Obscured By Clouds

Do You Have Any Idea Just Who In The Hell You Are Talking To?

2012-02-23T15:50:00.001-05:00

Just who ARE you Cymbaline? Second post I ever wrote, March of last year. First day in this blog's history, second post. Anyone remember it?

I do. It's the start of the Cymbaline pity party. Poor, poor Cymbaline. Look how she struggled. Tough life. Mommy issues. Society issues. Jew issues. Issues issues. What a mess. Poor thing.

But wait. Now it's April - May - June - look! Cymbaline is doing better! Yay. Now it's 2012 - Cymbaline is engaged! Yay! Do you think she will live happily ever after?

Who am I? Am I just a recovered troubled girl? Fuck no!! Or more accurately, yes and no. I was that. But that's not who I am anymore.

If I was a dictionary definition - how would you define me? Lost and Found? Recovering OTD?

No, no no. You got it all wrong. That's not me. That's just a small part of me.

But the rest of me is lost in that isn't it? Don't deny it. It's how you look at me when you come here. Waiting to see if the Cymbalines pity party is back in action. Did Tova die? Did David come to his senses? Did her mom finally cross the line?

That's not me - it's just a small part of me.

You know who else I am? I'm the girl kicking ass in school. Trying to latch down the first job in her career field. Trying to plan a wedding with the wicked Bitch of the South (Shore). Spending time with her best friend. Becoming a Knicks fan. [That's right bitches - you heard me right. I went to ANOTHER game last night. I saw Jeremy Lin again. I soaked up the sights and sounds of Madison Square Garden and I told David I want more. I love it and I'm all in. He's buying me a Lin jersey and everything. (He tells me it's not all big wins and stuff, that it sucks when they are losing, but I don't really believe him)]

I'm reading the new Stephen King book. Did you know that about me? Do you care? It doesn't involve me doing drugs or fucking a stranger. I know - but still.

I am ME - hear me roar.

I'm not a pity case. I'm not just a reformed mess case. I'm so much more. And I don't really care if you see it or not. Or if you are interested in me or not. I forgot that for a while but a nice lady helped remind me.

Just who in the hell am I? I'm me.

And that better be good enough.

Witnessing the Jeremy Lin Experience Firsthand

2012-02-20T13:15:00.000-05:00

Now let's be clear from the get-go. I never cared a wit about sports. And now, my only true connection to it is that the guy I love loves sports. So let's call it a tenuous connection, at best.

So when I made the deal with the devil (see below) I was really doing it for David.

The deal with the devil - If I agree to spend Sunday going to BOTH the Knicks game (1:00 pm at Madison Square Garden ) AND the Rangers game (8:00 pm at MSG) then Monday is my day for us to do anything I want. Since I really had nothing planned anyway, I agreed.

And yes - spending the Shabbos before Sunday with David, his family and some of his friends meant we talked about Jeremy Lin ad nausium. His social impact. His "skill set". The way he has "energized an entire fan base". How his type of rise has "never happened in the history of basketball before". Extremely fascinating conversations all - though perhaps less so when repeated 200 times in the course of 24 hours.

So there I was, sitting in MSG and experiencing Linsanity for the first time.

And you know what? It was really, really cool.

There were Lin masks. T-shirts. Jerseys. Signs asking for his hand in marriage. Signs of all types. People doing the "we're not worthy" bows. Celebrities (including a douchy Kevin Costner who came in with his girlfriend really really late).

And Smiles. Everywhere smiles. Especially on the face of Jeremy Lin - who carried himself throughout the whole game like he was genuinely happy to be there. After a big win by the Knicks (the other team is supposed to be really good), fans streamed out high fiving, hugging - I even saw one guy who looked like he was crying - but many remained after to watch Jeremy being interviewed by the TV station covering the game. Young kids begging for a wave, fans screaming his name.

The Rangers game was extremely anti-climactic - almost an after-thought. They won 3-2 in overtime. And another goal was taken away even though it was scored with time left in the game. No Jeremy Lin on the Rangers? Whatever, yawn.

I will never completely understand guys' crazy love of sports. But on this day - listening to not one, but two fan-bases cheering crazily as their teams won close games (especially the Knicks game where the fans were really going bonkers) there is this sense of heart pounding excitement that you feel as the players do their thing. Every time Jeremy dribbled the fans were ooh-ing and ah-ing. Every time he hit a shot they went mad. Every time he got a teammate a pass, they cheered. And he seems like a genuine, down-to-earth guy who believes in God and doesn't do bad stuff. The type of hero we can all get behind.

And how are we spending Monday? MY WAY. Waking up late, going out for coffee, and then getting back into pjs for the rest of the day. I just sent David out to get stuff so we can make a nice dinner.

Oh yea, and he's gonna have to buy me something REALLY nice too.

After all two sports games in one day? I'm not that LINsane.

All You Need is Love, Love...Love is All You Need

2012-02-14T11:26:00.000-05:00

The gooey message of Valentine's Day - all you need is love. Even the twistedly fun Gossip Girl had images of every couple in New York getting their flowers and chocolate and bracelets and declaring their mate to be the most wonderful friend/lover/person ever.

Wouldn't it be great if it was really that easy? That once a year you could shower your significant other with trinkets and treats and thus strengthen the bonds of love. Or a few times a year - "Happy Valentines Day!" "Happy Birthday!" "Happy Anniversary!" - three days - everlasting love. Pretty sweet deal, especially for lazy guys.

Wouldn't it be great?

But doesn't that fly in the face of the whole "love is really, really, really hard work"? Of course it does. Because love is really hard work. And struggle. And arguments, (hopefully) followed by sorrys and compromise.

But you know what? Having a day where you wake up to a 6:30 am delivery of roses to your door is pretty awesome too. And maybe, just maybe, love - while a struggle and hard work - is supposed to be fun and enjoyable too. That there's nothing wrong with some whimsy and carefree as well. Who doesn't love them some good old fashioned whimsy every now and again?

Yes, yes - I know - Valentine's Day isn't for Jews. It's Saint V's-Day and all those who partake are really doing a great evil against the world. So forget V-day. Birthdays, Anniversaries or even just for the Hell of it Day.

Is love really all you need? Course not. But it certainly is part of what you need. No (wo)man is an island. Everyone needs to feel needed, wanted, loved. Anyone who says different is a liar. Even people who are islands are really island chains.

So do it. Tell 'em you love them. Buy them flowers. Guys, you have no idea what flowers can do.

After all - All you need is love.

Control

2012-02-10T10:06:00.000-05:00

Control.

Out of control.

"Being in control is the opposite of being out of control." (Some genius, 2012)

For many years I was a bad kid. I did bad things. I made people disappointed. I engaged in activities that labelled me "off the derech", "at risk" and "bad". Let's not forget plain old bad.

In other words, I was out of control.

I righted the ship. I got help and took control of my life. That word again, control. I fought VERY hard for it (there are no short cuts in turning your life around, chillun) and I got it. I EARNED it.

Control. Control over my life. Over my friends. Over my decisions. Work hard, do well, make progress and move forward.

Now I need that control. I need to know that the evil forces around me, that so effectively helped take that control from me to begin with, no longer wield control over me. I need to decide when I go out, when i come home, where I go, how I get there. How much money to spend on the credit card to punish them for hurting me to begin with. I need to know that i have control over my life, at least with regard to thing inside my control (though if I had the power to make it 75 degrees and sunny every day, chillun, I would - Though I guess I could also move to San Diego if it was that important, but I digress).

Out of control.

But now there are simply too many things in my life that are out of control. Tova just got out of a long hospital visit (she was there since we got home, got out yesterday), which has been stressing me to no end. There's this thing we are planning for this summer - my mother is trying to take control over the entire thing - that's her way - she doesn't even like me but she's running to take control of this because that's her way. Tova and I call it the Way of the Monster. (Of course, Tova and I refer to our two mothers as The Bitch and the Witch so....).

The other side is stoked - as this is the first thing on their side. They want to be a part of the planning and seem genuinely excited to be a part of this process. I see where this is going. They will butt heads. They will fight.

There ~~will be~~ is a loss of control.

This isn't me worrying about what could be. This is reality. Tova sees it. David sees it. He doesn't want to be too involved in planning the thing. He says tell him where it is and he'll show up looking handsome. He says someone needs to not hate my mother when this is all said and done.

Loss of control. On egg shells. That knot in my stomach all the time. There's school. There's Tova. And there's this thing. It's a constant feeling of being out of control.

Deep breaths in. Deep breaths out. In. Out. Get control. Don't let them win. Don't ruin what you have spent two years building.

I have done something I haven't done in quite a while. I scheduled a visit to my therapist. I need to talk to him. I need to hear what he has to say. I need him to tell me all is not lost. I need to feel his hands all over me again (haha just kidding chillun, I just wanted to see if you guys were paying attention!!).

But what I need more than anything - is to feel like I haven't lost control - or to know this is simply something outside of my power to fix. That I have no control over it because I cannot control something outside of me.

But right now I'm spinning, spinning, spinning out of control.

And I don't like it one bit.

Helping a Loved One Through Tough Times

2012-02-06T09:59:00.000-05:00

He sulks. He pouts. He pushes away his plate, gets up and paces.

All the time muttering, muttering.

He is surrounded by friends and family in this, his parents home. Surrounded by his parents, his siblings, his friends and his fiance.

But he is miserable.

They have prepared this get together to celebrate life, liberty and the American way. All the necessary accoutrement's are there - food, drink, festivity.

But he refused to enjoy it. He mutters. He sulks.

I hold his hand and tell him it will be ok...that maybe, just maybe...

The Jets will win the Super Bowl next year.

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Ok, ok, so it wasn't really that bad. But seriously? His parents throw this monster Super Bowl party every year and he was so freaking unhappy because "[O]oh my god! The Giants AND the Patriots? This is like a nightmare. And now it's happened twice in four years!"

I know, I know. The Giants! The Patriots!! However WILL we go on?

My dad isn't really a sports fan. He and my brother like the Giants, and I remember them being happy-(ish) a few years ago when they won, but Super Bowls weren't exactly huge deals in my house. Very different in David's, though. His family have been Jets season ticket holders forever and they take their football (and their Super Bowl parties) extremely seriously. Men watch (and bet on aspects of) the game while women critique Madonna's halftime performance and the commercials. And a lot of food is consumed.

Poor David kept muttering that he hopes "neither team wins" yet grudgingly agreeing that this was a good super bowl.

I agree. It was a great super bowl. Not the game (I'd have no idea) but the whole time. The atmosphere. The feeling of family and friendship (I love David's friends and their significant others - all of whom have taken me in as one of their own) that quite honestly I've never had before.

So congrats to any Giants readers. Good win!!

As for me - I'm going to find time to watch Ferris Beuller's Day Off. After seeing the reaction of every adult in the room over the age of 30 to that commercial, I'm assuming this movie was one for the ages.

I Love You, And....

2012-02-02T14:28:00.000-05:00

To say that I'm "kvelling" is probably appropriate, and perhaps even an understatement, but since I have no idea what it means, let's instead say I'm bursting with happiness.

You will all remember the challenge I laid down to blog comment-er and internet friend "Malka" about writing a guest post. Well she did it! (See how scary and bossy I can be???) And not only did she do it, she has nailed the point I was trying (very heavily handed) to make in my last post - but in a sweet, funny and really smart way.

So here it is - my first guest post spot - hopefully not my last, by Esteemed Reader (and writer) "Malka":

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I want to write a sweeping, universal, game-changing post. I want to explain why some people are more open than others; I want to explore what boundaries we all share.

But I don't know "people": my husband is the extrovert with the masters' in social work. Me? I'm just an engineer. But I scored better on verbal than math on every standardized test I ever took, and my mother is an editor who handed me a copy of Jane Eyre when I was in fourth or fifth grade and told me to "read it for the sentence structure." Moreover, I got through the entire first half of Jane Eyre before I laid it aside until junior high, so I have the necessary qualifications to write.

And perhaps, being over-analytical and living in my head as I do, I am even qualified to write about people. But I certainly cannot write sweeping universal truths about all people. Because it was only after high school that I discovered friends, as opposed to acquaintances and family, so I'm rather behind on the learning curve when it comes to how "all people" think and feel. Incidentally, "friends" are when there are 150 people that you know and like well enough, but there is still a subset of those 150 with whom you'd rather share a bus. That select group consists of your friends. Most people have friends, and that is the main reason that loading three buses with 150 girls takes so long. You probably knew this, but that was a life-changing epiphany I had one morning at the age of 18.

As a child, I got along with my classmates, but we didn't have enough in common for me to have any desire to hang out with them outside of school. Books. Books were awesome. People in books didn't want to talk and talk and talk about stuff that bored me. So I read. I wondered with Scout, hated Tom Sawyer with a mighty passion (still do, the jerk: how on earth could he go around with Jim all that time without telling him???), cried with Billy Coleman, and was scared witless by Dracula. It was awesome. I had unlimited adventures with all sorts of people that I could empathize with, love, and respect. And in my imagination, I never did anything stupid near them, so I could be perfect, and they would appreciate me in all my perfectly human imperfection. So I got my social highs from my family and my books, and that was enough.

Then I went to seminary and met people who were smart and quirky, just like me. I didn't quite realize what had happened until I came back for Shana Bet, alone among the quirkiest and smartest. It didn't occur to me that I might not be as happy without them: I didn't need friends. I had my family on my phone and my copy of Lord of the Rings on my bookshelf. Then suddenly, a week into my second year, I found myself sitting on the steps, crying. I missed my roommate/chavrusa from the year before.

Better to have loved and lost? Ridiculous! This sucked! But I wiped my tears and nose and moved on.

I always got along with people, and I'd simply email my old roommate and that would be that. But then some shana-alephers started hanging out in my apartment (why? how did they find us?), and shortly thereafter I had the epiphany related above. I had friends. This is what people had been talking about for the past 18 years. Oh. Sharing such a fundamental trait with normal people was something of a blow to my ego, but friends... friends were really quite pleasant.

Still, one had to be careful. With friends, just as with all my amenable acquaintances from forever, I still knew to hide myself. We could laugh and chat and do silly stuff. I could admit I was scared of this and incompetent at that, but my essence? That's mine. G-d only knows what would happen if I showed that to another person. They'd know how I'm vulnerable. They would be able to hurt me, to threaten me, to control me. So I hid whatever irrationally presented itself as an Achilles heel, and I was fine. I still do, and I still am. So while I'll show my essence in the safety of Family, I hide it before the danger of Friends/Acquaintances.

Do you remember that third category from my childhood? People from books? Yeah, they're still cool. They understand stuff. Even when I'm stupid, characters are cool with me. I can totally let go in front of characters, who are ultimately only words, and words are beautiful and fun and safe. So these Internet Friends of mine... I am a character constructed entirely of words, and they are characters constructed entirely of words. Beautiful and fun and safe! We are characters to each other, and yet we can magically reach through the Fourth Wall to touch and change each others' lives. And since we reach across with the written word, the Fourth Wall remains a mighty bulwark, protecting us from each other, allowing us to share our essences with a minimum of hurt and no possibility of the Other... the Other... with no chance of the Other doing that horrible scary thing that makes me afraid of people who are fully dimensional, who are more than just words. And that, my Internet Friends, is what makes the Internet the Safest Place of All, as long as it all stays on the Internet and doesn't leap out of the screen and run rampant through my life.

I Love You, But....

2012-01-30T17:49:00.000-05:00

Dear Gentle Reader:

Please understand, I am not speaking to any one of you, I'm speaking to all of you. The last eleven or so months has been a totally wild ride with you all. I have poured a large portion of my heart and soul into these posts and I've opened up to you strangers the way I've only opened up to three other people in the "real world" (Tova, David and my therapist). In many ways, you should feel honored (snort).

However..

I have tried to create a wall between this world and the real world - in many ways because of how much I've opened up here. In some ways, I've been too honest. I've told you all many things I never really planned on sharing with others. Now it's water under the bridge.

But...

I'm asking you, Gentle Reader, to understand. My life is a whirlwind right now. I'm sure you get that. School started (I lied to you, I actually cut school to go on vacation last week - I didn't want to hear any tsk-tsking) and I'm already behind. I think the trip was a major setback for Tova, so I'm worried about her health. Then there's the engagement thing. I am really in uncharted waters right now.

So please..

I really, really appreciate how you guys seem so excited for me. And I appreciate the love - I really, really do. Maybe more so than any of you even realize. But I really need you all to understand the boundaries I created. I created them not for you, but for me. And I know that maybe they make no sense to you, but they make sense to me. And if you don't agree with them, or even think they are stupid, I'm asking you all to respect them anyway.

You guys cannot know how much your comments and g-chats mean to me. But I can't open up any more right now.

I feel pressured - justly or unjustly - and I already have enough pressure in my life right now.

So if possible...

Try and remember to keep to the wall - please do not ask to come to the other side.

Thank you,

Cym.

On My Florida Vaca and My Late Chanuka Present

2012-01-27T11:44:00.000-05:00

Many, many apologies in advance - for grammar, for poetic license, etc. I am exhausted and my head is spinning in 14 different directions at once. You will forgive me this sleep deprived, rambling indulgence.

Florida with Sick Tova is always a treat.

The flight was fine until the descent, when the change in pressure did all kinds of wonderful things to her. I managed to get her situated with water while I (a) got the luggage, (b) got the luggage and her on a tram to the car rental, (c) rented the car, (d) drove us to her apartment, (e) got her and the luggage upstairs, (f) got her in bed) and (g) drove to the supermarket to get some food necessities (cereal, milk and chocolate). But hey, that beats a trip to the local hospital for a blood transfusion!

About two hours later I drove Sick Tova to the local hospital for a blood transfusion.

That out of the way, Friday morning we were ready to roll. We spend the vast majority of the day sitting by the pool (excellent weather) and then went to collect food for shabbos. Then we went back to the pool.

I was so exhausted by Shabbos that I virtually slept the entire day (half by the pool and half in a bed).

Sunday and Monday followed the same pattern. Sit by the pool, laugh, talk, eat when we remembered, laugh and talk some more. Oh and swim. Our attempt at making frozen beverages ended prematurely after mishap with her mother's blender. So sipping frozen beverages by the pool, a staple of any relaxing warm weather vacations, was out. Still, it's amazing what sunshine, relaxation and spending time with your best friend can do for the spirit.

We spent time walking on the beach, sitting in the sand and looking at the ocean - contemplating life's bizarre curve balls. Or at least I did, I don't know what Tova was contemplating in those moments.

On Tuesday she told me we were getting dressed up and heading down to Miami (her parent's place is a little bit north of Miami) for a very early dinner at a nice place. She told me she had a package she had to deliver to Miami Beach anyway.

"What package?" I asked.

"I have a package I promised my mother I'd take to a friend of hers, "she replied. "She has an apartment in ______ (naming a nice building on Collins Avenue)."

I frown suspiciously. "You hate your mother. You wouldn't pee on her if she was on fire. You are doing her a favor?"

She gives me annoyed "What the fuck? Why are you giving me third degree about the package? She let us have the apartment during high rental season. Not only that she kept it open just in case I would be healthy enough to come. It's the least I can do."

"How come you never mentioned this package before?" I persist.

"Will you shut up about the fucking package already! I didn't think it was all that important. Had i known you'd be giving me such a hard time about it I'd have told my mother we can't deliver the package because it might put you out for five minutes."

And so I drop it (not even bringing up the fact that we are eating dinner so early. If i wanted dinner at 5:00 I would have vacationed in Boca) and we get dressed up. Me in the only nice things I brought and her on the only nice things she raided out of my closet five minutes before my brother drove us to the airport ("The only upside to me being sick? I can finally fit into your clothes!") and we were driving down south along Collins Avenue.

We pull up in front of a really nice building in Miami Beach. Tova, who is driving, hands me a taped up paper bag, like the kind you get from the supermarket, and hands it to me. "Here, take this in, It's hot and I don't feel like dehydrating before we stuff ourselves on red meat. Just bring it to the doorman/concierge guy in front and tell them it's for Mr. Stein in apartment __".

Immediately annoyed that she is making me get out to do this, I notice that she does look a little pale and she's glistening with sweat. Since I'd prefer to NOT make a return trip to the hospital, I take the package.

"I'm not delivering heroin or anything am I?" She rolls her eyes and tells me she's hungry and I should move my ass. (Have I mentioned how much fun vacationing with Tova is???)

The glass sliding doors barely make a whooshing sound and I am in the most immaculate and gorgeous lobby I've seen in a while. There's lots of marble and fancy paintings. I walk to the front desk where a thirty-something brunette asks if she can help me.

"I'd like to leave this package for Mr. Stein in apartment ___" I say.

"Oh yes. He's waiting for the package. You can bring it right up." She smiles at me sweetly.

"Um, can't I just leave it here?"

More sweet smile. "Oh no. You can bring it right up." She looks at me expectantly, with sweet smile still fixed in place.

I see this is a fight I cannot win. I sigh and take the elevator up to Mr. Stein's apartment. The whole thing is totally creeping me out but I think of poor Tova sitting in the car and sweating to death so I hurry up to the apartment.

I ring the doorbell. "It's open," a muffled voice calls out. Against any sane woman's instincts, I push the door open.

And nothing is registering anyway. Not the champagne in an ice bucket with two glasses. Not the candles. Not the fact that David is standing there in a black suit, white shirt and black tie, looking gorgeous and perfect.

My jaw must be on the floor at this point because he laughs and then I do what I do best which is burst out and cry for reasons I cannot quite explain and he comes over and hugs me and tells me I'm supposed to be happy to see him not cry from it.

I'm speaking but clearly not doing a very good of expressing myself. I'm confused and hormonal and seeing him has just turned me into a blubbery mess. He hold me for a few minutes until I calm down.

"So, come here often?" I ask, still sniffling, wiping my eyes with a tissue.

He smiles. "Only when I need to bring my girlfriend her chanuka present."

And he hands be a black velvet box.

Of course, at this point it clicks for me. The way everyone's been acting so weirdly. Tova's insistence on coming no matter what. The "package" we need to deliver.

One. Big. Setup.

Inside the box is the shiniest, most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I gasp and take it out.

It is the absolute culmination of my life to this point. The high point. Everything I have worked so hard for. The therapy, the quitting drugs and bad behavior. The end of my rebellion. Repairing relationships with my family (most of them anyway). It's all for this moment. To hear the words he is telling me as all these thoughts are going through my head.

- I must have planned ten speeches.

- None of them worked right.

- I decided to speak from my heart.

- I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.

And now I'm the one laughing and saying yes, yes, YES I will marry you, of course I'll marry you. I love you more than anything in the world. You are my dream come true. And curtains are billowing and we are opening a bottle of champagne (he checked a bag just so he could bring this from New York, worrying he wouldn't be able to get a bottle in Florida) and we are sitting on the most magnificent balcony and eating the most magnificent meal and talking about nothing and everything.

About how he's been planning this for months with Tova (that little two timer). About why he decided he wanted to do it in Florida because that way it would be about the two of us, not allowing my mother to somehow turn this into a thing about her. He told me he had spoken to my father and how gracious my dad was in that conversation. That my dad told David that he and my mother couldn't be happier about adding David to the family.

And then he's on the phone. Calling his parents, his siblings, his friends. I call Tova. "I'm engaged."

"No shit. I left your pj's and a change of clothes for you at the front desk. Though I bet you won't need to pj's, wink, wink."

"Shut up you pig." We laugh. "Are you going to be ok?"

"Of course I am. I think I can make it a day without you." We agree this is so. "Hey Cym, mazal tov."

"Tova - thank you. For everything."

"Yea yea." She hangs up.

I leave David to his seemingly endless calls and take the elevator to the lobby. Brunette is there with a big smile and a knapsack with my clothes and toiletries that Tova has somehow managed to sneak into the car without me seeing. "Congratulations," she says with that same sweet smile.

I walk outside and call my dad. We talk for a few minutes. He tells me how happy he is for me and how he thinks David is a really, really wonderful guy. He tells me I should talk to my mother. I hedge. But I know he's right. It'll be worse for me if I get home before i speak to her. She comes to the phone and I tell her I'm engaged. She is as gracious as I can expect. It's two minutes of awkwardness but I know I've done the right thing.

I stand out on Collins Avenue in front of the building. I let the events of the last two hours settle in a bit. I stare at the ring on my finger and smile.

I'm happy, I realize. I'm overwhelmingly happy.

When I was a rebel, I wanted to marry a non-Jew at age 30 and have a child. When I was "recovering", I figured I'd marry an non-observant Jew at 25 and have a couple of kids. Now I'm 21, engaged to an orthodox guy and the future looks open. But open in a good way.

I smile again, shoulder my backpack and head back upstairs. I take his IPhone away from him and we have some serious Us time. I know things will never be the same again.

But for the first time, that's a good feeling.

Sayonara Suckers and a Guest Post!

2012-01-19T09:31:00.000-05:00

Ok so I'm totally stoked to present Obscured By Cloud's very first guest poster - Sometimes comment-or and always g-chat friend Malka!! Here it is:

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Wait. There's nothing there, you say? How odd....oh wait, it's not odd. Cause Malka totally screwed me over and refused to write anything. Even though I asked. And then begged.

Well I'm calling you out publicly Malka - the world wants to experience your wonderful writing skills (even if they don't know it yet). Make it happen!

Well, with that out of the way, it's time to say good bye my friends. Well, good bye isn't accurate. Good bye signifies permanence. Our farewell is a temporary situation dear friends. However, my internet availability will be limited, at best (and I don't intend to spend any time on a computer or my phone anyway).

So I hope everyone has a great week next week.

Leave some love y'all,

C.

Here Comes The Sun

2012-01-18T10:14:00.000-05:00

So it's all set. The plans are in. The plane tickets are bought.

Florida here we come. Tova has gotten ~~at least minimal, shaky at best~~ doctor approval to fly. I'm finally going to do something on my vacation other than go shopping, drinking lattes and reading the entire Hunger Games trilogy (thumbs down, BTW - sorry Chana).

Am I excited??? Partly. I'm nervous too. I'm worried about flying with her - about being alone with her for a week and being in charge of getting help if anything goes wrong. I'm worried something will go wrong.

Why? Because she seems worried.

Our road trips, field trips, hell our trips to the local pizza store, are usually things which fill her with excitement. This whole trip feels more like we are being sent off to the Hunger Games (book reference none of you get - but basically a competition where 24 children in an arena have to kill each other until only one remains). In other words, our normal pre-trip excitement has been replaced with feelings of doom and gloom.

I almost want her to text me and tell me we are off. That she changed her mind and she doesn't want to go. But I know this will never happen. Tova is nothing if not determined. Whenever we talk about her chances of survival, I am reminded of Aragorn (the ruggedly hunky Viggo Mortenson) running into the cave of the dead and saying "I do not fear death". Tova does not fear death. And that's why she won't cancel the trip, even if (while she won't admit it) she might think it's coming for her.

Uneasy? Check. Worried? Check. But I'm also determined. Determined to be there for my best friend when she needs me. In whatever small way I can. And if that means calling an ambulance for her or driving her to the local hospital to get a transfusion, then that's what it means. It's not about me - it's about her and I will do whatever it takes to help make her life the best it can be - whether she has a week left for 75 years.

So Florida, here we come. It's close to 80 degrees and sunny. I have my bathing suits, some summer clothes, my MP3 player and suntan lotion. Everything else will take care of itself.

Here comes the sun.

In the Lost and Found

2012-01-16T12:00:00.000-05:00

"I'm alone, but that's okay
I don't mind most of the time...

Don't......go...... home........
Stay with me,
hanging around in the lost and found"
(Elliot Smith - In the Lost and Found)

A little Intro:

So I've just discovered Elliot Smith - Indy rock god and hero who seemingly died of self inflicted wounds after a mercurial career path that includes some pretty awesome music.

Elliot Smith's music absolutely touches me. He's an artist who seems to have been writing for lost souls like me.

Perhaps because he was writing for lost souls like me.

********************************************************************

Some people have a(~~lot)~~ large number of friends. I don't.

I have a very small circle. Then I have a good amount of close acquaintances/not close friends. They are people I spend time with but am not intimately connected to.

I'm alone most of the time. And I don't mind....most of the time.

I don't believe that a person's self-worth can be measured by the number of so-called "friends" they keep. I think, when it comes to relationships, quality definitely counts ahead of quantity.

So here I am. I have a (newly minted) relationship with my older brother, a decent relationship with my father, a best friend and a boyfriend. I do not have an "outer inner circle" after that. After that, everyone falls into the "close acquaintances/not close friends" category.

And for the most part, this works for me very well. For the most part.

Sometimes it would be nice to have more than one or two "go to" friends. Sometimes it would be nice to have a mother who I can talk to. Or an older sister. What's so ironic is I have them, but they are worthless to me, as if we are separated by eight inch glass - I can see them but I can have no contact with them of any value. My older (married) sister lives close my neighborhood, is at my house all the time, yet I cannot remember the last time we said two words to each other.

And my inner circle? Too many times Tova is unavailable. She needs her time and space as well - her own issues to deal with. And David has a full time job. And my brother, however awesome he is, is limited as a "talk things out" partner. And my dad is busy always.

So who does that leave me with? Me. Me and my thoughts. Me and my troubles. My fears. My issues.

A therapist will tell you that having a support system is imperative to your mental health. Sometimes I feel like my support system doesn't stretch as far as I need it to.

Yes, I've come a long way. Yes, I'm not the same person I was, the same girl who needed your approval to strengthen her non-existent self-esteem. Yes, with the massive aid of my own therapist I have found a well of inner-strength I never knew I had. But sometimes it would be nice to finger-scroll down that smart-phone list of contacts and actually have people you want to talk to.

But that's life in the lost and found. It's not perfect. It has its moments, but it also has its disappointments. I didn't have the high school and college years most people, or that Sem year, where everyone seems to come home with fifty-five new close friends. I had the streets and a hoard of other broken people like me.

But in the end, it's better to end up here, hanging around in the lost and found, than to be lost forever.

When You're Strange

2012-01-11T12:22:00.000-05:00

Life's good. I'm on vacation, I'm planning a trip to the warm locales of southern Florida. My biggest decisions these day revolve around whether or not to head back to the mall to return the sweater which fit so nicely in the dressing room at Nordstroms but suddenly falls on me like a potato sack.

Ah the good life. Good times, good friends...

Oh wait. Therein lies the problem.

My two best friends in the world are acting really, really weird.

Tova first. While she has been managing to hold her own these last few months, she isn't currently allowed to fly. Yet she is determined to make this trip to Florida, even if it kills her. Literally.

In fact, she has threatened to kill me if I back out on her. And so we will be going to Florida, even if (sniff) we need to (shudder) drive there next week. Sigh. If I get raped and murdered in a truck stop in Georgia, someone please write something nice about me in a blog post.

(And before all you judgemental types start making your judgements, remember one thing - Tova doesn't live under the same "life guidelines" as you. In her head, she'll be lucky to be alive to see 2013. She probably won't ever get married (who wants to marry a time bomb?) or have kids (who wants to bring a child into the world and then make him/her an orphan?) so if she would rather have quality over quantity, who are me to judge? - I just don't understand why we have to go NOW so badly.)

Then there's Mr. Wonderful. Who has been acting...off lately. Just off. There's something there and I dunno what it is. But it's driving me bonkers. I hate not knowing what's wrong. And when I ask him if he's ok, he says yes. But I don't believe him. Uch. men suck. Why can't you just discuss your stupid feelings? Would it kill you to emote once in a while?

On the bright side, I'm still normal.

I hope.

Ed's Note - This post does not contain the word "alot" in it.

Into the Arms of Sleep

2012-01-06T10:32:00.000-05:00

"Sleep will not come
to this tired body now
Peace will not come
to this lonely heart"

For as long as I can remember, I've been a terrible sleeper. I thrash, I have nightmares, I wake in cold sweats. I toss, I turn but I do not fall back asleep.

I get chunks of time - three hours here.  Four there.

A full night? Fuggedaboudit.

And I won't take sleeping pills because I try to no longer take any drugs at all unless prescribed by a doctor (or say Advil on the box).
My therapist and I figured out the root cause of my inability to sleep. No special medical issues like sleep apnea or whatever. It's significantly more convoluted than that. Simply put, however, years of sleeping in terribly adverse conditions have made me very uncomfortable when I sleep.

Adverse Conditions, you say? What, exactly, are these so-called "adverse conditions"?

Well, here's a list:   Adverse Conditions = Sleeping in strange places. With strange people. Sleeping in places where you do not feel safe. Sleeping in places where you did things which made you ashamed. Sleeping with "one eye open" or, worse, both eyes open. Not sleeping at all.

I do not feel safe when I sleep. I do not know who or what is coming through the door. Years of instability have taken their toll on my ability to feel safe when I close my eyes.

The incredibly sad thing? I suffer from these issues in my own house. I have my own room, with lock on door.  I even have my own bathroom. I am surrounded by my family.  I am in the place where I should feel as safe and secure as anywhere in the world. Yet I cannot sleep.

If ever there was a damning picture of my home life, to be this is it.

The incredibly happy thing? The only places I get a full night sleep? At David's apartment or at his parent's house. If ever there was a picture of proof that he's The One, this has to be it.

So maybe one day I'll be in my own home, surrounded by my own family, and I'll sleep the 12 hour sleep of the untroubled ones. Maybe then I'll know I hit the good life.
Until then I'll toss and turn and wake and shake and spend my nighttime hours learning the deep, dark secrets of my bedroom ceiling.
At least until I fall into the Arms of Sleep.

What a Difference a Year Makes

2012-01-03T09:54:00.000-05:00

Ok I admit it - I'm not perfect.

I know, I know, pick those jaws up from the floor. It's sad but it's true.

And since I've been in my journey of personal reformation to "normal", there have been many things I've tried to stay away from. The theory being, there is really no sense in putting your fragile self into situations which may end up hurting you.

And so, to that effect, I have tried to stay away from drinking too heavily, any drugs whatsoever (even over the counter cold remedies, etc. if it can be avoided), bad social influences, my mother, etc. The easiest way to avoid trouble is to AVOID TROUBLE.

So you can imagine my shock and surprise when I found myself getting drunk at a New Year's thing I went to Saturday night. Not like body shots off bare chests drunk, but way too much vodka and wine drunk which comes from drinking way too much vodka and wine.

So there I was, getting deeper and deeper in the bag.....

AND YET.

And yet I managed to not do anything too embarrassing or self destructive. And yet I managed to go home with the same guy I came with. And yet i managed to wake up (with a pretty bad headache and a seriously furry tongue) without the old panic that usually set in when i woke up after a bender having no idea where I was.

So yea, maybe it's not the best idea for a former user to drink too much. But like they say on South Park, I learned something today (actually it was Sunday). Well it's less of a new thing than it is an affirmation -

I'm going in the right direction.

I'm doing ok. I may worry (alot) and whine (alot) and worry summore (sadly, alot), but I am doing ok nonetheless.

And I'm not 100% sure I'd have come out the same way LAST December 31/Jan 1.
************************************************************

The things we do for love:

David and I spent alot of time together this weekend. We met for the party, I slept at his parents Sat night (and managed not to throw up in the guest bedroom!! Go me!!). We watched the Jet game together Sunday - it was sad. Then we watched the big outdoor hockey game yesterday (which was happy).

While I will never enjoy sports like he does, I at least kinda get why guys love them so much. Less so the football, where the teams stand around for like a minute then play for 5 seconds, but the hockey seems to be pretty fast paced and exciting (David, his father and his brother were pretty intensely into this game).

And while it wouldn't have been my first choice for how to spend New year's weekend, the fact is that I'm off the whole month and David was off Monday. So I kinda let him "win". I did, however, force him to watch the Bachelor with me - which was AWESOME. Mean bitches and crying weaklings - not to mention the most boring bachelor ever!! It's gonna be good times!

If It's Not Ok For the Taliban - Why,Then, For Us?

2011-12-29T09:56:00.001-05:00

AFTER VIEWING THE COMMENTS AND SPEAKING TO A NUMBER OF PEOPLE ABOUT THIS (EITHER ONLINE OR IN "REAL LIFE"), I THINK IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN A MISTAKE TO POST THIS. MY INTENT WAS NOT TO CHAREIDI BASH BUT RATHER IT WAS A CRY FROM MY "SOUL". I HAVE BEEN VERY DEPRESSED ABOUT THIS THE LAST FEW DAYS AND I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT IT IN MY JOURNAL. THAT SAID, PLEASE (RE)-READ IT WITH THE GRAIN OF SALT IT DESERVES.

The last few days I've been struggling hard with images I've seen coming from Israel - the increasing civil war taking place between the Chareidim and non-chareidi Jews in Beit Shemesh (and other parts of Israel as well).

I'm confused and sad and frightened by what I'm seeing. How can this be? How can Jews act this way? If we saw Muslims saying these things about their women we'd laugh it off and call them insane lunatics.

How did it come to this?

I do not pretend to be an expert on exactly what is going on there. Nor am I any type of religious authority to speak of. But I know "wrong" when I see it and this is wrong. Spitting on women? Calling them whores? Doing the same to appropriately dressed seven year olds because their version of appropriate and yours is different?????

How can this be? Where is the outcry? Not an outcry from the non-chareidi world, which has been growing in recent days. But where is the outcry from the charaedi leaders?

Cynical me would argue that the corrupt rabbis aren't only secretly supportig this, they are encouraging it. Why? Because every time they get the loonies to follow their words, they are increasing their power. Their motives are clear to me.

But what about the other, supposedly "normal" ones? Do they think it's ok to say nothing because their followers aren't joining in? Do they think silence is the right approach? Do they not understand that their silence is an act of condoning what's taking place? And then, are they condoning these horrific actions or are they merely afraid that the chareidi world will no longer respect a rabbi who takes a stand?

And again the cynic in me wonders how the chareidi population can lack any sense of appreciation for the State. The State that allows them to live on the dole - without even participating in the country's defense - yet still allows them to walk around like they own the fucking place.

I'm biased, you say. Fuck yes I am. I wonder what they would have done to me if they had seen me walking in their streets. Would they have spit on me? Called me a whore? Maybe delivered a few blows or kicks to make their point? I know what each and every one of those things feels like. And to think that some rabbi (or in this case dozens) is approving of that makes me sick.

A very smart girl told me yesterday that she doesn't dwell on issues that she cannot pssibly fix. And maybe the answer is to shut it out and forget it's happening. After all, it's 6,000 miles away from me.

But i can't - it's managed to get inside of me. I need an answer - I need comfort. I need to understand how somethnig like this could happen - and what it means for our future.

And yes, to ask - If it's not ok for the Taliban, then why is it ok for us?

Sail To The Moon

2011-12-27T09:57:00.000-05:00

"I was dropped from moonbeams
And sailed on shooting stars"

As they say in French - it's all over. Got all my grades back (Did really well!!!), Chanukah is just about wrapped up, and now I can focus on my vacation plans - i.e. pretty much doing absolutely nothing for the next several weeks.

There is an interesting pattern to having nothing to do. You can wake up late (assuming you sleep). You can lie around all day in your pj's if you so choose or run around and try to fill up every second of your free time.

Me, I fall somewhere in the middle. I took two days of doing nothing (literally never got out of my pj's) and now I'm in Trying To Accomplish But Still Be On Vacation mode. Whatever that means.

But what it does mean is that I can stop and listen to the world again. I've been running around from one thing to the next for so long that I haven't taken a second to just listen. To hear. To see.

The one thing I notice is that as I gain more and more responsibility, there seems to be less and less time to just...be. To watch the wind shake the branches or watch water flowing down a stream. Or put on your MP3 player and listen to music with your eyes closed - and sail to the moon.

Tova wants to go to Florida with me. Right now she isn't allowed to fly. She wants us to drive (sooooo not into that - with our combined shitty luck we will end up raped and murdered in a truck stop outside of Savannah, Georgia) and I want to take her Dr's advice and give it a few weeks to see if her lung capacity improves. So we are having that debate. I'm not excited about flying with her and having her die on me on JetBlue flight number 427.

The good news is, being on vacation allows for that debate to exist. No hurries. There's plenty to do in the meantime. Or plenty not to do. Which works fine too.

Since I have started my "road to recovery", I've always been running. Running to the next stage. Getting better, getting back to school. Wanting a job, a career and eventually a family. Trying to reach that next goal as quickly as I can. Always moving. Always looking ahead. Moving away from just stopping. And listening.

And yes, I'm nowhere near the end of my journey. And I know that I'll probably keep running forward at the speed of light. But for the next few weeks at least, I will stop and listen and remember what it was like to have nothing to worry about except turning on the music, closing my eyes and trying to sail to the Moon.

It's the Most....Wonderful Time....of the Year

2011-12-22T09:29:00.000-05:00

Ok, let me start off by being absolutely clear - I am not one of those people who suffer from a case of Christmas envy. That ~~seemingly large~~ portion of the Jewish community who seem to wistfully wish that they, too, could celebrate the Christmas season like everyone else seems to do. It always seemed weird to me. Jews have like a million holidays, can't they just let the rest of the world have ONE??

But I digress. This isn't about envy of the season - rather it's my observation about the season. Namely, that New York is a great place to be at year's end. The City is shining. The stores are dressed up, the streets are dressed up. There are gobs of tourists walking around with open mouths and stares off wonderment. It's awesome to watch. Heck even the main shopping district in my little town is all lit up real pretty at night. And the best part - people do seem to be friendlier than normal this time of year, which is always a plus.

*********************************************************************************

So during my studying last week (and probably partly fueled by being sick and suffering delusions) I decided to make a Chanukah list of my truly loved ones - the ones I truly care about - and then to buy them things this year. I've never gotten anyone a Chanukah gift before so I figured now's a great time to start.

Of course, the list took all of 30 seconds to complete. it consists of exactly four people - My father, my brother, my best friend and my boyfriend (in no particular order). That's it. The sad part - I only have four people in this world I truly care about. The good part - easier to shop for only four people.

So what is everyone getting you ask? (Oh, you don't care? Too bad, it's my blog, I'm going to tell you anyway). Dad got a gift certificate to a local Jewish book store, along with a note that expressed how much I appreciate all he's done for me the last 2 years. My brother is getting something he's been wanting very much. My friend Tova is getting a gift certificate to a store that has a pair of boots shes been dying for but can't possibly afford which she can now afford because she has a gift certificate which covers the majority of the cost of the boots.

And then there's David. And the great brain freeze which accompanies him. I have absolutely no idea what to get him. What does he like, you ask? Guy stuff. Sports. But his family has jets tickets, he gets tickets to his other sports teams pretty much whenever he wants. So that's not a good gift. I was thinking like a watch, but that seems so.....cliche. I'm totally stumped. On the bright side, I have six more days to think of something.

So there you have it - the most wonderful time of the year.

Hope you all have a Happy Chanukah.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand Exhale

2011-12-21T09:24:00.000-05:00

And there you have it. Thanks in large part to a sleepless night, my last paper is done. Which means, of course, that I'm done. Semester over. Work complete until it all starts up again in 6 weeks.

Honestly, it feels really good. Obviously good to be done with another round of tests and papers. But something even better - the idea that each time I finish something like this, something regular, I'm one step closer to being "normal". To being part of society - no longer an outcast of it.

No, I'm not overselling that point. Because its a completely subjective feeling - something only I feel. Something I've worked hard for these last two years and something I can claim as my own doing.

Around two years ago (little more) a choice was given to me - turn your life around or be cut off from your family.

In a moment of relative lucidity, I decided I'd try. But I didn't really know what trying meant. It wasn't until a failed session with therapist number one led me to therapist number 2 - who in turn taught me what it mean to try. Trying isn't doing something half assed and then saying "Eh, I tried. What Do you want from me?". Trying is going "all in" - his words not mine. Trying is deciding that something is worth doing and then giving it your best efforts.

Going all in turned my life around. And it has become the principle by which I live my life. If I do something I do it all in. School. Work. My friends (which is why I have so few) and my social life.

All in. Not half assed. You save half assed for the things you don't really care about (like, for example, pretending to be sad for your boyfriend that the Jets lost on Sunday even though you were not-so-secretly pissed that he acted like a grump all evening and you made the trip to see him even though you had a final the next morning or telling your school friend her new hair color rocks when she changes it monthly and you lost interest in the process 8 months ago).

End Rant.

Now school is done and Break begins. The big question now is, what to do? After the exhale, of course. Then two days or so of doing absolutely nothing. Then what? Israel is out for various reasons I don't really want to discuss. I'm thinking Tova and I will take a trip down to Florida like we did all those months ago (assuming she's up for flying, I really do NOT want to have to make that drive). Other than that? Probably just relaxing and spending time with David.

Sounds like the makings of a pretty good plan actually.

I Am Minutes Away.....

2011-12-20T09:14:00.002-05:00

From my last test of the semester!!! Then I just have to finish and submit a paper and I'm done!

Wish me luck!

My Past Is A Ghost Which Haunts Me

2011-12-14T11:49:00.000-05:00

Ed's Note: Seriously primal scream below. Feel free to stop reading now.

I'm depressed today.

I have finals coming up and a paper. I had a sore throat/cold which seems to have blown up into a chest thing. I feel isolated. No problems or anything. Everything's great with David and Tova's good.

But I still feel pretty alone.

I wonder if my physical ailment is what's affecting my mood. I wonder. I wonder about a lot of things. I wonder why I can't seem to find a regular stream of happiness. I wonder why there's always something getting in the way - whether it be my own stupid brain or external forces.  I wonder if I'll ever be truly happy.

I wonder - I wonder what my punishment will be for all the sins I've done.  I wonder if this is my punishment - this endless barrage of suffering. Maybe I've committed so many evils that there's no coming back. I never forget that it was my decision to leave the faith. No one made me do it. And all the sins that followed were my doing. I did them. No one made me do them.

I have lived a sinful life according to my faith. I have disrespected my parents.  I have committed countless sexual violations. I have caused other people to sin.  I have aided and abetted wanton acts.  I have drank and drugged for my pleasure. I have denied the existence of God and I have cursed him. I have told people he has a big ego for making people pray to him so often.  I have made jokes at his expense.

The list is endless. Literally. Years and years, countless sins. So many that I couldn't even begin to list them if I ever would even want to.

Let it go. That's what they say. You weren't in your right mind then. You are better now. It's all behind you.

But is it really that easy? Can you really just let it all go? Is it enough that I feel bad? Do I have to set things right? Can I even set things right?

I don't blame other people for my troubles.  I was young and I was alone. And people took advantage of me. And it would be easy to make it all their fault. But it was my fault.  I did all those things. No one made me (usually - maybe sometimes they made me).

[Yes, I know my therapist would be extremely upset to see the previous paragraph. And I know I shouldn't think that way. But...]

Sometimes I look back and it makes me cry. Literally. I cry for that girl. But also out of frustration. I can never adequately express in words what my life was like. I feel helpless trying to explain to you all what I went through. This here is just words. And words are wind. It all sounds so faint and unreal. I wonder how many of you would "follow" me here if you could watch videos of what I was like. How I behaved. What I did. I wonder how many of you have the stomach for it (besides the few of you with similar experiences).

Don't worry, dear reader. This, too shall pass. It always passes. That's good. The problem is, it also keeps coming back. I cannot ever truly rid myself of my past. It lives inside a cage within my heart and mind and that cage cannot truly contain it. To some extent it's good to never forget. I learn from those mistakes. And I have been good about not repeating ~~most of~~ them.

My past is a ghost which haunts me. He rattles his chains while I try to sleep. He scares me when I'm awake. He dogs my steps and harries me at every turn. I try to exorcise him with therapy and goodness and living right. And sometimes it works. But other times it doesn't.

I'm depressed and haunted and tired. And my chest hurts from coughing. And the thought of another bought with pneumonia scares me even more than the ghost of my past does.

So, um, how are you doing?

Diary of an Insane White Woman

2011-12-12T10:14:00.000-05:00

Me: Hey.

You: Um, hey.

Me: So, do you wanna meet my own worst enemy?

You: Uh, sure.

Me: Can you guess who it is? I'll give you a hint. He/She is in this room right now.

You: Uh, there's just you and me in here. Are you saying I'm....

Me: OMG. Can't you stop thinking that the entire world revolves around you for one minute??? Geez. It's not you, it's me!
________________________________________________________________________________

The continuing saga of Cymbaline - The World's Biggest Mess. It hit me, in the shower of all places on Friday afternoon. Why can't I ever just be, you know, happy? For more than a day at a time.

Flash back. Wednesday night, he tells me he loves me. Thursday I'm walking on air. By Friday? I'm worried that I can't keep the blog going.

Welcome to the world of an insane lunatic.

Sigh - I know I have issues with worrying about things. And to my credit, i generally worry about real issues - there are plenty enough of those that I don't usually have to make up fake ones. But seriously? Can't I allow myself a happy time? I feel like I sabotage myself when I allow my brain to get in my way.

It doesn't take a genius therapist to understand WHY I'm like this. I went 20 years without any good things happening to me. All 20 years of my life. So I assume that good things don't happen to me. I always wait for the next shoe to drop (that's the right expression right? Or is it the other shoe to drop? Whichever. Some shoe is dropping). And yes, in the last year, things have improved. No denying. School, the job, David and to a lesser extent Tova (who is suffering with a myriad of problems but is still churning along). These are good things. Happy things. Exciting things. And here I am, waiting for the next/other shoe to drop. I can't help it. I'm working on it, but I can't help it.
_________________________________________________________________________________

So the majority of responses seem to imply agree that I can't keep the blog a secret from him. Well you know what? That's ok. And I'll tell you why. Because in the end he will be ok with it. maybe he won't quite get "this whole blog thing" or making connections with people you've never met, but he'll be ok with it. Because it's important to me. The same way his obsession with football and fantasy sports and hockey and basketball and baseball (zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz) is important to him even though I don't really get it.

And I guess that's the nature of love right? You but up with your loved one's shenanigans because you love them. And i feel confident that he loves me enough o put up with my shenanigans.

So now if you will excuse me, me and my worst enemy are going to go and be happy.

Dilemma

2011-12-09T11:02:00.000-05:00

I throw this one out to the general audience:

As anyone who reads me regularly knows, this blog was started as an online journal. And while it's obviously not a secret diary (as everyone here reads it), it IS secret in the sense that people who are in my "real world" have no idea of its existence. Therefore, I am able to write about all of these very personal things with limited worry but it continues to serve the original purpose of being an outlet.

So here's the dilemma.

Clearly David and I are getting very serious. I'd like to think that we will be engaged within the next few months and married in a year or year and a half (totally my made up timeline, we have never discussed timing at all). And now I'm wondering:

Can i keep this blog a secret from him.

A little disclaimer. Prof wrote a post a month or so ago about a friend of his who is doing really well in business. The friend is very serious about a girl. They are dating and will probably marry. Friend refuses to tell the girl he's financially well off, because he's concerned that she will only marry him for the money. And in fact, friend doesn't even want to tell girl about the money AFTER they are married because he's afraid that she will always rely on that and not want to work or be careful about spending.

I commented on the post how ridiculous that sounded to me. That honestly is a huge part of a relationship and how can you START a relationship where one of the pillars of it is a lie. I felt, and still feel, very strongly about this.

NOW. I will argue, vehemently, that Prof's blog situation is completely different than my own. I am not lying or withholding information about myself. David knows everything about me. BUT, I do treat this as a forum to think out ideas about him specifically. And I cannot do that if he knows about this blog. [As an example, early in the blog i discussed my relationship with Lil' Sis. That was a huge mistake in retrospect and now I never talk about her here anymore. In fact, had i to do it all over again, I'd never have told her about this blog - sorry Lil' Sis, nothing personal :)]

And so we get to David:

a) I DO NOT want him knowing about this blog. Real reasons or imagined ones, I do not want him reading about these thought processes. Rest assured, most of them I will discuss with him, but there are some thoughts I'd prefer not to share.

b) This is my OUTLET. My personal one. I feel like if I have to tell him about it, I've lost it.

So, here's the deal. In the end, if i decide he needs to know, I'd rather scrap the blog. At this point, I feel it's a secret I can keep, but that could just be because I WANT that to be the answer.

So I'm looking for some help here people. What do you guys all think? Am i being crazy? Can I eat my cake and have it too?

Help!!

And Just Like That

2011-12-07T22:09:00.000-05:00

The Darkness is my past.

It comes up out of nowhere and tries to remind me that, for all of the progress I have made in my life, I can't forget all of the bad. I cannot ignore what I once was. No rose colored glasses for me.

It comes to me and says "Cymbaline, you think you are better? THIS is what you are" - and then proceeds to flash all of my sins before my eyes for a few days. A few days to re-live all of the sordid events that made up my adolescence and early adult-hood. To the point where I can't close my eyes without seeing a memory I wish I didn't have.

It makes me feel dirty and unable to scrub clean.

Except this time, the Darkness was a bit different. Because it wasn't my past reminding just me that I was garbage. It was reminding me that David was going to wake up one morning and realize he was seriously considering spending the rest of his life with a slut. Or former slut. Except there's no difference when you are under the spell of Darkness. Once sullied, always sullied.

And so I've been sitting in a funk since Sunday - brooding over David and unable to focus on anything else - you know, like finals and papers which are right around the corner.

But a little angel came and reminded me that once, not too long ago, I worried that David didn't like me except as a friend. And that it was only when I asked him that things straightened out.

The angel was right. I'll ask him, I told her, tomorrow. Except no, why wait? So I texted him "rlly need to c u - can u come 2nite?" And I never ask him to come. I always go see him. So yes, it must be important. And so he responded that he'll come after work.

And so he called to tell me he was here. I asked him not to come in. I couldn't take the five minutes of having to be fake with him and whichever family member opened the door. So instead I put on my raincoat and slipped out into the dark and cold and wet of the night.

                                                       ***

And in a very deja vu-type way, we were once again in his car with the weight of the world on my shoulders.

We sat in the front seat, engine running and heater blowing. He shut off his wipers - and the rain, streaking down the windows and pounding on the roof, gave us all the privacy I could ever ask for.

He looked at me expectantly.

And, much like the last time, it all came out in a rush. Much that I wanted to tell him, and then much more.  I told him about the Darkness (he knows already) and I told him how this time the Darkness was about him (this surprised him). I explained how I worry about losing him. How much worse the fear gets when I dwell on my own past and assume he does the same. I tell him how I can no longer imagine a life for myself in which he isn't a part of. I told him this and the telling was like taking a scalpel to myself and carving up.

It was like cutting little pieces of my soul, putting them in my palm and holding them out to him.

To David.

To the person with the power to make all the hurt go away - or to make it unbearable.

And then he did what he does best. He didn't pooh pooh me or condescend. He didn't tell me that I was silly or that my worries were silly.

Instead he told me the truth.

                                                                          ***

"Early on, I thought everything through. You know how I am Cym, I don't really rush into anything." I nod, this is true.

"When I was thinking about whether or not I wanted to go out with you, to make this serious, I thought about all of it. I thought about how you make me feel, how smart you are. I thought about the way you think about things. How you make me laugh. Sometimes. Cause I'm far funnier than you, but no one's perfect." He pauses, possibly waiting for the laugh he isn't going to get. I'm sitting in a rain darkened car waiting for the world to fall on my head, he isn't getting a smile out of me right now.

When he realizes that his joke fell flat, he continues. "I thought about your personality. And I also thought about your hotness. In other words, I thought about all the things I'd normally think about when I'm debating about going out with a girl.

"BUT. But because you are you, I wasn't just thinking about whether or not I wanted to go on a first date. Damn, Cym, you and I had been friends a long time. This wasn't about trying to figure out whether or not you were date worthy. This was always about figuring out whether you were relationship worthy. As in - future together worthy.

"So yes. I thought about all those normal things. But I thought about everything else too. Your nutty family situation. Your religious views. Your past."

I flinch. He sees it. "Yes, even your past. Look, I'd be lying if I said that some of this stuff didn't bother me at first." He stops. He's seeing that I'm pulling back, ready to start defending myself and making excuses and begging him to reconsider and all of the other irrational thoughts and feelings that just be obviously written on my face.

Instead he puts a hand on my chin and says "Shut up, Cym. I'm not finished. Let me finish." And his voice leaves no room for discussion and so I shut up and let him finish.

"I said it bothered me. Past tense. As in, none of it bothers me anymore. Look at you. Look how far you have come. Look how you've grown as a person. Look at who and what you are now. Even as a Jew. You aren't the same non-believer you were a year ago, no matter how hard you argue to the contrary. And that stuff with other guys... look I know what you were going through. And I know it didn't mean anything. So I don't care.

Are you sure? I ask him. Are you sure you thought about everything that can possibly bother you about me? Ever? Under any circumstances?

Because I want to believe. I really do.  I want to think that this amazing, incredible guy, who I've wanted more than anyhting else in the whole world, wants me the same way.

"Look," he says. "I love you. I want to be with you. Forever. I want to marry you and have kids with you and fight about stuff like where we are going to send them to school and how old they should be before we get them cell phones (he's referencing an inside joke here). I want to have whatever kind of wedding you want to have and proudly introduce you to people we meet as my wife. That's what I want. More than anything.  I want you to be my wife. Is that clear enough?"

And it is clear enough. Because I'm crying and they are tears of joy. And he's holding me awkwardly around his stupid transmission shifter and telling me how much he hates it when I get in these worried moods (if only he knew) and how helpless he feels and I'm telling him that I'm fine, I'm great, I've never been happier in my entire life (which is 100% true).

And he says "Great! Can we eat? I'm starving."

And the Darkness was suddenly gone.

                                                                               ***

And I'm sure dinner was great.  I really couldn't tell you. I know where we ate, but I'm not sure what I ordered.  I just know that I was blathering on at the table like a giddy idiot and I felt such a HUGE sigh of relief. And then he dropped me off and walked me in and we spent five minutes making small talk with my brother who was downstairs when we came in and then David left to get back home .

And Just Like That...

All was right in the world.

And Just Like That

2011-12-07T10:15:00.000-05:00

The DARKNESS returns.

You can read all about it, horrible misspellings and all, at the link.

I'm sure I'll be fine in a few days.

Boring

2011-12-04T21:54:00.000-05:00

Had a very rough day today. Caught some sort of stomach thing over the weekend and spent the entire day Sunday in bed, totally weak but terrified of even the thought of trying to eat anything.

Lying in bed of course means I had plenty of time to think - which usually gets me in serious trouble. (I think too much when I don't have tons of time on my hands after all - so much more so when I'm free to think.)

I thought about school - I'm in the final stretch. I'll soon take two tests, write one paper and I'll be done for the semester. I'm planning the winter break trips I probably won't end up taking.

I have my part time job which I've been going to about twice a week. It's been kinda boring but it's there. Steady, dependable.

Things with David have been going super. Really, no complaints.

And there you have it, all of the components of my entire current existence in three paragraphs.

I wake up, I go to the gym, I go to school and then I either come home or go to work. I chat online sometimes and I talk on the phone with Tova and David pretty much every night. Occasionally Tova and I go our for dinner during the week and I spend as much time as I can with David on the weekends.

My life, for lack of a better word, is boring.

It's predictable and repetitive. It's lacking any true excitement. It's become a wheel, where each day sort of turns right into the next in a patterns of wash, rinse repeat.

Now my former life, that was exciting.

There were raves and keggers and drugs and sex. There were fights with my parents and post high-crying fits with Tova. There were wild sessions with my therapist where he literally opened me up and tore me apart. There were sleepless nights in strange places, next to strange men. There was fear. Sadness. Emptiness. But damn, it was always exciting.

Now - I wake up, I go to the gym....wash, rinse repeat.

My life is boring. I remember thinking when I was young and rebellious how glamorous my life must have looked to my fellow high school classmates - how they must have looked at me and thought how exciting it all was - while they were home studying chem or English or whatever, I was out rocking the high life (or at least that's what I tried to convince myself anyway).

But now I've become one of them. Now I'm the one studying history and English and wondering what all the fun people are doing with themselves while I'm staring at this computer screen,

My life has become boring.

And I couldn't be happier .

The View From Out Here Is Pretty Fucked Up

2011-11-30T10:51:00.000-05:00

Hey Generic Representatives of All Branches of Judaism. I'm glad I got all of you in one place. I've been meaning to tell you something:

Your religion has gone off the rails. You are so far afield from where you started it's laughable. Not to mention extremely frustrating for someone on the outside looking in and trying to see its beauty (which I believe exists).

Allow me to explain.

First some background. I come from a religious family - what you generically might describe as "Yeshivish". I went off the derech when I was 12. I've lived a very not-religious life since then. Recently, however, I've tried to find my way back into your fold. There are a number of reasons for this which I don't really feel are important for the purposes of this conversation. But suffice it to say, I have an advanced degree in Outside Looking In and that gives me a different perspective on your religion.

So I'd just like to address (skewer) each of you, Representatives, and tell you what I think of you for what it's worth (nothing) and in no particular order:

Modern Orthodox Man/Woman, in your 200 dollar Lucky jeans, your fancy shoes and North Face winter coats. Look, I love how you put a premium on the outside world. I dig how you pride yourselves on your education, your advanced degrees and your hedge fund jobs. But is it really necessary to forsake so much to live that life? And honestly, do your kids really need to be that cynical, watch that much tv and see whatever movies they want? Do your daughters really need to dress so inappropriately just to show that they can? Do your wives need to wear pants everywhere because heaven forbid anyone sees them in a skirt? Is it really necessary to hate Chasidim or Yeshivish people because they believe differently than you? Must you all be so damn cynical about EVERYTHING? Don't you see that the more you take from the outside world, the less you have to give to your religion? Soon you will be too far gone to come back.

And you, Chassidish Man/Woman, stop sniggering. You really think you are any better? You want to curtain yourself off from the rest of the world, go right ahead. There is a certain beauty to the ay you live apart (to some degree). But must you separate yourselves from your fellow Jews as well? Why, because they are dressed different? Think different? They are your brothers!

And you, leaders, the tighter you close your fist, the more sand slips between your fingers. No books, no movies, no music - banning even Jewish music concerts. Did you guys ever stop to think that people need release? We aren't machines, aren't meant to deny ourselves all the pleasures of the world. The problem isn't indulgence, it's over-indulgence. You have lost perspective in your need to control every aspect of the people who look to you for leadership. And seriously, government support? Not every one of you is a Torah scholar, get a fucking job and stop taking Section 8 and food stamps from the truly needy.

Oh and also, stop covering up the molestation. You are doing your community a giant disservice by allowing monsters to roam freely in your realm because it's too embarrassing to let them be seen.

I see you, Yeshivish Man/Woman, hiding in the corner and looking all pious. And it's 80 degrees in here, take off that stupid black hat already. Jeez. So let's get real. You guys have it all down pat. Not as loony at those Chasids, but not wild like the MO's right? You know what's really important. Like white table cloths on your Shabbos table, the boy's familial yichus and your appearance to the outside world. You are uniquely situated - you get to look down on everyone. MO, Chasidish, they all have it wrong. Only you know the proper way to live. My favorite part? You send your kids to the frummest schools, you only daven at certain shuls, etc. But your wives wear far and away the tightest clothes of any other group (excluding Latinos) as tznios seems to only apply to unmarried girls, not women.

Conservative/Reform guy, what are you doing? Judaism with no rules? Seriously? Religion has to have rules. It needs to be harder than that. Otherwise, what's the point? If I can do whatever I want, why on earth would I be Jewish? I might as well be a Hedonist. Yes, your religious brothers and sisters look down on you. Because they see you are the ones who took the easy way out. While they work their asses off. Are the pretentious and judgemental? Of course they are. They are Jews. But are they really wrong? Ok, you are dismissed.

And last, but not least, we hit the gaggle in the corner. The OTD/Chip on their shoulder Jews. You are non-observant. Ok. Judaism and it's tough standards aren't for everyone. Maybe your teachers/parents/rabbis were too hard on you. We get it. I get it. But stop hating. Stop whining that Judaism sucks cause you had to sit in synagogue for 8 hours on Yom Kippur when you were 13. Or that any religion which doesn't allow you to shave your face with a razor is stupid. Just stop. Stop blaming the religion for your problems. That was allowed when you were "under its cruel thumb". Now you are "free". You chose to stop being observant, in some cases to be Jewish - not us - so do us all a favor - move the fuck on with your life.

PLEASE NOTE: I think there are many, many wonderful parts of Judaism. I just think all of you have done your damnedest to make sure no one ever sees them or experiences them.

You all need to remember, we are one big family. We are our own worst enemy the way we fight. We need to stop. One god, remember? One god, not one for each of you.

Otherwise you are going to lose the me's of the world. For good.

What Can We Learn From Avoidance?

2011-11-29T08:50:00.000-05:00

Tova doesn't like to tell me bad news. She hides more than half of the things that are wrong with her. Her pat answer to every question about her well being is "Everything's fine. How are YOU?", as if my minor issue of the day can compete with her cancer (and all of the wondrous complications that come with it). The less she tells me (and orders her family to keep me in the dark) the worse the issue is. That's the general rule.

So now she's had and some further issues and more tests. And she isn't telling me the results. Which means, of course, that the results aren't good. Here's yesterday's phone conversation:

Me: "Hey".

Her: "Hey".

Me: "So?"

Her: "So what?"

Me: "So what?? So what did the fucking doctor say?"

Her: "Uch everything's fine. Stop worrying. You should worry about eating more instead. You look too skinny."

After several more attempts at getting her to tell me, she started to get mad so I dropped it. But a comment she made last week, while she was in a more candid phase, troubled me.

"No one beats cancer three times."

It made me stop. And really think.

No one beats cancer three times.

Three times. And she's 21. This is the life she has laid out for her even if she does make it through. She's weaker this time. And she will be weaker still next time. That's assuming all parts of her will get through this in tact (which, to be honest, I'm not even sure is the case now).

The area where i live was rocked this week by the death of a 35 year old who died of Leukemia. he has four kids. Supposedly his funeral was packed to the walls.

Sometimes in my private moments I wonder what Tova's death would bring. Her family isn't "important" (and quite frankly, her relationship with her mother is pretty muchas bad as mine with my mother) and she doesn't have a lot of friends (having made great efforts to keep people away - when you are sick all the time you don't always crave attachment). She has no husband or kids of her own. Will her funeral be well attended? Will people even notice?

I know, I know. I shouldn't think about these things. All i should do is be supportive as best as I can and as much as she allows.

But:

No one beats cancer three times.

Bullet Proof - (I Wish I Was)

2011-11-23T09:41:00.000-05:00

"Limb by limb, tooth by tooth
Tearing up inside of me
Every day, every hour
I wish that I was bullet proof"

Just when you think.

Life is funny. Just when you think it's all good, just when there seems to be nothing in front of you but promise and wonder, life pulls the rug out from under your feet. Sometimes is a big pull, sometimes a little one, but it's never quite clear sailing, is it?

And at those moments, when the tears are welling up in your eyes and that weird bubble is filling up from your stomach to your chest, you wish you were a stronger person - more easily able to take the next hurt, chew it up and swallow it back down.

Bullet Proof.

"Wax me, mould me
Heat the pins and stab them in
You have turned me into this
Just wish that it was bullet proof"

This hurt is an old one re-surfacing.

Well not old, rather recurring. That's the word they use to describe her form of cancer. Recurring. Not as bad as the other type, but it keeps coming back. And even when you fight it, and seem to be beating it, there are always the dreaded "complications". Organs that don't work right, brittle ribs that break from coughing. Damage done because you spend months at a time throwing up nonstop.

And me, in the dark, finding out days, weeks later. Never exactly knowing how bad it is. because she won't talk about it. "Everything's good." Always good. Wonderful.

Life's a bowl of freaking peaches.

So she might need an operation now, one which she might not be able to survive. Body isn't that strong, body loses blood very easily.

If you or me had this operation we'd probably be out of the hospital the next day.

And good friend that I am, all I can do is worry. Or something even less useful, like tell her I don't like her boyfriend.

Some friend.

And through it all is the feeling that all that optimism I have, how everything looks brighter now, is all just an illusion. Life isn't a big happy party. It's filled with both good and bad. Never a clear road. Always a worry, a pressure, a sickness a death.Always something to stab at us making sharp little holes.

Oh to be bullet proof.

The Eye of the Beholder

2011-11-22T09:27:00.000-05:00

Someone asked me what beauty is. Here's my shot at it:

What is Beauty?

Is it the simple answer most shallow people would give you? Is it the face on the cover of a magazine? Or the one looking down at you from a 50 foot movie screen? Is it really all about the perfectly made-up, airbrushed, no connection to reality person that we are told is beautiful?

Beauty. Like flawless skin, a gentle curve of a hip or breast. A perfect nose. Startling eyes.

Beauty??

Is that really what it is? Is that the beauty of this world?

What about the cloudless blue sky of summer? A rolling river. A forest from the distance? A pristine lake. Waves breaking on an endless expanse of shoreline.

Beauty.

Beauty is perhaps the most subjective thing on earth. Is anything inherently beautiful?

They say it lies in the eye of the beholder. I think this is true. One person's beauty is another's ugliness. But sometimes that view is drilled into us. Sometimes we don't even rationally get to choose anymore/ Is every orange sunset automatically a thing of beauty?

There is, however, one beauty which is neither subjective nor simply in the eye of the beholder. Pure beauty - inner beauty.

A person with inner beauty is objectively beautiful. Inner beauty - kindness, strength, grace, selflessness. These are inherently beautiful traits, not those which society tells us are beautiful.

What is beauty?

Beauty is many things to many people. But it is also one thing to everyone.

External beauty is nice, sure, I admit it. But better to be beautiful inside. Whether others can see it or not.

Be beautiful.

Dream Sequence

2011-11-21T10:01:00.000-05:00

So I went to the wedding of one of David's closest friends. I wore a nice green dress and black heels and I daresay looked nice and pretty.

During the chupah (are all Jewish ceremonies so painfully LONG??) I found myself daydreaming. Thinking about the big what if?

Actually, I can say with some confidence I was dreaming of the big WHEN.

They say every girl dreams of her wedding day when they are little kids. They dress their dolls and make pretend weddings. They sit in class and dream of the boy they are going to marry. The prepare for it for an entire year in seminaries in Israel (I jest, I jest). Every little girl.

Except me.

I never dreamed of getting married when I was younger. Not because I didn't want to get married or because I'm against marriage. Hells no.

I just didn't ever really see myself finding Mr. Right and being happy.

You have to believe in happiness to think you can ever find happiness. I spent most of my developmental years (say 10-18) thinking that I wasn't ever going to be happy. First I felt stifled by my religion. Then by my family. Then I fell in with the sort of people you wouldn't really want to spend the rest of your life with anyway. Then there was a long period of time when I thought who on EARTH would want to marry the damaged goods that are me?

When you are young and embittered and your heart is harder than steel, you don't spend much time fantasizing about white dresses and veils and dancing the night away with your life's love. Instead you jam yourself into really tight pants and tops and dance the night away with whoever is buying that night.

So yeah, let's say I don't have a long history of dreaming about the big day.

But you know what? It's nice to be able to dream about it. It's nice for me personally for these reasons:

a) It means I have reached a point where I can dream about being happy, that the last two-ish years that I've worked so hard to become a functioning person in society have started to pay off. I can dream about being happy because I believe in happiness for myself again. That is no small thing.

b) It means there's someone to dream about. I'm talking about you Davey-boy. When I dream of being married, it's you I dream about. I dream of walking down a velvety aisle - while you wait for me under a canopy of flowers - and taking your hand while all the customary rituals which will bind us together are performed. I dream of dancing with the people who are really happy for me, the people who are pretending to be happy for me and even the people who have openly rooted for my failure. I'll dance with them all and be happy about it too.

So no, I'll never dress up my dolls and have mock weddings with fur and plastic. I'll never be able to have adolescent fantasies of the "first night" without having any real idea about what it means. I can't retroactively go back in time and make myself a person who thinks all these things can be a reality.

But that's ok. Because even now, as I sit through a boring lecture on European history, I am thinking about it. I'm thinking back to last night's wedding, to dancing with David's friend's new wife - and the way she happily pulled me into her little circle and danced with me with joy on her face - and I'm letting my own imagination flow like a stream.

And I think today is a good day to dream.

Fake Plastic World

2011-11-17T10:15:00.000-05:00

"A green plastic watering can
For a fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth

That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself

It wears her out, it wears her out
It wears her out, it wears her out"

Sometimes it's all so fake. The smiles, the hello's. Sometimes it's nothing more than a practiced gesture. A wave, a handshake. Meaningless patterns repeated over and over.

"The world is fake" you hear people say. No one really means anything. So much simply done by rote. And yes, it can be pretty tiring to see everyone walking around robotically, automatons on an assembly line.

"She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns

"He used to do surgery
On girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins

And it wears him out, it wears him out
It wears him out, it wears him out"

Is it the same with relationships? I think sometimes. (I've had so many fake plastic relationships of my own, I am surprised that I was able to see the difference. But I do see the difference.)

But even a "real relationship" has its fake plastic moments. Or even years. Eating dinner together saying nothing. Making idle chatter just to fill up the empty spaces. Sleeping at opposite sides of the bed.

"She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love"

And sometimes the fakeness even feels real to you. Like those intense internet relationships with their exceptionally strong feelings which, if exposed to the light of day, crumble and burn.

Or the guy you meet and have an instant connection with, only to find there isn't really anything there.

Fake Plastic.

The world is full of it. But is it really all bad? Can people really expected to be their full-force selves every minute of every day? Isn't it ok sometimes to switch to Robot Mode and smile and wave at the paparazzi? Doesn't that beat being snarly and mean?

Life is exhausting. Just daily routine can be mind numbing. It wears us all down. And sometimes fakeness is the only thing keeping us from trying to stab our next door neighbor in the eye when they cheerily say good morning as we are leaving out houses. Or wrapping your hands around the throat of the exceptionally friendly barrista at the coffee shop BEFORE you have had your morning jolt.
Fake Plastic.

Or lying to your friends and family to make them happy. Telling your wife she looks good in a dress that actually makes her look like a sausage in a too-thin skin. Or telling your best friend you like that new thing she has even though you despise it to its core.

Fake Plastic.

It's not that the world is fake. That's too easy an answer. it's that people can be fake - are often fake - because in some ways its apart of our reality. Manners and proper etiquette.

It's fake. It's plastic.

Sometimes it makes the world go round.

Mea Culpa

2011-11-11T10:40:00.000-05:00

"Once again, I’m in trouble with my only friend
She is papering the window panes
She is putting on a smile
Living in a glass house"

Sometimes I can really step in the shit.

Like most people, I can be thoughtless and callous. Sometimes I think I'm doing the right thing, pushing and pushing. But in the end, the border between "being a good friend" and "being a thoughtless pain in the ass" gets faded and I find myself on the wrong side.

So it is with me and my best friend. Sadly (or smartly), I cannot reveal the exact issue, but suffice it to say she's doing something I do not agree with. My thought process - she's doing it because of a lack of believe in herself - she knows it too.

And after suffering in silence, I finally opened my mouth last night. "You're better than this," I declared. "You can do better. Why settle?"

And boy did I get the tongue lashing of a lifetime. No one can quite cut through you like she can. And boy did she slice me up. Last night she was Valaryan steel slicing through warm butter, like Longclaw carving up mutton (shouts out there to Malka, Colloq, Sibaw and Chana), taking me apart piece by piece and really giving it to me.

And you know what, I deserve it. I was wrong. To quote Allanis, I'm wrong and I'm sorry, Baby. It's so easy for me to sit in my ivory tower and dole out my unsolicited advice. My empty words of wisdom.

I have one ironclad rule of arguing/debating. You must see the other side. You cannot fight a position you do not really understand. You need to step in their shoes and strengthen your understanding before you can formulate a winning argument. It's never enough to say "I'm right because the other side is wrong." You have to know WHY the other side is wrong. Or less right.

And I have failed to do that. I've listened to her arguments, but I have not heard them. I failed to understand her reasoning - rather I've simply told her what a person in my situation would have done. But we do not share a situation. That's what got lost in my thought process. I looked at it from my side only.

Tova and I made a deal. She doesn't read this blog though she knows of its existence. But I'm apologizing publicly anyway (and I will apologize 100 more times to her privately as well - until she stops bitching me out and accepts it).

So mea culpa - my bad. And I'm sorry.

The Good Old Days

2011-11-09T16:51:00.000-05:00

"From the window of a rented limousine
I saw your pretty blue eyes

One day soon you're gonna reach sixteen
Painted lady in the city of lies"

Colloq writes and I weep. Or tremble. Her posts are beautiful and emotional and awe inspiring for me. Often, though, they make me remember a past that stretches its hand out to me like a villain with an oiled moustache and an evil glint in his eye.

She wrote a post recently about some bar (club? hookah place) that probably reaches its hand out to her. And it brought me back to a very black time in my life (ages 15-18).

"Oh, how you play the game
Still don't know your name

You know I'm the one you want, babe
Yes, I've got to be the one you need, need, need."

It's not just the drinking. Or the drugs. Or the rebellion. It's also the people. The low-down, dirty, callous masses that prey on the bottom feeders. Bottom feeders like me. The weak, the helpless. They promise you the world. If only.

Just give it up and I'll get you what you need. Money, drugs. A roof over your head. "Just give me what I want. And you get what you want." And after it's over - "So what's your name anyway? Can I have your number?"

Quid pro quo.

"Lips like cherries on the frown of a queen
'Come on' flashed across your eyes

Said you dug me since you were thirteen
Then you giggle as you heave and sigh"

But it's not like we were so innocent. Oh no. They may have asked for it, but we were offering it too. "We" being me. Only it's less painful when you were just a sheep following the herd. Rather than a wolf making your own decisions.

A wolf that used its weapons to get what she wanted.

I was a sheep and a wolf both.

"Oh, do you know my name?
Do I look the same?

Baby, I got to tell you, I'm the one you want
And everybody knows I'm the one you need"

And the other wolves, the ones who prey, they see a kindred spirit. There are no innocents in this dance - just varying degrees of guilt.

You are the one I need. "Here's what you want - now your hour is up. Where's the reward?"

"Hours, hours, were the moments in between
Oh, baby, how the time flies
The fun of coming - oh, the pain of leaving
Oh, baby, dry those silver eyes"

4 years. A childhood.

It is a dark, empty flash of...light? No, that's not right. It's a dark blur. Images from many long nights all interconnected, woven together by drugs and alcohol. Endless parties and raves and gatherings and opportunities for all kinds of "fun". Oh the "fun" I had. Each incident leaves an imprint on my soul - like a tattoo that seemed a good idea of the time but has now become a sagging, faded reminder of the stupid decisions of youthful innocence.

Or guilt.

And all the time the vile man with the moustache sticks out his hands and beckons.

We Interrupt Cymbaline's Normal Life To Bring You...

2011-11-09T12:11:00.000-05:00

Midterms and papers!!!!!

One test down (did well - yay), one to go. Then some papers (already in the process).

Let's get 'er done!!

In The Light

2011-11-07T11:59:00.001-05:00

"And if you feel that you can't go on. And your will's sinkin' low
Just believe and you can't go wrong.
In the light you will find the road."

Faith.

I'm guessing it's a pretty cool thing to have. The belief that there is something, someone out there watching over you. Some unseen force that that serves to make your life better.

Faith. Faith in God. So many of you have this gift. So many of you can see His magic in the smallest things. In a random line written by a long dead rabbi. In the sunrise. You see it and it gives you inspiration. It reinforces your comfort that every single thing is controlled by a (usually) benevolent force that keeps the train on track.
"Oh, did you ever believe that I could leave you, standing out in the cold
I know how it feels 'cause I have slipped through to the very depths of my soul."

This benevolent being that you have - you have the faith to believe in. And it gets you through the rough times and the bad times and is reinforces by the good times.

"Now listen to me.
Oh, whoa, as I was and really would be for you, too, honey
As you would for me, oh, I would share your load.
Let me share your load."

So what do I have? What do I believe in? A very small number, very select group of, people. Friends, certain family members. People who, over time, have proven themselves to really be there when needed.And when you have those people, you would do anyhthng for them. You would share their load. Their hopes, their fears, their dreams. And through the sharing of these burdens, I sometimes find the inspiration, the Light, that others have so eloquently blogged about. The light those lucky ones find in a commentary, in a sunrise - I find it in a shared laugh with Tova or the embrace of my love.

Because:

"In the light
Everybody needs the light.
In the light, in the light, in the light."

Where does your inspiration come from? Is it your faith? Your friends? Family? Some other inspiration? The truth is that a life without the Light is empty. It lacks direction or meaning. And eventually it will make you hollow.

And the other truth? A life with SOME light but lacking the light of faith - it will also lack a sense of completion.

So you who have the Light - I envy you. I seek your Light but as of yet I've found only small bits and pieces - much of those simply reflecting off of you to begin with.

So I will continue to look - in the Light.

Ten Years Gone

2011-11-03T10:07:00.000-04:00

A conversation between Now Me and 11 year old me, as told through the lyrics of Ten Years Gone by Led Zeppelin:

Her: "Then as it was, then again it will be
An' though the course may change sometimes
Rivers always reach the sea"

Translation - Remember the days of innocence? So long ago they were, but in the end you will get where you are supposed to be. You may not see it along the way, but your path will take you there.
Me: "Blind stars of fortune, each have several rays
On the wings of maybe, down in birds of prey
Kind of makes me feel sometimes, didn't have to grow
But as the eagle leaves the nest, it's got so far to go"

Translation: You will feel, for a long time, that there is no God. That there is nothing but blind luck. That everything is for chance.

You will feel, for a long time, that you have all the answers and that there's nothing left for you to know beyond the stark, harsh reality of your life. But, over time, you will find there is so much for you to learn.
Me: "Changes fill my time, baby, that's alright with me
In the midst I think of you, and how it used to be"

Translation: I think back to innocent me, the me of 10 years ago, and my heart fills with sadness.

Did you ever really need somebody, And really need 'em bad
Did you ever really want somebody, The best love you ever had
Do you ever remember me, baby, did it feel so good
'Cause it was just the first time, And you knew you would

Translation: Hmmm, who but a verse about David in here???

Her: :through the eyes an' I sparkle, Senses growing keen
Taste your love along the way, See your feathers preen
Kind of makes makes me feel sometimes, Didn't have to grow
We are eagles of one nest, The nest is in our soul"

Translation: You and I will forever be one. Our journey will be long and painful. We will endure hardship, love and pain. But they will make us into a stronger, more knowing person.

And this is our journey to take together.
Me: "Vixen in my dreams, with great surprise to me
Never thought I'd see your face the way it used to be

I'm never gonna leave you. I never gonna leave
Holdin' on, ten years gone
Ten years gone, holdin' on, ten years gone"

Translation: Now, finally, I am starting to see me, the old me, when I look in the mirror. The innocence I lost, though I can never truly get it back, I still feel a spark of it. That surprises me - I thought that past was dead.

Now I will never ever truly leave behind the ten middle years, from when I went from being you to being me, I still hold on to the person I was before.

Youtube it here.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2011-10-31T13:34:00.000-04:00

If when you think about me, what is it that comes into your head?

Reformed rebel? Regular Joe-anne? Frum? Not frum? Faker? Sincere? Slut?

A high-born Dwarf once gave the following advice to the Bastard son of a nobleman (in a time when being a bastard was as low as you can go):

Dwarf: "Let me give you some advice bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."

Bastard: "What the hell do you know about being a bastard?"

Dwarf: "All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes."

My past. If I wear it like armor, it can never be used to hurt me. Run away from who I am? Shit, I embrace who I am. Who I am is everything to me. My identity. My whole purpose.

But what am I? Reformed rebel? Regular Joe-anne? Frum? Not frum? Faker? Sincere? Slut?

I am all of these things and none of them. These are labels. They are words on a computer screen. They are general ideas. They are all parts of me but do not serve to define me.

Who am I?

I'm the one who fell off the derech early. Who drank, drugged and slept her way through adolescence. Who sank so low that her own parents threatened to disown her if she didn't turn her life around.

Maybe I don't write that too much anymore, maybe you have forgotten - but that's still a part of who I am.

A part.

As the aspiring rapper "B Rabbit" rapped at his enemy:

"Don't ever try to judge me dude,
you don't know what the fuck I've been through"

What do you think of me - when you think about me at all? When you read a post of mine that makes you laugh, or cry, or shake your head in disgust? When you wonder about the choices I've made (or make still)?

Did you know that I've been keeping Shabbos for the last like 6 months? Totally and completely (no cheating in my room with the phone or computer). Does that change how you think of me?

Did you know that I've been keeping kosher for almost as long? Hell, maybe not your kosher. Maybe I'll eat a salad in a non kosher restaurant, bugs and knife and olive oil and all. But it's better than the grilled chicken salad I'd have ordered 6 months ago no? Better than eating breakfast in diners no? Does that change how you think of me?

Do you know that I hate Apple? I hate how they control what music you can put on your Ipod. So when my Ipod broke I switched. Now I use a Sony "Walkman". Way retro right? (or so I've been told by old people) Does that change how you think of me?

I have a rule (learned from my father) - I treat everyone the same. From the president of the company to the janitor (his examples) or from the shop owner to the lowly stock girl (my example), everyone should get the same courtesy. Does that change how you think about me?

I have a piercing in my belly button. How about that?

Or that I've contemplated "playing tennis" with my boyfriend before we tie the knot. So much so that people were instructing me on going to the mikvah to prevent giant karmic stains on my soul. I bet that changes how you think about me.

Or that I eventually decided against tennis. How about THAT?

"All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes."

And all rebels are bastards in their mother's eyes.

I know what it's likes to be judged. I've been judged by the best. I wear it. Like armor.

But it still hurts.

Judgement. Her judgement. People I don't know. I expect it, I know it's coming (or there already) but it hurts the same.

Et tu?

Why must others set the bar so damn high? So I'll fail? So I'll become so disparaged I'll give up? I'm sorry if I disappoint. I really am. But I am not sure I can ever meet anyone else's expectations. Sometimes I worry that I will fail to reach my own. But it's very possible that the comfort zone I will eventually find won't meet your approval.

And then you can think of me as a disappointment.

But. Every single day I don't slide backwards is a victory. Every inch forward a battle won. Every single day I try and touch the bar (set lowly) and try to raise it a quarter of an inch higher. Slow progress. Nothing sexy. Slow and steady wins the race.

My race - not yours. My victories, not yours.

Judge me if you must. I'm used to being judged. I wear it like armor.

But don't forget that you don't know what the fuck I've been through.

Guess Who Is Coming to Brunch

2011-10-30T21:58:00.000-04:00

Than you to all who emailed and asked about the brunch -or as I call it, the Brunch of Doom.

In short, it was neither the worst 2 hours of my life, yet it was quite far from the best.

David showed up early, was dressed appropriately and acted like an all-star. I'm extremely proud of him. He was a real trooper. He shmoozed up my dad, talking about his family (including telling over the story of how his grandfather came after the Holocaust - which always goes over really well). They also talked business a bit. Dad smiled a few times and seemed to genuinely ~~not dis~~-like him.

Mother was, well she was Mother. At first she did everything but handcuff him to the chair, shine a light in his face, and ask him where he was last Wednesday at 8:30 pm. The highlight was when she asked him, with a smirk, what he was learning. Jesus Christ. Eventually though, she ran out of gas, stopped asking dumb questions, and even offered to make him coffee.

As for me? Well, between the sweating and the stammering, I was a full blown mess. I felt like a poorly trained lawyer trying to keep a prosecutor off my client. I was so worried about what she might say or do that i could barely concentrate on anything else.

And then it was over and I all but pulled him out of the house as he graciously got out his thank yous.

Now the Brunch of Doom is over and things will go back to "normal".

And tomorrow, or the next day, she will drop a comment (or ten) enumerating all of the things wrong with him.

Can't hardly wait!

And Behold, Out of Left Field, an Unexpected Twist

2011-10-27T12:15:00.000-04:00

Let me set the scene for you:

It’s about 11:30 last night. I’m exhausted. I’ve been suffering with severe cramps (TMI?? Well I have to set the scene no?). I’m showered and in bed. It’s finally time …

To close my eyes…

And drift off to…

When there comes a tap tap tapping at my door (quothe the raven, nevermore).

Now as a general rule, no one except my brother ever comes to my room. And he doesn’t tap, he kinda bangs. So it’s not my brother.

I drag my extremely tired ass out of bed. It’s my dad. He asks if I have a few minutes.

So off we go, down to his study/office/library. That’s where he talks to people. It’s the nicest room in the house (in my humble opinion) - all paneled wood, leather chairs and a gorgeous desk. The walls are lined with books, mostly sefarim, but not only. (Many an important Jewish person has sat in this office, though you’d never know it.)

I’m sitting across from him, wondering what important issue he needs my sage advice on, when:

“So tell me about this boy you are seeing.”

If a person can turn multiple shades of red, I’m sure that I did (the office has no mirrors, perhaps for this very reason). I start stammering out an answer when I catch sight of his face. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. The way they are crinkling now. I let out a breath.

“I love him,” I simply say. He nods his head. He waits patiently for me to continue. I talk more. I tell him about David, about how he’s been there for me forever. About how he treats me. The way we get on with each other. The fun we have together. How he makes me laugh. How he makes me happy when I’m down. His family. Everything. Occasionally he stops me to ask a question or clarify something (mostly having to do with his family), but for the most part he lets me talk.

And the whole time, I’m sitting there feeling really….good. Like, I’m having an important conversation with a parental unit! About the guy I love! And I don’t have to defend myself or yell or fight. Not how I’d imagined this conversation in my head.

He says something. “What?” I ask.

“I said, we’d like to meet him.”

“Meet him?” Despite the shower I just took, I can feel the sweat starting to leak.

“Yes.”

“We?” More sweat. Looks like another shower in the cards for me.

“Yes, we.”

“Mommy wants to meet him?” I ask. “My mother?”

He sighs. “Cymbaline, do you think that this boy David is going to be a permanent part of your life?”

“I hope so.”

“So we want to meet him.”

Ok Cym. Think. All you need to do is agree and then be vague about a time and eventually it’ll blow over. “Ok, sure. We can figure out a time and….”

“How about Sunday?” he asks.

“This Sunday?”

He’s in full smile mode now. “Yes, this Sunday. We can have a nice brunch. You know how your mother loves to entertain.”

I start stammering again, trying to think of a good excuse. But I look in his face. There isn’t going to be an excuse. We are having brunch with David on Sunday.

A terrible thought pops into my head. “Here’s the thing.” I’m trying to be diplomatic. “Mommy can be a little…critical? sometimes and…”

“Your mother will be on her best behavior. I promise.”

My father’s promise is gold. “Ok then.”

“Ok. Let’s call it for like 11:30. I have a breakfast Sunday morning for a Tzedakah which I have to attend.” He pats his non-existent stomach. “I promise I will save some room for the bagels.” There’s a twinkle in his eyes.

And just like that the meeting is over.

I text David. He's in for brunch with the 'rents. I have officially lost 13 pounds of water weight.

Now I’m back in my room. All hopes of a good night’s sleep are suddenly done.

David. In my house. Eating brunch with my mother.

David vs. Goliath.

Sigh.

Thoughts on a Milestone - AKA Happy Hundred - CORRECTION MADE

2011-10-24T09:38:00.001-04:00

I can still remember the Evil Thoughts in my head:

"Hey Cymbaline, we hear you started a blog," they say, barely suppressing their giggles.

Me, playing it cool. "Yup, that's right."

"What's it about?" snigger snigger.

"It's kinda like an online journal, to help me with my thoughts and feelings." Feeling the sweat break out on my temple.

Derisive laughter now. "Who the hell would want to read THAT?"

"No one, I suspect." Nothing like brutal honesty.

"How many posts have you written so far?" Snigger snigger snigger.

"Uh, 2."

Howls of laughter.

Then Evil Thoughts all took bets on how many posts I'd write before I gave up. The consensus was between 10 and 20.

I laid my own bet on 12.

********************************************************************

Well here we are, dear reader.

At post 100.

*******************************************************************

Write a journal, my therapist suggested. A journal to pen your thoughts and feelings. Record them and then look at them from time to time to get a grasp, a snapshot, of what you were thinking in a moment in time. These pictures will be windows to your soul, he said.

I chose a blog. Why? Perhaps because it's a journal, but one with the possibility of an outsider looking in on those self-same thoughts and emotions. That keeps you honest. Keeps you from being lazy. Did I think anyone would actually read them? No. (I still find it hard to believe people do.) Did it matter? No. This blog was back then, and still is today, about me and for me. You all are an added bonus (more on you later, dear reader).

I try to read the earlier posts. It's very painful. Not that I am shy about my past or because it embarrass me. But rather because the process of laying yourself open for the world to see is painful. No two ways about it. I was a disaster - a twenty-car pileup - and I wrote every detail out for the rubberneckers to see.

My past. My rebellion. My rock bottom. All live and in Technicolor. With THX surround sound.

But he was right. My therapist, I mean. (He usually is). A truthful journal is a window to your soul. To your psyche. It is like building a mountain of yourself, climbing that mountain and then getting a panoramic view of all the things that got you to where you are (as well as the road to where you are going). Of every rock you had to climb over (or through) to get to the peak.

I'm building myself back up from the ground. From the gutter. Piece by piece. Link by link. Step by step. Stone by stone (you choose your own metaphor).

Proof, you say? Ok how about this:

Look at me at post number 2 - I'm in school (doing well), I'm partly aimless, the boy I love doesn't seem to see me as anything other than a friend and I may want to go to law school. I have no affiliation with religion, though I do strongly identify with being a Jew. Oh, and while my head is on, it's not quite on straight.

Fast forward eight months - I'm in school (doing well), I have a job and I have the man of my dreams. I know what I want to do with myself and it's not law school. I'm still not observant in any way, but I'm no longer opposed to orthodoxy (and no, dear cynical reader, it's not just because it's easier for David and me if I am). And while my head still may not be on straight, at least it's more tightly screwed on.

(~~And yes, I am intentionally ignoring the fact that my "tennis" drought has lasted approximately as long as my blog has~~.)

Is that all because of this blog? Of course not. But I have learned so much from this process. From the writing.

From you.

You, dear reader. You were the piece I didn't anticipate but now treasure. Your comments. Your emails. Your g-chats. All of it.

Those who treat me like their daughter, their friend, their Blogger acquaintance. My sometimes therapists and secret keepers. My occasional debate partners and sometimes flirtologists. The ones who took time to send me carefully crafted, 20,000 word essays on the pros and cons of law school. And the weirdo's among you who even ask me for advice (at your own risk!!!). You all know what role(s) you fill (and if you don't, just ask).

If this blog is any good (and that's a big IF) it's because of you. Because I know you are watching. Because I don't want to let you down. Because your ideas inspire me. Your criticisms make me better. Your ideas and your comments all give the blog a flavor that it would not otherwise have.

But that's just a blog. Words on paper (or, in this case cyberspace). And that's all nice and helpful to me. But it's only part of the story.

It's you, dear reader.

I am better for having spoken to so many of you. The advice you have given, the humor you've shared. The sanity you have bestowed. I won't name you. This isn't an Oscar speech. But you know who you are. (And if you have a doubt if you are on this list, then you probably are.)

You have all become a part of my life (as corny as it sounds).

And true, maybe not quite "real" life. Maybe we don't have coffee (mmm coffee) or hang out in restaurants chewing the fat - but that doesn't mean my life has been any less positively effected by you all.

I need to keep a seperation. If anyone ever connected me to this blog, I'd be forced to shut it down. To delete it. To disappear and never return. And I'd be sad if that were to happen.

So yes, I keep walls up. Most of you don't know my real name - where I live. But it's not personal, it's a choice I make because I'd hate to have to lose all of you.

*****************************************************************************

So here we are, dear reader. We made it to post 100! Evil Thoughts left town in a huff and I'm out the ten bucks I laid down on 12 posts. But I think I'm better off for it.

Will I get to 200? I strongly doubt it. I'm not sure I have that much more to say. And I'm hoping that my story gets very boring (and she graduated college, got a job, David proposed and they lived happily ever after with their 2.6 kids, their minivan and a well maintained Tudor-style home with a white picket fence).

But I hope you stick around with me to see.

Family

2011-10-18T10:29:00.000-04:00

Blood is thicker than water.

"Mother" is the name of God on the lips of little children.

Family is always there for each other.

You can pick your friends but you are bound to your family.

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

Family certainly means alot of different things to different people. But the general gist of it is that the ties created by blood are different, usually better, than the ties formed in any other manner. Soldiers who fight together are "brothers". La casa nostra is "the family". It's a bond which cannot easily be separated.

I had the opportunity to spend three days with David and his family over the first days of Succos. For me it was a chance to view a family unit quite different than my own, but also similar in many striking ways.

I was also stuck with how accepted I was into this unit. From the minute I got there his mom put me right to work in the kitchen, treating me not as a guest but as a member of the unit. I got on pretty well with his siblings (except his older sister but she doesn't seem to really like too many people in general). His younger sister LOVES me (quite a bit different than in my family where my younger sibs barely speak to me).

This post was supposed to be a much greater detailed look at his family. But that's not really the point as far as I can tell. The funny thing is, as nice as everyone was, it still felt weird. It's not my family. At least not now. Maybe one day....

Dear Old Dad

2011-10-10T13:36:00.000-04:00

The last two years I have carefully reconstructed a shattered existence which took a lifetime to fall apart.

I say "I" quite loosely. I is a team (although there is no I in team). There was me, my therapist, my friends. Brick by mental brick I tried to come up from the absolute bottom of the barrel - building a life, striving towards a goal - specifically, me as a functional person in society. A person with a family, kids, a job. Heck, a white picket fence would be nice too.

My healing structure is built upon certain foundation stones - like all structures are. They are the basis for everything. Letting the past go, looking towards the future. Clinging to the ones who love and support you and letting the others hold no power over you. (There are a bunch more blocks I'm not mentioning now because my personal "12-step" program isn't important.)

My "recovery" has also been built upon a simply point - after you strip away MY personal wrongdoings (of which there is much - I take alot of the blame for what happened) and outside forces (such as an educational system that failed me, drugs and alcohol), alot of "guilt" falls upon my mother.

I've discussed my mother here ad nauseum. So much so that if she ever got wind of this blog, I'd probably lose my place in her house once and for all. I won't bore you again. It's irrelevant. It is what it is and nothing can change it.

My father is another story. This is for you dad.

Dad:

I've always given you a free ride. I've always put you above the war between me and her. It's never been about you. You are the gallant man - a man so accomplished yet so under the radar - that if people realized what you do you'd be celebrated as a true pillar of the community (the fact that you refuse to be, and have never been, honored by ANY organization is quite an affront to your wife who would like nothing better than to wear a thousand dollar gown and be showered with high praise). And I am fiercely proud of this fact, don't get me wrong.

Your work too - so many successes. One after another. So many business deals - so much money. Tireless in what you do. Out at the crack of dawn to daven and learn, work all day and then community and charity work all night.

Perfect.

Almost perfect.

One tiny little thing missing.

Me. Yea, and the rest of us too. My sisters and brothers. Yes, eldest is fine and older brother too. It started to go downhill with me but it didn't end there. Look at younger brother. Look hows he's changed. He's so quiet and serious now. There's no joy in him. And youngest - she's WITHDRAWN.

I know that all the things you do - they are done for the right reasons. Your good at business. Your altruistic.

But I know your one mistake. Marrying her. I know you regret it and I know you spend all your time being away from her. It's easier than dealing with her.  I get that.

But you are compounding your mistake. It's not only her you haven't been there for. It's me. Since i was little. When I needed you most. Did you really need to be away for that business deal? Or that one? Or THAT one? Did those charities all mean more than your own kids? Really?

My new life is built on blocks. One block is that I have certain people in my life I can rely upon. At least to some degree. What if my building block is false Dad? What if you are more to blame than I've blamed you for? What if I've given you a free pass you don't deserve? My carefully built life can come crumbling down without the foundations holding it up.

This has been in my head the last 36 hours. Turning round and round. You, Dad. You have been in my head.

What do I do about you? Blame you for not being there? Absolve you for the greater good? Ignore it and keep moving forward?

Or none of the above. How about this.

I forgive you Dad. I forgive you because I love you. I love you because I understand you and I understand no one is perfect. I understand imperfectioni better than most. I know that in your own way you have been trying. That if I confronted you on this....

You are my father. I know that you want what's best for me. Maybe you don't quite understand how much I needed you. Maybe you understand it better now. Maybe not. It doesn't matter.  I can't hate you. I don't want to. You are a building block, a foundation stone. You are one of my faiths in humanity. In most ways, I want to be like you one day.

One day, Daddy, I hope you are proud of me. I hope that I can give you some sense of pride.  I hope my accomplishments make you proud.  I hope to come to your house for a holiday with my family and that you can love your grandchildren and their mother without a sense of shame, of something lost.

But until that time - you will still be my (usually not around) father and i will be your imperfect daughter.

Works for you?

Thoughts on a Yom Kippur Experience

2011-10-10T10:04:00.000-04:00

So I did it. I made it. I passed through the fire.

I fasted, I went to shul. For a 25 hour period, I was a god fearing Jew. Here on some thoughts on the experience:

- Non Leather Shoes. Dammit. I had forgotten that one. I didn't bring anything to Tova and ended up borrowing her younger sister's old crappy canvas sneakers. Bad times. Poor start to the holiest day of the Jewish calendar.

- Coffee headaches. At about 3:00 I got mine.

"I have a terrible headache," I tell Tova.

"Yea, cause you drink so much coffee. You have caffeine withdrawl. You're supposed to stop drinking it a few days before a fast."

"Why didn't you tell me this?" I ask indignantly. After all, Tova is the closest thing to a spiritual guide I have.

"What am I, your personal assistant? You think your coffee addiction is ANYWHERE on my list of priorities? I have cancer. Take an Advil suppository."

Um, Ew.

Anyway, note to self - next year, stop drinking coffee 2 days in advance.

Fasting. Fasting sucks. It makes you hungry. And I'm not so big to begin with so it was really tough. By the end my head was pounding (see above), I was totally dehydrated and weak. Can't wait for next year!!

Family. It must be nice to celebrate holidays with people you love. Up 'till now, I haven't really ever done that mostly because I've had no feelings for the holidays and also because my family situation makes for rough times at home.

Eating a meal before and after the fast with Tova was nice, but her sitch with her mom isn't all that much beter than mine is.

(On that note, I'll be spending the first days of Succos at David's house with his family. To be honest, I'm super excited. They've been incredibly nice to me and I look forward to the warmth.)

Thank you Artscroll. Couldn't have done it without you. I once watched a move called The Full Monty. It takes place in Ireland. The point - It took me half an hour until I was able to understand a word anyone was saying. I had to ease myself into their nutty Irish accents.

I had the same experience with the services. I had no idea what was going on half the time, so I spent it reading the Artscroll forwards and commentary. It's pretty interesting stuff. (I especially liked the Unesane Tokef story.)

Oh and if you haven't seen it, you should watch the Full Monty. It's really funny.

The Upshot. I ended up going to shul Friday night, YK morning and back for the end after the break (plus a little delay). I found the davening to be long, confusing and occassionally nice. I understand why fasting helps put a person in the right frame of mind. I saw people who seemd very sincere pray very ferverently. I saw a girl crying as she beat her chest.

I wanted to cry too.

Not for my "sins", but for my lost childhood. For the fact that while perhaps I can be "forgiven" my my part in its destruction, I can never get it back. And while I've long ago come to accept that, sometimes it still hurts.

So instead of praying and crying, I asked.

I asked for Tova's recovery.

I asked that David and I stay good.

I asked that my family should all be ok. That my brother should find a girl and settle down before he decides living at home is too much bloody fun.

That my two younger sibings be spared my mother's emotional abuse.

I asked that I should continue to grow, both emotionally and as a person. That I should find what I'm looking for, even if I don't quite know what that is yet.

After it was over, I ate, went home, packed a bag and went to the City. David and I stayed up 'till about 3:00 am, talking. We played a game where we switched "sides"; me defending the position that God is actively participating in our lives and him taking the "Cymbaline" position.

After, as I was about to go to sleep, he told me that there's no way I don't belive in an active god. That my spirited defense was too convincing to be anything other than heartfelt.

I drifted off to sleep still unclear of what it all meant.

The Big Day

2011-10-07T08:48:00.000-04:00

So tomorrow I am for the first time going to voluntarily fast for 25 straight hours. I am going to go to shul and pray as much as I can. I am going to try very hard to feel what it is exactly the day is all about.

I have no idea how to prepare to fast, or if I'm even capable of fasting for 25 hours.

I have no idea what is acceptable dress code for shul.

But I guess these are the insignificant details of the whole thing anyway. I guess the point of the trappings is to make the day itself "meaningful" - whatever that means.

The funny thing is, taking stock of what I am, where I am in life and where I want to be is at least a weekly occurrence in my life as it is. I know this taking stock is supposed to be different. It's all about the religious advances (and DECLINES) a person has made. But I'm not sure what that means in my case. I am Jewish - proudly so. I think true Judaism, in its purest form, is probably a good moral and ethical way to live.

But is anyone listening up there anymore? Is it all just a pipe dream? A white rabbit that people blindly follow?

I sincerely hope that isn't so. I want to believe there's more to all of this than smoke and mirrors - both because it's better for my relationship and also because otherwise everything is so...empty.

So tomorrow is the big day. Perhaps, starving and thirsty, I'll even gain something from it.

Pax Sleepana

2011-10-06T10:01:00.000-04:00

The world was created with many wonders. Oceans, tides pulled by the moon. Mountain ranges, forests, jungles, beaches (along with frozen lemon-flavored beverages of course).

Knee high leather boots.

If ever asked to prove the existence of a creator, I always point to one thing...you. Look in the mirror, what do you see? Literally millions (billions) or moving pieces all working as one to make you a person. If you believe that's coincidence or chance, you are delusional.

So where was I? Oh yea, world full of wonders. One of those wonders - a good night's sleep. It gives the mind rest, helps the body recover, it's a treasure trove of bodily goodness.

So, when the ability to sleep fails you, what happens? Well, at first you are simply tired. Then you start feeling dehydrated. Then you start feeling sick. eventually you start to feel like you are going insane. Well, I shouldn't say "you". This is what happens to me.

And this is what I've been going through for the past week - where all in I was working on about 14 hours of sleep spread out over 4 nights. Or otherwise known as Bad Times. It's gotten so bad that yesterday afternoon i was chatting with some of y'all and acting like a blithering idiot (I know, I know, that's not really that uncommon).

So after consulting the problem with my significant other, he suggested something which has been known to work in the past. And I did. And, for the most part, it worked. I got about 7 hours last night, not quite uninterrupted, but close enough.

So I proclaim to you - Pax Sleepana! Long live sleep - may you continue to shine your grace upon all the children of the world. May you bless me with as many hours as I need on a more continuous basis.

Somehow, I know this is not to be, but I'm working on a more permanent solution....

Shaken

2011-10-05T14:39:00.000-04:00

I wasn't feeling so well in school today so I skipped out of a class a bit early and went home. Was feeling extra miserable in the car - almost like I was going to pass out. I managed to get home in one piece, then I fell into bed and tried to sleep - something I haven't had much of for a while.

I woke up a short while ago screaming from a nightmare (which, thank god I don't remember) and my brother there trying to get me awake. He looked as scared as I felt.

I am so shaken.....

An Open Letter To My Vices (Past and Present)

2011-10-04T10:57:00.001-04:00

This is the time of year that Jews take stock of their lives. As I am Jewish, I thought I would take part in this ancient custom.

Dear Vices:

When I was trying to straighten out my life, I would lay awake at night thinking of all of you, counting you all off in my head like Arya Stark - The Tickler, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, Prince Joffrey, Queen Cersei, The Hound, The Mountain.....(yes I'm well aware none of you know what I'm talking about)

So I have a few words for the lot of you. Come and hear my messages to you:

Drugs: I do not hate you, don't worry. I used you as much as you used me. I used you to escape and to dull the pain of my life.

I used you so I wouldn't feel. I escaped my life with you as my guide.

But when I no longer wanted to run away, I dropped you quicker than a man drops a hot pot. In fact, at that point in my life, you were the single greatest achievement of my life. Dropping you with not a single fall back. While maybe it's not something I brag about with my friends, I'm sure you know very well how hard it was to ignore you those first few weeks/months.

I'm sorry to say, while I don't mean to hurt your feelings, now I don't even miss you at all.

Alcohol: Our relationship is more complicated. I used you too. Not for escape, like my ol' pal Druggie, but for courage. I needed you to commit all those terrible acts, to help me push past my ~~sill~~y inhibitions and do Bad Things.

Now you and I have a solid truce. I don't abuse you, but I'm not against a nice cold (light) beer or the occasional martini (what can I say, I LOVE the taste of vodka soaked olives - sue me). You are proof that I can do things in moderation. Even my therapist agrees with this point.

Rebellion: Oh yes, I count you a vice. I count you and I am ashamed by what I did in your name. You are heartless and cruel. I wish I could say you tricked me, but that's not the case at all. I rebelled because I was alone and unloved and a little bit wicked myself. I rebelled to punish my mother and my teachers and everyone else. But that's the cruel jape no? All I was doing was punishing myself.

So yes, rebellion, well played. I think back upon you and I flush with shame every time.

Sex: No, not the act itself which I have no problems with. Rather the way I used it, the things I did. The way I used myself the way I did. Again, I am embarrassed and shamed.

The individual acts float through my mind - they point and laugh at me. "Look at you, miss perfect," they say, "we know what you really are. We know what you did. Would you like us to remind you?" Um, no. But they do anyway, in gross detail. Every act, every abuse, until I beg for them to stop.

But then I stopped abusing myself. I stopped giving myself away. I learned that a man's desire does not equal his affection and certainly not his love and acceptance.

No, sex, I did not abandon you. My current (NINE MONTH!!!) dry spell isn't repentance. It's not an attempt to purify myself or revert back to purity Rather, it's a resolve to make sure my current relationship is as successful as can possibly be.

Miscellaneous Bad Things: I'm going to catch-all you into one category because, truthfully, you are unworthy. The whole lot of you. I don't even have words for you - except these: Good Riddance To Bad Rubbish. Blah.

So there we have it vices. You had your good times with me for sure. Lord knows. But I'm trying. I'm working. Not towards perfection - oh no. I'm not that silly. I'll settle for plain old....regular.

So now, at night when I lay awake in Arya-ness, counting my list of evils - my list is at least a whole lot shorter.

Hypotheticals - They Happen Every Day

2011-10-03T13:44:00.000-04:00

Was g-chating with Am-Inspiration this Am (hahahahaha) and she asked me an interesting "hypothetical" along the lines of :

If you were married and had kids and something changed in you, would you live a lie in order to "protect" your family? Would you share the change knowing it will produce a tremendous amount of hurt, pain and confusion? Or would you shoulder the burden, keep doing what you are doing, and be unhappy.

I'd argue each situation is different- there are certainly times where a person SHOULD indeed keep it to themselves and live the lie - especially if they sharing the "secret" will not help - only cause additional pain without resolution. Each case may call for a different answer.

Of course, ~~none~~ many of you will remember that I've written about this very same scenario as it relates to me - my continuing fear that David will reject me because of my lack of faith in Judaism.

Interestingly enough, responses to my own dilemma ran the gamut - there was, "you are over thinking, it will be ok" all the way to "well duh, you are an apikores, of course you can't be with David!!" (meant, of course, in the nicest possible way).

Honestly, regarding my situation specifically, I don't worry about it anymore - for starters, it doesn't help, but more importantly...

I AM CHANGING.

I am not the same person as I was 2 months ago - heck, I am not even the same person I was 2 weeks ago. I can no longer be so worried about who I am in a specific moment in time. because that moment will keep moving and then I will be someone slightly different.

I am growing. I change. I am learning things about myself every day. I can't worry about something that might happen to the preset day me in the future (if you follow) because there will be no present day me in the future. I'll be some (hopefully) better version of my current myself.

Confusing - I know - but I know I can't get myself caught up in my daily nits and picks and expect to stay sane.

I have to keep moving forward.

Pushing Through

2011-10-03T08:34:00.000-04:00

Three day holiday = ALOT of eating. Good lord. I've been to the gym three times already (Sat night, Sunday and this morning) to try and counteract all the food I've shoved.

It's a weird time of year. Routines are all out the window. People are on edge (understandibly). There's a million things to be done and not much time to do it.

Yesterday morning my father and older brother put up the Succah. Normally, my father tells me, we wait till after Yom Kippur but the way the calendar falls out, he didn't want to take any chances with bad weather.

Usually Succah building is a three person job in the Cymbaline family. But my younger brother is in Israel this year and wasn't around to pitch in (not that he was that much of a help anyway from what I've observed). So I decided to avail my services.

We have one of those Easy-Lock succahs. And yep, they are pretty easy. So we were done pretty quickly. But, admittedly, it felt kinda good to do my part in a family activity. The men seemed to appreciate the help (though as it was a fast day, there was no celebratory meal in a local coffee place like when we did Selichos last week).

I went to my boyfriend's house yesterday afternoon but he seemed pretty distracted too (probably by football, which, from what I gather, did not go particularly well for his [and now my] team last night). So I got home from there feeling all out of sorts too.

Maybe it's just the time of year. Lots of holidays, lots of preparations (both mental and physical), lots of Jewish causes looking for your time, your service or your money. I see the pamphlets flooding our mail, pick up the auto-dialer recorded phone calls.

I barely slept last night. Nothing new for me. I think everyone else's anxiety is starting to get to me. Maybe it's my own anxiety getting to me.

Nothing to be done. Just need to push through.

Days (or at least mornings) of Awe

2011-09-28T08:31:00.001-04:00

In my dreams, I am being shaken awake.

Except it's no dream, I'm being shaken awake. My father is saying something to me but the words are not getting through.

"What time is it?" I ask. It's pitch black out.

"4:50" he replies.

"4:50? AM?"

"4:50, am. [Older Brother] and I are going to shul now for Sjgdldkjf. I thought you might want to come."

"Where? For what?"

"To shul. For Selichos. For Rosh Hashana."

I mumble something incomprehensible. "[Older Brother] and I are leaving at five after. If you want to come." And then he's gone, almost like the dream he awakend me from.

Despite all my good sense, I stumble out of bed, recognizing a gesture when I see it, even if I am not yet awake. I somehow manage a skirt and sweatshirt and go downstairs. There's a lot of black hats and jackets (ok, 2) waiting for me.

We drive to shul on the dark streets in silence. When we get there, I am the only female. My father hands me a fat brown book - linear translation of Selichos. He flips it to the right page and hands it to me. "Follow along as best as you can. The Hashem Hashem parts are the most important." I nod sagely, yearning not for the Hashem Hashem parts, but for a 24 ounce coffee from 7-11. Maybe even the special extra caffeine kind.

There's a bang and we are off and running. There's a lot of murmering, occassionally some loud prayers and a whole lot more murmering. I'm completely lost within minutes.

I read the translations and try to mutter some of the prayers. The hebrew means nothing to me but some of the english translation is clearly written in a heartfelt, powerful way. I read the words and try to focus.

About 45 minutes in it hits me. Something else heartfelt and powerful. My father has not given up on me. He's bringing me to Selichos at 5:00 am and he still belives in me. In my Judaism.

In my soul.

Now the words are all of a sudden blurry and I realize I am crying. But they are neither tears of sadness nor tears of repentance.

They are tears of joy.

In the car home, afterwards, I ask my father: "If, say, I wanted to attend servic...come to shul for Rosh Hashana, do you think there is room for me? I know the women's section gets pretty packed."

"Cymbaline," he replies. "There has always been, and there will always be, a place for you in shul for the Yomim Noraim."

A sense of...belonging washes over me. A feeling I haven't felt with regards to my family in a long time. "Now let's go get some breakfast," my brother gleefuly shouts.

And that's what we do.

A New Begining

2011-09-27T08:55:00.000-04:00

They say that this time of year is a time for new beginings. For retrospection about what has gone and then a clean slate for what will be. A time to reflect and then to move on. Not for getting stuck on what was.

I hope "they" are right.

For the first time in..... forever, I will be going to shul for Yom Kippur this year. Not to my family's shul, though. I will be staying by Tova and praying with her at her shul. I'll probably write about this decision at some point closer to Yom Kippur but...

Dear reader, I wish for each and every one of you (and I mean that, each and every one) that whatever it is you are praying for this year, whether it be health, wealth, love and/or happiness, it should come true for you as best as can possibly be.

I wish that all of you are able to "move on" from whatever it is you dwell on and that you come to peace.

C.

In Her Defense

2011-09-20T17:20:00.000-04:00

She spent the entire day in bed. Avoiding everyone and everything.

It was about 3:00 when Tova first told her to go home.

"I'm too mad, " she replied.

Tova made a face like she just bit into a lemon. "Oh please, you stopped being mad three hours ago."

"Fine, I'm not ready to face her."

"Right. But that's not my problem. You need to stop avoiding your problems and take them on. Besides, you've been too mopey and annoying to have around. Your annoyingness is worse than cancer."

"Thanks for your support."

"I have been supportive. I let you sleep here didn't I? You know my mother hates having you around. She thinks you're a bad influence." They both giggle at the inside joke.

"Uch, fine. I'll go home. I hate you."

"You love me."

"Whatever."

She packed her things into the bag she took from her house last night, thanks Tova's disinterested mom for taking her in on such notice, and get in the car. By the time she pulls up in front of the house she's sweating. She doesn't know what she hates more, that her big mouth gets her slapped down or that she even lets her mother get to her to begin with.

Her hand is shaking when she tries to put the key in the door. After three fumbled attempts, she gets it done.

She's on her her way to the stairs, to the safety of her room, when her mother comes out to see her. She's in her workout clothes either going to, or returning from, her second work-out of the day. Lunatics need to look good too, Cymbaline thinks crazily and suppresses a nervous laugh.

There is an awkward silence as they stand there, not really looking at each other. Finally she can't take it anymore. "Hi," she mumbles as she adjusts the bag on her shoulder.

"Hi," her mother replies.

Pleasantries done, she starts towards the stairs. "Cymbaline, I..." her mother starts, then stops. She stops and turns around, waiting to hear the words of wisdom her mother has for her.

Except when the words come out, they are nothing that she expects.

"I'm sorry."

Absolutely stunned inside, Cymbaline manages to nod her head and walks up the stairs. When she gets to her room, she closes the door gently behind her.

Then she lies on her bed and cries her eyes out.

A Curious Series of Catastrophic Events

2011-09-20T09:45:00.001-04:00

Dear Diary:

Last night my mother, in a terrible mood for something that happened (which didn't involve me) started ragging on me mercilessly (having finally stopped mercilessly riding my younger siblings for hours). She made a nasty remark, which led me to make an even nastier remark.
Which led to her slapping me across the face, calling me a bitch and throwing me out of "her" house (for the second time).

So I packed my stuff and went to my only true family - Tova.

And here I'll stay, in bed all day, until further notice.

Love,

Cymbaline

Do Affairs Always Suck?

2011-09-19T09:43:00.000-04:00

I used to babysit for a family. The mom was a monster. Even in the little time I spent there, I could see it. She was so cold to her kids and mean to her husband. One time he was driving me home after an another episode where she emasculated him in front of the babysitter and I made a ~~stupid~~ flippant remark in the car like "it can't be easy being married to that". "You have no idea," he answered.

And then he started to cry.

Every time people talk about the affair du jour (and I mean that literally), it is always a horror story. After all, how could you betray the person you love in this way? Isn't marriage a sacred contract?

I have been thinking alot about this the last few days. a) I just heard a story about people I know who are having an affair. b) Even worse, I am convinced that someone close to me is having an affair.

Who it is or why I think so is irrelevant. What I focus on is the why of it.

Why do people look outside their marriages? I have spoken to a lot of people about this over the years.   The stories often take a similar trajectory and, in fact, almost always fall into one of 3 broad categories (or some combination of the three):

- Boredom

- Lack of love/fighting in the marriage

- One of the 2 parties isn't fulfilling their bedroom obligations

I know that the "standard" perspective regarding marriage is it doesn't matter which category you fall into - you are in marriage for better of for worse and it's sacred and so on and so forth.

I happen to not entirely agree with that. Marriage is supposed to be a 2-way street - two people who love each other doing for each other - sometimes things they don't necessarily love to do - for the sake of the other. If you don't fulfill your end of the bargain, why should your partner? If you can't talk nicely to your partner, who shouldn't she go find someone who does?

I know, it's horrible to even contemplate such a thought process. After all, an affair is cheating on the one who is supposed to trust you the most.

But that trust is supposed to be earned. Earned by talk, deed and action. Earned, sometimes, by participating in the things you don't necessarily love, for the sake of the ONE you love.

Imagine marriage as a whole made up of many parts. There's love, admiration, sense of humor, many many parts which form the marriage. Ask most women what percentage of a marriage sex is and you often get a low score - "oh sure sex is important - 1%!!". Then ask a man. He'll tell you sex is 10% 20% 40% some crazy number (or at least crazy to women). The other percentage for him is looks :)

The point is, men and women are extremely different. And good relationships are built when both partners recognize that and make efforts to "see the other side". It means listening to your wife with both ears instead of having one in the game. It means having sex more or with more variety or whatever it is your partner wants. Even if you don't want.

What it isn't - is assuming that you can do what you want and forever not have to worry because of the sacred bond of marriage. It doesn't work that way. It requires work.

This is a ramble. I'm rambling. Why? Because I worry. I worry about my relationship - I want it to work - both in the short term and in the long term.  I try to understand what makes him tick and I hope he's doing the same for me. I want to make him happy and, through that, be happy too. I hope he feels the same.

But I get it - I understand why these things happen. And sometimes I can't even find fault. I don't think it's automatically "bad" when an affair happens (outside of the collateral damage to the kids etc - that's ALWAYS bad).

Sorry again.  I needed to try and clear my head.

Happiness is Your 21st Birthday

2011-09-15T10:00:00.000-04:00

Today is Mah Burfday!!! YEAH!!!

Today I turn 21. September 15, 2011. What a day.

I feel different - I feel magic in the air around me. The sun seems brighter and the trees greener. I'm happy.

I can legally drink in New York (though to be sure it's never really been all that much of a problem obtaining alcohol when I've wanted it). But more importantly, I'm a full-fledged adult. No one can tell me I'm still a child anymore. I'm part of the grown-up world. A big deal for someone who has had to work extremely hard to "legitimize" who they are.

Tonight, my boyfriend (I love saying that!!) is taking me out to celebrate. I don't know where we are going or what we are doing. Only where I'm supposed to meet him and to dress nicely.

Tomorrow I'll wake up and things will go back to normal. The sun will seem it's usual brightness level and the trees might seem a tad more dull.

But today is my birthday and all is right with the universe.

When the World Came Crashing Down

2011-09-12T09:59:00.000-04:00

Note - I actually wrote this yesterday and then spent hours debating if I should post it. I was so young at the time, my memories so unclear. But after sleeping on it, i decided to go with it (as I usually do):

I was a child when the towers fell. Too young, even, to have yet been branded "rebel". I remember the slight sense of panic in the teachers and administrators as we were herded from our classes. I remember being home and my mother being extremely worried (my father was in the city, his cell was dead and we had no contact with him for several hours). I remember.

In the years that followed, I have spent time trying to get a feel for what it might have felt like as an adult. Knowing that this country had taken a blow that would change it forever. Knowing that the inherent safety we all felt living in America was suddenly gone.

I remember getting off in Penn Station with my dad once a few years after. We passed the national guardsmen, with the big rifles and their bomb sniffing dogs. "This is our new reality, " he told me. I don't remember a world where soldiers didn't prowl the nation's travel hubs.

But there is one thing that forever strikes me. Of all the images, it's not the plane striking the second tower, the terrified scrams as the towers fell. The large clouds of billowing ash and debris. All horrifying in their own rights, for sure. But forever seared in my brain will be the images of those who jumped from the towers. Every time I try to imagine what was going through their minds as they clung to window sills- the extreme heat, the terror - no possible rescue. I try to imagine the horror of knowing that you best option is to leap a hundred stories to your death. And my brain seizes up. it does not allow me to even go there. And I feel such an awful clenching in my guts. And I know that there is the pain of an entire nation. Wrapped up in the decision that to escape this pain, this heat this impending death is to chose to die on your own terms.

Yesterday's ceremony at ground zero was extremely well done and moving. The falls and trees and pool is a wonderful monument to those who died. To see the way the fire fighters still honor the first responders makes me feel that America as a country has not lost its way so far that we cannot come back.

I heard ex-New Jersey governor Patterson say that now that we have had out tenth year ceremony, it is time for America as a whole to move on. Whether he's right or wrong aside, we may move on but we may never forget.

The atrocity committed by those who hate us was the opening blow in a war that's lasted over 10 years. It didn't end with the death of Bin Ladin. Our enemy's heart is filled with a hatred for us and everything we believe in. He will not rest until we are all dead. And that is why we cannot rest either. We must remember.

My birthday is almost here. I'll be 21 - no longer a "child" in anyone's book. I will have my own memories, my own feelings and my own life. I will continue to move forward and try and make the most of the life I have.

But each year on September 11, I will remember the day the world came crashing down.

On the Brink of Happy Exhaustion

2011-09-08T09:00:00.000-04:00

"I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink
I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink
I wonder should I get up and fix myself a drink
No,no,no.

I'm so tired I don't know what to do
I'm so tired my mind is set on you
I wonder should I call you but I know what you would do

You'd say I'm putting you on
But it's no joke, it's doing me harm
You know I can't sleep, I can't stop my brain
You know it's three weeks, I'm going insane
You know I'd give you everything I've got
for a little peace of mind"

(John Lennon)

Hurricane Cymbaline is a Category 5. Schools started, part time job starts next week, I have a full social life and a best friend on the mend. Things are, as they say, busy but good.

So what's the problem?

The problem, my dear friends, is I don't sleep. It's not nerves. It's not even anxiety. I just don't sleep.

My therapist has argued that alot of my lack of sleeping is due to the fact that for so long I was forced to "sleep" in places where I was too afraid to close my eyes. Or was sleeping with people I didn't like. Or in strange places where i never got comfortable. Which is why i only really sleep when I'm just too exhausted not to or I'm very comfortable in my surroundings (like I do sleep better when I'm at David's parents house). I think that's partly true.

But there's another issue. My brain. it simply never stops. I'm always thinking...over thinking...about something. I'm not even talking about bad things. Just everything.

This has led to some wonderful comments in the past.

Tova: "I can't believe that a mind that works that hard produces so little."

David: "I don;t get it. You are up all night thinking?? That's what you do every second of every DAY!"

My friend Daniella (who came with my on the upstate vaca and shared a room with me (and took the now infamous waterfall bikini picture of me that appears to have accidentally spread past its intended recipient): "Oh my god Cymbaline - you were thrashing around so much last night I thought a raccoon got in the window."

As you can see, my overactive brain is a constant source of amusement to my so-called "loved ones". But it aint no joke to me.

My general pattern - have trouble falling asleep, finally falling asleep, sleeping poorly, waking up, staring at the ceiling or out the window and hoping I get back to sleep before my stupid alarm rings. Sounds awesome no?

Melatonin? Been there done that. Sleeping pills? Absolutely not. I do not take pills (besides Advil) unless there is no other choice (too many bad memories). Maybe I'll pretend it's the '50's and try warm milk.

So yeah, I'm tired alot. On the brink of exhaustion even. But right now, it's a happy exhaustion. Things are good. I'm not complaining. The good news is that I'm so used to it, it barely effects my day to day.

But damn, what I'd do for a nice twelve hour deep sleep....

When the Stars Align - What Follows?

2011-09-06T12:34:00.000-04:00

When your motto is "Winter is Coming", the supposition is that you are a negative person.

I argue, to the death, that I am a pragmatist - a realist - not a pessimist. That the reality is good follows bad and bad follows good from the time you are born until the time you die. I have had more experience with the bad, which is why I look at it as "Winter is Coming" as opposed to "Summer is Soon on its Way". It's neither good nor bad, it just is.

So what to think when stars begin to align?

What to think when the boy you like has become your boyfriend?

What to think when your best friend begins the process of beating back the odds and continues to not just live, but improve? (And even snuck off to Florida alone for the weekend without telling her best friend.)

What to think when at least a little of your faith in God has been restored?

********************************************************************

I have begun to say a paragraph or 2 of Tehilim each day for Tova. To most of you, this is a no-brainer. I'm sure you all say Tehilim for sick people all of the time. For me, as silly as it makes me feel - as red as my cheeks burn when i am doing it - it suggests a level of religious commitment that I have not felt in a very long time. (Perhaps the embarrassment is part of my penance - if so, bring it on.)

I have decided to attend shul on Yom Kippur this year. I hope to go to Tova and go to her shul. My mother will not want me in shul with her - the whispers of the prodigal daughter returning will be too much for her to bear. I understand her shame. While I may not agree with it, I suppose it would be counter-productive to attend shul and make her suffer on Yom Kippur. (Any other day, no problem :) ). I don't want people to think my mother is trying to marry me off and therefore I'm back in shul to clean up my sullied image. For while I do my best to portray the image of the good girl when I'm home, there are too many people who know what my life was before and the whispers will (~~righfully~~) always be there no matter what.

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What to think when your stars begin to align?

Should you be hopeful? Or should you worry that if it all comes crashing down, you won't be strong enough this time to recover? Should you think back at all the energy it took to get you to this point and worry that another loss will be one that you cannot recover from?

Or maybe, you should just be happy. Happy you have a love. Happy that your best friend is beating the odds. Happy that MAYBE, just maybe, you will not be cursed to live an empty, faithless existence that you have dreaded for years.

I don't know the answer. But I don't think I am expected to. None of us, no matter how it looks, actually know the answer. All we can do is work at it and hope we find enough that makes some sense to us.

Because after Winter surely comes Spring again.

Men Are Loveable Losers

2011-09-02T09:59:00.000-04:00

So yesterday I picked up David's favorite healthy dinner from my neighborhood and took a train into the city. The plan - surprise him when he got home from work (which I checked to make sure was happening right away) and hang out for a few hours.

SURPRISE!!

Last night was David's fantasy football draft! Which was held in his apartment. With 9 of his closest friends. Boy, was I surprised.

Let me explain this to all of you who aren't men. They pick real football players to be on their "teams". They every week the players get points based on how well they do and the person who has the most points, his team wins against another team. Got that? Me neither.

The League is called "The League of Dorks" after their favorite sportswriter - who calls it the same thing. So at least they know what they are. After an uncomfortable discussion, it was agreed I was "cool" and could stay (most of these guys know me from hanging out with me all summer) so long as I kept my snarky comments to myself (except, of course, for the one creepy guy I never liked [and cannot understand why these guys hang out with him unless he has pictures of all of them doing inappropriate things] who kept staring daggers at me with a "but for Cymbaline we'd all be watching porn" look. Good times).

Since there were 10 guys there, someone had brought in a greasy food extravaganza, which was washed down with beer (mmmm beer). The awesomeness I had brought with me from home was wrapped up to"be eaten later" - i.e., thrown out after I left.

Well, if you are a guy, I do not have to tell you how the next few hours unfolded. I was totally ignored while these losers studies spreadsheets (SPREADSHEETS?!?) and charts and made their picks and then ripped on each other for these self-same picks. And I wasn't allowed to be snarky? There were some hysterics when someone picked a guy named Aryan "too high" because he has a "bad hammy". My god, wasn't the world a better place when these knuckleheads would just go PLAY football? Though to be fair, these are some pretty funny guys and I found myself laughing at things I didn't really understand.

Anyways, because he felt bad for me, David let me name his team. I was so flattered I almost cried. I doubt I'd have been happier if he proposed to me right then and there. (The previous 2 sentences were sarcasm). I resisted the urge to name them the "Ballerinas of the Pussies" out of pure spite and went with my motto instead - "Winter is Coming". Since football is played mostly in winter, and it's kinda ominous, the idiots seemed to approve.

By the time I got back home it was late and I realized I hadn't eaten. What was worse, the food I had brought was probably in David's building incinerator. Eff my life.

On the bright side, I got to name a team in the coveted League of Dorks 2011 Fantasy Football League and once again re-affirm that which i already knew. Men are loveable losers.

And let's face it ladies, we'd be pretty lost without 'em.

The Littlest of Little Things

2011-09-01T10:53:00.000-04:00

Inspired by Am Inspiration:

Bloggers have their style. Some spout nonesense. Some are about as eloquent as the great scribners. Some are funny. Some...less so. Some are all over the place, from Torah thoughts to movies to their stupid loser fantasy football leagues (just kidding Ezzie).

Many look to find lessons. They see inspiration in small things - they tie it back to God, to religion. They manage to enrich their lives by mining the day to day into golden nuggets.

So I was chatting with Am about it this morning. She wrote a really nice post and we were discussing it. I mentioned to her that she, like others, manages to find sparks of religion or God in their moments of time.

My reply - I don't get inspired BY the little things - I live in awe of the little things.

Huh?

Let me explain the difference.

To me, living a "normal" life is one of the greatest accomplishments I've managed for myself in my time on this planet.

Small, normal things.

A life. No red carpets, glamour magazine shoots, late night parties. A simple, day-to-day accomplishment. Where I'm coming from, this is EVERYTHING.

Waking up in a strange place. Fuck that, not even sleeping to begin with. Lying next to strangers. Coming down off highs, drunks. Associating with people you abhor so that you have a place. Giving yourself away in exchange for a false sense of belonging. Trying to come to grips with the fact that the people who are supposed to love you the most would erase you from the world if they could do it without committing murder.

That was my world for my entire adolescence. I've seen people like me end up dead or worse than dead. The living dead. Or messed up with so many issues that they are incapable of living a normal life.

But how am I ending up? Perhaps "normal" is a bit of a stretch? Ok, I will concede that.

But look at me kids. I'm living a "normal life. Waking up in my bed, going to buy coffee (yes I'm a coffee snob - screw you if you don't like it), going to school, doing well enough at a job that they asked me back - for pay (!!!). Keeping a boyfriend and a sick best friend in line.

Is it perfect? Hells no. I still have trouble sleeping. I still haven't found my place in Judaism. But I'm working at it. I'm working hard. And isn't that what being normal is? Struggling and striving and trying to do better?

Elul, Spetember, whatever the month. I cannot speak for anyone else. I try to live the same way ALL YEAR LONG. I try to improve myself EVERY SINGLE DAY. I don't wait for occassions. I don't "do teshuva" or "make New year's resolutions".

Hmmm, maybe not so normal after-all.

Fog (Again)

2011-08-31T09:12:00.000-04:00

I have been in such a daze these last few days (no pun intended - ok, pun intended). I'm tired from lack of sleep, my hands are roughed from hand washing. My head cannot wrap around the idea that summer is over.

Yes, kids, summer is over. We cannot pretend any differently anymore. Our vacations are done or ending, schools right around the corner (and has even started for some). The feared word "September" will be heard all around the world tomorrow.

But for me, it's all just a daze. I'm tired, I cannot think straight. No matter how many ounces of coffee I drink, the world remains a fog. I need a kick start.

***********************************************************************

In my neighborhood, they are starting a program for the Jewish holidays. Basically, they want people doing good deeds over the next 40 days to prepare for the Days of Awe. They are stressing things like smiling at people - people in stores, at the checkout lines, the stock boys in groceries.

All I can think to myself is, shouldn't we be doing that all the time? Should being nice be the default option? I'll never really understand people. I know I'm young and I'm certainly jaded but my experiences have taught me that people are, by nature, selfish beings - capable of doing good deeds and acts of kindness when it suits them. Not that people aren't inherently good (they may be) or that they are evil (though they may be that too), but they are selfish nonetheless.

Obviously, there are exceptions to this rule. But still.

*******************************************************************

I was talking to an online friend from this blog the other day via g-chat. We were discussing something personal in nature - a question about something "frum - BY-type" girls may or may not do - as opposed to what they claim to do to the public. She suggested I put it up on my blog as a survey question. I go back and forth on it. Y'all will remember how popular my "tennis" post was, but I am not interested in dragging Obscured into the gutter either.

Any thoughts?

August 25, 2011

2011-08-29T09:27:00.000-04:00

What is a date?

It's a day experienced...... and then forever frozen in time on a calendar. It's April 24, 1967. It's September 3, 2002. It happens and then it's gone.

Some dates, though, are remembered. Birthdays, anniversaries. People attach significance to days for a variety of reasons, good and bad. Celebrating a wedding, celebrating a divorce, marking a death or a new life.

Some days live in infamy. Ask any grandparent-age person what they were doing when Kennedy was shot. They know exactly. Same for a black grandparent. Ask them about the day Martin Luther King Jr. was killed. They know.

Ask any person over the age of 30 about their 9-11memories and they can tell you every minute of that day in colorful detail. Every emotion they felt, every single thing they did from the time they heard until the day ended. Surreal.

What is a date?

It's a moment in time. It's another stone in the endless road to the end of time. Each day holds meaning to someone and remains virtually meaningless to almost everyone else. It's a symbol of the expanse of time - a link in an endless chain.

Some dates, though, are remembered. For good and for bad.

August 25, 2011 - the day he told me he loves me for the first time.

And In Other news

2011-08-19T10:06:00.000-04:00

Today will be the last day of internship before school starts. Next week I'm away (!!!) and then I want to take some chill time before school begins again.

I really enjoyed my time here and I've learned an awful lot about things that really interest me. I'd be extremely upset that I'm leaving except.....

They have offered me a part time role here starting in September!! I'll be working Fridays as well as fitting in as much time as I can during the week (schedule permitting). But instead of working with the general counsel, I'll be working with the business side people. There's even a little (and I stress little) salary. I'm way psyched.

So that's it then. Tomorrow night I pack all my stuff and I'm off to the country. Hopefully the weather will be agreeable, the rivers will be high and the beer will be cold.

So as they say in French - Sayonara suckers. Try not to miss me too much and

LEAVE SOME LOVE IN THE COMMENTS!!

Goin' Away Y'all

2011-08-18T15:42:00.000-04:00

Yes, I have been talking about this forever and ever. Yes, the time has pretty much arrived....

I'm going on my vacation!!!!

Approximately 12 of us (I'm honestly not sure of the actual number) have rented a house in upstate New York for a week. The plan is to combine some fun, some relaxation and some quiet time with my BF (who, incidentally is coming too!! What a coincidence!!) into an 8 day extravaganza of awesomeness.

I took a "sick" day yesterday and did all my shopping with my girlfriend who is coming with me. I also watched the last three episodes of Friday Night Lights, season 5 (the final season), which ended with a lot of tears (by me). Thank you to whoever it was that originally put me on to that show! I'll always have a place for you in my heart (right next to that giant spot reserved for Tim Riggins). TEXAS FOREVER, bitches.

So there it is. I'm going away. Don't plan on having much in the way of Internet time (or connectivity for that matter), but I will check my emails from time to time.

Hope y'all can survive the week without me!

And if you can't, there's something seriously wrong with you.

A General Feeling of the Blahs

2011-08-15T10:26:00.000-04:00

The last couple of days I have been suffering a really bad case of the blahs.

Part chemical (figure it out), part weather related (though staying up half of Saturday night to watch the storm was pretty cool) and part Tova, I've just been in the dumps. This isn't a case of the Darkness, which I've talked about in the past. No demons are coming to pull me down to the depths of Hell. Rather, I just feel like crap.

The summer hasn't exactly gone as I scripted it. I lost a whole bunch of time to being sick, my best friend too a turn for the worse, all my weekend excursions didn't pan out. My road trip down south fell apart due to the last paragraph.

Now I'm starting to worry that my trip next week will fall apart. There's no real reason to feel this, but there are so many things which could go wrong. What if Tova takes a turn for the worse? What if it rains all week? What if?

So blah.

Summer's Gone By

2011-08-12T10:30:00.000-04:00

I looked at my calendar today. Somehow it's August 12. It made me reflect on my summer:

I went into hibernation to study for finals, took finals, only to emerge from school.......

with the worst recorded case of pneumonia in the history of mankind. I suffered with this for weeks, losing weight and disfunctional, until......

I recovered enough to go to work!

In short, this has been pretty much the most un-summer summer of all time.

Sure, there were a couple of pool parties, some BBQ's and a week upstate coming up, but this hasn't exactly been the most stress-free, battery recharge of summers (and I've completely left out this summer's biggest energy sucker).

YET, as I sit here sorting through and collating signature pages, I'm listening to this and all of a sudden it's summer again. It's distant bells, and new mown grass smells so sweet. It's by the river and holding hands, draw me up and lay me down.

Still, it's depressing to realize that summer is winding down and the "real world" is about to start up again soon. There's something about experience of flip-flops, short shorts and ice coffee that winter just cannot duplicate.

But vacations and good times, much like life, marches on. Everything eventually gets left behind. So there will always be next summer. And maybe when we become adults the fun quotient starts to diminish - but maybe we all just learn how to squeeze more enjoyment out of the lesser amounts we have. Not sure.

Here's what I do know though - it's August 12 and summer's running out of time. When I walked to my car this morning, it was almost...chilly outside. And I know that up in the country at night its probably freezing already.

And this post, much like my mind today, shall complete with no ending.

How Quickly a Post Becomes Stale

2011-08-10T22:06:00.000-04:00

As quickly as a determined girl can check herself out of hospice care and into her own house.

Perhaps still to die, but at least on her own terms.

I spend several hours with her. We sat in her backyard (the nurse wouldn't let us take a walk) and it was just like old times. We laughed, made irreverent jokes about cancer and death, and we re-lived a hundred old memories.

I remember. I remember all the good times. All the times with you are good Tova.

I told her I didn't know how to say good bye. Her response? Why bother with good byes? She has no use for good byes. Alive or dead. So there you go.

A day? A week? Twenty five years? I don't know how much longer she has. But we will ALWAYS have this night.

"At Peace"?

2011-08-10T10:34:00.000-04:00

People throw that expression around. "I'm at peace with X". What they mean is, they've accepted that X is going to happen and there's nothing they can do about it.

So am I at peace with Tova? No. Am I at peace with her decision (supported by her family) that I am no longer welcome to come to the hospital? No. But I accept it all the same.

I'm pretty sure Tova is now beyond anyone's help. Outside of some sort of miracle, she doesn't have much longer for this world. She's in pain. Her body is betraying her.

It's her decision. She doesn't want everyone's lasting images of her to be in agony on her deathbed. So her friends are no longer allowed to be at her side. Instead, when she's up for it, we chat on the phone or online.

So the last time I saw her was Sunday. She looked fine. Now it's Wednesday and it's a whole different world it seems.

A lifelong friendship. The problem is, sometimes the lifetime isn't long enough.

"Some days are better than other", she emailed me yesterday afternoon, after I jokingly asked if the reason she wasn't on was because of her fasting (she's observant). "Hopefully tomorrow will be better than today."

Honestly, I'm not sure she expects to live another week. I've written a goodbye email to her, but I cannot bring myself to send it. It makes everything so...final. And she'll probably just make fun of me anyway.

I've said my peace to her. More than once (which is probably why she doesn't want me around anymore). There's nothing more to say than I love you. I'm certainly not going to burden her with how hard it's going to be after she's gone.

So do I comprehend? Yes. Do I accept? What other choice is there?

Am I at peace?

No.

Turn For The Worse

2011-08-08T09:43:00.002-04:00

My friend has taken a turn for the worse. Though she seems ok on the outside, it is not good on the inside.

I feel very empty, very hollow right now.

Blog Side Story

2011-08-05T10:22:00.000-04:00

I'm thinking about writing a Broadway play about my experiences in Blogland. I think there is certainly no shortage of rich material and interesting characters.

Obviously, the play would take place in the land of make-believe and would center around the lives of our plucky heroes:

There's Hannah, the brainy, melancholy force of nature, who creates a whirlwind of energy whenever shes on stage.

Eric Dish, the thirty-something, world weary guy who holds a giant part of the world together with his easy vibe and intelligence.

Maria, the endlessly optimistic bundle of perky energy that flutters through each scene bringing raw positiveness to the production.

Doc, the young sushi chef who quotes Confucius and tries to figure out the world.

Miri, Hannah's younger, idealistic sister, who sees the world in black and white as she struggles to come to the realization that there's a couple of varieties of gray mixed in there too.

Esther, the married woman who struggles to hold together her marriage, her relationships with her family and the desire to see the world as well.

Kvetch and Observer, who sit in the balcony like those 2 guys from the Muppets and make sarcastic, funny observations like, "this play really sucks" - before bursting out laughing.

Baila, Shprintsy and Malky, three young, single frum girls who struggle to find a balance between their religious beliefs and their personal feelings.

So there it is, my next great unfinished project.

And what's so great is that it's the story of us all.

There's A Lack Of, Let's Call It....Tennis, In My Life

2011-08-02T09:56:00.000-04:00

I started playing, um, tennis when I was like 15.

Even as young as say 13 I was doing things that were like, um, tennis, but it wasn't quite tennis. I started as a form of rebellion, but the truth is I discovered that I actually really liked tennis. Maybe more so than most girls do.

So for the the last seven years, I've played alot of tennis. I've played it with people I've cared about but often I just played it, for acceptance, for "love" or just to get stuff. It's also one of life's great stress relievers. After a game of tennis, I always feel much calmer.

Now I ain't no Serena Williams, but you know what they say about practice - I've gotten to be pretty good at tennis.

But despite it's lack of....permissiveness in some worlds, I've never lacked for tennis partners or a good game of tennis whenever I've needed one.

And tennis is one thing that I really stuck with, even as i was "recovering" from my problems. See I separate tennis from rebellion. I just like tennis and, dammit, there's nothing wrong with playing it - either with a regular partner or with a just a casual tennis fling. Plenty of people argue I'm wrong. That there are rules forbidding playing tennis whenever you feel like it. But those aren't MY rules. So don't impose them on me.

Unfortunately, David doesn't play. Sure, we have volleyed a bit, but he doesn't actually play TENNIS. Apparently some of the rules are problematic. So no tennis there.

So a few days ago it dawned on me. I haven't played tennis for a really long time. And now I'm in a bigger bind - cause I won't play with anyone else if I'm seeing David. Somehow that just doesn't seem right. Actually it ISN'T right.

And I obsess. So I've been thinking ALOT about tennis. Or specifically, the lack thereof. Sure, there's always practice. But tennis alone...well we all know it's not the same. I'm concerned I will be consummed by my desire to play tennis until all i'm thinking about is an epic 5-set tennis marathon which leaves both players on the brink of physical and mental exhaustion.

So to sum up. I can't play tennis and I miss it.

The end.

Storm Tossed Friendships

2011-08-01T09:05:00.000-04:00

Show me two "best" friend who never fight and I'll show you two people who aren't truly best friends.

Tova and I have had some real blowouts over the years. We've fought about boys (of course), clothes, and about nothing at all. We've yelled and screamed and made really biting comments (sorry guys, never had a cat fight with her).

But the one thing we've never done is stayed mad at each other.

The old record was maybe 2 days. Then one calls the other, makes a really mean spirited joke, and everything back to normal.

So when a week and a half ago she bitched me out for spending too much time with David, I let it slide for a day and then called her to make a mean spirited joke and move on.

But a funny thing happened. She didn't take the call. Or the next half dozen. And when we did finally talk again, it ended up in another fight.

Since then it's been rocky. She doesn't pick up when i call and she doesn't return my texts. She has been invisible on G-chat too (though I have a sneaking suspicion she's actually just making herself invisible so she doesn't have to talk to me).

But then a funny thing happened. I spoke to her sister on Friday. Tova's back in the hospital. She has been for a week.

SHE'S BEEN IN THE HOSPITAL FOR A WEEK AND I HAD NO IDEA.

So went to visit her yesterday. It was really uncomfortable. She was bitchy and angry and when her brother walked in she told me it was better if I just went and spent time with David. Hurt and pissed, I said fine and left.

When realization dawns on me, it's like the sun coming out. Everything lights up. And it dawned on me yesterday. Tova is pushing me away because she thinks shes going to die and she doesn't want me to be hurt. Tova has always been my rock, so to speak. She's always been the strong one. The one who had to be there for me when i was going through my stuff. She's gone through so much, but she always managed to just brush it off - her past battles with the cancer, the loss of the one SHE loved, family issues that would make most people sick. But it was always "nah, that's nothing Cym, don't worry I'm only here for you."

Scoff - go ahead. I don't care. I know I'm right. I know her and I know how different it's been this time.

And so I was up all night last night. Running it through my head. As I do. How serious it must be. How much she hasn't been telling me. I know she's been getting transfusions pretty much every week, but it must be much worse even if she's in the hospital. And why else would she be treating me like crap in the bathtub?

And so I dragged myself out of bed and to work extremal early. And sat here writing this post all depressed. But funny coincidence - someone else was on early this morning too. And someone else had some really good advice for me. TALK to her. Don't let things go unsaid. Don't set yourself up for regrets.

She's right. I haven't thought about Tova's sickness, because the truth is I cannot handle the idea that she might die. I cannot even fathom the concept of losing my best friend. But no matter how much I don't want to deal with the possibility, I can't pretend it ISN'T a possibility.

And that's why tonight, after work, i will detour to the hospital. I am going to tell her I love her. And that I am there for her. And that I'm strong enough to take whatever comes.

And then I'll batten down the hatches and wait for the hurricane.

Happiness is Nnamdi Asomugha

2011-07-29T11:15:00.000-04:00

Last night, I busted out of work at exactly 5:00 on the dot. I drove out to the city. David was making dinner!! Mmmmm ~~David. I mean~~ dinner.

David "grilled" up some chick breasts on the George Foreman and he tossed a salad. (What can I say, the guy is a regular Bobby Flay.) He also opened a bottle of wine. He even had candles on the table. I can honestly say it was the nicest date I've ever been on (excluding, of course, our wonderful date in Miami that he ruined at the end).

Afterwards, we hung out on the couch and talked. This was interrupted every 5 seconds by David refreshing his browser on his phone to see if his beloved New York Jets football team had gotten a new player with the most unpronounceable name since a non Jew tried to say "Yitzchak". It was explained to me, in extremely painful detail, that getting Nnamdi Asomugha (yes, that is not a misprint, that is the man's name!!!) would be the most awesome thing ever. Ever? I asked dubiously. Ever, came the certain reply. So there you have it, getting Nnamdi Asomugha is the most awesome thing ever.

And while this conversation was taking place, it occurred to me how...well how damn happy I am. Here I am, sitting on a couch talking to a guy about a subject I could care less about (though I do LOVE Friday Night Lights which is also kinda sorta about football - I say DO love because even though the show is over, I have not yet watched the fifth and final season, something that will be changing next week. I love you Tim Riggins.) and I'm just thrilled to death about it.

Of course, the idea of being so happy is slightly terrifying. After all, y'all know my motto - Winter is Coming. I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I live in perpetual fear of good things in my life falling apart.

But maybe, just maybe, if I have him, I can survive winter after all.

Untitled Post Number 66

2011-07-24T23:44:00.000-04:00

The day was as wonderful as any poolside BBQ could be, like something out of Gossip Girl. There were really cool people and all the food you could possibly want. There were ice buckets with chilled bottles of Corona and a bowl full of nothing but wedges of lime. There was laughter and merriment for literally hours on end. She met so many really awesome people, connected with so many people from his life.

She also met Talkative Bitch. Talkative Bitch (TB) went out with him a few years ago. It lasted a few months and probably was never particularly serious. TB gave her a serious once over, crinkled her nose and then "Wow, aren't you really pretty. How old are you? Twenty? Really? Wow, aren't you so young." (Fake smile) "I'm surprised he's dating someone so young." And on it went for a another deeply uncomfortable minute before she drained half her Corona and then made some disjointed excuse and booked out of TB's claw hooks.

To her credit, she didn't let it ruin her good time. Well, at least until the car ride home.

He drove her, well out of his way, back to her town. As was their custom, he pulled over a few blocks from her house, on a quiet street where houses were a good distance apart. Away from any street lights, there were completely alone.

He unclipped his seat belt and turned towards her. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied, not quite meeting his gaze.

"Oh don't you give me nothing," he says. And then he smiles. And she's transported back to the first time she met him and the first time she saw the smile that lit her heart up like a Roman candle.

She sighs, weighing in that moment how much something she should give him. In truth, there are a number of somethings on her mind, which have been on her mind. "Ok. Look, I'm not insecure or anything. But I do let things weigh negatively on my mind..."

"In other words, you're insecure," he says and then he laughs. And his laugh is like the sound of waves gently breaking on flat sand.

"Asshole," she replies but she's smiling in spite of herself. Only her smile is gone as quickly as it appears. "It's just." She lets out a breath. Giving herself to another emotionally is not something she has much practice with. In fact, she's in completely uncharted territory now. She might as well be on the moon for all the orientation she has. Then she plunges in. She looks down at her hands fidgeting in her lap and the words are pouring out in a rush. "It's just that I like you. I like you alot. And that fucking TB. She's right. I know I'm young for you and I know there's .......like a million reasons why this whole thing can just blow up. And I feel like I'm finally getting to a point where I might be happy but I'm worried that it's just a mirage. That it can't last because you are going to realize that I'm too young or too this or too that." (Even in her state, she is careful enough not to bring up the religion thing. The religion thing will hold for another time.)

And then she looks up at him. And she sees the smile on his face. That self-same smile. It's not pity or sadness. She knows him well enough to know genuine when she sees it.

"Two points," he says. Even in the semi darkness of a glowing dashboard she can see his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Number one. If you worry so much it's possible your head will explode." He makes the sound of an explosion. "And you look much better with a head on your shoulders. And point two." Now it's his turn to take a breath. "Recently, you are all about the future. About your education, about learning real estate. About having a career and a family. All about the future. And I get it, I really do. I know how tough these last years have been for you. And I know how important it is to 'show them all'. You and I have talked about this many times." Now his eyes are boring into hers. "But you know what Cym? No one knows that the future holds. Not you or me or anyone else. No one knows what will be. You spend all your energy worrying about things you cannot control."

And then he reaches out and takes her hand in his. "I know I can't change you. No one can change a person. But I'd like to ask you to do something for me. I want you to try and enjoy the present. With me. Live in the moment. Enjoy the here and now."

"It's not so easy to just..."

"Blah blah blah. I never said it was easy. I imagine it's not easy worrying all the time now is it?"

Again, she's smiling in spite of herself. Damn him, she's thinking. "Touche."

"Yup, touche." And they both laugh.

After, it's quiet and it's just the two of them holding hands. "I'll try," she promises. And she means it. She will try. And she knows she will have to fight her nature to do it. But she'd do anything for him and this certainly fits into that definition.

A few minutes later he puts the car in drive and takes her home, She stares at his receding taillights until they are gone from view, around the bend. She swears to herself that she will try, that her words were not an empty promise to either him or her.

And then she puts her key in the door and lets herself in the door.

Ibiza Bar

2011-07-21T11:21:00.000-04:00

"I'm so afraid
Of mistakes that I've made
Shaking every time that I awake...

And if I live where I'm left
On the shelf like the rest
And the epilogue reads like a sad song"

I'm not sure this post will ever see the light of day. I'm not sure if it's a good idea to post this or not. I'm not sure if every secret and thought and worry in my head is the property of all of you. Nothing personal, really.

But this is my journal. This is the place where I put down my thoughts and my feelings - the place where, after they have turned around in my head for many sleepless nights, I have the ability to read my feelings. Literally. To see what I was feeling in a moment in time and gain a new perspective.

Decision making is about perspective. Seeing all sides and making a decision. So here goes.

David's grandfather came to this country after the Second World War. A survivor of both pre-war Europe and the camps, he came to this country with nothing other than the clothes on his back. No money, no family. Just a work ethic and a faith in God. A man who survived the death camps and the atrocities of the Nazis kept his faith in God. Although not a very religious man, being a Jew meant something to him.

He worked and saved until he was able to buy a pushcart and some materials. He turned this into a small business selling his wares. Eventually he had enough money to start a factory, which he bought a few years later. His original small business eventually became a pretty successful real estate operation all over the U.S.

Though his life changes dramatically over time, one thing didn't. His faith. His belief in God. Though never overly observant (he kept Shabbos, Kosher, etc, but never to any extremes), he made sure to marry a woman with the same belief system. This was passed to his children.

To this day, the large majority of the family is observant. They also place God and Judaism on a high perch. They are what you would all call modern orthodox (for example his mother wears pants and doesn't cover her hair) but they sincerely believe what they believe. There's no fakery (ahem, Mother, ahem).

Which leads to my dilemma.

At this point in my life, I do not really share these same set of beliefs. I do believe God (the Jewish God) created the world. After that....eh.

Right now, David is focusing on the...newness of our relationship. We've graduated from being really good friends to being a couple. We are spending time together (lots) and really, really enjoying each other's company. And it's all wonderful. Really wonderful.

But the good times never last. Winter is always coming.

And soon...whether in a week, a month a year....he's going to realize that this girl he's seeing doesn't quite share his beliefs. The girl he might one day want to bring home to be part of his family (oh let it be so) doesn't have the same principles and ideals that he holds so dear.

And then what?

Then there will be a choice for both of us to make to make.

There are three paths I see. I can tell him I cannot be the believer he want. I can't pretend to be observant, even to low levels. I can't fake through the prayers or even light candles on Friday. And he will have to either live with that or not. That's path one.

Path Two: Would you live a lie for the man you love?

I can lie. I can tell him I believe. That I'm willing to commit to being religious. That I say the prayers and I mean them. That I want the kids to go to day schools and yeshivas and be the best Jews ever. And he'll be thrilled. Life will be so grand.

Until the years go by and I can't take the charade anymore, can no longer play the game. And then I become the biggest disappointment in his life. And the kids (oh let it be so) are confused. Why is mommy different than daddy? And he hates me. And I hate me too. And the dream crumbles to ruin and despair.

Or.

I have been searching. Don't get me wrong. I don't hate Judaism. I don't hate God. If there's one thing I know from personal experience it's that living a life without faith, without belief, is an empty life. Living just for yourself is almost valueless. How can you bring up children and tell them there's nothing greater out there, that there's no true purpose to life?

I WANT TO BELIEVE.

The problem is, I need to get there rationally. I have to believe what I believe (if you take my meaning). I can't take it on faith alone. I understand at some level there must be a leap of faith - but I can't simply make the leap - I have to bring myself to the brink and then jump.

I want to find my comfort level within Judaism. I have been looking for it. I've been reading, I've been talking to people who shared my issues. I've listened to their points and proofs. I'm not there yet. But I am working on it, make no mistake.

But I know I have a short window of time. From the moment David snaps out of his love induced coma (yea right) and starts thinking with his brain, I won't have forever to convince him that I'm not the same person who spent so many hours railing against god and religion to him in my worse times.

But.

If I can come to God on my own. If I can find my place. Then the only thing, the only person I want in this world will be happy. And really, that's what I want. I want him to be happy. I want him to want to be with me for all the reasons - with no worries, doubts or issues. I don't want the Sword of Damocles hovering over us starting on day one. I don't want him living with the albatross.

So why haven't I slept in days? Because I know this storm is coming. I know that soon the clock will start ticking and then time will begin running out. So there's even more pressure to find what I'm looking for.

I want to spend my life with the man I love. Is that so much to ask for? Is it so beyond? Or will this end up being another example of how my life generally sucks?

And that is why I don't sleep.

Because The Future Never Quite Turns Out The Way We Imagine It In Our Heads

2011-07-19T14:46:00.000-04:00

And sometimes, that's ok too.

For a long time, a few years at least, I've been convinced that law school was an essential part of my future. There are a couple of reasons for this. For starters, it's important for me to prove to people, my detractors, that I'm something. A law school graduate certainly is something. Also, I have an interest in the field of real estate and I thought being a real estate attorney would be a good way to really understand real estate. (And yes, I just used the words "real estate" three times in one sentence.) Finally, I've always been really impressed with how lawyers think. I think the catch phrase is "critical analysis" - the ability to analyze everything critically and rationally. I've always liked that concept.

So the plan was simple. Graduate, go to a decent law school, then work in a firm for a couple of years to learn something and eventually end up in a real estate shop.

But recently, the plan has been shifting. For starters, I've been speaking to a bunch of lawyers or lawyers to be. Many cannot find work at all. The ones who are working - they are killing themselves. They all seem so miserable. Their extreme misery would be a post in it of itself.

And then there's my "boss". I use quotations because I don't get paid so I'm not really an employee. Anyway, he's general counsel to this real estate place. And he's really the most wonderful guy. And he's been telling me that you cannot learn law in a couple of years at a firm. It takes much longer than that. To really know what you are talking about can take 4 or 5 years. And this guy is a genius.

So lemme get this straight. Three years of education at over a hundred grand all in? Four or five years slaving away in some law firm? Totally miserable existence? Where do I sign up?

And what I've been noticing is that you can learn the field of real estate without holding a law degree. In fact, the business side is an entirely different animal. And that's the side that I think really interests me.

So I'm really on the fence. Actually, that's not true. I'm really off the fence.

I don't want to do it.

Except part of me feels like I'm quitting on something I haven't even tried yet. And that's a crappy feeling. And I was so dead set on it for a while - now all of a sudden it's the wrong move?

And the doubts creep in. Maybe it's really because I'm not willing to put in all the hard work. The three years of studying followed by the gruelling labor of law firm life. Maybe I'm just too lazy.

So here I sit, staring at a New Post window wondering about my suddenly shifting future.

Funny how it never plays out like it does in your dreams.

Mother - A History

2011-07-15T10:36:00.000-04:00

"Hush now baby, baby, don't you cry
Momma's gonna make all of your nightmares come true
Momma's gonna put all of her fears into you
Momma's gonna keep you right here under her wing
She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing
Momma's will keep Baby cozy and warm Oh Babe, of course Momma's gonna help build the wall"

(R. Waters)

Why? Why did it have to be this way? Was it written from her birth?

"Thou shalt bear a third child, a daughter, and she shall be an outcast from her people. And ye shall not love her as ye have loved the other two."

Was it her fault? Was it Mother's fault? Was it simply pure coincidence? Fate? Happenstance?

Why? Why does this mother/daughter duo hate each other?

Yes, she questioned. Always questioning. Why is the sky blue? What's in the clouds? Why does the sun shine brighter than the moon? Those were the cute questions.

Mother didn't always have an answer, but she could make one up. The sky is blue because Hashem wants us to look in the sky and see something pretty. The sun and the moon had a fight and the sun won so the moon got smaller and only comes out at night when the sun is asleep.

When the harder questions came, things took a turn for the worse. How do we know there's a Hashem? Why can't we see him? Why does he make us have shabbos? Why can't i watch TV today?

Less cute questions lent themselves out to harsher answers. "Because. Because Cymbaline. Why can't you just believe Cymbaline" Always Cymbaline. This child never had a pet name. Sweetie or honey or shafele. This one was always Cymbaline. Almost as though it was written from the beginning that their relationship would never be as close.

"And the child shall have no special place in your heart. Nor shall ye treat her as a loved one."

As the child grew, the relationship soured. It's unclear why. To this day she doesn't quite know. She's thought about it. Oh yes. Countless, sleepless nights. Countless conversations with the Mental Health Professional. But really, there is no one answer. There are millions of tiny answers, like shattered glass.

Now? It's a sniper's dream. All they do is snipe at each other. Mother will question what Cymbaline is wearing. "You are going out in that?" (Goodness dear, how will you ever find a nice boy in those capped sleeves? As if.) "At least I had four normal children," she has been known to theatrically whisper in earshot of her middle child. "Where did you go wrong with her?" she will ask my father.

Disavow. Disassociate. She's not really my daughter. I mean sure, biologically speaking she is. But clearly it was some heavenly mistake.

And no Cymbaline isn't some innocent bystander in this tragicomedy. Her words can be as sharp. "I hate you" has been hurled from her lips. "You aren't fit to raise chimpanzees, let alone human beings" is a personal favorite. As is "If you spent as much time on your kids as you did on yourself at the gym, you'd be mother of the year".

War of words. War of actions. It was mother who once slapped Cymbaline in the face in front of the entire family and called her an embarrassment to the _______ name. The tears of shame that ran down Cymbaline's cheeks in that moment were hot enough to leave permanent (mental) scars. It was mother who refused to let (an admittedly difficult) Cymbaline attend certain family functions for fear of embarrassment. It was mother who threw Cymbaline out of the house. It was mother who almost refused to let her back. Had not dad intervened, who knows where this story would have ended.

(Of course, it was Cymbaline who once showed up to a cousin's engagement party drunk and rude. Cymbaline who, by her mere disassociation from religion WAS an embarrassment to her parents and siblings. And Cymbaline who never had the good grace to realize that her actions affected not only her but the people she lived with.)

"Thou shalt cast her out of the nest and she shall fly or die."

As World War II slipped into the cold war, so did their relationship.

The deal was struck. Cymbaline is back in so long as she sees a therapist and so long as she follows the family rules both at home and in the neighborhood. Mother will accept her daughter back under those rules.

Her daughter. Her own flesh and blood. Such a chore.

Now, they barely speak. And like mother like daughter, her older sister barely acknowledges her when shes back in the house availing herself to free food and the maid's laundry services. (As if she doesn't have her own fucking maid at home, on her father's and father in law's combined dimes.) But it's fine. Mother is a constant reminder of what not to become when Cymbaline grows up.

Life is about roads taken and ignored. A turn to the left precludes one to the right. Could it have been different? Impossible to say. We can't ever know what the past would have held, only what was. We can only change the future.

And learn from our mistakes.

My Friend Tova

2011-07-13T20:50:00.000-04:00

I was having an online conversation today with a very nice mommy from Boro Park who was, of course, very distraught over the death of Leiby Kletzky. I asked her why she was so distraught about this particular death. Don't people die in tragic ways every single day? Her answer was: Leiby was "one of us". So which I, very callously replied, so was the man who killed him. After a back and forth, she asked about my callous attitude towards the death of this 9 year old boy.

And the answer is, my callous attitude has nothing to do with this boy, so violently and sadly taken from his parent by some lunatic who should "ride the needle" (does New York State have the death penalty?). This poor soul is wherever souls go to rest (most beautifully summed up in Chana's post - see sidebar on the right for a link).

Why, then, my attitude? Because of my friend Tova.

Tova is 20 years old. She is the most incredible person I know. She has more strength than you. Every fucking one of you. Tova has a form of chronic leukemia. It cannot be treated with chemo or with bone marrow transplants. Yes there's medications, but this form of cancer can be fought with one thing only - the sheer will to beat it. And eventually, since it keeps coming back, it wins and you lose. Tova is suffering with this cancer for the third time in her ridiculously short lifetime. Three bouts in 20 years. Right now it's Tova 2, Death nothing.

But when you have chronic leukemia, Death keeps coming. He's Winter, only in black robes and a scythe in hand. He keeps coming for her over and over. And she keeps beating him off with her sheer will to live.

During her second bout with cancer she watched the boy she loved, who she met in some sort of cancer program, die. The boy she loved.

Then throw in the fact that each time Death comes, the will to live is harder to muster. And he comes with more tricks in his bag. Internal bleeding, collapsed lungs, broken bones, kidney failure, transfusions, painful "procedures", comas. You name it, this twenty year old girl has dealt with it in the last six months. Her doctors tell her its simply miraculous she's held out this long. There's no medical reason for it.

I can see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice. She says the words but she no longer means them. I'm not sure that she has the will anymore.

And you know what? There are no prayer vigils, no challah bakers, no thousand group volunteers streaming in from Lakewood. There's Tova, her siblings, her worthless friend Cymbaline, her even more worthless parents and that's it. In other words, there's her. A sick, weak 20-year old girl fighting off death. Except there's no flaming sword, no ring of power, no instrument with magic runes to ward him off. All there exists is the will. And without it there's nothing.

And me. Her supposedly best friend. I cannot pray for her because it makes me feel hypocritical and empty inside and quite honestly I don't have the faith right now that anyone is listening anyway. So besides "just being there" for her I can't do anything for her.

Why can't I cry for a nine-year old by murdered by a monster in Jew's clothes? Why can't I feel the pain that I have heard so many of you express? Because there's no more room in me for that pain. I'm all used up. I cry for her almost every day. I've cried for her for months and sometimes I can't even muster up the tears for her, let alone all the other horrible stories just from where I live - the 18 month old boy with leukemia, the 34 year old father of three with leukemia. it's not that i don't care, it's just there's no more room left in my heart for the ones I don't know.

Only for my friend, Tova.

Packt Like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box

2011-07-13T10:02:00.000-04:00

"After years of waiting
After years of waiting nothing came

And you realise you're looking,
Looking in the wrong place"

(Thom Yorke - Radiohead)

Honestly I wish I could tell you that the following ramble was the product of Vicodin but the truth is the only thing I've taken for the pain has been Advil and truthfully the last time I took the Advil was last night so no excuses. Though I AM drinking a day old fruit smoothie so maybe that's what's doing it.

I'm just feeling off today. Like nothing fits quite right. It's not the pain/discomfort from the tooth. It's not any one particular thing which has happened in this world or the blog one. It's not the Darkness. Neither is it my dear frenemy, the Mistress of Misfortune.

It's just the blahs. It's just the knowledge that no matter what, there are so many things outside of our control that sometimes it doesn't even seem worth it.

Ask the parents of the 9 year old kid from Borough Park who was allowed to walk home for the first time alone only to get taken and killed.

Ask the moron (me) who tried to make a situation better and ended up wholeheartedly fucking it up (and losing a blog friend in the process).

Ask my best friend who officially told me she can't come on our blowout end of the summer trip upstate in August because she's secretly undergone so many blood transfusions these last few months for internal bleeding (thank you, cancer!!) that shes almost a permanent guest at the hospital a few hours a week.

Ask the people who have emailed me since I have started this little journal revealing their own doubts and their own feelings of not having a true place in this world in general and their religion specifically.

Ask even those who think they have all the answers but in reality they have no fucking clue.

Ask them all, they will tell you. We cannot control anything. We cannot control the harsh words, the harsh positions. We can't help other see who we really are, and even if we can, we can never get them to really accept us. We can change, sure we can change who we are in order to fit in. We can make external sacrifice and even, despairs, internally change.

Or we can ignore. We can pretend we don't have doubts. We can push the doubts so deep down that they hardly ever surface and when they do, well we just ignore them, thank you very much. After all, I have to prepare for the next shabbos/holiday/bar/bat mitzvah/wedding so there's no time to wonder as to why the fuck I'm doing any of this anyway.

We all live in some form of community. Some communities accept everyone. Others shun anyone different. Still others keep their different totally out of public view.

Sometimes we need to form our own communities. Isn't that what this Blogging is about to some extent? Isn't the place where those using this form of self expression come to bond?

I say fuck it, we are here aren't we? We are getting by. Whatever our problems, whatever our coping mechanisms, we are getting by. No one can take that away from us. Not those who cluck their tongues at us or the ones who make their nasty comments. Sticks and stones. Every strike that doesn't kills us makes us stronger. We are all tough as nails. We are the battle hardened. Who better than us to survive? No one, that's who.

We all want acceptance, sure. And for those who haven't found it....

We've just been looking in the wrong place.

Aggravation - UPDATED

2011-07-12T10:10:00.001-04:00

Turns out the whole can't open the mouth or chew was an infected, impacted wisdom tooth. It's out now. The shot and the laughing gas are starting to wear off and the pain is steadily increasing. I'm working a week and a half and I'm gonna be taking a sick day already. Good thing I don't get paid!!

As I sit here at my intern desk, in my own office, doing nothing, the following things occur to me:

- I think my wisdom teeth have to come out because I can't even open my mouth more than halfway. Chewing? Forget it.

- No matter how hard we try, no matter how much we want to do the right thing, so many times it just blows up right in our faces. It's times like this that i always question. WHY? Why do I care about other people? Why do i try to help? What's the point? So that I can get labelled a destroyer, untrustworthy? So that I can have people I talk to immediately roll over on me and send me sprawling down the stairs?

Why do I care? Do I know these people? I'd like to think I do. They continually push me away but I keep coming back for more, like an unloved puppy.

WHY?

Am i simply a glutton for punishment? Am I stupid?

Then comes the next question. Am I WRONG? Am I meddling where i am not wanted? If so, even if my intentions are good, am I still wrong?

I don't know.

Mirrors

2011-07-10T23:16:00.001-04:00

When my mental health professional (aka The Shrink) suggested an outlet for me, he stressed the written word. He really tried to push me towards writing my thoughts down in a journal (though of course making it seem like it was my idea the whole time). Damn you psychologists and your mental tools!

Blogging was close enough for me - sort of an online journal that other people may or may not ever read. But the focus of this blog was originally, and remains, Cymbaline's recounting of her path.

And looking back now (as I have recently passed the quarter year mark which has to be some sort of milestone, right?) I realize just how helpful a tool a journal can be.

I never kept a diary as a kid. I stored everything in my head. I didn't want to leave easily obtainable clues to my thoughts. Even before I was Cymbaline the Rebel, I still had older brothers and sisters who were able to sneak into my room at any time and access my innermost thoughts. Somehow, I really doubted that tiny little diary lock would have kept them (or my mother) out of my thoughts. So this whole journal-ling of my life was a totally new experience.

From a blogging perspective, it's interesting to see what works ( (i) based on comments I get here and emails I receive, some people seem to view me as sort of a train wreck and they just have to slow down to see the carnage on the side of the road, (ii) some vignettes which make up the craziness of my life, (iii) the sometimes wonderful moments which flutter down from the blue sky, (iv) David!!) and what doesn't work (my shitty attempt at fiction, certain parts of my life that are better left un-discussed - such as Lil Sis - who you may have noticed no longer graces these pages though she remains an active part of my life, my futile work trying to get you all to appreciate decent music).

But on an emotional level, it's even more interesting to me personally.

I am looking into a mirror. A mirror of my present. I am able to re-read what I've written here and get a sense of just what I'm thinking a feeling in a given moment. I have seen some patterns that I've never seen before (such as how my moods wax and wane based upon certain events). I have touched upon subjects I have never really been able to discuss outside of my padded cell (just kidding, I mean the therapist's office) and in many ways that's been extremely cathartic too. I have read my posts paying lip service to my feelings for David and that helped me realize that it was cowardly to say those things and then hide behind a million bad excuses for why I wasn't doing anything about it.

But also, a mirror into my past. The earlier posts were really just a recounting of some of the harsh times I grew up in. Re-reading them, seeing them on paper - seeing my perception of them on paper, has been a very painful and cathartic process.

It took a long time for me to recognize that I was a willing partner in my own self destruction. For years I blamed everyone but me. It was the system. It was orthodoxy. It was my mother. It was a rigid school education that couldn't accept anyone remotely different. It was that I liked sex more than "regular" Jewish girls. It was alcohol. It was this and that and the other.

Clearly, during this whole process I was tied to a chair and forced to watch it all play out with my eyelids taped open.

Over the course of therapy, a new partner in crime emerged. Me. I became part of the problem. I wasn't some stick caught in the strong river current, unable to escape, but rather i was, to some degree giving in and not fighting to make things better on my own. (And no, it wasn't totally my fault, of course not, but neither was I entirely blameless either.)

And once I admitted this, the process of healing was finally able to begin. There is no healing without truth. No recovery without healing - and no possibly bright future without recovery.

And re-reading my early posts - I see that I have been true to my self discovery. Yes, I mention the other causes as well (especially in the first few posts, where, in retrospect, I kinda sound a bit bitter at everyone else but me) but as I went on, I mention ol' Cymbaline as criminal as well as victim.

The mirror doesn't lie. It can't lie. Unless we distort the image. Then it isn't a true picture of who we are. It's simply another lie.

I want my mirror to be accurate. Because then I know that I am on the path - that the Journal is recounting the Journey - the straight path not the false one.

I would hate to think that I long for the bright future without being willing to put in the hard work that future will require.

And so I keep checking the mirror - for cracks and distortions. For lies, half truths and excuses. For anything which would lead me astray.

Because the true mirror never lies. And that's the mirror I want to see.

Mistress of Misfortune

2011-07-08T09:42:00.000-04:00

Mistress of Misfortune, you are a cold hearted bitch.

You have been there my whole life, always sitting in shadow, right on the outside of view. But always there just the same, doing me wrong.

You (along with a miserable cast of characters, including myself) took my adolescence from me. You have made me cow in corners. You have taken away my rational thought. You have stolen my breath same as a plunge into freezing water. You have made me do terrible things with my body and you have also made me put worse things in my body.

And what's worse, you always did it with a smile. You were there, dressed in Winter's robes, watching me descending with your condescending smile. You took such great pleasure in my suffering.

You have kept me up nights. Worse, you have left me lying in bed, days at a time, with blackness all around me thicker and more suffocating than smoke from a fire.

You took my past and even part of my present. You think I don't know it was you who slipped the vial of pneumonia into my drink? Or that it's you who eggs my mother on to make all of those little comments in my direction? Or you that grabs my heart with your cold fingers when I am trying to make a good decision? Or sends me people in the guise of friends who for whatever sick reason want to do me harm? I'm sick of them and I'm sick of you.

But hear this you Bitch. You will NOT take my future. I may not be as strong as I try to make myself out to be. In fact I know I'm not. And I do not really know what strength lies within this little body and the blood that flows through it. But by whatever strength there is in me, I will fucking fight you tooth and nail and hand and foot to stop you from taking anymore. I will graduate and find a career and a life. I will do these things if I have to cut through you to do it.

And you cannot have him either. I'm not saying he's mine. Only time will tell if we are right for each other on a permanent basis. But it won't be you who takes him. It's our decision, not yours. Don't think I didn't see you last night sitting in your car across the street watching us, thin trails of smoke from the cig dangling between your thin, cold fingers. Or that it was you who kept me up half the night thinking about everything I've just written?

So back off bitch. Find another patsy to destroy. You have already taken enough from me. Let me have some peace and enjoyment for once.

Please.

This inspiration for a post in this style comes from a fellow Blogger - I'm sure it won't be hard for her to figure out its her:

Working (Wo)man

2011-07-05T16:55:00.000-04:00

"I get up at seven, yeah,
And I go to work at nine.
I got no time for livin'.
Yes, I'm workin' all the time.

It seems to me
I could live my life
A lot better than I think I am.
I guess that's why they call me,
They call me the workin' man."

(Rush)

Ok so it's not quite a FULL TIME JOB, and I even scored lunch out of it with my new "boss", but I'm almost done with my first day!!!

It was pretty - well anti-climactic. He was busy with meetings in the morning so i was given a computer and kinda had time to myself. We then had lunch and a really long talk about real estate and law. Then he had more meetings.

So all in all, I finished my first day of work.

And it was good.

The Happiest Days of Our Lives

2011-07-05T09:08:00.000-04:00

Though the title of the song was written tongue in cheek, the title of this post is not meant to be.

If I've ever had a better weekend, I certainly cannot remember it. I spent Friday with Tova. I was able to sit and talk and eat with my best friends. Enough said.

Sunday i spent with David. We actually ended up pretty much staying at his parents. We hung out. spent time with his siblings, shopped for their Sunday night BBQ and then helped prepare. It was amazing. i actually felt like part of the family.

We BBQ'd Sunday night, they had one other family over, and it was really....well it was really nice.

I slept over at his parents Sunday night. Then Monday we went to one of his friends who has a pool. A bunch of his friends (some married, some not) were all there and we hung out the whole day. Again, I know most of his friends already so it was really good times.

Winter Is Coming

2011-07-01T09:31:00.001-04:00

The Stark family of Winterfell (do you know them???) have a family motto:

WINTER IS COMING

Their family crest (or sigul as they weirdly call it) is a huge wolf that no one in their family had even seen in 300 years.

It's not that they are pessimists. Rather, they are realists. Winter is always coming. It's simply a fact of life.

WINTER IS COMING.

I do not consider myself to be a pessimist. Nor am I an optimist. I'm a neutralist. I believe everyone's life is made up of both good and the bad. People have deaths in the family. People get sick. People break up. They sprain an ankle and therefore can't play their favorite sports all summer. They lost overtime at work and they can't get those Ray Bans. If it's winter to you, it's winter, regardless of whether the "bad stuff" is big or small.

WINTER IS COMING.

For the vast majority of my life, the composition of "stuff" in my life was made up of the bad. It doesn't matter in the end whose fault that is or what the bad stuff was (though I've spent time documenting both here). It doesn't change the facts any which way. Most of my life between the ages of 9 and 19 has been considerably more negative than positive.

So I understand the idea that winter is coming. Because it's always coming. The good never lasts forever. But neither does the bad.

Still, most of the time I do have a clench in my stomach - the wait for the other shoe to fall. The feeling that WINTER IS COMING.

So now, here's my life. The latest X-ray shows my lungs are clear. I may cough anywhere from 1-3 more months, but it's totally normal. I've gained back 6 pounds (YAY) and Doc cleared me to start going back to the gym (which I already did this morning). I'm doing really well in school and I'm set up to either go to grad school when I'm done (I've kinda been re-thinking that a bit) or get a career-oriented job. Tova is finally out of the hospital and I'm seeing her for the first time in FOREVER today. We are going to have lunch at her house then sit in her backyard.

This weekend is the Fourth of David and I'm gonna have myself a giant heaping plate full of David. We are spending the whole day Sunday together (plans to be determined) and Sunday night we are having a BBQ at his parents. Yes read that again. AT HIS PARENTS. As in, he's bringing me home to his family. (As an aside, I have met most of his family, even his parents, and they are very chilled, normal accepting people and I like them very much from what I can tell). Monday we are going to spend the day with his friends, again many of who I know, and it's gonna be a total blast.

OH and I'm starting my internship Tuesday. Better late than never, eh?

Right now, I'm in a literal and figurative summer. Thus my feelings of unbalance. I'm used to winter. And I'm not really 100% sure how to react.

Do I dare to allow myself to be happy, knowing what I know? Should I just live in the moment for now, to soak up the "good stuff" while it's happening. Can I even do this?

After all, WINTER IS COMING.

OK I Lied...

2011-06-30T14:45:00.000-04:00

I do indeed have somethnig to post.

I called my intern guy and, with almost tears in my eyes, asked whether that position was still open...

...and....

guess what?

IT IS.

Suddenly...

2011-06-30T09:39:00.000-04:00

I can't seem...

to find.....

anything....

to write about.

Coming Down Off the Ultimate High

2011-06-28T16:01:00.001-04:00

I'm very much in the clouds these last few days. I can't really concentrate on anything, nor do I care all that much. It's partially my "David High" and partly the fact that I need to start re-adjusting to the world again after being sick for so long.

I invited a friend over Sunday and we sat by the pool for hours. It's been a while since I've felt well enough to sit out. Oh and I also went out with David late afternoon. Good times.

Yesterday I cleaned up my room, opened my windows, and let a month of sickness out. I drove around and did errands, simple things, just trying to get back into normal routine.

I've started to eat regularly and I've even gained a little weight. Doc says if I feel up to it I can even start exercising again in a week. Can't wait.

Love Scene (Version 6)

2011-06-24T10:13:00.000-04:00

So what if it's cloudy, gray and raining - today is the most beautiful day! Been a long time coming no?

So details. You know you want em. And I know you want em cause you've requested them. So here they are (and for the record no, I don't remember every line of our conversation but what I write here is pretty damn close to word for word and no, after re-reading this, this post doesn't even come close to doing justice to last night - I'm not nearly a good enough writer to re-create that magic):

We met midtown, a few blocks form his office, at a coffee shop. I got there early and cleared the best, most secluded table in the place by doing what I do best - having coughing fits every 45 seconds. There's nothing like the angry glances of annoyed New Yorkers. Don't worry guys, I smiled sweetly at them, I'm not contagious. David walked in a few minutes late, wearing gray dress pants and a white shirt with blue stripes and 2 days worth of stubble - sigh, professional and perfect. We both ordered (me the 75 ounce latte and he ordered regular coffee, milk sugar) and sipped.

We made small talk for a few minutes while I filled him in on what's been going on with me the last several weeks (remember, I've been strenuously avoiding him since the Great Florida Fiasco). I told him all the stuff going through my head - being sick, possibly losing the internship, losing too much weight (which is where he cut in with "Oh my god yea, you HAVE lost a lot of weight. You look like a strung out crack whore" and then giggled into his coffee while I gave him a VERY disapproving stare).

I guess I was mad nervous because he asked me if being sick made me very weak. When I asked why he said it was because my hands were shaking a lot and he was wondering if it was connected to my pneumonia.

"I'm just nervous," I said.

He laughs. "Why would you be nervous? If this place frightens you so much, we could have gone to Starbucks." Everyone's a comedian.

"It's not the place. It's you."

He gives me surprised. "Me? Since when do I make you nervous?"

The first tears of the night spring out of my eyes. and then the words are spilling out right behind them. And I'm paraphrasing here but I spewed out something to the effect of - "Since I realized that I like you more than a friend. Much more. Since I never got any sign back from you that you liked me the same way - liked me at all more than a friend. And since when we were in your hotel room and I kinda asked you and you said we were just friends and I was scared to push you anymore because, David, you know I love you and I rely on you so much I'd much rather have you in my life as a friend than scare you away by telling you this so if ......"

So his face went from surprised to really surprised when I started this tirade. Then it softened. Which I, of course, read as pity. Pity for poor Cymbaline who deluded herself into hoping against hope that this wonderfully great guy could ever like her more than a friend. Thus the rambling at the end. i was trying to back my way out of the corner. But he finally cut me off. Mercifully.

"Cym, stop" he says with a smile on his face. And I do. I really have nothing more to say. I told him my deepest feelings and I really didn't have anything to add.

"It's ok, " I said. "It's ok if you don't feel the same way about me. I totally get it and..."

"Cym, STOP". And he's got this really big smile on his face, which is suddenly very annoying because why is he smiling when I'm baring my tortured soul to him.

"What are you grinning at?" I pout.

"You. Why are you such a lunatic? Why didin't you just talk to me?"

I look down into my frothy white beverage. "Because I'm scared you don't like me the same way."

He sighs. Now he's looking down into his significantly less frothy beverage. "Truthfully Cym, I have thought about it. About how I feel about you. And the truth is, I like you too. A lot. But you wanna know something funny? I never really thought someone like you would be interested in me. When I think about it, I always see you with some brilliant guy, a real go-getter and someone more....I dunno buttoned up than me. Also I know how you feel about orthodoxy and while I'm not the most religious guy in the world...." he trails off.

Well I don't have to tell you kids, this has thrown me for quite a loop. I mean here I am, waiting for the man of my dreams to reject me, but he seems to be telling me that he ISN'T rejecting me. I really, really, really want to get my hopes up at this point of the conversation but...

"So let me be clear about this," I say, "we both like, like each other but we assumed the other person wouldn't like them back?" He shrugs. What I love about men is how expressive they are.

"David, you are a total retard. How could I ever even FIND a guy better than you? You are smart, you make me laugh even when you are being mean (I am thinking specifically about the strung out crack whore reference as I write this), you are kind and caring. I don't care if you are religious. I assumed you wouldn't ever go for me because I'm NOT religious."

Well this back and forth went on for a while longer. Like three more hours. We finished coffee and I drove us up to his place. We had a light dinner (pasta and a salad - the man had greens in his fridge, I think he's a keeper!!) and we talked and talked. Finally I had a monster coughing fit and he offered to drive me home. I told him I was totally fine. in fact i was pretty sure i could float home. he said he didn't mind - he cold get a train back. I said no way, cause he had work the next day and there was now way I would do that to him.

I don't remember driving home. But I can tell you there was a big ass grin on my face.

And I can tell you I slept last night better than I have in a loooong time.

Fabulous 50!!! Aka Fuck Yea, Bitches

2011-06-23T21:07:00.000-04:00

Here's some breaking news for my, apparently, 50th post:

FUCK YEA, BITCHES!!!!!!!

Life, for once, is good. I'm good. I'm so happy. I can't ever really remember being as happy as I am now. I'm home, in my room and I'm crying tears of joy. In between coughing fits anyway.

David loves me and my life is good.

Cymbaline (the song, not me)

2011-06-23T14:10:00.000-04:00

"The path you tread is narrow
And the drop is sheer and very high
The ravens all are watching
From a vantage point nearby

Apprehension creeping
Like a tube train up your spine
Will the tightrope reach the end
Will the final couplet rhyme

And it's high time Cymbaline
It's high time Cymbaline
Please wake me"

Email to: David
From: Cymbaline
Subject: Meet up

D. After 6 months of hibernation, I'm ready to spread my wings and leave the homestead. Any chance we can meet up this afternoon? It would be awesomest if you could sneak out of work cause I don't wanna be out too late tonight (especially if i drive in instead of train-ing). What ya think?

Email To: Cymbaline
From: David
I'd love to meet u kid. What time do u think u will be here? It's slow here anyway. U want to get an early dinner somewhere midtown?

So there is is kids. I have a date. One way or the other, with destiny. Either way, Dave Gilmour is right - it's high time, Cymbaline. You can't wait forever. Sometimes you just have to go for it and hope that you reach the other side. This evening I am going to tell David how i feel about him. And tonight I'll either be the happiest girl in the world or suicidal (my method, if you really want to know, is to cough myself to death).

Many of you told me this is the way, so here goes.

Wish me luck. God knows I need it your wishes, my luck usually sucks.

Light Follows The Darkness (with a cruel twist)

2011-06-23T10:02:00.000-04:00

"Insert your own song lyrics here"

So I'm back. The fog has lifted (at least in my head, clearly not outside). I no longer feel the panic dread's hand gripping my heart and squeezing until there is nothing other than blackness, misery and self doubt.

As quickly as it descended upon me this week, it's gone.

And now I see light again.

The good things about these bouts with darkness is that I spend a lot of time thinking. And over thinking. And picking apart each and every single one of my problems. Why is that good? Because, occasionally, there is resolution.

Some issues have no resolution. Unless my mother decides to take a 10 year trip to Kalamazoo, she will still be in my life - nothing I can do about that.

But there ARE some things I can control. I know some of you have been closely monitoring what we can call The David Situation. Well, the situation basically came out of my fear of doing anything about it. Well, that is going to change. Maybe as early as today. Details to follow.

Now for the cruel twist: Tuesday night I had to get out. I had been lying in bed for 2 days in a bout of depression, barely rising to eat or...well to do anything. I did a little chatting online - well more like woe is me-ing, but otherwise....nothing. So I got in my car and I drove. No destination in mind. I ended up on a major highway going north, just thinking about nothing, seeing nothing but the headlights of the cars coming from the other direction.

Usually, the drives like this are the first step in my "recovery from darkness". The problem was - it's summer. So I had the air on and cranked. In my face. and i was breathing it in for a few hours. And my cough, which was starting to fade into the background, came back with a vengeance. When I asked my doctor about it the next day he basically said "Duh" and "Cymbaline, you are an idiot".

I'll write more later. For now I want to bask in the light.

PS. Everyone go read Chana's latest and greatest (There is a link on the right). I'm sure she wasn't, but she could have been writing to me directly. So I will thank her for her for the unintended assist.

Dark Side of the Moon

2011-06-19T21:49:00.000-04:00

"All that is now.

And all that is gone.

All that's to come.

And everything under the sun

is in tune

And the sun is ecliped by the moon."

I pretend I'm as normal as everyone else. Usually I can even fake it enough to fool you all.

But sometimes, for little or even no reason, I can feel the darkness closing in. The demonds come calling.

It's not a chemical imbalance, thank god. It's just a mood thing witha side order of hormonal goodness throen in for good measure.

But the darkness comes just the same. And when it does there's nothnig for it.

I feel the darkness closing in.

Time

2011-06-16T11:37:00.000-04:00

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
And racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in the relative way, but you're older
And shorter of breath and one day closer to death

Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone the song is over, thought I'd something more to say"

(Mason/Wright/Waters/Gilmour)

Read the lyrics - I assume no one ever reads the lyrics to my posts. But read these. They actually mean something. To almost everyone. First time I've ever posted the whole song.

To call this the most terrifying song I've ever heard is an understatement. Off of the classic Dark Side of the Moon album, this is one of those Pink Floyd songs you have for sure heard on the radio but never gave too much thought about.

I, of course, think about it all the time.

To me, this song is one of life's dirty little secrets - we spend our youth wasting the hours in an offhand way, waiting to get older so we can be "adults" and, therefore, real people, and then the next thing we know we are "lost in a haze of alcohol soft middle age" (though probably without the alcohol for most people - note: those lyrics are from a different song). Then you "run and run to catch up with the sun".

Every time I hear this song, I break out in sweats.

And yes, I'm sure everyone older than me reading this is shaking their heads and laughing - "this 'little pisher' is worrying about lost time? What about me? I am X years old, I hate my [job/life/family/lack of family] and I'm way too old to try again. Sshe has her whole life in front of her. Dumb bitch."

But that's just the thing. I've already wasted a good deal of my life. You all can look back at your childhood memories and be like "those were good times". Me? Shit I don't have too many chilhood memories. At least happy ones. And other parts of my childhood are a blur - either narcotically induced or intentionally blotted out of my head because they are too painful to think about. I don't have fond memories of sleepaway camp, or that summer working at a beach club or family trips (well, there were family trips, but I just don't have particularly fond memories of them).

And I worry constanrtly about my future too. What if i choose grad school then decide it was a mistake? That's two or three wasted years. Maybe I'm better off trying to find a job out of school and getting some work experience. Except there ARE no fucking jobs now and there might not be for many years. And don't you need an advanced degree to even GET a good job these days?

After I came out of my multi-year mission of self destruction, I set very clear goals for myself. They included no such small things as (i) finding a place in this world for myself, (ii) establishing a career, (iii) finding a man to love, (iv) raising a family and (v) being happy. You know, simple stuff. And in the past couple I've accomplished...not of it! I have no idea where I fit in the world, in Judaism, anywhere. I am seriously doubting my decision to take the LSATS and go to law school, the man I love likes me as a friend, at this point I'm decades away from a family and, though I hate to say it, I'm not particularly happy (though I can fake it a lot better these days).

And on top of it all, I'm feeling paralyzed. It's not just being sick and room ridden. It's much more than that. It's about the second half of the last paragraph. It's about for all the fact that I'm pushing so hard to go forward, I'm running on a treadmill. I'm not making any progress. And it's incredibly frustrating, to say the least.

YES, I recognize that emotionally and psychologically, not to mention physically, I'm in a much better place. I'm drug free, alcohol free (for the most part), my head's on straight (usually) and I am determined (almost always). But all that and a buck 25 gets me a diet soda at a machine. It's not HELPING me move forward. I'm pretty much in the same place I was in when I first decided on my life goals.

Where's the progress? Where's the ability to look in the mirror and say "look what I've accomplished"? Because the cold, hard reality is there is no progress. I haven't accomplished anything. It's like when you decide to refurnish your house and give yourself a year to do it and after the year is over all you have done so far is thrown out all the old shit and looked through a Pottery Barn cataloge. (And please don't comment that you can't bring the new stuff in till the old stuff is out. I KNOW that, but it has taken WAY too long.)

Every year is getting shorter. And I am starting to feel more desperate. There are so many things i want out of life, things I feel people should be entitled to. Some happy memories. A partner. A family. A career. Maybe I simply want too much. Maybe I should just be happy I'm not slutting around anymore and I'm safe. Who knows.

All I do know is the time is up, the post is over, thought I'd somethng more to say.

Wouldn't It Be Nice

2011-06-15T14:55:00.000-04:00

These are the things I'd Like to Think:

- That I'm less vulnerable than I really am.

- That I can handle actual adversity as well as I do in my head.

- That the next 10 years are going to be easier than the previous decade.

- That the life I think I want for myself is, indeed, the life I really do want for myself.

- That despite Tova's recent setback, she is going to live to see August.

- That David loves me but he just doesn't know it yet.

- That I'm actually doing something for little sis (and, by extension, her mother) - or at least was before I got sick.

- That I'm not making any major mistakes now.

- That I'm not completely hemmed in, despite the fact that I feel more sewn up every day.

- That people are, essentially, good.

- That the lightheaded spells are a result of the weight loss and nothing more serious.

- That I'll be back at the gym in two or three weeks.

- That the Internet strangers I've met really do care.

- That I haven't forgotten how to drive since my home imprisonment.

- That law school is a good idea.

- No matter how uncomfortable, living at home is truly my best choice for me right now.

- That I can trust myself.

- That the fact that I have been crying a lot just proves I'm not emotionally crippled.

- That there will be a time I won't have to lean on my therapist and still be sane.

- That I AM sane.

- That one day i will be fulfilled and happy.
- That I am emotionally capable of having kids and raising a family.

- That despite the damage I did to myself, I WILL be able to have healthy babies.

- That I can find a place for myself in Judaism.

- That I'm not completely fucking up and too fucking stupid to fucking realize it.

Waxing Poetic About The Boob Tube

2011-06-15T09:32:00.001-04:00

Yea yea, I don't wanna hear it. I like TV. Sue me. There's always the option of NOT reading....if you dare!

So every great TV show has that moment, that transcendent point in time when it goes from being a good show to being a great one. Lost had season three and the introduction of Ben Linus. (As an aside, when Lost was on, no matter how fucked up i was, i was always able to be in front of a TV for that little gem. Up until the last season, it is a top-three show for me - every single week they did something that dropped you in your tracks. Up until the end when the realized there was no way to tie it up, went back to an idea they swore wasn't the ending, and made that the ending - literally cheating millions of people out of closure. But I'm not bitter.) Justified went from good to great in Season 2 and the introduction of Mags Bennett. Battlestar Galactica (the greatest gift one of my ex-boyfriends ever gave me) has the opening minutes of the pilot. Gossip Girl had....haha just kidding. GG is great fun not a great show.

Then there is HBO's suddenly great Game of Thrones. Which, up until last night, I have been enjoying a lot. AFTER last night we can call this show transcendent. This show has it all. Deceit, far away lands and magic, handsome brooding men. Loads of gratuitous sex with top flight hookers and queens. Secrets and lies. A 9 year old who gets shoved out a high window. I mean, what else could you possibly want??? Mark it down kids, Season 1, Episode 9. And if you are watching this show and are not yet up to date I have 2 words for you...

SPOILER ALERT.

First you had massive amounts of time dedicated to one of the great tv characters of all time, Tyrion Lannister, aka, the Imp. We got some seriously juicy back story on him, right before he gets knocked unconscious on his way to do battle. Good times.

Then we had Khaleesi Daenerys Targaryen's crazy attempt to save Drogo with a magic horse (sorry, you had to be there) - even more fun times. All this capped off with.....

The terribly surprising and saddening death of Ned Stark- beheaded while sacrificing his honor (telling the truth about runty little Joffry Baratheon) for the love of his daughter (the vapid and annoying Sansa Stark) all while being observed by his plucky and awesome daughter Arya - which hideously backfires on him, but not before he kneels down to accept his fate making the Boromir "I just got hit with a third arrow and now there's no way I can protect the little ones and make up for trying to take the ring from Frodo" face. I was so thrown off by this turn of events I literally dropped an F-Bomb on the couch.

Yes, the majority of TV shows are garbage. Yes, people spend way too much time watching TV. But that doesn't make all TV bad.

Just look at Game of Thrones and see.

Childhood's End

2011-06-14T14:29:00.000-04:00

"You set sail across the sea
of long past thoughts and memories
childhood's end your fantasies
merge with harsh realities
and then as the sail is hoist
you find your eyes are growing moist
and all the fears never voiced
say you have to make the final choice"

(D. Gilmour)

APOLOGIES IN ADVANCE FOR THIS EXTENDED RANT. PLEASE INDULGE ME. AFTER ALL, THIS WHOLE PROJECT WAS STARTED FOR RANTS LIKE THIS.

AND BESIDES, IT HAS TO BEAT ME WHINING ABOUT MY PNEUMONIA....

Time on your hands allows for a serious amount of...stuff. Reading, watching TV, listening to music - lord knows everyone has their preferred method for killing large amounts of time.

The last few weeks, since finals ended and I got sick, have left me with more time than I know what to do with. I've caught up on TV shows and movies, I've read. I've actually written emails to a number of people I've lost touch with in the last six months to a year. These are all good things (assuming you count TV and movies as a "good thing").

But there has also been a lot of time left over for something else.

Thinking.

Thinking is a funny thing. It can be very good or very bad. Positive or negative. Useful or destructive.

Thinking also has a flip side - Overthinking. This phenomenon occurs when you spend so much time thinking about an issue - you turn it over in your head over and over - until eventually it becomes a WORRY. My mind is especially vulnerable to the Curse of the Overthink.

I was thinking about this because my next birthday will be the BIG TWO-ONE. You know, legal drinking age and all that. The last vestiges of being a child will be over.

Which begs the question (or at least begged the question for me). When does someone stop being a child and become an adult? Is it 18? 21? Legal definitions aside, what is the real time for the transition?

The truth is, there is no one size fits all answer. My older sister is still a child. The fact that she has a child is beyond me - shit, she can barely get through her day without calling my mother 17 times for advice.

But we have all seen or heard stories about young kids who, due to circumstances, were forced to make very adult-like decisions or grow up fast. Would anyone argue that the televised interviews done by Tamar Fogel after the murder of her family in Israel weren't extremely adult in nature?

Why do I care? Because I overthink.  Am I an adult? I like to think of myself as adult. If so, when did I become an adult? Was it the first time I realized that I am on my own? That, for whatever reasons, I couldn't rely on my family to help me? Was it the first time I used drugs? Or drank? Or gave myself away? Did these actions make me an "adult"? Or did they simply make me a bigger child?

But the truth is, it was not these actions which made me an adult. Nor was it the realization that I had no one to rely on but myself. Rather it was my reaction to these things.

I could still be doing all "the bad things" I did for most of my life. There is a fine line between salvation and damnation. But once you make the realization (alone or with help), you have two choices: You can blame the world for your troubles and sink deeper. Or you can take responsibility for your actions and rise up.

Isn't that really what being an adult means? Taking responsibility? For no longer relying on everyone else to do everything for you. To clean up your messes?

I chose to stop. I stopped taking drugs.  I stopped giving myself away (well, at least to people I didn't really know or who didn't really care about me).  I made a decision to try and rise above it. And really, all you can do is try. Sometimes you succeed. Other times you fail.

I spent a long time these past few weeks looking back at my childhood. It truly was a horrific mess. You know you are messed up when someone else asks you "have you ever done X?" (which is a pretty wild thing to have done by social standards, lets say) and you say, "well I've been TOLD I've done X but I don't remember actually doing it" - which I add to my claim to fame.

Am I embarrassed by my past?  I guess a little, but not nearly as much as others are of me. Am I proud of it? No. But I'm extremely proud of what I am becoming - especially in relation to what I could have been. As little as four years ago I was a complete waste of existence - barely floating through school, drinking and smoking shit, all the while treating my body like it was a best-seller at the public library.

I eventually got to be such a potential embarrassment for my family that my parents basically told me to fix myself or get out. Believe me, I could have said goodbye to them forever without ever looking back. I could have had guys lining up to provide me with basic shelter necessities (ie a roof, some food, alcohol and dope) in exchange for fixing their basic necessities. But instead I looked at myself - maybe for the first time. And while maybe I didn't admit it then, I realized was in trouble. And I needed to grow up.

So I made perhaps my first adult decision - I decided I needed help.

And my road to adulthood began.

Roller Coaster Baby

2011-06-13T11:48:00.000-04:00

Life certainly has a sense of humor.

Twisted as it may be.

So I just got home from the hospital. Free at last. Free at last. Thank the good lord I'm free at last (that's a paraphrase, btw)!

My lung infection, aka that tricky ol' pneumonia, begat secondary issues including, but not limited to, dehydration, weight loss and continuous low grade fever (like doctors have nothing better to worry about). Most of these things would have been fine..... if I was a 26 year old male who weighs 240 lbs. But I had (oh past tense!) a starting weight of approximately 110 pounds that plummeted (not my word) to....well let's just leave it at a lot less than 110 pounds.

Did I mention the constant coughing?

So after my first day shavuous collapse (well come on, it WAS really hot wasn't it??? I'm sure a few of you probably passed out too) I was rushed to the hospital where I was admitted for the plethora of reasons found above. Not to mention the coughing.

Being in the hospital really filled me with raw emotion. Most of it negative. I was really upset when they told me I had to stay. I begged the doctor to let me go. I probably would have thrown a fit but I simply didn't have the strength. In retrospect, my begging was probably half hearted at best. Thusrday I was really depressed. I hate the feeling of lack of control. And I felt that I had absolutely NO control over my life. I was weak, sick (did I mention the cough?) and I had IV drips for hydration and weight gain. IV drips? Really? I cried pretty much all day out of frustration. My poor father, stuck with me in the hospital after being up all night Tuesday night and then coming with me to the hospital Wednesday - he looked pretty strung out. And besides, it's not like the 2 of us have 24 hours worth of stuff to talk about.

Flash forward to Friday. Doc told my dad Thursday night I have to stay a few days. Stay a few days? Here? In the hospital? Another round of begging. Another loss for Cymbaline. Dad went home after the holiday with my list of things I was going to need to survive my SHORT stay. My older brother (thank god for him not having a job) brought my things Friday morning. He stayed a while and we joked about the negative odds of my mother making a visit to see me. Then he left.

Still depressed out of my mind, I called Tova. Lord knows if anyone knows how to survice stays in the hospital, it's her. She listened to me whine, complain and woe is me, told me to get over myself, suck it up, and be happy that my stay was of the very temporary nature.

By Friday afternoon 2 things were abundantly clear - I was rehydrated and the doctors weren't letting me out. They spoke to my dad and explained that since the pneumonia was still pretty strong, it paid to keep me over. Having become quite a stoic, i took the news well holding off on dropping any "eff bombs" until after everyone left the room. I told my father in no uncertain terms that he was NOT to stay with me all Shabbos, that I would be totally fine, and he reluctantly left me.

Long story short, Saturday and Sunday were boring ass to hell days, BUT the meds started working, I started eating solids (long live shitty hospital food!!) and god help me I actually felt better.

And now I'm home. I'm still weak and coughing, but I'm home. I ate tuna and tomato on whole wheat toast. My spirits are higher than they have been since the day I finished school (oh and I got all my grades back - I kicked ASS, even in the writing class where i handed in that crap story).

And I realized a few things - of course. Life's lesson's and all. One - I CAN survive without email and the internet - my genius brother brought my phone, 3/4 dead, and no charger. I found out it's actually not so bad to get yourself unpluged every so often.

I also learned that you need to keep things in perspective. Thanks Tova (though I KNOW you are holding to your word and not reading this!!) for making me remember that a few days in the hospital beats the shit out of a few months there.

Also, a word about my hospital roomate. Her name was Jessica. Jessica was probably around my age. I am not really sure what was wrong with her. We never spoke once the whole time i was there. In fact, she barely spoke at all. I think she was recovering from self inflicted wounds she got while trying to kill herself, but I'm not 100% sure. What I do know is that she was visited more by shrinks than regular doctors. So thank you Jessica for more help with that whole keeping things in perspective thing.

So there you have it. The update you have been waiting for (or not). The other thing - I solidified my plans for the road trip in august. It's a go. Details to follow.

One sad note - today would have been the day I started my internship. I was really looking forward to it.

Kill. Me. Now.

2011-06-09T21:51:00.000-04:00

So I'm in the hospital.

It seems I passed out yesterday. And they rushed me to the ER. Where I was admitted for dehydration and disturbing weight loss. Attached to pneumonia. Which i still have.

Despite my kicking and screaming, they are keeping me here for a few days. i have all kindsa great tubes in me.

Fun times.

Update 2

2011-06-06T12:23:00.000-04:00

Had to bite the bullet and call my summer intern boss to tell him there was no way I'm starting June 15. Not only that, sir, I cannot even begin to fathom when I will be well enough to start.

Boss was very gracious and told me not to worry, to focus on getting better and that the job will be there whenever I'm ready for it.

It's nice to know that you can "make it" to important positions in this world - positions which require you to make hard decisions and in fact o be a hard-ass - and yet still maintain your level of goodness, of humanity. I have met a number of successful people, women and men, who still remain good people despite the hardness of their jobs and the weight they carry at work. It's nice to know that's possible.

In the meantime, just pulling myself out of bed has become the hardness of MY job. Apologies to all my G-chat friends - I don't have the energy these days for it. It's nothing personal and I'm not ignoring you. I just can't. Hopefully my 2 line emails suffice :)

So my end of the summer road trip is a go. We are going "North". Why? Because we are gonna meet up with some friends from Toronto, so we decided for fairness sake, we can meet somewhere in the middle. This road trip is starting to get one of those "special trips you never forget type of feels". I will explain why some other time, but suffice it to say a guy I really like is very seriously contemplating coming with a few of his friends.

In the meantime - how about those suggestions for places to go North of New York and South of Toronto.....COME ON PEOPLE!!!