In Search of Heartbreak
Currently hiring for all positions
I have so many unfinished blog posts and stories just sitting in my drafts section, staring at me from the grey little box that will most likely forever be their home. This is because I’m an emotional writer. I have to feel something to say something. Angry, incensed, hurt - all great fuels to my creative fire. But once I calm down, let it out, and it stops bothering me, my maelstrom dies out and I no longer have what it takes to conclude the piece true to form. So I’m managing my anger, bouncing back from heartbreaks, learning how to deal with disappointment, basically finally learning to adapt to life like a well functioning human, which is great; however, as I’ve said time and time again, in my peace I also discover verbal impotence. My words just can’t get a stiffy. The articulation stops flowing, the inspiration is gone, and I’m just a middle aged woman shopping on Amazon on her ‘puter at 7am.
Not cute.
I’ve been pretty quiet the last couple of months and really struggled to connect with you guys as I’ve settled into my new life, as it were. It’s hard to be exciting when your life is anything but. The emotional rollercoaster that was my truck, the TOWer (tow-er, not tower as in building) of my home and all my hopes and dreams, seems to actually be fixed, for the most part this time. How reliable it is, only the road can know, but for now it’s doing what it’s supposed to and that’s really all I ever wanted. I’ve finally settled into my broke teenager era of living in my friend’s extra bedroom. After living alone in my own house for so long, the disappointment of losing my only asset just before such a rapid rise in home prices will forever be a thorn in my side but you can’t change the past so might as well make the best of the present. After several gallons of paint, a few architectural changes to the layout, and a pair of really, really fucking strong noise cancelling headphones, I’ve almost gotten used to the three person/seven animal circus we now call home.
The last thing that I’ve struggled with was my acceptance of my new sub par job. I really had a problem working for yet another mismanaged shithole that had so much potential but just couldn’t get there due to the lack of common knowledge and inability to learn from their mistakes. I found the management part of me screaming at myself to quit daily, and while my roommate urged me to just keep going, just a couple more weeks, the universe finally matched my energy…and I got fired. In the past, when I’ve lost a job and all encumbent source of income, I’ve cried and immediately spiraled out of control. This time I painted the inside of the trailer, put it up for rent on Airbnb, and picked up some bookcases from Ikea. Why? Because it doesn’t fucking matter.
So now the floor has stopped spinning. I’m standing still for the first time in a long time. What do I feel? Nothing really. I’m just going through the motions and dealing with the curveballs as they come. Planning for the future, taking control of my life? Not so much. I’ve really gone from constantly being the driver of the bus to now being a silent passenger. I don’t know that I’ve given up or if this is just how most people in the world feel when shit doesn’t go their way. After decades of pushing through and prevailing, is this the moment that defines the victors and banishes the losers in the history books, where the winners continue through those moments of defeat and the rest just gently fade away, drowning in exhaustion and indecision. Maybe. I’ve never heard a story about a man who tried and tried and tried again until the day he died, never having accomplished what it was he set out to do because we only tell the sliver of stories about those that persevered. There’s no testament to the millions of tired, lost souls who disappeared into the annuls of history.
This leads me to the burning question of how do I get back on track. How do I reignite my fire? Well, my cryptonite is heartbreak and it doesn’t take much of that to set me ablaze. So forced with the decision to wither away creatively or jump head first into another heartache, I will choose the latter. After the last cloak and dagger act, I’m reluctant to say the least. In fact, after having experienced the deepest and most profound emotional connection with someone, coupled with the absolute best sex of my life (to toot my own horn, not his), I find myself not disgusted or angry or disappointed. No. Instead I’m turned off, like all the fucking way. It’s as if someone walked up and flipped the breaker. There’s absolutely no power being supplied to that part of my mind or body. Just as with any other life altering event, I’m used to meeting a romantic end with tears, vodka, and echoes of why. Now I simply change their name to something anathema to my feelings and pour myself a beverage (non-al because I’m off the sauce) and get back to my Amazon cart. But it’s probably time. It’s been three months and while I’ve dredged through this kind of disinterest before, sometimes for years, I’m not getting younger…or funnier. Might as well jump from one narcissistic dick to another.
I have a lot of options right now, though, as an unemployed bartender living in a roommate situation. I could throw myself at the cutie at the local bar, who says he likes women but has a softness about him that only fucking another man can bring out. His use of words like “sweetie” and the way he gingerly kisses my hand screams new gay bestie, not ride of my life. Then there’s the homeless guy on the corner who’s missing a leg. The positives to that hook-up would be he’s got a lot of free time and since his episode with gangrene, we know he’s serious about his health. Or I could walk around with a t-shirt on that says “Single: Apply Within” because at least that’ll weed out anyone that can’t read two syllable words. A tough one though because their sound-out game might be strong.
I don’t know. It’s a lot to ruminate over. I’ll keep you posted.