him that he really isn’t and challenged him to find this blog. I told him that if he could find it I would remove any and all reference to him. He laughed and said he didn’t think he’d take me up on that challenge but was curious to know his blog name. Nice try there buddy…I refused to ante up the information and then rejected his idea for a blog name. It was pretty bad and conjures up images of this gay guy I used to go clubbing with. No thank you…don’t want to think of William as a pasty faced gay man…even it he is a hilarious pasty faced gay man. We ended that part of the conversation with him knowing that he wouldn’t be an absent figure from my blog but just in case any of you run into him on the street…don’t tell him I told you any of this.

Rounding out a busy week (and let me tell you…there is much I could blog about) I had dinner with my friend Zabel last night. She’s a fellow grad student and wanted to check out this Armenian restaurant for some student government function she’s spearheading. The food was great and while the dishes were pricey you could feed 3 people off of one plate. I barely made a dent in my food so in addition to the leftover pizza from my evening with Lydia I now have roast lamb/rice/tahini/humus in my fridge. If I’m not careful I will become a house. We had a great time chatting…I almost never see her. She, being so busy with all of her extra-curricular activities and me being wrapped up in all of the Leila drama we rarely get together. It was only recently that I found out she is Iraqi. Last night toward the end of our time I asked her how old she was when she moved here and she told me she was 15. Doing some quick math in my head I said “So…you lived under Saddam?” Yup…she sure did. We talked for a little bit about that…my impression being that it wasn’t so different from living under Bush except that you can criticize our government without fear of getting thrown into prison or…worse. Basically…Saddam is an idiot not fit to rule and I have no doubt that if our country didn’t have rules against cruel and unusual punishment there really wouldn’t be much difference between the two “leaders”.

It was a good time, and as I drove home I thought to myself that despite all the difficulties of living in a city like LA the diversity of the people you can meet and get to know is really quite astounding. I mean…if I were to get all of my friends together in one place it would resemble a UN sub-committee meeting. Present would be representatives from several states within the United States in addition to England, Spain, Cambodia, Israel, Cuba, Iraq, Mexico, Canada, Chili, and Argentina. And those are just the folks that immediately come to mind as I’m sure I’m forgetting one or two of the countries from which my crew hails. I do love all of my friends and I have to tell you…I don’t miss Leila one little bit. I have actually been more social since cutting ties with her than I was before.

What was I so afraid of? Change? I don’t think so…especially not given the drastic change I gave my appearance today. I’ve gone from blonde to a dark chestnut red brunette. I love love love my new color and I cant wait to show it off tonight as I go for a beer with my English representative, Paul who I haven’t had much chance to chat with this week. So now I must go put on some purple eye-shadow to bring out the green in my eyes. Yes…I’m going to go with Paul over to farts and darts. Leila might be there later but I cant avoid the place forever…and I miss it just a little.

Hopefully she won’t show up…though I doubt it. Im just not the kind that wont do what I want to do simply because I want to avoid someone. But no worries…while I might be polite should the occasion arise, I won’t be letting her back into my life. I don’t really have room for her anyway!

Six Non-Important Things/Habits/Quirks About Me

UNO: I am a klutz. Not just any kind of klutz either…after 34 (almost 35…oh jeez!) years I am still like a newborn colt learning to walk. I walk into things a lot and I bang my arms on tables and door jams when I walk by them. I am so used to it that it doesn’t even faze me anymore. One night after an evening at the pub Mark gave me a ride home. As I was exiting his car to go inside he called out “Pole!” I thought he was giving me a hard time about my heritage so I turned my head to give him a dirty look and promptly walked into the pole that has been outside my complex for the entire three years I’ve lived here. He just shook his head and drove away. It doesn’t faze him anymore either.

DOS: Speaking of heritage…I am ½ Polish, ½ German. My Great Grandfather came here from Poland in 1914 passing through Ellis Island at the age of 14. He was alone. When he was 80 or so he had open heart surgery. The nurse asked him to remove his dentures before they put him on the gas. He refused...insisting the nurse do her job and remove the teeth for him. Finally persuaded, the nurse reached into his mouth and yanked to no avail. It should be noted that when my grandfather died some years later it was with his full set of adult teeth. When he would visit us he used to walk us to McDonalds for a happy meal…every day. When we would get home we would sit in this old car that my dad had stored in front of our house. It was very warm. Grandpa liked it that way…chilled to the bone in the house he used to tell me. Sometimes in the summer when it is very hot I sit in my car and think of my Grandpa. He always had spare change for us and he never let us have more than ½ a can of ginger ale at one sitting. I inherited his teeth. He died when I was 12 and I still miss him.

TRES: I bruise really easy. Like…please don’t hit me with a pillow easy. This is somewhat problematic given UNO. I always have some kind of bruise on my body and I almost never know where and/or when I got them. It has always bothered my boyfriends. They think that people will assume I’m being battered. Perhaps by the general public but…anyone that knows me well knows that I accidentally abuse myself. Because of this, actual abuse would be hard to prove.

QUATRO: I’m not afraid to eat weird things. I ate cuy (guinea pig) when I was in Peru. It was greasy and tasted like gamey chicken. My ex and I witnessed a deer get hit on the way to school once. We put it in the car, took it home, and had venison that night. It was a lot of meat for two people so we smoked the remainder. The jerky was excellent…though the consistency was a little like liver. I’ve had liver but I don’t really like it. I ate alligator in New Orleans, Iguana in Belize, and “the special” in Guatemala. I think it may have been tripe. It was pretty good, but I don’t think I’d like to eat it again. William wants to go camping. Like…put a pack on your back and hike but let’s not bring a tent (huh?) camping. He suggested that we’d eat bar-b-que crickets. That might be a little further than I’m willing to go…even if the legs and wings are removed. I smell a negotiation a coming!


CINCO: I used to sleepwalk. Once, while staying at a friends house during my high school years I went downstairs and emptied out the refrigerator while her parents watched. They tell me they were quite amused. I have no memory of this. Another time, I woke up in the bushes of the people across the street. They didn’t see me. I often woke up in the morning with scratches and cuts on my legs. I wonder what I was doing. I don’t think I sleepwalk anymore.

SEIS: I love anything hot. Curry, hot sauce, salsa…you name it. The hotter the better…or so I used to say…before that time I stopped at a little restaurant in a border town in New Mexico. I ordered the enchilada platter. She asked me if I wanted it medium, mild, or hot. I replied “HOT!” She raised her eyebrow and said “Are you sure?” “Yes…definitely…as hot as it comes.” She brought me my food and I dug in. It was hot. I mean…it was HOT! I don’t remember tasting anything other than the chili spice. It was so hot that it made me sweat bullets. My first bite was a zinger. I thought…what have I gotten myself into. My pride forced me to eat the entire thing. I couldn’t taste anything for two days after that.



OK. That was fun. Thanks to Lydia for “tagging me”. As part of this little game I tag Mark, Skip, and Always Aroused girl. Hers is a new blog for me, but it gives me comfort to know that not everyone in a mommy and me group thinks porn is a dirty word. I don’t really expect her to play…really just wanted to bring attention to her blog!

Here are “The rules”

1) Link to the person that tagged you.
2) Post the rules on your blog.
3) Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people at the end of your post and link to their blogs.
5) Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
6) Let the fun begin

Really Wasn't Expecting This

My 10 is now 9.

He might not be a rocket scientist, and he might not have been the most talented young actor in Hollywood but he was on my list. You know…that list you have that if you ever in a million years had the opportunity you could…ya know…get horizontal and not get into trouble with your husband/boyfriend/part-time lover or whatever you’re calling him these days.

Heath Ledger is dead. Dead of a drug overdose. I don’t usually get too worked up about this kind of stuff…and I normally wouldn’t take the time to write about it, but I really liked this actor. I liked his movies and he seemed like a pretty down to earth guy. Was it intentional or was it an accident? At this point they aren’t calling it one way or the other. According to The New York Post online edition a bottle of sleeping pills was found next to his body. Yeah…it would take a lot to get me to believe that was an accident. Even if he wasn’t consciously trying to end his days it was no accident. I’m an insomniac. I have some sleep aids. I take a pill and put the bottle back…I don’t cuddle up with it. Or perhaps it had something to do with the bottles of anxiety medication, Diazepam and Alprazolam that he had in his home. We won’t know until the coroners report is released.

What is most upsetting about this story…aside from the fact that now there isn’t even a snowballs chance in hell I’ll ever get to see that man naked in the flesh…is that his parents found out the same way the rest of us did…on the news. Can you imagine? You’re fixing up a late lunch…maybe surfing the internet…nothing seems out of the ordinary…and then WHAM! You find out that someone you love is dead. You find out via the internet or a breaking news story on television. It’s hard enough to hear the news from a trusted friend or family member. Hard enough to see the look on their face or hear the tone in their voice as they prepare you for the bad news. But to find out about it with no warning along with god only knows how many people. I can't even begin to imagine.

And…while I know that the media is just doing their job…and we as Americans seem to lap it up like cats with bowl of fresh milk…can we have some kind of moratorium on releasing this kind of information? Can we have maybe a little respect…if not for the celebrities themselves…the family that surrounds them? I mean...couldn't the rest of the nation/world have found out about this tomorrow?

Last week it was Brad Renfro…he wasn’t on my list. This week it’s Heath Ledger…he was. By the rule of three we’ll be losing another young man of Hollywood soon and I could be down to 8. Hopefully the family of the third will find out through more supportive channels than this.

And no…you don’t get to know who the other nine are!

Oh Happy Day!

My cell phone beeped and I was awoken by good news. Sam got his weight watchers key ring signifying a loss of 10% of his starting bodyweight. Anyone who has ever tried to lose weight knows that this is no small accomplishment and I honestly can’t tell you how happy I am for this guy. Like my William, Sam is a really good man who two years ago, fresh out of a marriage to a “Leila”, and having made a drastic career change was beat down and unsure of his life choices. His mid-west family didn’t understand him, his ex-wife hated him and he was, put quite simply, a mess. I mean…even 6 months ago he sang the song of the bitter. His dogs were better company than any woman ever could be, he really wasn’t an actor or a writer, and fearing he’d never be able to retire if he continued plugging away he’d figured out a way to go back to his old job in a way that he could manage. But today…he’s happy, and at peace with himself. He’s finally losing the weight he’s been unsuccessfully trying to shed for the past two years…has a new love in his life flying nary a red flag…and he’s excited about his career prospects. He sent me a photo of he and his new lady and you can just see it written all over his face. Everyone loves a success story…particularly when it’s happening to a good friend. Congratulations Sam…you deserve it!

This afternoons lunch date with Mary didn’t happen as she is experiencing some car trouble, but that was OK with me as I didn’t get to bed until 5am having stayed up most of the night chatting with Lydia. She took me to her favorite burrito stand. It’s the kind of place where a couple of blond Caucasian girls stand out like a sore thumb. It was the best burrito I’ve had since spending a summer doing an internship in the R&D department of the Dole salad processing plant in Salinas. Real slow cooked chicken, pinto beans, fresh lettuce, and spicy hot chili sauce all wrapped up in a giant tortilla. I was in heaven. Leila would never go to a place like that. Not in a million years. She’d think it too dirty and funny enough…I’d bet dollars to donuts that place is cleaner than the Taco Bell crap she finds so superior...and it certainly didn’t cost as much as the garbage Toxic Hell dishes up. Next time…I’m going to try the tacos…or maybe the enchiladas.

After dinner we headed back to her place and as we were sitting on the couch with a bottle of wine deconstructing that fiendish message from William my phone rang. It was him. He told me what happened on Friday night, and I wont bore you with details but it essentially boiled down to him having a really bad night with a couple of his friends and letting his mind spiral down into a pit of anger toward these individuals that seem to care more about themselves than they do him. And his point…which I know so well having dealt with Leila…was that he didn’t have to go out with them. These are the guys who, after only the second time William and I got together they gave him a ration of sheit about how they “missed him”. Gimme a break!

The conversation turned toward the bright side when he told me about hanging out with Paul the following evening. Sounds like he really enjoyed himself and I honestly want to hug Paul because William was almost cocky last night. And, while I usually find that to be a rather un-attractive quality here it was a welcome change. At one point he even said something to the effect that he wasn’t perfect but was about as close as it comes. “Oh yeah” I said. “I don’t know about that, but you can rest assured that little comment is going on my blog tomorrow.”… “I’m sure it will” he replied through his laughter.

(Sidebar: I absolutely love that he knows about this blog, and knows that I write about him but has never asked to see it. I mean…he’s never even asked me to tell him exactly what I write about be it about him or anything. I love that he “gets it”. And its not just that he “gets it”…he supports it.)

All in all it was a good conversation and I absolutely adore Lydia for not caring that I sat in her house for over an hour talking to my guy. Its not like she was any more bored than I would have been had the situations been reversed as there are plenty of ways to occupy oneself when not the center of attention...and I know that situations reversed I wouldn’t care if she were talking to her boy…in fact I’d be as happy for her as I am about the text I received from her this evening. Things seem to be looking up for both of us. And if Sam is any indication of what is possible then it really can happen.

Maybe broken birds can find their wings and learn to fly again.

Everything But The Kitchen Sink

Last night as I was finishing my post I received an email from Lydia. I emailed her back and shortly thereafter my phone rang. No…it wasn’t Will. It was Lydia. In the time it took me to email her back something had happened and she needed some re-assurance…which I am more than happy to provide. We chatted for awhile and then I wanted to get off the phone so I could eat and relax. She laughed and apologized…saying she’s not usually this nutty but that it had been a long time since she had someone intelligent that got what she is going through to talk to. I assured her that I completely understood and that I felt the same about her. I mean…we’ve both been involved with women that we thought were friends but turned out to be “frenemy’s”.

But it got me to thinking. We…and I’m talking about the collective we of womenfolk…often talk about the damage and baggage that we carry around due to failed relationships with men. But what about the damage and baggage that we carry around due to failed relationships with women? Last week I dashed off a series of un-answered emails to Lydia…some with the intent of providing inspiration…some giving un-solicited advice…and then others attempting to qualify said advice. It was very Mike Peters from the movie Swingers leaving message after message on a girls answering machine trying to explain his goofy behavior. As I was doing this I thought…she must be thinking I’m nuts. She’s not going to want to be my friend if she thinks I’m nuts. Stop, I told myself…just STOP hitting send!




And then there is my friend Mary. We met while training for the Los Angeles Marathon. Distance running certainly gives you plenty of time to get to know someone and as I got more and more comfortable with this person, realizing that we shared a lot of common ground, I wanted to “hang out” with her when we weren’t lacing up our running shoes. At the same time I didn’t want to intrude on her life…so I never mentioned it. Eventually we started to go out for breakfast after our runs, but she herself was a bit stand-offish and for the past year we have been doing this little dance of trying to become each others friend without seeming “needy”. Not too long ago she confided in me that she needed a girls night…she has few female friends, and of those she does have she doesn’t really get them nor they her. She asked if she could go out with me and my friends. Well, never one to ignore a friend in need I put on my Julie the cruise directors hat and organized a little evening of rock-n-roll sushi for her, Leila, and I. It was strategic. The place is loud and more about being entertained than actually having a conversation. My real intent was to make sure I could bring her around Leila…that Leila would accept her.

Friday night, when I spoke to Mary solidifying our plans to meet for lunch this weekend I told her that my schedule was pretty wide open these days as Leila is no longer in my life. She was a little surprised so I gave her the super short truncated version of all that I’ve been blogging about here and told her that the whole reason I organized that dinner we had the way I did was to “vette” her to Leila. Mary completely cracked up. She said she totally knew what I was talking about…that she too had “possessive” friends like that and the best she had figured was to not let them get to close. Through my laughter I said, “OH…now you tell me!” We decided we’d meet for lunch on Monday and laughed that since it had been so long, and she too had things to share with me that lunch might segue into dinner.
And I wonder. How many of us are there out there? How many women sit feeling isolated in their homes wishing they had a close knit group of friends ala the Sex In The City gang? I’m beginning to think…quite a few.


Note: If you like the modern painting of friends holding hands you can purchase this or similar work at art by wicks.

Technological Blunder

If you’ve been reading this blog you may recall a little piece of mind I found early last week. You may also recall that after my heart to heart with William I promised that the neurotic mess I normally am would be back.

I’m baaaaaack!

The neurotic over-analyzer has re-taken possession of my psyche and is currently driving me bonkers. Welcome to the dollhouse.

Allow me to preface this by saying that I had a GREAT time last night. Went out for curry and beverages of the adult variety with some of the coolest people I know…Mark, Paul, and my new friend Lydia who through a six degrees of Kevin Bacon was brought into my life via Mark. Mark doesn’t remember giving me her blog address…but Mark doesn’t remember a lot of things. We had a great time sniffling our way through our curry and cooling our palates with Indian beer. After dinner we went to a pub down the street where we continued the merriment. The place was packed and the drinks were overpriced but it was nice to do something different. I love the cheap and stiff drinks that can be had at Farts n Darts or The Zone but there was plenty of eye-candy and it always does the ego good to notice the cute guy that keeps looking your way hoping to catch your eye.

Toward the end of the evening I reached into my purse to get my cigs and saw that my phone was blinking. I had just missed a call from William. Figuring it was his usual end of the night check-in call I sent him a text letting him know that I was at a very loud place and would be home late but would call him later unless he was heading to sleep. As I was sending this text a message came through. It was from William. I finished my text and put my phone back in my purse as I figured I could listen to his “just calling to say hi” message when I got home. But then a feeling came over me. A feeling that something wasn’t right and that maybe William wasn’t OK. When the lights came up signaling the end of the broadcast day I finished my drink, and went outside to listen to my message as the rest of the gang finished theirs.

Hey Julie…its William. I guess I feel (30 seconds or so of silence)...

The rest of the message led me to believe that he was upset. Upset at what or who I do not know. I don't think he could be mad at me for anything...I haven't even seen the man for almost a month. He hoped I was doing well and hadn't woken me, but when a key component of a message is missing, and you dont know who he may have spoken to...you've almost got to accept any possibility...no matter how far fetched you think it might be.

What is in this vortex of silence? Curse…no curse is not quite right…damn to hell…the black hole that sucked away the words that may be crucial to figuring out his state of mind when he left me that message. I might say it was simply a pause but when his voice finally played in my ear again it sounded mid-sentence…mid-thought. I mean…I know it was mid-sentence. That is the one thing I am sure of. I phoned him back but he did not pick up. Left a message letting him know that we were finishing up…that he didn’t sound good…and I would be up for a couple of hours if he wanted to talk. I also sent two other texts letting him know #1 that I was worried and here for him and #2 that I didn’t know who he was pissed off at? …I’m confused…what happened? I knew he’d been at the pub…so I’m sure he left that message and then promptly fell asleep so I wasn’t really expecting a reply. Safe in that knowledge I momentarily put it out of my mind and bid my friends farewell. On the ride home I told Paul about the message and chewed his ear off about it. He assured me that William was just being his typical broody self and that I should not worry about it. That he had been out at the pub and we both know there is almost always some kind of drama there…that he is likely quite inebriated and might not even remember this message in the morning. But I wonder. Still feeling the sting of back-talking and deceptive maneuvers by people that are supposed to be my friends I wondered what happened…what sent him into such an emotional state. As you may guess…I didn’t sleep well last night…but I did sleep.

This afternoon I send a final text and for the sake of any non-texters out there I’ve translated the text jargon into English. It read,”Thinking about you. Don’t know who got you upset or about what. Hole in message. Hope you’re feeling a little better today. Call me when can”

And now I will wait patiently for him to return my communiqués. But that doesn’t mean I won’t obsess.

What is in that silence…that length of un-recorded message…is whatever it was he was feeling when he left me that message. Deceived? Hurt? Confused? Like an ass? Depending on whom he spoke to and what they had to say it could be any of those. Was Leila there? Did she feed him lies? Did someone else speak kindly of me and make him feel like a heel for keeping me at arms length for so long? Or did he simply sit and ponder some of the things we’ve conversed about over the past week or so coming to some revelation that had previously eluded him? What and/or who is he pissed at? Does he think he’s in trouble with me or someone? Or...did he simply have a bad night and was wishing he'd not chased me off...wishing maybe he'd seen me last night instead of whoever it is he spent time with? Is there a place that lost messages go? Are these missing words currently residing next to the one pair of sunglasses I own not being held together by a safety pin or paper clip?

Oh yes…I am most definitely a girl. I am 100% all the way…girl.

My gut tells me that he is not upset with me. If he were would he “hope I’m doing well?” Would he hope he hadn’t woken me? I doubt it. My gut tells me he was reaching out. But what has made him pissed? And why is the evening inching toward midnight with no phone call? No clarification? I have no idea what is going on in that mans head. I emailed Lydia and told her I wished I could be like J. Lo in The Cell and actually go rooting around in his head...see what's hidden in all the trunks in all the corners of his mind. And if I could…would I really want to know? I would guess not.

Well…there’s not much I can do but wait to hear from him. Even if it takes a month…I’ve got a life to live…work to do…and friends to see. Now I will retire to a bath, a late night supper and perhaps a chick flick.

Will my phone ring tonight? Will I have to wait a month to find out what was going through that mans head when he phoned me last night? I really don’t know.

But I won’t think about that now.

And in the immortal words of Miss Scarlett O’ Hara; “I'll...I'll think about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day!"



Note: If you like the painting of the young woman on the couch you can purchase this or similar work online at banayat fine art.

Incorporeal Consciousness- Addended

Last night I went to dinner with Sam. Shoving my way past the paparazzi waiting to get a glimpse of the trailer trash-like tabloid diva, Ms. Britney Spears…who just happened to be having a couple of empanadas at the Gaucho Grill next door…I finally saw him after almost over 3 months. Much has happened in both of our lives since the last time we shared a meal. He has started seeing what sounds like a wonderful woman and I have started seeing William. There was much to discuss. He filled me in on his new squeeze and I told him about mine. Of course…I gave him the readers digest condensed version.

Me: He had a high pressure job...burned out...is now back to his first love
Sam: Been there (he had a high pressure career and burned out...decided to follow his dream of being a writer…and had misgivings about that decision)
Me: Right...so he's making a lot less money than he used to...
Sam: Been there...
Me: Right...and his parents are old school pick something, make money, get married, and be miserable for the rest of your life
Sam: Right...been there too. So what you're telling me is he hates himself and he's internalizing all of his self loathing and feels worthless like he has nothing to offer anyone...
Me: Right

After telling him some of the stories, both good and bad, he said “Having been there…it sounds like everything is fine...he just needs to work through his shit.” Then he said “Why do you think you keep attracting people like this into your life?” to which I replied “I don’t know that I attract them at all…I think I’m sent.” I reminded him of how unsure he was of his decisions and postulated that my friendship might have been at least some help in getting him to a more happy head place.

I, myself, have been fortunate enough to have been sent people that have helped me become the person that I am today. Take Sophie, for example. We met when we were 16 years old. My new boyfriend took me on a double date with his best friend and Sophie. We became instant friends. I don’t even remember the boys that night as Sophie and I sat across the table from each other barely paying attention to them.

After that night we were practically inseparable. At the time, I was a bit of a damaged bird. Shy and unsure of myself, she really brought me out of my shell. It was summertime so we spent our afternoons at the beach and our evenings driving here there and everywhere singing and car dancing to bands I’d never even heard of up to that point…The Violent Femmes, The Cure, The Smiths, The B-52’s, and the Ramones to name a just a few. She was the first person ever to ask me why I hid my face under so much hair and my body under baggy clothing. She taught me to dance in front of her floor to ceiling mirror and before you knew it…I was the life of the party right alongside her. I blossomed. Both of us eventually broke up with the men that had brought us together, but we remained friends through it all.



But, it wouldn't last forever. 2 years after we met...she was gone from my life. I'll never forget the night I found out she was gone.

When I got home that night the first thing I saw was my mothers’ new furniture. Commenting on how nice it looked I noticed our mutual friend Dan sitting on the couch…wearing a suit. “Gee Dan…what’s with the get-up” I asked. He stood…and with a grim look on his face he said “I have some bad news.” When he told me that Sophie had died 4 days prior in a plane crash I didn’t believe him at first. Plane crash? She wasn’t in any plane. And then I remembered. I remembered that phone call I’d received Friday morning. Sophie whispered into the phone “I'm going to tell my parents I’m spending the night at your house tonight. Peter just got his pilots license and he is taking Beth and I on a double date to Santa Barbara…”

I collapsed into Dans arms. I couldn't believe it. When is the funeral? The funeral was to be in Chicago 2 days later. He’d just come from the memorial. In all the confusion no one had thought to call me and since we didn’t go to the same school I didn’t find out through the normal channels. When my absence was realized the gang drew straws to see who would have to tell me. Dan drew the short straw.

She never saw her 18th birthday. She was and always will be young and beautiful. But she left a piece of herself here and anyone that has ever spent time with me has spent time with a piece of that girl. But she is not gone.

In the weeks that followed I would still dial Sophies number whenever something happened that I thought she’d want to hear about…things she would normally be the first person I told. A few times I even let the phone ring a few times before I remembered that she was gone. Several months after her death she started appearing in my dreams and I would run from her. I don’t know why but something in me knew she was dead and shouldn’t be there…even in dreams.

One night, while indulging in after-hours coffee shop grease I told Ben, her ex and my friend still, about the dreams. I told him that sometimes…when I’d run from her I would find myself at a house. And old abandoned house surrounded by trees and overgrown with brush. His eyes widened. He beckoned me to his car and drove me through the canyons. He took me to the house I had up to that point only seen in my dreams. It had been their spot, he told me. He grabbed my hands and said “next time…talk to her.”

And I did. The next time I dreamt of Sophie we sat at her grandmothers table in her kitchen in Italy. We spoke for what seemed like hours and then she looked at me, covered my hands with hers, and said “I have to go now…but you will be OK…I want you to know that.” She stood and walked out the door into…I kid you not…a whitewashed landscape…or…in other words…a very bright light. I woke bolt up-right…as though I’d never been asleep.

I had never been to that kitchen in Italy but later…when I saw a photo of it…I knew I had been there in my dream. That bright yellow kitchen in a country I’ve never physically set foot in.

Over the years she has come to me often…usually when I have been at cross-roads in my life. She comes less and less these days…and it’s been years since she has visited me in a dream. But I sometimes feel her presence. And sometimes…I just suddenly change my mind about something I had been dead set on…only to find out later that it would have been the wrong or dangerous thing to do.

Last Tuesday as I was lying in bed trying to sleep but having hard time as I kept mulling over a conversation I had just had with the leading man in my life, wondering if I were making a mistake in trusting him when my cat jumped up on the bed and curled up between my legs. She lay there quietly as I pondered whether or not I was going to put my energy into “fixing” this man only to have him run into the arms of another. Would my association with him do just what he fears and bring me down…hold me back? I simply couldn’t sleep. I was arguing with myself. Telling myself I was being silly for having faith in this man. I was chastising myself for naively believing words that have not been backed up by actions.

When the time came to change positions I reached down to move the cat out of the way. Only…she wasn’t there. She wasn’t even in my room. I got back into bed and as I settled down in a solo spoon position I felt the pressure on my back...the breath on my neck, and Sophie was there. I couldn’t see her, but I felt her. She stroked and curled my hair between her fingers until I fell asleep.

When I woke up the next morning I felt sure that I am on the right path. I don’t know if this is the right path because he is the man I’m going to grow old with or if it’s because I need to be there for him during this time in his life. Maybe I need him...even in this capacity...or maybe I have been sent to him. Maybe he was supposed to meet me right now when he needs someone…someone like me…that can make him feel loved even if he doesn’t think he deserves it.

I don’t know. But it doesn’t really matter. I trust Sophie. She has never steered me wrong. I don’t think she ever will.

You might think I’m crazy. You might think I’m grasping at straws here. But I’m not. I honestly don’t know why I need to stick with him right now…and I have no illusions that this is “all going to work out.” All I know for sure is that it feels right and that I do so without peril to myself, and that is all that matters…at least to me.

And…as arrogant as this might sound…I believe that I am sent into people’s lives when they need a supportive voice…a hand to hold...a shoulder to cry on...a witness to the struggle...and a cheerleader for the effort.

At least…that’s what I hope I am.



P.S. As I was finishing this post my guy phoned me. He asked if I'd like to see a movie with him next week. I told him I'd love to. Experience tells me not to hold my breath...as I haven't seen him in almost a month at this point, but I'm hopeful that I will see him soon...and breathe in his scent that is like aromatherapy for me. That would be nice...very very nice.

Addendum:
Last night I was really tired when I was writing that post. I almost considered just curling up in bed and watching a movie....but for some reason I really wanted to write about Sophie.

I woke up this morning and realized that yesterday would have been her 35th birthday. Happy Birthday Sophie!

Balance

I have a confession to make. I don’t really like my job. In fact…sometimes I hate my job. When I tell people what I do…and I never volunteer the information…but when they ask me and I say “Oh…well…I’m studying growth factor signaling in mesenchymal stem cells” they are oftentimes interested, and almost always impressed. I mean stem cells are such a hot topic of discussion these days…that it must sound pretty sexy. Wow…a real stem cell biologist…and she can hold her liquor! But I’m here to tell you that it’s not and if you can learn how to fix a car you can learn how to extract DNA. Now…I will admit…I am proud of my accomplishments…and the real work is in determining what experiment to do next which is where all the years of education come in. I do like the respect I often get from people because I have achieved this level of education, but it also disturbs me. Sometimes I wonder if people listen to what I’ve got to say about the world simply because I’m about to have those three little letters tacked onto the ass of my name. This is why I never volunteer the information as I want to be considered “just part of the gang”. No better and no worse than anyone else in my blue collar world.

(Sidebar: Leila always liked to tell people what I do for a living. Whenever a man would come over to talk to me she would interject this information somehow. When I asked her to stop…to allow me to reveal myself to people in my own time she would say “But I’m proud of you…and I’m proud that you’re my friend…and it’s a reflection on me…you know…cause you’re not just some secretary that I’m hanging around with.” Proud of me my ASS! She knows that most men…no matter how enlightened…don’t like to feel intimidated. And that’s what it was…a form of intimidation. And no…I wasn’t…as she accused…trying to “lower” myself for men. I just want people to get to know me before they get to know my credentials. And…really…isn’t it my decision what I want to discuss with a potential suitor…or a potential new friend? And honestly…what is wrong with being a secretary? Is there something I’m missing here?)

Anyway…the whole reason I came to graduate school is because I want to teach, and I knew I didn’t want to teach High School. Professors make better money than High School teachers so I knew that I would be able to support myself whether or not I walk this life solo…and for the most part…the kids actually want to be there. I love teaching. I really and truly love interacting with the students, and from what I can tell…I’m pretty good at it. In fact…I’ve been told numerous times that I am good at breaking down complex ideas and presenting them in a way that is understandable to the layman and therefore I should be a teacher. But when I emphatically agree and say “Well…that’s why I went to graduate school in the first place” the following statement is invariably what I get back; "Oh…but you could do so much more for the world in research!”

So?

What if I don’t like doing research? What if I hate doing research? What if I don’t want to dedicate hours upon hours of my life to fretting over whether my data is good enough…whether I’ve missed some crucial publication in my field that blows holes in my model…in my theory…in my hypothesis? What if I don’t want to continue doing the same experiment over and over and over again just to make sure the result is real? What if I don’t want to worry that my lab will shut down because the NIH is under funded or this year its all about bio-terror and stem cells are soooo passé?

Do you have any idea how much good solid research is not being done because of these kinds of issues?

There is no doubt that there will never be enough money to fund all of the good ideas…all of the valuable science that could be undertaken so that is not whats buggering my mind today. And this is not why I don’t want to be a bench researcher and that is not why I don’t want to run my own research lab.

I don’t want to do it simply because I don’t want to do it. Period. I’m not giving up…throwing in the towel…or selling myself short.

I simply don’t want that life. Is that OK with everybody?

What do I want then?

What I really really want is to teach biology to undergrads at a small teaching university in a small college town. I want to grade papers with a glass of wine by my hand while the ghee I am making slowly simmers on the stove. I want to spend my weekends walking my Labrador and taking afternoon naps. I don’t want to live rich. I don’t need a 5 bedroom house or a fancy car.

What I need is peace of mind…and balance.

Because without that…what is the point of living at all?

But before I can do that I must finish this degree. Not that I couldn’t just start teaching now at some of the smaller colleges. I’ve advanced to candidacy…and I have an M.Sc. It could work. But…I owe it to my boss…who has done so much for me over the years…who was a complete and total pain in the ass today. I owe it to him to finish my dissertation and get those three little letters tacked onto the ass of my name.

Things That Make You Go Hmmmm...

Today I presided over the first student led discussions in the bioethics course Im TAing, and while I was droopy eyed from having stayed up way past my bedtime…it was fun. The “kids” did an excellent job, and the discussions were lively. Honestly…most times when your boss asks you to TA a course it’s a horrendous chore…as you are usually trying to do it all on top of your already harried regularly scheduled programming. However with a class like this it is more like being a kid let loose in a candy shop…particularly if you are a kid with a lot of opinions. I actually can’t believe I’m getting paid to do this. Today we discussed the dreaded Abortion issue and Euthanasia, or "right to die". And as with any hot button topic there are strong opinions on both sides of the fence. Mine tend toward the liberal side.

The Greek translation of Euthanasia is dying well. This makes sense as I always think of this in terms of an end stage cancer patient for whom morphine no longer dulls the pain. I am fairly certain that if I had a terminal diagnosis and had to live out the rest of my days in pain I would want the right to die…painlessly. Kiss me goodbye and shoot me up…I’m gone.


Of the 50 states in this nation only two actually have legislation addressing a person’s right to die. They are Oregon and Texas. Leave it to Texas to lead the way in providing an excellent argument against these kinds of "dying with dignity" provisions with their Advance Directives Act of 1999 (AKA The Texas Futile Care Law). It seems that in Texas a health care provider can withdraw care to a patient irrespective of the wishes of the patient upon determination that life-sustaining treatment is medically inappropriate or futile by the attending physician(s) provided said health care provider give 10 days notice to the family or legal guardian. Say WHAT????? Take the following case for example:

NEW YORK — While Americans were riveted by dramatic events unfolding in Pinellas Park, Fla., a five-month-old Houston baby took his last breath after a hospital let him die despite his mother's objections.

Sun Hudson was born Sept. 25 with thanatophoric dysplasia, an incurable and fatal form of dwarfism. Doctors said his tiny lungs would never fully grow and that he would never breathe on his own.

Hudson's mother, Wanda, put up a fight when doctors advised removing Sun from a respirator. She said she did not believe in sickness or death.

But on March 15, a Texas law signed by then-Gov. George W. Bush in 1999 allowed the hospital to go ahead and take Sun off the respirator in defiance of Wanda Hudson's wishes.

While the battle over Terri Schiavo has drawn dozens of outraged protesters to her Florida hospice, Sun's story made nary a bleep on the nation's radar. The few media outlets that picked up his story predictably drew parallels to the Schiavo case, and some experts have charged the president with hypocrisy.

I invoke my bloggers right to comment: Bush…a hypocrite? The hell you say! Carrying on…

The Texas statute that Bush signed authorized the ending of the life, even over the parents' protest. And what he's doing here is saying, 'The parents are protesting. You shouldn't stop [treatment],'" John Paris, a medical ethicist at Boston College, told Newsday. But some experts said the two cases are quite different. As is true of other state laws, Texas' Advance Directives Act of 1999 privileges the input of the patient's spouse over that of adult children, followed by the parents if there is no written directive.

But ultimately, the decision to extend treatment is made by the doctors and hospital.

Supporters of this Act claim a utilitarian viewpoint stating that sacrificing this one life which has little chance to survive benefits the greater good by freeing up hospital resources for patients that are likely to recover from their ailments. I can see that argument, and it certainly is sound, but I fear that this is a slippery slope. Will there come a day when it is determined that the poor or indigent do not have as much right to live as...say...a business man with an insurance card? I am reminded of a story written by one of the writers at Broowaha. In it he recounts his "tale of the bum knee". Apparently his health care provider...Kaiser Permanente...assured him that the only reason for his pain was a few extra pounds and a lack of exercise. After getting a new job and a new insurance carrier, but no relief of pain after losing ~45 lbs, he went to see his new doctor. X-rays revealed that the knee was completely missing any sort of cartilage and was...in fact...bone-on-bone. Asking the new doctor if Kaiser may have made a mistake when they looked at their x-rays the physician replied "a 4-year-old child could see that the knee was wasted...A pre-med student with one good eye would be able to tell that the knee was basically shot almost immediately after viewing these x-rays." Is this a little like your new hair stylist telling you that your last hair stylist didnt know what he/she was doing? I dont know, but one thing is for certain...hospitals are big business and managed care has turned doctors into nothing more than trained monkeys.

I am sorry, but "greater good be damned". Hospitals…get their money from insurance companies, which we all know by now are far more concerned with the bottom line (as in $$$$$$) than they are with patient care and as such they should not be allowed to determine who lives and dies. That should be up to the family.

This brings us to the great state of Oregon. Ah…Oregon…the land of many trees. So many trees that once while driving inland from the coast I began to feel claustrophobic and happy that trees are rooted in the ground lest they decide payback for all that logging should be due. But I digress…the topic of conversation is the right to die.

What does Oregon have to say about the right to die? Well…Oregon figures that if a patient, determined to be of sound mind, can find two doctors to confirm the terminal diagnosis then that patient should be allowed to die. Painlessly…by drug overdose…the way I would like to if I’m ever in horrific pain and not likely to recover.

Why then did John Ashcroft…a member of the Bush administration oppose this measure? I mean...seriously...Why would a member of the Bush administration, working under the man that signed legislation giving hospitals the right to deny care in some cases...while requiring that care be given in another...suggest that doctors who administered such treatment would be prosecuted under some antiquated federal law that didn’t really apply anyway? Which side of the fence are these people on?

Could it be because it was the patient that was given the power and not the corporatized practice of medicine that exists in this country today? And while the Advance Directives Act supposedly levels the playing field between the rich and the poor...why is it that all of the cases in which the hospital denied care against the wishes of the family/patient comprise those that were either elderly or members of a minority class? Hmmm....I wonder.

It sort of brings to mind the following from Nazi Germany.

Translation: “60,000 Reichsmarks is what this person suffering from hereditary defects costs the People's community during his lifetime. Fellow German, that is your money too.”

And that's all I have to say about that.

But before homeland security comes to arrest me I’d like to discuss the Abortion issue. Now…most women I know want the right to make the most difficult choice they hope they never have to make. So…most women I know are on some form of birth control when engaging in intercourse. And there are many things to discuss when it comes to Abortion rights, but what I want to bring up now is…birth control. If birth control were used more often there would be little need for abortion, which was the suggestion of the kid with the blue mohawk. Allow me to paraphrase his words:

“Why do we have to even make abortion an option…I mean…sure…If a woman is raped or molested or something then It should be an option but why do we have to talk about it like its an alternative...like there is no other choice? Why don’t we talk less about abortion and more about prevention.”

LOVE the kid with the blue mohawk. He is absolutely right. Teaching abstinence doesn’t work. Nor does burying our collective heads in the sand and saying things like “My little girl would never do such a thing…we raised her right” doesn’t work. Prevention…in the form of birth control....now THAT? That works. Of course we have to get past the morality of certain groups that dont believe in birth control...that see it as a sin against god or the poison seeping into the ground and killing the roots of the traditional family structure, but they typically don't believe in abortion either...which presents an entirely different conundrum for society to deal with.

Lets not go there right now. Lets stick with the issue of birth control as an alternative to abortion.

And that issue is the issue of access. What am I talking about? Well...if you live in a large city then you may not be aware, but unfortunately, there is a movement in this country to allow pharmacists that have a “conflict of morality” with the whole idea of birth control to refuse to dispense it to women with valid legal prescriptions. This scares me to no end, and there is an article discussing the arguments pertaining to this issue that you can read here, but allow me to share with you my favorite passage:

Not surprisingly, many of the pharmacists that claim a conflict of conscience in regards to dispensing birth control are also opposed to abortion. The fact of the matter is that pregnancy prevention, by default, prevents abortion. If a woman, denied birth control, becomes pregnant and chooses to terminate the unwanted pregnancy is the pharmacist then an accessory to what he or she would consider murder? When viewed in this light you almost have to wonder if there aren’t greater issues at play. The ability of a woman to control when and how many children she bears is integral to our emancipation from the myopic role as homemaker. Therefore it could be argued that this is less about morality and more about rolling back the clock to a time when women’s choices outside the home were limited to that of nurse or teacher. If so, would these pharmacists be making a decision "based on politics, expediency, or self-interest"?

Yeah. Things that make you go hmmmm...

Oh…and since no post would be complete without some mention of William…it just so happens that he is a Republican. He voted for Bush the first time…but not the second. Hey…everyone’s allowed to make a mistake once or twice in their lives. Right? Right?

Crickets…

Unsociable Sociability

This quarter I am a teaching assistant for a Bioethics course. It was a last minute assignment, but they desperately needed a TA and my “boss” thought it would be right up my alley. It almost scares me how well this man knows me…but then again…I’m pretty much an open book. I am not giving the lectures…rather I am moderating the discussions, which amount to little more than debates on issues such as abortion rights, animal research, eugenics, euthenasia (right to die) etc. etc. etc. Essentially…I am getting paid to do what I sit around and do with my friends while throwing back cocktails. I am, however, supposed to attend the lectures so that I know what the “kids” are learning.

Today we discussed Kantian philosphy.

Kant, 1784, Idea For A Universal History With A Cosmopolitan Purpose
(Idee zu einer allgemeinen Geschichte in weltbürgerlicher Absicht)

Man has an inclination to associate with others, because in society he feels himself to be more than man...But he also has a strong propensity to isolate himself from others, because he finds in himself at the same time the unsocial characteristic of wishing to have everything go according to his own wish. Thus he expects opposition on all sides because, in knowing himself, he knows that he, on his own part, is inclined to oppose others.

In other words:

We seek company yet wish to be "left alone".

This made me think of William. We spoke on the phone last night. Nothing too heavy…just conversation but the one thing that bothered me was that he hung out with Leila for a couple of hours last night. Not because he wanted to, but because she was at the pub and “insisted”. I told him that he can tell her he just wants to be alone, that he is not required to speak with anyone he doesn’t wish to. He said that he had told her that the last time and it was really OK because he just let her do most of the talking. As he went on about the evening, and her name kept coming up, I started to get really annoyed.

(Sidebar: What really got to me is that I hate that she forces herself on people. The first night Leila and I went out after Will and I started dating she automatically assumed that we would sit with Will. He was at a table with a confidante…a trusted friend…an older man in whom he seeks advice and guidance. I knew this would not be a time or a place for me to be running up on him, but before I could say anything Leila went on over and sat down. I mean...we're all regulars...right? I could tell by Wills body language that he was uncomfortable but didn’t want to offend me or her. And before you say it…we never used to sit with Will when we would go to the Pub together. I told her later that it wasn't cool and after that...just about every time that she and I were in the pub together while William was there she would give me shit because we didn’t sit with him. “Its weird Jules…why wouldn’t he want to sit with you?” I told her that early on he and I had discussed the pub rules. We both frequented the same haunts before we got together and there was no reason in the world we had to start acting like conjoined twins just because we’d started seeing each other…that it was perfectly OK to come over and say “Hi" and we should never be afraid to “butt in” but that our friend time had to be respected. This was a mutual desire on our parts, but no matter how many times I explained this to her she never “got it”. And the fact of the matter is he often would come over and join us after awhile. Usually after he had decompressed from his day.)

But...back to the subject at hand. After awhile of listening to his re-cap of the night which included some rather astute observations of Leilas particular style of controlling a situation I said “Ya know…you could just go somewhere else.”

“Where” he asked and then listed his reasons for not going to certain other spots more often. All good reasons I might add…but it bothered me still.

“Why don’t you go somewhere else when she shows up?” to which he replied “Normally that would be a great idea, but she’s in the pub every single night these days and I cant afford loons and goons every night”. My annoyance reached a fever pitch…enough so that I said “Well…we are either going to have to get off the phone or change the subject because Im starting to get really annoyed…and it really pisses me off that you’re off hanging out with her when you and I havent communicated face-to-face in almost a month blah blah blah.” And as I went on I realized that it wasn’t that I was annoyed…I was jealous. Jealous that she was seeing him when I had not. Surely this fact was evident to him as well as he cut off my rant with a “Jules…calm down…she and I have been frequenting that place and doing this little dance for years, and I understand where you’re coming from but don’t forget…this his how we met…and I don’t know why she’s in the pub so much these days, but I can only brush her off so many times before there’s bound to be trouble.” Right. He was completely right. I forced myself to calm down and said “You are right…Im sorry…I shouldn’t be annoyed…its not my right or my place…but…” And…god love the man he cut me off and said “You are allowed to have any emotion you have…its just an emotion…better to share it then bottle it up…its OK to flip-out sometimes…its not like I don’t know where you’re coming from.”

We changed the subject. He told me about his day which was mildly stressful and then told me he “needed a hug”. I told him “I’d be happy to give you one but since this is a phone call…you’re just going to have to settle for a virtual hug.” He replies “That’s just not the same.” So I said “Well…what can I say. You're the one that wanted some space” and I gave him some shit about how he used to really enjoy seeing me…that he used to be really comfortable in my presence…and that I honestly didn’t understand what the problem was. He said “I know…I don’t know…I know…its hard to explain and quite frankly I cant believe you are sticking by me.”

Hmmmm. I said. I didn’t tell him about the post I had finished only 30 minutes before he called me. I didn’t tell him all the reasons why I felt he could have this space...why I figured he’s worth the wait. What I did tell him is…as long as there will come a day that you can be in a room alone with me I am fine with waiting. He laughed and said he didn’t know how much longer he was going to be feeling “funny” but that it wouldn’t last forever and I said fine…as long as there is an eventually I could wait…but that I wouldn’t wait forever.

After that we changed the subject and I made him laugh and we had a really good time just chatting about pie in the sky and nothing that important. When we said goodnight I told him he could “come on by for that hug any old time you want.”

Today, when I saw those words up on the screen during lecture; “We seek company yet wish to be left alone" I thought of William...a man who covets his alone in a crowd time so.

And as she went on to explain what that meant I got it.

Its not Leilas opinion he cares about…its mine. And this…this thing that he is going through…he has to figure out for himself without opposition from me...real or perceived. And I suppose the phone conversations are a good way to figure out if Im on page with him.

So much easier to hang up a phone than walk out of a room...no?

Ah...LIGHTEN UP ALREADY!!!!!

And now...for your listening enjoyment may I present...