Old Poetry

I found this. I wrote it a few years ago. I'm not especially pleased with my careless use of grammar, lousy metaphors, or my lack of life experience, but I find my optimism and hope refreshing.

I'm going to say I've had a rough week.
I quit my job 
(A job I thought I would have for the rest of my life).
I write down everything I have to do at work in a notebook.
There's no system in place, 
No list of tasks for me,
I just work -
It's the only way for me to keep order -
The notebook. 
I fill at least a page a day,
Words, phrases,
Numbers,
Names. 

My friend,
My brother,
My evil twin,
The guy I'm not dating -
But everyone thinks I am -
Hurt my feelings.
I threw the notebook at his legs.
He laughed.
I ran over to punch him,
But it hurt me,
More than it hurt him. 
Papers fell all over.
He helped me pick them up. 

We had a talk -
The guy whose status seems mysterious, and I.
What are we?
Where are we?
Do we have to change?
Nothing seems clear
(at least to me).
I cried.
He hugged me.
And somehow this solution,
Makes a bigger mess. 
I walk away hiding my tears. 
He sees through me.
"Don't worry" he says,
Over and over.

I worry.
I worry because I have no job.
I worry because I just don't know if he understands.
I worry because even the stable things are unstable.
I worry how I will fix all the problems I managed to create - 
In just this week.
I worry God is not listening. 
I worry, if God is listening, he just likes to see me hurt. 
I worry about what I will do without the job, without the guy. 


I plan to burn the notebook
When I no longer need it.
I'll watch the pages crinkle and flame.
My heart will feel as though it might burst.
I'll cry.
The job, 
The loss,
Will rise up to the sky with the smoke.
The worry -
I hope -
Will accompany it.
The guy will hug me, as I watch a year of my life burn.
"Don't worry", he will say.
I won't worry.

Chess

Supposedly, chess players are good at moving forward in life, rather than continually thinking about what they should have done. I used to play chess against my iPod and computer frequently, until I learned how to beat the computer.

I'm reminded of chess because I've been thinking about the movie Spirited Away. It came up in conversation on Christmas Eve and I remembered that it had moved me in a big way, and I didn't quite remember why. Reading the plot online, I got to the very end, and as I read about a little girl walking away from a very close friend she may never see again, and being told not to look back, I remembered why I felt so strongly.

I can remember a number of walk-away moments in my life. There have been moments where I've stomped away in anger, and moments where I nearly floated away because I was so happy to leave. The walk away moments I remember most clearly are the ones that ripped my heart out so much that I don't know where my legs got the strength to take any steps at all. I imagine that's what this little girl in the movie felt as she walked away from her friend without looking back at his face.

According to the chess theory, walking away without looking back would be easier for a chess player, as they would be used to making moves and not being able to take them back, only think about the next moves forward. I don't suppose that my strength to take forward steps has much to do with my chess abilities, and I don't think little cartoon girl's did, either. Mostly, any ability I have in chess comes from picking up on patterns that the computer tends to use, and I can't really make many conjectures about a cartoon character's chess skills. 

To change the subject of this post completely, I should be quite happy today because I found a townhouse I would like to live in recently and settled on the purchase price today. People keep saying "congratulations", but I'm not quite sure why - I haven't accomplished anything special - many, many people own houses, and I don't even own this one, I just agreed to go ask the bank to help me buy it so that someday I can own it. Maybe my lack of excitement is due to the complete failure of the last condominium I was going to buy (see a post back in October for that story) and I don't see the point in getting excited about something that might not happen. Maybe I'm not excited because I'm scared I'm getting myself in way over my head with a 1200 sq ft townhouse, a garage, a basement, a deck, and a mortgage. Maybe I'm not excited because I'm afraid no one will ever come visit me, or that I will get lonely, or that I will be afraid when I'm there alone, in the dark, at night. 

Maybe, I'm just numb to any emotion at all. 

Maybe, I've had to turn around and walk away in horrible pain so many times now that I've just shut myself off. I don't feel the bad, but I don't feel the good, either. Certainly I'd remain calm, collected, and totally unaffected by a lousy chess move. I'd say "Oppps!" and keep on playing.

Maybe, I just live life like I play chess.

I Write

I don't have anything particular to say today. I don't even have any particularly entertaining stories to tell. Still, I have a desire to write. 

A few years ago I was having a rough day. I don't remember all the particular things that happened, but it was more difficult to manage than a normal day because I'd pulled a muscle in my neck and it was quite painful. After teaching a dance lesson with a friend I was more sore than before, and was discussing this with him as I walked out the door of his house. I remember that I was carrying an empty cake pan. 

Somehow, our conversation turned to something serious. This isn't surprising - we talked about anything and everything, which was, on that particular day frustrating for me. Having someone to talk to is great, but emotional intimacy often breeds deeper feelings that can be near impossible to manage in a strictly friendship setting. As my friend talked I said nothing. I had no desire to tell him that he was toying with my emotions, and so I started to cry. 

He thought I was crying because my neck hurt, so he took the cake pan out of my hands and started massaging my shoulders and neck. This didn't particularly help the situation, so I started to cry even more. He turned me around, and hugged me, and let me cry. I couldn't tell him way I was so upset, so he suggested that I write, to get it out. 

When I got home I took out paper and wrote about my day. I wrote about my sore neck, and the dance lesson, and my friend. Of course he had been right, I felt better.  

My neck isn't sore today, but I have a few other random physical ailments, and some big decisions weighing on my mind that, again, are making my days more difficult to handle than usual. This time, I write. I write because I've learned that off-loading my emotions onto another person is neither safe or fair. I've re-trained myself to desire prayer or writing over human comfort. I've learned to let me emotions go - go to God in prayer, go into music I play, go into ink on paper, or typing on a screen -  rather than just putting them in someone else's hands.

Arguments

My friend Jesse likes girls. He tells me about the girls whose phone numbers he gets, the girls who write on his facebook wall, the girls who he thinks are cute, the girls who he thinks are hot, the girls who bother him, the girls who call him, the girls who come to him with their petty guy issues (guilty), the girls he flirts with, the girls he e-mails. You get the idea - girls, girls, girls. Personally, I don't think anyone will ultimately find satisfaction in life through flirting. I think guys ought to stop focusing so much attention and energy on whatever attractive, hot girl is around to flirt with at the moment, and shift their focus towards a meaningful, lasting relationship with a female who represents more than just a sex object to them.  

I should mention that I do think Jesse is an awesome person and friend. We talk on chat, and on the phone, and have coffee dates, and I think it'd be safe to say that we're good friends. However, if Jesse moved to Minneapolis, or we hung out less, or talked less, my life would go on without too much trouble. I might cry a few tears once or twice, and there would certainly be times I would miss him, but I wouldn't be a wreck, or get an auto immune disease out of my upset-ed-ness. I care about him, but just not to that extent.

Last week, after having tacos at Moes, I skipped across the parking lot with Jesse to Starbucks for some caffeine. After taking probably ten minutes to order our beverages we sat down by the window, and Jesse told me how hot one of the girls behind the counter at Moes had been. I nearly spit my coffee out - I'd labeled the girl as fake looking, and was somewhat disgusted that this is even remotely attractive to guys. The two of us had a heated discussion about what girls look like, and continued on and off for the rest of the evening about this. Every time a girl walked past the window he'd ask me if I thought she looked fake, too. I went home, though, and forgot about the whole thing (until I was needing an example for this blog post). It certainly has had zero effect on my friendship with Jesse.

A few years ago, after having some sort of disagreement that lasted for a few days, I asked a friend of mine if he was angry with me. He said no, he wasn't angry, and that he'd only ever cared about three women enough to be angry with them. At first I thought this theory was wrong, because I argued with people I didn't care deeply about all the time. My argument with Jesse is a perfect example.

Then, one day, I cared about a man enough to get angry with him. I'd raise my voice, or give him the silent treatment and stomp out of his car without a hug goodbye. Then, I'd go lay in my bed with a pile of tissues and cry for a little while. The predominant thought in my head, though, was rarely "That jerk! I could kill him!" but "Why didn't I just hug him, and smile, and move on?"

I see myself do this all the time. I tiptoe around the emotions of people I'm not tied to, and lash out at the ones I truly care about. Instead of saying my piece and then letting it go, I let it get personal, and then I let it explode. I'm not the only one who does it, I see plenty of other people do it, also. I don't know why people do this - maybe because we feel safe to let our emotions out with people we are closest to? I think we all so often forget the last step of arguments, when it comes to the ones with people we care most about - the part where you just forget about it, forgive/makeup, and move forward as normal.

If we forgive the people we don't really love so easily, then wouldn't it make sense to be even more forgiving after arguments with those we do care for?

What Hurts The Most?

I met my friend Dave when we were both 15. We talked on and off for most of high school, but really connected when we were 18. We didn't see each other much. I was in college in central PA and he was up in NY working random jobs. When I was home on break we'd go to movies, or wander around the bookstore for hours, or eat fried foods at Friendly's. Once we threw knives at cardboard to test how well they worked.

When I was off at school we talked. We talked on AIM, we e-mailed, we had phone conversations. We talked so much I had to buy a bluetooth headset for my cell phone. I'd cook dinner while we talked, and then we'd watch the same TV show while talking on the phone. I told him nearly everything; we were best friends.

After nearly two years of this Dave enlisted in the army. He spent a few months in boot camp, then got sent to TX, and then a year later was preparing to go Iraq. I was a wreck in the weeks preceding his departure. I remember sitting in his jeep, not wanting to get out and watch him pull away, because maybe I'd never see him again. He told me he loved me. He told me he'd be back in the US by the following Christmas. Nothing made me feel better - watching your best friend go off to war just isn't easy.

The evening before he left we talked on the phone until he had to shut it off to put it in storage. I told him I'd e-mail. We said goodbye, and I hung up the phone, and started crying. I was sitting in my desk chair, and let myself fall onto the floor, and cry. My friend Sylvia came and hugged me while I cried. The next day, in an attempt to make me feel better, my friend Chris got some french fries from the cafeteria, and we went to play the organ for a few hours, but I felt too sick the eat the french fries.

I felt sick the next day, and the next day, too. I recall telling Dave how sick I felt in several e-mails. The sickness didn't go away, but got worse. I was exhausted, and took 3-4 hour naps every day. My stomach was cramping, and sometimes the pain was too intense to even sit/stand up. I started eating bland foods, chicken broth and saltine crackers, but that didn't help. I couldn't digest a single thing.

When my doctor diagnosed me with celiac disease a few months later, more things than just my stomach cramping and energy level improved. Problems I'd had for years and years, such as dizziness, skin rashes, and hair loss, disappeared, too. Everyone wondered what caused the celiac to become such a problem when it did, but I figured it out quickly, especially when I read that a possible trigger is emotional stress.

Sometimes, people ask us to downplay our emotional turmoil. We're told to just keep smiling, to "fake it 'till you make it", to keep living. Sometimes people tell us to be thankful that we're not sick with cancer or whatnot. I'd like to argue that hurt is hurt, pain is pain, and the lines between physical and emotional are not well defined. The things that hurt us the most, that get under our skin and stay there, are powerful. I don't care if it is an infection or a person - huge, all-encompassing hurts are possible.

I'm not saying all this to say that my life is terrible, or my disease is terrible (it isn't), or that dying of cancer isn't terrible (it is). I'm just acknowledging the emotional pain and physical pain are linked, and in many cases, just different manifestations from the same root cause.

My Dad explained it to me very simply once, when I was about 13. The word disease can be broken down into "dis" and "ease". It simply means to not be at ease.

My Mornings This Week

I've had some crummy mornings this week. Usually I wouldn't share, but I honestly think it's humorous.

Sidenote: Cross contamination is a big issue when you are a celiac. So, things like butter and cream cheese, where the knife goes back and fourth between the bread and the cream cheese, can be problematic - bread crumbs are left behind! Most people solve this by having two containers of condiments, one for gluten free bread items and one for normal bread items.

Sidenote 2: My commute to work is all of 8 minutes. However, there is construction at a major intersection on my route. Currently the workers seem to be at the paving stage.

Monday: I used the last of the gluten free cream cheese on my bagel.

Tuesday: I realized I never bought new gluten free cream cheese, and decided the normal cream cheese didn't have enough crumbs to make me sick. Clover Street is down to one lane because of paving and it takes me 25 minutes to get to work.

Wednesday: I wake up before my alarm with horrible stomach cramps. For breakfast, I'm ready with new, un-contaminated cream cheese for my bagel, but I discover the microwave is broken so I can't defrost my bagel. On the plus side, traffic runs smoothly!

Thursday: I get woken up by stomach cramps far before my alarm. By now I've figured out maybe using that cream cheese wasn't such a good idea. I manage to fall back asleep, and have horrible nightmares, and oversleep by 20 minutes because of them. The microwave is still broken, so no breakfast for me - not that I'd want to eat it, with the gluten reaction, anyway. I manage to get in the car 2 minutes before I usually leave for work, but sit in traffic for 25 minutes, again, so I'm late for work. Luckily my boss wasn't home. Unluckily, she wasn't home to notice the dog poop in her kitchen. I notice the dog poop as I am walking through the kitchen, and then hear a squish. I hop into my office on one foot and take off my shoe so I can go wash it. As I'm walking back into the kitchen (via a different route than the first time) I step in more dog poop, but this time in my sock. 

Note that this is the end of my post, and it is only Thursday. I'll see what tomorrow brings!

The Closing From . . .

Today I swore. I don't usually swear, so something must be especially frustrating for me to do so. My statement was "This is the closing from hell". 

Let's recap my home-buying process over the past 3.5 months:

I put in my purchase offer  on a condominium the end of June. 

One and a half weeks later the negotiating was over and I received signed paperwork from the seller.

I applied for an FHA mortgage the beginning of July. 

On August 13th I was denied for the FHA loan, because the condo project was not approved for FHA loans. I proceeded to apply for a conventional mortgage. 

On August 28th, my expected closing date, paperwork was not in from the homeowner's association. 

On September 28th, one month after my expected closing date, the paperwork was still not in. 

On September 29th the paper work was in, but I was denied for the conventional mortgage because the paperwork had not been sufficient. 

I was offered a portfolio loan, which I accepted on October 2nd. This loan was denied by a mortgage processor that same day.

The loan, and my file, were taken to the president of the bank on October 6th, and approved. Closing was being scheduled for October 9th. 

On October 8th (today), my attorney discovers that the title is not clear, and advises me strongly against closing until this is cleared up by the seller's attorney. Closing is being scheduled for the end of October. If the title is not clear, I will be walking away from the deal.

Sometimes, there are morals to my stories. A possible moral for this one is to buy a house with cash - at least you could avoid the bank problems. I have a few others, but they are too violent to share publicly. The truth is, whether the industry is a mess or not, buying a home is a smart financial choice if you have a sum of money to use for a down payment. But, go into the process with two expectations. First, that you will drive the progress. Second, that your timeline, as clearly as you state it, is dependent on many things, so you might as well think of home buying as a ongoing process that will have a large presence in your life for several months.