Morning Craziness

Every day, I have an hour of being crazy (sometimes more than a few hours). Did I ever mention that before? Nah, probably not.  I try too hard to be better so I tend to pretend the morning crazies don't happen.  Sometimes I even pretend it was something I dreamed up from the night before.

The morning crazies come in two forms -- helpless crying (that's abortion-related these days) and stalking (that is ex boyfriend-related, always). I don't know what I feel worse about. 

Well, since I vowed to be as honest as I could be with this blog, I will admit that it is the boyfriend who makes me feel worse.  I think less of myself for not being able to shake him, for responding to his ridiculously casual emails wherein we both pretend there is nothing left to say.  When you get down to it, the man really didn't love me all that much.  Forget about the pregnancy for a minute and I'd still say that he didn't love me much at all.  I was a pleasant diversion who had funny things to say and a compatible sex drive. So my pride is smashed to bits every time I miss him.

I went out on another blah date last night.  The man was short, shy and not into me.  And I didn't mind at all.  I had a nice time anyway.  Sometimes it's a great relief for me to talk to total strangers.  

Do other people understand their motives for bringing new people into their lives as well as I do mine? Some people have booze.  I turn to strangers. 

I want new people because it's the closest I can get to stop being myself. When I think of myself now this is what I see -- someone who willingly made a fool of herself for a man, who got rid of a baby she loved more than she can ever say because she could not bear the thought of the baby paying the price for her bad judgements. 

The thing about strangers is that if we become friends or lovers, I will go out of my way trying to get them to know me.  So first I want to be no one and then I will want to be myself again. Does that even makes sense?

Wow, if I keep posting these kinds of entries, I will never gain a wide readership. Ha.

There are a few funny things I can share about my life.  It's not been a completely shitty few months.  But whenever I sit down to post, the last thing I want to be is funny.  Go figure.

Walking and Remembering with Lyna

From my apartment in Morningside Heights down Riverside Park, a friend and I walked to Lincoln Center and then back uptown again.  In total, maybe 100 blocks.  The air was soupy and all evening it tried to rain. It was a lovely walk -- Riverside Park is greener when the weather is dismal -- the canopy of leaves on the promenade seems to darken in the humidity.

In February, I was so distraught over being pregnant and the only thing I could think to do was to bundle myself up in a down coat and walk down the promenade.  I lodged my earphones into place and played the music as loud as it would go.  And then I'd walk to nowhere. 

I pointed out to Lyna various sites in the park where I had a memory of something. I told her about the pregnant winter walks and we both laughed. She understand the desperation. She was kind to me and listened. Actually, I think she likes my down moods.  She compares the last seven months of my life to hers.  The only thing we have in common is joblessness but she finds similarities anyway.  

There are times when I am resentful of everyone even when I appreciate them the most.  How can Lyna compare her unrequited fantasy love to my abortion? Then again, why do I think my abortion and eventual relationship fail trumps all sorrow?  Isn't that arrogant?  Who's to say whose loss is greater? A little perceptive is necessary on both our parts maybe.  I need to realize that most people have no empirical knowledge of what has happened, that they have their own sorrows.

We walked to the 68th Street pier and looked out on the Hudson River.  We watched the kayakers paddling against the tide.  I didn't mention to Lyna that was one of the first things the ex and I did when we first started dating. I told her about all the other times I went kayaking instead.

The last time I walked that far south was right before the breakup.  It was just a few weeks after the abortion and I don't remember much of what I was thinking or doing. I didn't know at that time that in a few weeks, I would walk away from that relationship. Run.  Maybe that's a better word for it.  Not without regret or doubt. Not without one unsuccessful last appeal to the ex.  Then I ran and now I wonder how long I'm going to have to keep running.

Who would have thought that four months later, I would walk the same route and end up at the same spot with a different life? Why did I want to do it? 

Somebody Else's Baby

Today I looked at a friend's sonogram.  She posted it on Facebook a few days ago and I, by some great feat, managed to avoid looking in great detail. I was tempted to write a comment to give her my best wishes.  She does have my best wishes, but it was too hard for me write it down.  

The baby has a face.  I would be that far along now. My baby would have a face too. It would be almost seven months. I would be huge!  Now I'm getting maudlin.

It's a good thing there a few things planned for the day. Otherwise, I don't know how I'd get through. I'm already tempted to cancel my lunch plans. But that would be unwise.

I'm keeping my lunch date.

The Road Home

That is the title of a book I finally finished reading after two or three weeks.  That's a long time for me -- usually, a book will not remain unread longer than a few days once I decide to attack.  

I chatted with my old friend Jon today and he is the reason I finished the book.  It's been years since I've seen Jon.  He is the first person I've shared this blog with.  Will he read it? Maybe I'll never know.  I don't really need to know. 

Jon lives in New Zealand with his wife and son.  He is thinking of coming back to New York.

When we were chatting, my mind kept on going back to The Road Home, how the character is constantly homesick and longing. Then I'd go back to Jon. I think he is homesick and longing. 

The book and Jon don't have much in common beyond this homesickness.  I just thought it was strange that it took a conversation with an old friend to give me the motivation to finish a book that I love but for some reason, could not stay with.

This is kind of a pointless entry. Maybe I just want to be able to say that I came out of the closet to someone I care about -- I told someone I'm blogging about grief.  I told them where to find me.  That's something isn't it? And I finished Rose Tremain's lovely book. I rushed to the ending even though I didn't want it to be over. 

My Toe in the Water

I joined a dating service -- a dare for myself.  I've gone out with three men.  Slept with one.  It is rather thrilling in the moment -- the emails, the meeting, the sex. But in the end I sleep alone and it is still lonely. I'm doing this with a measure of hope for connection and also because it seems like the practical thing to do.  Why sit home?

I have a lot of friends.  I have standing invitations to go to the Hamptons, to Fire Island, to California.  Before the summer is over, I will go to each place I'm fairly certain.

I don't sit around thinking of fetuses. Babies don't make me weak-kneed. I go about my life like a person unburdened because lately that is how I feel. But I don't trust myself. No matter how okay I might appear, there is an emptiness in me. No matter how hard I laugh or how far I travel.  

How to explain it now?  It's not the same grief I lived with a few months ago.  It's quiet and doesn't need to be discussed -- I suppose this begs the question of why I must write about it if nothing else needs to be said.  I have no answer to that. 

Every time I get my period, I think of the abortion clinic.

On Saturday, a friend and I went to Roosevelt Island. From the southern tip of the island, you have a wonderful view of the ruins of the smallpox hospital framed by an ugly bridge. It's an only-in-New-York moment that makes my chest tighten up.  

My ex emails me often.  I wish he would say why.  But we talk about the weather and writing and things that, to me, don't matter quite so much.

Any Day Now

My therapist told me about an episode in Sex and the City where Carrie confesses that she'd had an abortion and when asked how long it took her to get over it she replied, "any day now."

I was never a big fan of that show, but there were times when certain episodes, certain lines, resonated. 

Right now, I could honestly say my "any day now" has come.  But that would be silly.  

What is true is that I've gotten better. More than I thought possible.  I am better about my ex, I am better about the aborted fetus.  I think of that fetus not as a baby but as something more than a lump of cells that had to be gotten rid of.  Where does that leave me? 

Another thing I'm noticing -- as I make this uneasy peace with the abortion, my sorrow over my ex diminishes.  I don't understand why -- there was a relationship before there was a pregnancy. But now I see the weak spots in the relationship -- what held me back from introducing him to my family even though I loved him to pieces, what kept me from embracing the reality that "I LOVE THIS MAN."

It was never meant to last because we disagreed about children.  It was never going to last because I have always wanted someone who would be able to provide for children, even when I was blissfully lying to myself about the desire for children.

My ex and I got into a kind of fight the other day. He kept on wanting to see me to return a book.  I kept on saying no, use the post office.  I was surprised at the absence of desire to see him. I was sad, sure. But I was not for one minute tempted.  Suddenly he seems flimsy -- how can I say that about someone I miss so much? I am done.

I wish I could say more about the abortion/baby/fetus.  But it was hardly there at all.  There is nothing to say.

Tonight I'm going to Lincoln Center. I will sit somewhere with my girlfriend and we will talk about the men we meet.  I will tell her about the one night stand I had the other day.  I will tell her how it made me feel better and she will tell me that she would like to do what I have done.

Maybe I'll tell her about a man I've been corresponding with via email.  I call it my e-epistolary romance. Will we ever meet?  Does it matter?  I'm stealing comfort from strangers who don't even know what they are giving me.

If it's a nice night, I will go home in a fog of love for New York City and a kind of loneliness that I like.  I will probably tear up. It will be fun.  No sarcasm there.

Another Saturday Night

Here we are again.  

The title of this post and the first line are both song titles.  Can I write a post consisting entirely of lyrics from different songs to convey how I feel?  Probably.  But I'm won't do it.

A month ago, I decided [wait for it, it's cheesy] to say yes to everything. That meant having a flurry of activity day after day.  Dinner dates and lunches, barbeques in New Jersey, nights spent at wine bars drinking too much prosecco.  I'm not complaining. 

I joined an online dating service and I have two dates this weekend. One of the men seems --right.  But how do you know that from emails and chats?  I don't know.  Maybe he will turn out to be all wrong.

I told my friend Anna that I had an abortion.  She was very sympathetic  -- she offered me her house for as long as I needed it, somewhere to get away she said.  Then she told me she'd had an abortion too.  She said it quite blithely.  

Am I ever going to be able to say it that easily?  "Oh yeah, I once had to get all my wisdom teeth pulled in one day." She said it that lightly.

She has twins now, conceived through in vitro.  It helps to be able to have a kind of replacement for what has been lost, I suppose.

My ex is definitely dating that woman.  How did I know?

I think I am going to be sad about this abortion forever. It makes me feel better to say that, because admitting it also means that I can stop chasing after some kind of panacea to that will remove the stone from my heart.

I will live with this sadness. I'll be okay.