I Got a F*#king Pen.

When you are most vulnerable and pour out your soul to someone, you open yourself up to pain.  You hope that all those personal things you share are being met with real connection, and that you're not exposing yourself to someone callous.  To be fair, I don't think that we do.  I think that in those moments, we are sharing ourselves with another person who wants to understand who we are and how we became that way.  I believe that they want to see that you are more than the hurt you may feel and show you how amazing you are through their eyes.

The sad thing is, these feelings change.  When you're not together every moment, your situation can become "out of sight and out of mind."  If you have something else that is calling your name, it is very easy to be swayed to do what you feel you ought instead of what it is you want to do.  Though the heart may want what it wants, some people are so set on being "responsible" that the risk of happiness isn't one they're willing to take.

I have a very, very, very dear friend, who I am afraid I've lost.  Maybe not forever.  Or maybe I'll never again get the opportunity to speak with him in any meaningful way.  I just don't know.  What I do know is that distance was an issue for us, and though I wanted to visit and spend time with him, it was never convenient to his schedule.  I wanted to just hang out, be together, do stupid best friend kind of things.  I half jokingly, half quite seriously told him, "You're going to forget that you adore me.  Please let me come see you."  Work won out.

He's found a girlfriend now.  It's not that I don't want his happiness.  In fact, that's what I want for him more than anything else in the world.  What it means for me, however, is quite sad.  All of those things he used to share with me, just a month or two ago, that's all saved for her now.  The things I thought were simply talk between the best of friends -- it was something that he can only share with the primary person in his life.  I've been eliminated from the picture.  When we'd talked about being "Forever Friends," I'd taken it so to heart.  I wanted someone that was never, ever going away.  I'd counted on my best friend being there forever.

As much as I am grateful for his happiness, I am filled with sorrow for my loss.  I lost my best fucking friend.  I am jealous beyond belief of the time that they spend together because I know how it is.  I know that he tells her things he couldn't or wouldn't tell another soul.  I know that they share moments of silly, goofy fun.  I know that everyday they send emails that are trivial and text all night.  These meaningless yet so important things used to be mine.  It's not that I'm not willing to share.  I just didn't expect it all to go away.  I thought I'd get to keep some of him.

Maybe some of this will turn around.  Maybe with time he'll remember who I am and miss me like I miss him.  Maybe he'll realize that there's no reason we can't be friends.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I know he feels bad about hurting me.  I know he didn't want me to feel second best.  This was proven on my birthday when he sent me far more than he should have, when he actually called instead of texted, when he told me he loved me and he was sorry if I was sad.  I appreciate it all; I appreciate it as it was intended, but for a long time it's going to feel like I got a motherfucking pen.

The More Things Change, The More They Stay the Same.

I haven't even thought about visiting this blog since early 2011. I was unemployed that winter/spring, and just bored out of my mind. I'd written about any and every thing I could come up. I was done. I realized how dull I was and realized no one would be interested in reading any further.

A random almost-stranger sent me an email, saying that I should update the blog. He wanted "more Snoopy and Charlie Brown reviews!!! Update your blog! Do it!!" I tried for a little bit, but all there really was was a story about strangers that sought to help me out of a snow bank. I enrolled in some classes out of boredom and a need to get the pittance provided by easy access to student loan cash. With every new assignment, the blog drifted farther away. By the time summer arrived, it was out of my head completely

Since then, I've become employed. I've been absorbed by the new job. Mainly I think this has to do with the ability to throw myself into something that completely takes up my life, leaving me without time to think about all the situations I'd like to see changed. I guess that's what a lot of workaholics do, though. If you don't like your personal life, throw yourself into a professional one. If I work until 8:00 or later in my office, then I don't have to come home and interact. I don't have to tend relationships or friendships or even myself. I just tend to work, to a job that supplies a never-ending supply of need.

I'm not even entirely sure what pulled me back to this tonight. I've started a new blog recently, considering this one an abandoned housing complex in a Japanese suburb. It's a place I never thought anyone looked at anyway, so why bother with it? Several things have caught my attention tonight, however. The first thing is that there were actually comments left on some of the posts. It amazed me! I don't know how anyone ever came across this sad little blog, and I'm not sure why they took the time to read any of it. Though the things posted here all mean something to me (maybe just a bit, maybe a great deal), it seems surreal they would have captured someone else's attention. And the second thing I noticed was that I couldn't remember writing most of this. Some people keep whatever they've written in their head for all time. For me, it's gone. I have literally read my words before thinking "wow. This person and I think a lot alike." As I've re-read things, I've been made painfully aware of how many truly personal things I've shared here. I don't have a good explanation as to why. All the really inner things that you're supposed to keep private, it seems as if I went out of my way to put them down on virtual paper to share with anyone who cares to see it. I realize, also, how lonely my life really is. Not just before, but now, too. There are so few people with whom to share my thoughts that are truly curious. It seems that you find someone you believe yourself to connect with, and then they remove themselves from your life without any explanation. The lonliness still prevails, as does my natural melancholia.

If you were to ask me how I think I portray myself to the average person, I'd say friendly and upbeat, without revealing too much of who I really am. I like to think that I keep all real thoughts, and more importantly, feelings, hidden. I want to project myself as happy and brave. I don't think I pull it off.

Initially, this blog was actually going to be a sort-of response to the blog "1000 Awesome Things." I figured I'd dream up a lot of things that aren't life-altering things to make you unhappy, but just sort-of suck. Friendly pessimism, I guess. I didn't have enough of those, though. I had to really look to find them. As contrary as it seems, the same person that is almost constantly tinged with sadness is also an almost blindingly shiny optimist that almost always sees the good of life and the happiness that exists there. A lot of it, clearly, is  bound up in popular culture, whether it be modern or nostalgic.

Like a lot of things in my life, I don't really know what the fate of this blog will be. I suspect I'll pop in from time to time, consider removing it from public view altogether, and then leave it alone out of a sense of the bits of connection it has offered in my life. I'm going to add it to my list of things that sort of suck. It's not the most terrible thing that could exist, not by a long shot. Nor is it grand. It's somewhere in the middle, sort of sucking.

Elosia to Abelard

Alexander Pope (1688-1744)
Eloisa to Abelard

1In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
2Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
3And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
4What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
5Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
6Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
7Yet, yet I love!--From Abelard it came,
8And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.

9 Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
10Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd.
11Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
12Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
13O write it not, my hand--the name appears
14Already written--wash it out, my tears!
15In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
16Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.

17 Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
18Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
19Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
20Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
21Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
22And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
23Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown,
24I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
25All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
26Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
27Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
28Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.

29 Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
30That well-known name awakens all my woes.
31Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
32Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
33I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
34Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
35Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
36Led through a sad variety of woe:
37Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,
38Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
39There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
40There died the best of passions, love and fame.

41 Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
42Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
43Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
44And is my Abelard less kind than they?
45Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
46Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;
47No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
48To read and weep is all they now can do.

49 Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
50Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.
51Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
52Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
53They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
54Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
55The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
56Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
57Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
58And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.

59 Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
60When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;
61My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
62Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
63Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day,
64Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
65Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung;
66And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
67From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
68Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love.
69Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
70Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
71Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
72Nor envy them, that heav'n I lose for thee.

73 How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said,
74Curse on all laws but those which love has made!
75Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
76Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies,
77Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
78August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
79Before true passion all those views remove,
80Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
81The jealous God, when we profane his fires,
82Those restless passions in revenge inspires;
83And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
84Who seek in love for aught but love alone.
85Should at my feet the world's great master fall,
86Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all:
87Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove;
88No, make me mistress to the man I love;
89If there be yet another name more free,
90More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
91Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,
92When love is liberty, and nature, law:
93All then is full, possessing, and possess'd,
94No craving void left aching in the breast:
95Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
96And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
97This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be)
98And once the lot of Abelard and me.

99 Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise!
100A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
101Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand,
102Her poniard, had oppos'd the dire command.
103Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
104The crime was common, common be the pain.
105I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd,
106Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest.

107 Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
108When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?
109Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
110When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
111As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,
112The shrines all trembl'd, and the lamps grew pale:
113Heav'n scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd,
114And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
115Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
116Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you:
117Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
118And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
119Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
120Those still at least are left thee to bestow.
121Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,
122Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
123Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd;
124Give all thou canst--and let me dream the rest.
125Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
126With other beauties charm my partial eyes,
127Full in my view set all the bright abode,
128And make my soul quit Abelard for God.

129 Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
130Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.
131From the false world in early youth they fled,
132By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
133You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd,
134And Paradise was open'd in the wild.
135No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
136Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
137No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
138Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n:
139But such plain roofs as piety could raise,
140And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
141In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
142These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd,
143Where awful arches make a noonday night,
144And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
145Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,
146And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
147But now no face divine contentment wears,
148'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
149See how the force of others' pray'rs I try,
150(O pious fraud of am'rous charity!)
151But why should I on others' pray'rs depend?
152Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
153Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move,
154And all those tender names in one, thy love!
155The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
156Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
157The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills,
158The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
159The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
160The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
161No more these scenes my meditation aid,
162Or lull to rest the visionary maid.
163But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
164Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
165Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
166A death-like silence, and a dread repose:
167Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
168Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,
169Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
170And breathes a browner horror on the woods.

171 Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
172Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
173Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;
174And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,
175Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
176And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

177 Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,
178Confess'd within the slave of love and man.
179Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r?
180Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
181Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
182Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
183I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
184I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
185I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
186Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
187Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence,
188Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
189Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
190'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
191How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
192And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
193How the dear object from the crime remove,
194Or how distinguish penitence from love?
195Unequal task! a passion to resign,
196For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine.
197Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
198How often must it love, how often hate!
199How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
200Conceal, disdain--do all things but forget.
201But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
202Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
203Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
204Renounce my love, my life, myself--and you.
205Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
206Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

207 How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
208The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
209Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
210Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
211Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
212"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
213Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
214Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
215Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
216And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
217For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
218And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
219For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
220For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
221To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
222And melts in visions of eternal day.

223 Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
224Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
225When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
226Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away,
227Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
228All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
229Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
230How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
231Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
232And stir within me every source of love.
233I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
234And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
235I wake--no more I hear, no more I view,
236The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
237I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
238I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
239To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
240Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
241Alas, no more--methinks we wand'ring go
242Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
243Where round some mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps,
244And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
245Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
246Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
247I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
248And wake to all the griefs I left behind.

249 For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
250A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
251Thy life a long, dead calm of fix'd repose;
252No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
253Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
254Or moving spirit bade the waters flow;
255Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n,
256And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n.

257 Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread?
258The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
259Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves;
260Ev'n thou art cold--yet Eloisa loves.
261Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
262To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.

263 What scenes appear where'er I turn my view?
264The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
265Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
266Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
267I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
268Thy image steals between my God and me,
269Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
270With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear.
271When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
272And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
273One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
274Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
275In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd,
276While altars blaze, and angels tremble round.

277 While prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
278Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye,
279While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
280And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul:
281Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!
282Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;
283Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
284Blot out each bright idea of the skies;
285Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;
286Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;
287Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
288Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!

289 No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
290Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
291Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
292Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
293Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
294Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
295Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
296Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!
297Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav'nly fair!
298Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
299Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
300And faith, our early immortality!
301Enter, each mild, each amicable guest;
302Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!

303 See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
304Propp'd on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
305In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,
306And more than echoes talk along the walls.
307Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around,
308From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound.
309"Come, sister, come!" (it said, or seem'd to say)
310"Thy place is here, sad sister, come away!
311Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd,
312Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid:
313But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
314Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
315Ev'n superstition loses ev'ry fear:
316For God, not man, absolves our frailties here."

317 I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs,
318Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
319Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
320Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow:
321Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
322And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
323See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
324Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
325Ah no--in sacred vestments may'st thou stand,
326The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
327Present the cross before my lifted eye,
328Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
329Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see!
330It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
331See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
332See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
333Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;
334And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
335O Death all-eloquent! you only prove
336What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love.

337 Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy,
338(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy)
339In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd,
340Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round,
341From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine,
342And saints embrace thee with a love like mine.

343 May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
344And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
345Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
346When this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
347If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings
348To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
349O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
350And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
351Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,
352"Oh may we never love as these have lov'd!"

353From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
354And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
355Amid that scene if some relenting eye
356Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
357Devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heav'n,
358One human tear shall drop and be forgiv'n.
359And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
360In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
361Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
362And image charms he must behold no more;
363Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
364Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
365The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
366He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most.

Penchant for Sadness.

I've got a friend who frequently refers to "ennui." I feel pretensous using that word, though it is the most apt description of what I feel so frequently. I've found that when I have a bout of the bittersweet prelude to depression, I like to go through antique stores. My favorites are the massive antique malls with hundreds of stalls. I like that you have absolutely no way to predict what will be inside, and that you have to be willing to spend a lot of time looking to really see everything that they have to offer. I love the bizarre handicrafts that find their way there, as if everyone has desperately been seeking hand-knit yellow yarn coasters, or a babydoll's head fashioned in a window in a suitcase. I love the old games, and how very topical they were at one point in time. I love that people genuinely seem to think that I'm going to spend $65 on an old pack of Welcome Back, Kotter trading cards with the gum still intact. I think the best part is coming across something you used to have, and being overwhelmed by all of the associations you have with it. And of course, I love the whole wtf element of any antique store. Why do people keep the things that they do? And why was so much of purchased by antique traders to pass on to others? So much of it is just odd garbage that really needs nothing more than a quick trip to the rubbish bin.
By the way, today's purchases included a Sesame Street plastic plate I recall eating my breakfasts off of from the age of two until Kindergarten, an early 80s Monchichi (he's special; he's red, and yes, I sang the jingle to the man selling him who reminded me of a verse I'd forgotten), and several 1960s Playboys that will serve as a Valentine's Day gift for the Fiance.

Sunday Queer Sunday.

I think I watched the Super Bowl once. And it wasn't really watched, so much as it was on while a beau and I ate pizza and then had sex for several hours. I just don't find football interesting. So, this Sunday I delightedly watched the Puppy Bowl as it aired itself over and over. Then, while waiting for the game to end so I could see Glee, a commercial informed me I was watching the SVU Man-athon, filled with all the "hunkiest scenes of SVU men." It was at this point I asked the fiance which part of Super Bowl Sunday I'd made the gayest for him -- the puppies, the man-athon, or the anticipation of a forthcoming Glee.

Good Samaritans.

Living in the Midwest means living with Winter. Over the last decade, there's been less snow than I recall having as a child, but the temperatures drop to the same extreme levels. We've had a few snowstorms over the last month that have left hefty deposits. Living in midtown where people have to park on the street, this means that a snowplow comes through and basically shoves a mountain of snow all along the line of parked cars. To get out, you have to dig a path. Then, the freezing temperatures refreeze the snow that tries to melt during sunlight hours, and the mountain of snow is topped with a thick glaze of ice. You may be able to get out of a parallel spot, but unless you've got four wheel drive, you're not getting back into one.

I see a doctor in a neighborhood where I used to live. There were never any parking spaces available when I lived there. As a matter of instinct and memory, I still can't drive down the street without a little excitement mounting if I see an open spot. Though the office building has a parking garage, I love to park behind it on the street. It just feels good to take up a spot on the street for a while. I didn't give any thought to the hills and valleys of snow along the curb; I figured I'd slip into a spot via the tire tracks left by the soul that last possessed it. I figured wrong. I made a u-turn in the middle of the street (the kind for which Goober tried to do a Citizen's Arrest on Barney Fife) and got totally stuck with my car completely perpendicular to the curb. Absolutely no idea what to do. I got out and tried feebly to kick some of the snow that was lodged under the front tires, but it was obvious before I even tried that it hadn't done any good. I usually carry a shovel and some kitty-litter (for traction) in my trunk, but I hadn't gotten around to putting it there yet this season.

Luckily, a sweet girl passed by and asked if I needed some help. She offered to push, but I didn't want her to strain herself. I asked her if she'd mind just steering it while I pushed. The car refused to move. It wouldn't even rock in the snow. It was like I'd driven into quik-dry concrete and was going to be there forever more. A driver in a Land Rover asked if I needed help and we both pushed. Still nothing. A couple of people from across the street were out for a cigarette break. They came over and offered to push, too. Mr. Land Rover suggested that he tow me out since the pushing didn't seem to be doing any good. He hooked up a towing cable, we waited for traffic to clear, and he started to move. There was a loud pop, the cable snapped, and Mr. Land Rover got out of his car. Unfortunately, he didn't put his car in park first. It kept moving, and he jumped in to stop it, accidentally hitting the gas instead of the break. Now, instead of my car blocking one lane of traffic, there was a long diagonal of cars blocking the entire road.

A large group of onlookers had gathered to watch our comedy of errors. "Lookit -- that girl moron got her car stuck and this moron hit another car trying to help her out!" Ah, the kindness of strangers. By this point, a few more people had come over. A very streetwise gentleman told me to get out and he'd fix things. Lo and behold he did. With four of us pushing and him maneuvering back and forth over the massive hump of snow I'd driven into, he was out and free in about a minute.

My car's interior still smells of the cigarello he was smoking.

Thanksgiving.

I just finished watching my favorite Thanksgiving special. Actually, it's the only Thanksgiving special that I know of, but I think it would be my favorite, regardless. It's the Charlie Brown special. It drives me crazy. You've got these pushy kids that invite themselves over to the Browns and then they bitch when they get served toast and popcorn. Never mind that it was the family dog that made dinner, for Christ's sake. It's the gall of someone putting you out and then complaining that what was done wasn't good enough. People seem to do this all the time. There's so little gratitude in this world where we dwell.

A few years ago, I was working with a long-term substitute teacher. She was a bit of an odd duck; she lacked social skills, but clearly wanted to be social. She just laid it out there and asked a variety of people if she could spend Thanksgiving with them. A fellow teacher with a big family that always went out for their holiday meal told her that she was welcome to join them. The sub was peeved that it wasn't going to be a homemade meal, but she went and seemed happy, at the very least, not to have spent the holiday alone.

The woman was a very sad case. She was in her late fifties and had lived all her life with her parents. They had passed away shortly before the time I worked with her. She would talk to them as if they were present, especially when things became stressful for her. This, as can be imagined, made the students think her totally insane. She had other odd habits. She frequently told kids that they were doomed to Hell, and she'd corner teachers in the lounge with long-winded stories that didn't seem to make much sense. After a lot of complaints from kids, she was let go. It was easy at the time to dismiss her as a loon and be happy that she wasn't working with us anymore, but the truth is she was screaming out for help and no one heard. Everyone ignored her because she was a nusciance and it was easier to simply push her behaviors aside. She killed herself a few months later. Thanksgiving always makes me think of her, and how sad it was that she wanted a social life, friends, simple people in her life and was brave enough to ask for it. She wasn't pleased with what she received and the day didn't seem to make her grateful. Sometimes it's not enough to be included. Sometimes I think what we want is to be wanted to join in, to have our presence valued. Being made to feel unwelcome makes the lonliness greater and the hurt of exclusion all the more profound, even as you're surrounded by people.

I don't feel like celebrating the holidays this year. My heart isn't in it. I've arranged to spend Thanksgiving alone. I've told my family I'm spending it with The Fiance's family, and told The Fiance I'm spending it with my family. I'm not feeling especially thankful for anything at the moment -- The Fiance, the few friends I have from work that haven't forsaken me, the few others that I see with any regularity. The unmeployment has worn me down. At least spending the day alone is of my choosing, and I still find the odd woman a source of pity and not inspiration.