My Big Sigh

We’re already arguing.
I wouldn’t say that we fight. No, that’s not really the way I do things. When differences turn to argument, than sway into blood rushing to the face and words taking on their own strength of force beyond either my or his control, I step away. I step back to assess and come back to face the topic when we can be adults again; When the waves of emotion are more like ripples than tidal blows. I don’t fight anymore when it’s just not worth it. Nobody wins in a fight.
I can’t really say what it is we argue about, because it’s everything really. It’s the way I respond or don’t respond. It’s the way I walk away when he gets mad, or the way he does when I try to talk to him. It’s the empty moments when I want to connect and he’s too tired, too busy, or too caught up in his own life. It’s how we talk over each other, how I don’t have a job and find things to do with my time that annoy him. It’s how I react to small town life and fight back tears of frustration, loneliness, and loss of my old life. It’s wanting so badly to be happy and enjoy this time we have to finally be together, and how hard it is, how much it hurts to be in this place where things aren’t quite right between us. It’s hearing my best friend say “I can tell things aren’t going well,” and wanting to put on a happy face and tell her she’s wrong. It’s wanting things to be back to the way they used to be and not knowing how to change this place he and I have come to and move past it. We don’t argue over anything big, or anything most couples don’t run into eventually. But it’s hard. It’s hard to adjust to being here and feeling the things that I do and not knowing what to expect.
It’s a week of staying up at night and looking at the stars under a sky of promise, knowing that we’re wasting these moments arguing. And wanting everything to be better.

My Home, Your Home

My first group of potential home-renters walked through last night. They were two females in their mid-twenties excitedly anticipating the next phase of independent living. They chattered excitedly over my home, the spaces I created, the wall we painted, the details I so painstakenly planned and looked over when I bought the place a year and a half ago. It was strange. It was eerie. It was really happening.
It's going to be harder to leave this place than I'd first imagined. As a female, your home is your nest. A little space you make your own and find comfort; where you get away or entertain. It's your private world. I feel intruded upon in a way you bring upon yourself when showing your house. Every person will pass judegement you have to sit and take with ease.
Eventually, it might become my summer home. But for now, I'm faced with the challenge of letting go and letting someone else create their home in mine.
I just hope I choose well.

Tense

Tense

I've been so tense lately. I don't know exactly why, but it got to the point yesterday that after almost a month, I found myself ravaging through the glove compartment SURE I had a stash of ladies cigars tucked away. THEY HAD TO BE THERE!!!
Alas, they were not. My last hope of trying to relax. I took a walk instead. A very short, very cold walk. But it kick-started my thoughts.
I'm dying to write again. I can feel something forming, it just doesn't break through. Times are changing, life is changing, and this is always when my pen begins to flow. As I prepare for the great unknown, interviewing renters, clearing out clutter, and taking an asessment of my life, I feel lost and excited and somewhat scared. I still can't believe I'm moving.
I'm will be mobile again. Opportunities are calling, and I'm not one to sit back and let them pass by. Will I finally visit New York? Los Angeles? I can't help but wonder if a home with my boyfriend... a long distance relationship that is begging to be re-fed... will give me the chance to travel some more. When I'm finally with him, will he let me go again to pursue other ventures?

I feel blown by the wind, but with a sense that I'm both in and out of control of the course it blows. So much spinning, and spiraling-- An old friend came back in my life after months and months of parting courses. It was a reconnection that needed healing, talking, and making ammends. These loose ends are being tied up all over my life. I'm holding on and letting go and saving money for a feeling I may need it soon.

Today my jumbled thoughts spill out clinging to one another.
Time, as always, is my best friend and my worst enemy when it offers the chance to make things right and mix them all up again.

I'm Leaving

I can't believe the time has come. Seattle has been my home and a place I've grown to love, from the funky little shops downtown with narrow streets beckoning shoppers to sample fresh cheese, sip a fine roasted cup of coffee, or finger trinkets from street vendors peddling their goods. The streets have a life of their own here. They're alive in a way I've never seen before. The smells melt from savory puffs of roasted beef, to ethnic spices floating down to the street, even fresh fish being tossed among barking butchers at Pike's Market. The people of the street are fascinating. Each sect has taken up habitation in their own place and rarely mingle. The coffee shop and business crowd cluster in their section of town, riding the same busses and making playdates among high class housewives. The artists have their own haunts and venues, along with college students, and each linguistic and cultural community represented by every ethnic region imaginable. Diversity is a fact here.
The neighborhoods I revelled in discovering, the spots I called my own, and the people with whom I found a rare connection will be passing away from my life. At least for now.
I've already begun to mourn for the pieces of me I will leave behind. But I will let myself mourn only for the reason that it will let me get it out to embrace a new beginning.
And so the city girl of Seattle will be setting out to make a change, give a chance to a relationship, and try out her fingers in the lacings of small town life.