It feels like a break-up. That’s the closest emotion I can conjure up. When you go through a break-up, you have the immediate, initial reaction of tears, and then you pull yourself together, and then you freak out about feeling somewhat okay, because things are not okay.

I am wearing old jeans and a sweatshirt that technically belongs to an ex-boy. My hair is a mess and I’ve made no attempt to tame it. And right now, I don’t care.

There is part of me that is devastated. After all the awfulness of 2011, this job appeared in December (within walking distance of home, no less!) and suddenly everything made sense. I moved to DC in September 2010 for a job that didn’t work out, for a life that didn’t work out, and since everything happens for a reason, all that happened because this magical living opportunity was going to land on my lap, because this magical job situation was going to land on my lap.

There is a part of me, however delusional, that this happened for a reason too.

An answer to a clue of jeopardy reminded me of a song I haven’t listened to in forever (“I’m Movin On, by Rascall Flatts). I remember listening to that song over and over again in December of 2004, right before I finished college. This was after a fairly difficult year, when things were finally working out.

There’s a line “I’ve found you find strength in your moments of weakness.” and “I know there’s no guarentees, but I’m not alone.” If I know nothing else, I know this: I have the best friends and family that anyone could ask for. And that I have had moments in my life where I felt devastated, as if nothing would ever be okay ever again, and there were certainly times when I felt worse than this.

And as delusional as it sounds, something is going to come out of this. This.Is.Not.Over.

(and to those of you who have been putting up with me since Wednesday, I am so grateful to you. I know I say it all the time, but you are all amazing)

When I got the job offer for The-Job-That-Wasn’t 2.0 I was in the West Village, in a Starbucks. It’d been a frantic few days, since Keithers needed to know like, last week whether he was looking for a studio or a 2 bedroom.

A tiny little voice inside of me said “don’t do it.”  I’m not sure why, but self-preservation is a powerful thing and it tried to shout in my ear, and I was stupid and ignored it.

I did it anyway. And then knew from Day One that the job was wrong.

That decision was a year and a half away and a million years ago. There were other paths I could have followed. I could have stayed in Jersey. I could have waited until February and moved to DC with no job. I chose.

And then after rehab, after it was all over, I could have run. It would have been so easy and sensible to curl up in Jersey. I’m still not sure why I didn’t, even though Brent was like ‘do that.’  Instead I stayed. Against rational.

So, here I sit, (typing on my roommates computer; mine is dead) with a different job, different apartment, and just a life that is so much different than the one I allegedly moved down here for. I live in Alexandria (not DC) and work in Alexandria too. My roommate is among the closest of friends I have in the DC area because proximity will do that to you. I have friends down the street.

I love, love, love Alexandria in the way I used to love Astoria, and that is saying a hell of a lot.

Alexandria, VA. Who the hell would have thought?

The first nine months of 2010 were mostly smooth sailing. It’s true I was obsessed with escape; I wanted out of Jersey, and I wanted into DC, I wanted out of the “assistant trap” of my then current job and into something more “career oriented.” But I was okay. My job itself had few faults, I had my two best friends right in town, and really, I’m an introvert, so all that alone, isolated time was not really a big deal.

Then I moved to DC in September of 2010 and it fell apart very, very quickly.

2011 was awful. It was the worst year of my life, no doubt.

Things came together so quickly, and I didn’t realize it completely.

I was back in the hospital again and out of nowhere, got offered a spare room in Alexandria (right outside DC). I. Have. No. Idea. Luck? God? Fate? Mayans getting in their kicks before the world ends? I have no idea.

In September, I moved into my miraculous housing-find in Alexandria. In October I had some boy-drama for the first time in many years. It was dumb, and he was dumb, and I was dumb, but whatever I felt over the course of it was completely and totally human.

It has been years since I felt so completely and totally human over a boy. And so it was.

And then in early December, everything came together. And I have no idea how it happened, but I wound up with a job that is 7 minute walk from my apartment.

So I wonder. As is my nature. WHAT THE FUCK NOW.

This living situation was meant to be temporary, for one. This weekend finds me getting rid of my moving boxes because I am certainly not moving in February 2012 (that was in my head as a deadline) because I am sick of looking at them. When I move I’ll suck it up and just buy more boxes. Right now, I want them all to go away. I want to feel settled.

Here.

Be Here.

2010
2009
2008
2007
2006
2005
2004

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?
Well, I could list all those things like winding up in a psych ward, an inpatient rehab, and making a record number of trips to ER, but that’s just depressing, isn’t it?

2. Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don’t think I made any New Year’s resolutions. This year my New Year’s resolution is no more trips to ER

3. What countries did you visit?
None

4. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?
Continuous sobriety and ego strength.

5. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory?
It’s kind of a blur – unemployment and too much drinking will do that to you. I will probably never forget March 6-7 though. And there are plenty of eventful things I’ll never forget either

6. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Not giving up on DC – I didn’t run back to Jersey, despite being tempted to do so many times (Getting offered my old job back, being angsty and a mess at the end of October). I stuck it out here, and I forced myself to go out and be social, and I found a job. Although the life I’m creating is in Alexandria, and not DC proper. Believe me, this is not what I planned, but this little corner is good for me.

7. What was your biggest failure?
Drinking too much and doing stupid/destructive things while drunk

8. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Lots of black and blues and hangovers/withdrawals.

9. What was the best thing you bought?
The best thing I did was hire movers to haul my stuff from DC to Alexandria, because they were awesomely efficent

10. Whose behavior merited celebration?
So many people.
Jill-IAN: For continuing to make me laugh hysterically at the craziest things, and, as she did 5 years ago, refusing to let me mope.

Joe: For always knowing the right thing to say and being on my side even when I’m wrong.

Ellie: For listening to me and encouraging me and sending me a plane ticket to visit her at the height of my drama and angst and weepiness. (Even though I didn’t get to use said plane ticket. Ellie should use it to come visit me instead. Hint. Hint. Hint.)

Charlotte: For being my twin from across the ocean.

Various Message Board of Note People, who I won’t list for fear of leaving someone out, who read my angsty-whiny posts and responded with support every single time.

Keithers: For being understanding, for taking care of things while I was away from DC, for looking after me even though it wasn’t his job and I sometimes resented it, and for being the best roommate ever, even when I was being the worst.

The Roommate: For giving me a place to stay when I had nowhere to go and removing 10,000 tons of stress, and for being the best roommate ever, even when I was being the worst.

Brent: No words necessary. He is my best friend.

Basically I have amazing people in my life. I am very lucky.

11. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
First and foremost – my own. Hundreds of times. More minor – occasionally co-workers at the Job-That-Wasn’t-2.0.

12. What did you get really, really, really excited about??

Moving to Alexandria. Finding a new job.

13. What song will always remind you of 2011??
The entire Taylor Swift album “Mine,’ particularly the song Long Live, several songs that the girls in rehab played incessently (Firework, Turn on the Lights, and One Step At A Time), White Horse, also Taylor Swift (“cause I’m not a princess, this ain’t a fairlytale”), Just The Way You Are, Bruno Mars, Until The Night, Billy Joel, Bend and Not Break, Dashboard Confessional, The Way You Loved Me, Taylor Swift, Songs Like These, Carrie Underwood, Spring Street, Dar Williams,

14. Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder?
Thanks to the last couple weeks, happier.

15. What do you wish you’d done more of?
I wish I had socialized more and gotten out of the Glover Park place more.

16. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Drink

17. How will you be spending Christmas?
Jewishly

18. Did you fall in love in 2011?
No.

19. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

No.

20. What was the best book you read?

Middlemarch, George Eliot. A classic I’d never read.

21. What was your greatest musical discovery?
N/A

22. What did you want and get?
I got myself fired from my job instead of having to quit (well not exactly), I got a new place to live that is way, way, way better than Glover Park, I wanted to be more social, and I am, and I wanted a new job, and I got that. I am crossing my fingers that this isn’t another case of getting what I want and then watching it all blow up in my face.

23. What did you want and not get?
Sigh. It was unwise to want what I thought I wanted in the first place.

24. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
My birthday was uneventful, but celebratory. It fell on the same day as my parents’ “supper club” with the psuedo family. I turned 28.  I’m going to be 30 before I know it – shoot me in the head.

25. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

I can’t think of anything. Well, I can – but, anything to happen differently would mean I wouldn’t be exactly where I am right now, and I think I am finally, finally in a good place. So, for all the disappointments, I’m very grateful to having been dropped into Alexandria for living/job.

26. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2006?
I was unemployed for months – so I wore a lot of whimsical pajama pants

27. What kept you sane?

This is a trick question since I went completely insane in 2011. What helped was my parents, Brent, Keithers, The Roommate, and MBON. Oh, and Xanax.

28. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most??
Other than the usual stand-bys (Christopher Meloni, as Elliot Stabler, Josh Lyman, Jon Stewart), I did develop a thing for the local weatherman, as well as a contestant on the Jeopardy tournament of champions.

29. Who was the best new person you met?

Technically, I met The Roommate in 2010, but that hardly counts. I am incredibly grateful for the amount of meeting, which led me to have a place to live. Some drama happened, but I think we’re okay

30. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011?
“If you are going through hell, keep going.”

That when it comes to boys, I will never learn.

I wish you would

I am several degrees of crazy and I do really, really stupid things.

2011 has been a bitch of a year, and I’ve been a bitch of a person. I am difficult, at best. You have put up with me. I know this.

Please give me 2012 to prove myself. I am not hopeless. I hope.

Dear 2011,

Fuck you. Seriously. Fuck. You. You have been nothing short of awful.

In you, I have self-sabotaged, beaten myself down, and killed every good thing that could have come out of you. You are awful. You are almost a totally worthless waste of a year. You don’t even get to take credit for the amazing people in my life that helped me survive you, because guess what? Most of them hate you too.

I have watched you hurt people I love. I have watched incredibly good people wind up with bad circumstances, and that is your fault. You did this. Not them. So many people I care about are dealing with untenable situations. Sickness be it physical or mental, they are suffering. Fuck you for creating these problems in the first place, fuck you for giving these problems to people who don’t deserve to ever cry, and really just….fuck you; what kind of year brings cancer to all ages, hospitalizes a few for mental illness, and winds it up with domestic violence? Fuck you, 2011. I hate you. I hate you so much.

I should have known you were going to be a bad year. I wanted to be optimistic about you. You started fucking things up from day one. In two days you gave me a bad date, a bruised leg, and an ER visit. (That makes it sound like I had an abusive date. I didn’t; I went out with a very nice boy, but I resorted to my usual MO. Upon realizing I didn’t like-like nice boy, I proceeded to drink away my feelings in a wild night on the town with Keithers. We went to a really shady strip club because it was the only bar in proximity that was open. The ER part was because I got drunk enough to scare Keith into thinking I was going to die, and he called 911.)

From Day 1, 2011, I have just been trying to survive you. For all the times I said I wouldn’t (but did) buy vodka at the little store right across from my bus stop. For all the times that I had to close my office door and cry. For all the moments in rehab when I felt like I was back in middle school. For all those days in that horrible, horrible summer where I simply could not get out of bed. For the mornings I lay there with my eyes squeezed shut praying that somehow I would not have to wake up again.

For that day I called Brent and sobbed on the phone for almost 2 hours in a “Come to Jesus” type scenario. For that day Brent told me “I’m tired of caring about you.” Because really. I am too much to deal with and sometimes, people just get sick of worrying about you.

(Fuck you 2011, in case I haven’t said it enough)

I hate you, for all the vague fantasies you gave me of simply stepping in front of a bus.

And

And yes, I will grant you the points in which it got better. I found a place to live (thank you Roommate), I found a combo of meds that doesn’t suck when I remember to take them properly.

But, fuck you, 2011.

In you, I remembered what it was like to like-like a boy, and then in you remembered how to sabotage things with a boy. In you, I got to hear the words “I don’t want you.” and “I will never fall in love with you.” Thanks a lot 2011, because I hadn’t heard those words since 2004, and you know what, they don’t suck any less at 28 as they do at 21.

I hate you for the way I sunk into self-hatred and angst. I hate you for that panic attack in front of strangers. I hate you for still letting me feel like I would never be good enough. I hate you for the anxiety that keeps me from taking the escalator at Dupont, for the angst that made me utterly unattractive, for the nights where sleep alluded me until 5am, for the self-doubt, for the self-destruction, for the self-loathing. I hate you.

Some might say that I should give you credit for the good things in my life. Supportive family and friends for one. The new living situation that came out of nowhere when I needed it the most. The strangers who walked me home after the panic attack. The Message-Board-of-Note people who have responded to my angsty, whiny postings with nothing but support. The amazing people in my life who know I’m a head case and love me anyway.

Well, fuck you 2011, because you get no credit for that. That was all me. That was not you. And while you may say I’m a hypocrite for blaming you for the bad and taking credit for the good, I will say that is just proof of the one good thing to come out of you: This is not over, 2011. Your calendar may be closing, but This is Not Over. You didn’t win. I’m still here.

I’m still here.

Good riddance,

Rachel

And you ask me what I want this year
And I try to make this kind and clear
Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days
Cuz I don’t need boxes wrapped in strings
And desire and love and empty things
Just a chance that maybe we’ll find better days

If you’d asked me a few weeks ago what I wanted for Christmas, I’d have said “a job.”   Christmas came early. December 2011 is like an abusive boyfriend, bringing me flowers the morning after giving me a black eye.

So for Christmas, (and for the New Year) I still want Better Days. I want days of clear-headedness and focus and productivity. I want as many days possible free of angst and tears.

I just want to be happy. And I want 2012 to treat the people I care about better than 2011.

I am on a northbound train to Jersey – I’m making a quick trip for Christmanukah.

I’m watching Love, Actually on my laptop. I’ve started this movie twice in the past week or so, and just never finished it. This is the perfect Xmas movie. And a perfect movie for me to watch when I’m spending the last couple weeks of 2011 high on life.

And of course, I’ve been walking around humming “All I Want For Christmas Is You” under my breath. It was during my last days at Skidmore that I became obsessed with this movie, and I played the song in my car constantly. One night I picked up Sebastian and I had it playing and he laughed at me saying “All YOU want for Christmas is HWSNBN.”

He was right, but I was in such good spirits, I couldn’t be bothered to be embarrassed.

This Christmas there is no one I am unrequitedly coveting. (though the “this is self preservation” scene, where Kiera Knightly realizes that Andrew Lincoln is totally, quietly, unrequitedly in love with her still gives me pause. And the “To me, you are perfect scene.” Because sometimes, in the throes of unrequitedness, the simple act of caring for someone has to be enough.)

Because for all the times in my life when I felt like my heart was breaking, I have never been sorry for caring about someone, even with my history of being misguided. I sign cards “With love” and say “love you muchly” before I get off the phone. It is, perish the phrase, a season of love.

So despite the cold, cynical parts of my heart, this year I will continue to embrace the warm fuzziness and use the season as an excuse to be a sap. I will forgive, and make amends, and love unapologetically.

And so of course, I had to kiss him. Again.

Last weekend I was seriously stressing about how insanely high my credit card bill had gotten. I knew paying rent and COBRA wouldn’t be a problem, but I’d be dipping into my savings way more than I liked (and oh how the savings dwindle when you are unemployed.)

On Tuesday evening I got the email: “We are prepared to make you the following offer.”

On Friday I had a job. Not only a job, but one that was a promotion from the one I’d originally applied for. The CEO was impressed, they said. (Please note: I now work for a very, very tiny company, one even smaller than The-Job-That-Wasn’t 2.0. But hey, it’s still a cool thing to impress a CEO enough to get you out of the assistant trap and get you into a job title that won’t make you self-conscious to hand out business cards.)

So Friday night I couldn’t stop smiling, and I made the first level of the pies for my impending dinner party, and when The Roommate got home, we just hung around, occasionally exchanging bits of commentary, and yeah, I know there’s been pseudo-drama with us that’s mostly my jack-asinine behavior that’s at fault, but it is nice that we can just “be” when we’re around each other. And then we made an amusing trip to Target Saturday morning.

Michael came over around noon on Saturday, and I had not seen him in months so it became a very fun session of cooking, reminising, catching up, babbling, and yes, lets talk about how Rachel loses her gaydar completely when a Libertarian is involved. Michael is one of the most gregarious people I know and he will engage anyone in just conversation or whatever. So while we were cooking and talking, The Roommate was putting together chairs (wins more Roommate points for engaging my dinner party that logistically was going to be a mess although a few expected people didn’t show, so it would have worked out) and I think Michael actually forced Roommate into having a good time. Which I did not know was possible. The Roommate does not have fun.

And then – successful party, I think. The food wasn’t as good as it could have been, I forgot to put out cheese with the chili, and the salad just never got made. But we all just hung around the table, and people laughed a lot, so is that a good sign of a successful gathering? I think so. Plus, it was also an impromptu celebration of my new job.

And then, I had a date, of sorts, on Sunday. This is a change from my usual mode of boy drama. This boy has told me straight out that he likes me, told me he thinks I am “beautiful and intelligent”, and held my hand in public. He made me feel adored, which made me realize – the recent boy I like-liked never made me feel like that. He was very good to me in many ways, from the pajama pants to the pancakes, (and one time, in the midst of the worst panic attack I have ever had he made sure I was safe and protected). And to him, I owe the roof over my head. I will always be incredibly grateful to whatever bizarre arrangement the roommate and I have. But I get his point now. It has been so long since I dated and I am so used to emotionally unavailable men, for whom you have to fight for an ounce of their attention. I forgot that sometimes you can just be yourself, and a boy will like you and pay attention to you.

This isn’t going anywhere yet. It hasn’t even started. But he held my hand in public, and he walked me to my doorstep and kissed me tonight, and he asked me if he could see me again soon.

And of course I said yes.

While hanging out with my friend from my Board Game group before the Dar Williams concert (who was awesome. I <3 her) on Saturday, he was scrolling through my iPod and noted my inclusion of music from the Labyrinth.  And we immediately went through the exchange at the beginning of the “Magic Dance” song.

These are the moments in which I know I’ve found a friend.

Dear Keithers,

Do you remember, back in the Summer of 2008, (08.08.08, to be exact) we were bemoaning our respective fates, and I, in one of my bouts of optimism said “Yeah, but by 09.09.09? Things are gonna be different.”

Since then, I feel we’ve had a bizarre bond. We had our Year of the Terrapin (a creature who lives in less than salubrious conditions) and while things did not exactly get better, there were some notable improvements. (I got my DUI, but then I got sober. You started Georgetown and made friends) 09.09.09 arrived, and then the official New Year, and we spoke of a shared apartment, on the outskirts of some city, hanging out watching Degrassi, with our cats.

2010 was Year of the Crocodile (because The crocodile survived ice ages & meteors, & he probably was like, the bronze age will be so much better, or the pleistocene will be my time to shine, & then it sucked! But you know what he did? he ate a wildebeest, wrote a sad poem in his journal, & kept on trucking, because thats what survivors do).

Things had brought us down, but Fuck That Noise.

I desperately hunted for jobs. You battled girl drama. We commiserated on gchat.

I remember when The-Job-That-Wasn’t-2.0 was up for review, we were impatiently waiting for an answer, because it would make your decision; would you look for a studio or a 2 bedroom?

I got the call at the zero hour.

The night we moved into that hellmouth in Glover Park, we sat on the floor in the living room, eating take-out, laughing in disbelief that we were finally Here, and you said “I think we’ll always remember this night.” Maybe because it was one of the few happy nights in that apartment.

We agree that nothing good happened between those walls.

(However, I still miss you, roomie)

11.11.11 approaches my friend. We’re both unemployed, we’re both trying so hard to get back on our feet and get back together. We’ve only got one more year of this. One more chance. What do you say? Want to make 2012 the year of the Panther? At this point, we have nothing to lose.

Love, your favorite roommate,

Rachel

.

.

I’m trying to think of something funny, or witty, or offhand to write about, because even I get sick of myself and my own angst. One of my favorite entries from a super-angsty time is “Thirteen Stories About One Thing” (title shamelessly stolen from the movie of the same name – which I’ve seen and remember nothing of). So I figured, it was time for an updated version.

ONE

Me: Maybe I’ll buy a 49ers shirt for [the Redskins/49ers game].
Brent: That’s a terrible idea
Me: It’ll be like when Elaine wore the Orioles hat to the Yankees game.
Brent: Yes, and how did it end for her?
Me: I believe there was heckling.
Brent: I believe she lost her job over that
Me: Well I don’t have a job to lose now do I?
Brent: It’s still a terrible idea.
Me: I want to move to a city that with really loyal fans and wear opposing t-shirts. And don’t say Chicago.
Brent: Well if you want to get sucker punched and have beer bottles thrown at you, you could move to Philly.
Me: Philly sounds like a possibility, yes.

TWO

“I want you to come back home. You belong here. You can do anything here, it’s freaking NYC. The advantage is that you have everyone who loves you here; your family and friends.

-Jill-IAN

THREE

Me: I think he was wearing jeans and um…jeans
Ellie: But the important question is: did he iron his jeans
-a long ago reference that I’d long forgotten. This comment made me laugh all day.

FOUR

Regardless of what you end up doing, you did an incredibly awesome thing moving down to DC and leaving the comfort of the job you had before.Hang in there.  You are still awesome and I’m always proud of what you are doing- whether it’s trying to build a life in DC or in NJ.

-Joe (who always knows the perfect thing to say)

FIVE

Brent: i had a dream that i had written a paper for school but i had forgotten to write a works cited page.  i hate everything.
Me: that’s terrible. ms roeser would have kicked your ass. i had a dream that i found a room in a new apartment, except the furniture was staying there, and it was puzzle/trick furniture, that you had to figure out how to open, and i couldn’t figure out how to open the drawers
Brent: The worst. I need to go to dream rehab. You should come with me.
Me: We would alienate everyone there.
Brent: How would this be any different from normal life?
Me: Touche

SIX

On the very first version of Message-Board-of-Note, many years ago, someone wrote: “Love doesn’t stink. It’s fleeting and imperfect and infuriating and very human. It’s an emotional investment, with all the dividends, interest, and risk the analogy implies, and it should be treated as nothing less.”

I saved it in a word file and its survived several computer crashes. The writer is a friend now, so I emailed him because like-like is just as infuriating and very human.

SEVEN

Bitch, get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich.
-Keith (my ex-roommate)

EIGHT

We love you very, very, very much and we want nothing but happiness and kindness for you

-From Ellie & David

NINE

Pacey, to Joey: You fall in love and it doesn’t work out, and you think it’ll never happen again. But believe me, it does. In the strangest of places it does.

Jill-IAN, in response: Oh my god, shoot me in the head

TEN

I am doing that thing where I am constantly composing in my head. When I’m walking to down the street, I’m writing paragraphs for future blog entries. When I’m on the Metro I’m rearranging sentences. When I’m trying to fall asleep I’m relaying dialogue for real-life, future conversations that will likely never happen.

And that’s why when it’s past 2:00 am, I roll over and reach under the bed for my laptop, to write this.

It occurs to me, I never sleep very much this particular Saturday night. Every year, when we turn the clocks back, gaining us an hour of sleep, I stay up until 2am to watch the clock flip back to 1:00am (my laptop does it automatically, I think. Maybe I do it by watching the prevue channel? I don’t remember). I find a certain romanticism in this split second – this year I was tired at 12:45 and consciously decided not to watch it.

Of course, now I can’t sleep. Everyone loves this weekend because its a free hour of sleep, and I waste it. I shouldn’t have had all the heavily caffeinated cinnamon tea, but I was reading I Capture the Castle and you can’t read that book without tea.

So because I can’t sleep, I’m doing a few tiny, tiny tasks to get myself back in the swing of things. I found a job to apply for, and so I opened my template for legal assistant jobs, so I can write it tomorrow while my soup cooks. Which sounds silly, but anything to make getting out an application less daunting.

This is not the end of internal angst and probably some tears. Going to the Film Festival and hanging out with people got me about 50% out of my head. And then I wound up 90% back in it a few hours later.

But right now, almost literally right now, I just want to go on record to say I think it will be okay. I think I’ll be okay.

In a desperate effort to get out of the house and out of my head, I forced myself to go to the Alexandria Film Fest today. I didn’t really want to go. I was still contemplating my other option, which was “Go to the store for groceries and then make chicken soup.”

“Go,” Brent says. “If it sucks, you can leave.”

I found out of the Alexandria Film Fest from meetup (where else?) and someone had organized a “hey, lets hang out and see these movies,” thing. And I had to get out of the house. So, I went. This was an odd choice given that: a) I’m too fidgety to sit through movies. I haven’t seen in a movie in the theater in years and b) I’m not at all a “films” person.

But I went, and climbed the hill of steps at the George Washington Masonic Temple, and admired the pretty view.

I found the theater just fine, and I found the people who I was supposed to be meeting up with.

And I proceeded to see some very good stuff, including 3 ‘shorts’, all of which were excellent. (Latzuf, an Israeli film, Leap Before You Look, an American documentary, and Down in Number 5, an American movie based on a true story, which was incredibly depressing. The filmmaker was there and confirmed a lot of the details) I also saw a documentary on venture capitalism, and a Costa Rican movie, which is probably the best teen pregnancy plot lines I’ve seen other than Saved!

So I feel all cultured and stuff, and I got out and did something different. I went to Whole Foods for a quick dinner with a couple people afterwards and listened to some Taylor Swift on the Metro. And now I’m home, drinking tea, and feeling like for once, it was a successful day. Maybe even a good day.

Me, to Ben: You were wearing jeans and…um…jeans?

Ellie: But the important question is: were the jeans ironed?

I could tell you why this made me laugh, a lot, but then I’d have to kill you.

Also, last night I got diner food and right now I’m headed off for an afternoon’s worth of plans, and I’m ALMOST finished the new version of “Thirteen Stories About One Thing”

Tomorrow, the whole freaking city is going to be watching the Redskins/49ers game. I asked Brent if I should get a 49ers t-shirt to wear, but he said this would probably be a bad idea.

The thing about this sort of thing is it spawns a lot of what is technically healthy emotions. I sobbed through a therapy appointment yesterday. Absolutely sobbed through the raw, gut wrenching feelings.

It. Hurts.

And I remarked “I haven’t had to cry over a boy in years.”

And it has been years. I haven’t “like-liked” a boy in years. And the bliss has been great. Those first few steps of falling where you like-like someone, and you’re not sure where it’s going, but when you’re in his presence the only thing you want to do is kiss him. And when he kisses you back it’s addictive and you never want to stop.

And since you haven’t done this is years, you’re relationship challenged. And he has his own things to deal with too. But when you accidentally get into the We Have to Talk conversation, you seem in agreement to take it one day at a time. When you tell him the Cliffnotes of your relationship history – all those boys who wouldn’t hold your hand in public, he tells you that he would hold your hand in public.

That kind of makes you swoon. As if the pajama pants he brought you in the hospital, Mets hat that showed up on your pillow, and Libertarianism wasn’t enough. You think, for all your bad relationship history, if a guy like this, who knows you’re crazy, could like-like you, well, you must be doing SOMETHING right.

And four days later he comes in and makes the executive decision to take away all the hope and happiness he’d given you.

You’re a head case and already self conscious that that will keep a guy from ever wanting you. He knows you are intensely flawed, because he’s the one that showed up at your hospital bedside and knows you know your way through the ERs around DC.

And for all the other nonsense in your life that totally sucks he gave you a place for a bright spot. He made you smile. More importantly, he made you smile in that way that you smile over a boy that you like, and you haven’t smiled that way in years.

And then one night it all stops. You start to tell him about how Texas is about to win the World Series and he says “This isn’t working for me!” and you’re so blindsided/frozen that at first you don’t get what he’s saying. About 36 hours ago, he’d kissed you awake to tell you “have a good day” and now his words are all about how he will never want you.

So now, you try to play a good game (though you look like hell. No. Seriously. Look in the mirror. You look like hell.) You still smile at him sweetly. You are still polite and civil, like a good tenant. You don’t slam drawers or cabinets.

You alternate between anger and tears. Because on the one hand, how dare he, and on the other, it doesn’t matter, he Doesn’t Wan’t You, and you’ve certainly been down this road before.

He’s the first person in years and years who can make you weak in the knees just by smiling at you. Your effect on him is apparently more minimal.

You realize then that he almost never kissed you first. And then you feel like an idiot, and you cry.