JustRunJustLiveJustBe

Recently I was chatting with a coworker about dating. Specifically, people I’ve dated (because, you know, it’s more interesting than his twenty-five year old marriage). He asked me all kinds of questions about the people I’ve dated seriously (i.e. long-term), such as their age, professional lives, hobbies, education and where they were from. All pretty standard questions, as he was hoping to set me up with this “kid” he knows.

But this is beside the point. The point is, apparently, I have another “standard” in dating. As of today, I’ve dated more men from the state of Tennessee than any other state in our union. This includes my home state.

Just think a minute about how strange and unique that really is. And think about how strange it is that this is just now occurring to me.

I am from Colorado. I currently live in Colorado. I have never lived in Tennessee and I have only had the distinct pleasure of visiting the fair state a handful of times. While I can completely see the appeal of Tennessee as well as Tennesseeans themselves, I am a little perplexed. Okay, a lot perplexed. I wonder if I don’t have some sort of gene coded specifically to seek out a Tennesseean? Could I pick one out of a crowd if I tried right now? The odds are evidently very good.

They were nice guys, that’s for sure. Tennessee #1 was wonderful at the time but we were too young to have a future. Tennessee #2 was one of the most kindhearted people I will ever know, but he wasn’t settled and I’m not sure he ever would be. Tennessee #3 made me laugh like very few have but, he was a little on the dumb side. (Sidebar: I do not attribute this at all to the state of Tennessee. I met him in Colorado. We traveled to other states together. Turns out, he was dumb no matter which state he was in).

Whatever this is, I’d like to solve the mystery. I’m sure it’s all part of some scheme to expose me to polite and cordial relationships that end up nowhere. I guess that doesn’t sound so unique after all.

Most importantly, is the word “Tennesseean” A) a word and B) the proper word one uses when referring to one from Tennessee?

Dear Summer,

I remembered you today. It was so warm and beautiful, it’s as if you and late Spring took a wrong turn on your rotation and ended up on these city streets two months early. Fine by me; it’s perfect. I had to resist the urge to take off my shoes and walk barefoot through the dead grass in the park.

I couldn’t help but start thinking those dangerous thoughts about you, too. You know, ones like sprinklers running in the cool grass, flip flops skimming the hot blacktop, warm nights on the porch. Those things that make sticking it out through Winter worth it. But that’s how you are. No matter when you leave and no matter how abruptly you do it, I always want you back.

Your influence doesn’t stop there. You make me remember all the things about all the times you were here before. You make me remember walking around the neighborhood with friends all day, drinking iced tea. You make me remember standing in the gutter after a rain storm and finding pictures in your sky. In just a breath of your warm air I’m back on the banana seat of my old bike, rushing down that huge hill, “no hands!” With just a glance at my shadow on the sidewalk I’m on the edge of that lake, fully immersed in July Fourth fireworks, sunburn and teenage love. How do you do it? You have such power.

My love for you, however, doesn’t make me forget how well I know you. I know you’re not really here, not now. I know you’re just teasing me like a postcard from a far-off place. I know you just want me to long for you even more than I already do. You’re like that.

Still, like this time and all others, I will forgive you. I will forgive the frigid Winter you left me with and the way you never stay long enough. Before I know it, you’ll have me back in your grasp, absorbing every ray of sunshine, making excuses to be with you when I should be in the office. You know I will, because I always miss you and I can never get enough. I’m like that.

Until we meet again…

Saturday is my day. It’s the day I get to pretend that I don’t have to work for a living, that I can relax, plan travel, read leisurely, and go for a run any time of the day. Trouble is, I don’t get to do that very often.

This past Saturday, though, I did. I woke up at about 8:00 (three hours later than usual), drank tea, ate breakfast and walked the dog. I then drove to a nearby suburb and did a 10K.

The 10K was good, if a little cold. I started out strong but my body seemed to know when to start keeping a pace rather than getting too tired too soon. That’s a good sign, when the body knows when to say when and the mind listens. The hills were no fun, but not bad. By mile 4 I was pretty tired but still able to keep my pace. I still am not back to the place I was a few months ago with my running but it is coming. I saw a few people I know from other races and visited with them while we drank hot cocoa. This is good hot cocoa, too- or maybe it’s just because I ran 6.2 miles. Hmmm.

After driving home I walked the dog over to the park and let her run for a little while. She played with some kids and I just sat, listening to music on my new iPod- which I am in love with. In fact, I originally wanted to write an entire post about my iPod and call it “iLove It” or “iHeaven” but then decided there were two reasons I shouldn’t do that. One, I’m so far behind the iPod boom that no one cares and two, no one cares. Nonetheless, I really do love the little thing. After the park, I spent a few hours reading and downloading more of my CDs so I could have music to clean to.

That’s when I realized what a perfect Saturday this really was. I pushed the vacuum around my house, iPod clipped to the pocket of my robe, singing along with Journey and was overcome with how happy I was to be at home, doing nothing important. All day long.

Of all the time I spend dreaming about upcoming vacations (T - 10 days till I’m on the beach), it was here, in my home, pushing around the vacuum having just finished reading my third novel of the year that I felt more relaxed than I thought possible. Really, I should have seen this coming, this strange contentment in doing nothing. After weekends like this and this, I was clearly overdue. People usually go away to feel refreshed. Not me, I run, vacuum and iPod.

I always felt sorry for Brandy. She was, afterall, a fine girl. She would have been a good wife, had she not loved a man that was in love with something else- the sea.

Whether it be the sea or a job or another woman, I don’t want to be the girl that’s in love with a man that can’t love her back. I don’t want to carry a locket on a braided chain (or, in my case, hope) around as the only momento of what could be.

Poor, poor Brandy. She did her best to understand. I don’t think I can do that.

____________________________________________

There’s a port on a western bay

And it serves a hundred ships a day

Lonely sailors pass the time away

And talk about their homes

And there’s a girl in this harbor town

And she works layin’ whiskey down

They say “Brandy, fetch another round”

She serves them whiskey and wine

The sailors say “Brandy, you’re a fine girl” (you’re a fine girl)

“What a good wife you would be” (such a fine girl)

“Yeah your eyes could steal a sailor from the sea”

(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)

Brandy wears a braided chain

Made of finest silver from the North of Spain

A locket that bears the name

Of the man that Brandy loves

He came on a summer’s day

Bringin’ gifts from far away

But he made it clear he couldn’t stay

No harbor was his home

The sailor said ” Brandy, you’re a fine girl” (you’re a fine girl)

“What a good wife you would be” (such a fine girl)

“But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea”

(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)

Yeah, Brandy used to watch his eyes

When he told his sailor stories

She could feel the ocean foam rise

She saw its ragin’ glory

But he had always told the truth, lord, he was an honest man

And Brandy does her best to understand(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)

At night when the bars close down

Brandy walks through a silent town

And loves a man who’s not around

She still can hear him say

She hears him say ” Brandy, you’re a fine girl” (you’re a fine girl)

“What a good wife you would be” (such a fine girl)

“But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea”(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)

“Brandy, you’re a fine girl” (you’re a fine girl)

“What a good wife you would be” (such a fine girl)

“But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea”

Looking Glass, 1972

I don’t think I’ve ever written a “true” journal entry here. Today is different. Today, I have something I absolutely CANNOT get off my mind and I have no idea how to write about it.

I can’t think of anything coherent or sensible to say about this which, of course, should clue you in that it’s about a boy. And not just any boy, but one I can’t get over- ha! Imagine that! We met a few years ago and if I’m going to be completely honest, I’ve adored him ever since. I can’t think of anyone who’s taken up more of my time than him. Sick, isn’t it?

Nonetheless, I can’t let him go. And I need to. God, I need to. I need to realize that if he really wanted me now, I would know it. If he woke up one morning and realized he couldn’t go another day without me, he would have told me by now. Stupid girl, just realize. I wish!

The thing is, we are SUCH good friends. We talk like we’re cut from the same cloth. We get along famously- serious, it should be in history books. I’m quite certain that the way we share opinions, communicate without words and feel so comfortable around each other that we can talk about everything from real estate to poop without blinking is history-making stuff. I’m certain of it. He’s everything I’d ever want in a friend, except for the fact that I luuuuuuuv him. Crap, I hate to even type it!

We have similar hobbies- the running, the biking, the skiing, the hanging out with friends, the movies we watch, the places we go, the traveling we want to do, the fierce money management, the jokes we tell, the politics. And yet, we compliment each other so well- I’ve gotten him to try new food, he’s gotten me to try new trails. We give each other courage or bravery or stupidity or something and it’s awesome. So awesome.

When I was younger, I dreamed of a person that would get my attention right away. Someone who would make me feel cozy and warm and give me chills at the same time. I dreamed of someone who would “get” me, who would laugh with me, who would stay with me and though I let that go, it’s now exactly what I have here. Damn! Just makes me want to say curse words and scream. “WHY?!” Why, when I fall asleep on his couch with his hand on my leg do I fight sleep with every part of my mind and body just so I can have one more memory of the feeling of us together? Why, when he sees me and smiles do I not even care that I look like a complete idiot smiling back? Why, when he tells me I look nice, does it make every insecurity and worry I have about the size of my butt and the flatness of my hair just disappear? WHY?!?

You might ask: Why haven’t you gone out with him? What’s the hold up? Well, truth time now. He’s not over his ex. And, to add more truth to that, I’m not sure he ever will be. I know this girl and she’s great. She’s kind and innocent and just as normal as the rest of us. But it’s SO friecken obvious to me that they are just not right for each other. Them together was never right and though they’ll both admit it, they hang on. And I, of course, am silent. I try not to think about it, or him, or her. For about eight months, I actually succeeded. I was able to separate the thought of the two of them from thoughts about the two of us. And it seems so stupid for me to hang on, too. I know I deserve someone who realizes they want to be with me and me only.

Now though, it’s different. Now we’ve spent time together again and I’ve fallen back into whatever it is that I’m “in” when I can’t get him out of my mind. And it’s not just the “I am so attracted to him, I want him now” kind of thoughts. It’s the “he knows my drink and orders it for me before I even sit down” and “I count him as a blessing in my life” sort of thoughts. Being around him makes me believe that the whole package is possible and damnit if, now that I’ve seen it, I want that whole package! Trouble is, that package was sent to the wrong address and it appears no one but me has noticed. Crappy, I tell you.

Yeah, I don’t know what to do about this. I just want it to go away. Let it go. I just don’t know what to do.

I think having a drink is in order, now. Which, if he were here, would have already been poured right now.

Crap.

The other day on my drive home from work, I listened to six very random songs. For some reason, I really felt the need to play air guitar to every one of them. Since I was driving, I really couldn’t put full effort into the air guitar but that’s not the funny part. The funny part is, I’m rarely an air guitar person.

I haven’t played music on the guitar since I was eight years old. The last time I played real music on an instrument was in fifth grade, on the trumpet. “Tequila” was the song and as telling as that may have been about my future, it had nothing to do with my musical talent.

All of this makes my obsession with music over the past year seem even more a mystery. I’ve always loved listening to music. I had CD’s before a lot of people I knew. Thanks to my mom, I probably know every word to every classic rock song ever recorded. But I’ve never felt like this before. And my obsession is growing. I listen to everything and mostly, I love it. I listen to the lyrics first, then begin disecting the song- I hear every different instrument and every note means something. I belt out songs as if I have any place attempting to carry a tune. What is this?

Still, I can’t help but think that this is more meaningful than I know. I’m suspicious that music is making it’s way into my life in a way completely foreign to me. I really need to look into those piano lessons.

Here are the six songs that inspired air guitar that day:
(And yes, I’m completely aware that they aren’t all guitar-ish songs and that they are very diverse.)

Over and Over Again

Sultans of Swing

Thunder Road

Sweet Home Alabama

Magic Carpet Ride

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

…who needs plans?

Friday night I planned to be very exciting by going home and tackling several weeks worth of laundry and a mess of a house.

3:50- Leave work.

4:00- Cell phone rings.”Stop at the bar for a drink with us.”

4:15- I’m having drinks with a few friends.

4:45- Hysteria ensues… everything is funnier with booze.

4:50- “What’s everyone up to this weekend?” Followed by several ‘nothing’ answers.

5:00- Checking airline tickets to Las Vegas. All flights are either grounded due to Old Man Winter or are upwards of $400.

5:15- Brainstorming.

5:30- Cut off booze.

6:00- Headed home.

6:15- Showering and packing a bag.

6:30- Dropping the dog off at the sitter (a.k.a. Ma and Pa’s house).

7:15- Jumping in a truck with an overnight bag and 3 pals for a last-minute roadtrip.

7:16- Thinking: “Holy crap, what am I doing?”

7:17- Friends say they’re “glad to have me along” and “not many others would get this invite and jump on it, you’re awesome.”

7:17:30- Reassured and know that I’ve clearly made the right decision and, I sure do know some fun people.

Several hours of driving later, we’re in Vegas. We went. We saw. We ate. We drank. We conquered. We left.

Lesson learned: Plans can change, and it’s alright.