//++ tender

1,000

LONELINESS is the buzzing of a thousand bumblebees forced into a glass jar.

THINGS I’VE LEARNED FROM ART OPENINGS/SHOWS:

• As soon as a person mentions more than three bands from a specific genre prepare yourself to be bored to death by their relentless verbal assault of all the bands they know about. 
• When people start using words like “impressionism” while at an art opening lasso your impulse to describe paintings as “feeling like the airport” or colors reminding you of “fruit on the bottom yogurt”.  These people will not be impressed nor will they laugh.
• If someone asks you what you “do” do not joke about selling drugs.  They will either a.) roll their eyes or b.) chase after you once it’s last call.  Most likely they will do both.  In that order.
• Be polite.  Just because there is a giant plate of crackers does not mean you should stuff them in your purse for “later” when you’re too drunk and it’s too late to buy a snack.
• Try to have good posture because you never know when the newspaper is going to print a giant picture of a bunch of young artists at an event and you’re in the corner hunched over texting your mom adjusting your tights.
• It’s okay to make abortion jokes at shows but not at photography openings.   This has proven to be true on more than four occasions. 

OOPS

There comes a moment in every woman’s life when she realizes she is being manipulated and controlled.  When all the fun dates are dried up and kissing is feeling more and more bizarre.  When you look at your room and see just as many of his things as you do your own.  When you realize you’ve been carrying the weight of two people for too long and you feel real tired and empty.  When you find yourself over analyzing every single exchange with him in an attempt to walk some impossible (and totally unnecessary) tightrope the both of you have created because you no longer communicate in any real ways.  Instead you are darting from fear to sadness over and back again and again and again.

You find yourself saying spiteful things.  Little stinging jabs.  And for a moment you feel a sense of relief but it only turns into a feeling of guilt once the initial appeal has resided.  And after the guilt comes longing.  Longing to be accepted and loved again.  Justifying his detachment and disrespect by self-sabotage and being hypercritical of any and all ways in which you are responsible for this mess. 

And if for some reason you are reading this and you think you are exempt from this experience, you are lying to yourself.  We have ALL been in this position.  In varying degrees, perhaps, but all of us, at one point or another, have been mistreated and taken advantage of.  And that makes my heart beat pound and my blood boil- BUT it’s okay.  Because again, WE HAVE ALL BEEN THERE!   And guess what?  It happens to really powerful, successful, beautiful and intelligent women.  There is no guilt in this happening.  You didn’t do it, but you did allow it to be done to you.  And you don’t have to keep doing that.

I was standing outside of a bar where we had all come together to listen to a friends band play.  There we were.  Six women, all in our late twenties smoking cigarettes and talking.  And as women often do we got down to business pretty quickly about what we cared about and were troubled by.  One of the ladies looked at me and said “You just have a confidence.  You have it together and you know what you want and that’s so inspiring.  You don’t take any shit from anyone. I want to get to that place”.  And while I wanted to absorb that compliment wholly and smile and thank her I also knew something she didn’t.  That three nights before my boyfriend whom I had welcomed into my home and life and whom I thought I was in love with, had ran away to another city leaving me with no explanation for how he was feeling or what he was doing.  Not giving me any sort of room to understand his emotions and extending absolutely no interest in mine.  Who couldn’t even be bothered to contact me and tell me he was not planning on coming back.   So when this lady handed me such an incredibly sincere compliment, I felt sort of deceitful in not coming out and telling her exactly what I was going through.  So I did.  And it wasn’t to give her a sob story.  Equally I wasn’t trying to convince her she was wrong about her impression of me.  I just wanted to be real.  I wanted her to know that while, yes, I am confident and in general I feel very capable and strong, that I was also in a bit of turmoil and had allowed myself to be at the whim of someone who did not respect me.  And it wasn’t until this lady extended so much love and appreciation to me, that I realized how sad it was that I had even allowed this boyfriend to fuck with me so much.  That I had tolerated any amount of disrespect or disregard.  That in the pursuit of a relationship with him I had almost forgotten about my own happiness entirely.   

I was terrified.  But also sort of relieved. 

I didn’t need him.  And not only did I not need him- I didn’t want him.

One of the most incredible things about women is their ability to support one another.  Walk one another through grief.  That wherever there is difficulty or turmoil there is a strong woman there to help make sense of things and get you back on your feet and feeling like yourself again.  And I will be forever indebted to my incredible community of female friends (and my Mother!) who have refused to watch me suffer alone and have always, without fail, been there to help me through stormy weather. 

Which brings me to the incredible (and somewhat embarrassingly obvious) epiphany I had that night.  My realization about said boyfriend was mostly apparent. He had displayed no respect for me in a time where respect and love was absolutely imperative.  That in his failure to respect me he had also attempted to control my feelings of self worth and empowerment by disallowing me any communication or concern.  That was the obvious.  But what wasn’t as obvious was that the reason this person had done this not only came from a lack of personal evolution but also at some point he learned that it was okay to treat a woman this way.  And that I myself was teaching him that I would put up with it.  And THAT’S when it dawned on me: when we let someone walk all over us; we are teaching them that we are comfortable sacrificing our own happiness for the sake of our relationship.  That we will wait for them to come back home and forgive them because we are so compelled by our apparent desperation to be with them, we are willing to defeat ourselves and deny ourselves the treatment and love we instinctually know we deserve.

I am not saying that we as women are responsible for the absurd ways men sometimes treat us, but rather, that every time we allow someone to diminish us and deny us respect, we are creating a larger message that we, regardless of what we say, will take them back and tolerate their disrespect. And the longer we continue to do that, the longer we will waste our precious time on this beautiful and exciting earth devising plans on how to “get over” the hurt we are feeling from these ding dongs.  I know there are some good men out there (and if you are reading this you know where to find me!)  men who have taken the time to understand themselves and their priorities and emotions.  Men who know that idolizing women is just as belittling as disregarding them.  But as a whole most men in our age and social group are shockingly lazy and aloof.

So that night, as I took a cab home with those ladies I made a promise to myself.  A promise to never sacrifice my own happiness for the sake of my relationship.  To not confuse someone else’s sense of superiority for a personal feeling of inferiority.  That maybe I was left feeling a little bruised and vulnerable, but that I know who I am and I love and respect myself enough to know when to let something go and march on.

So I did.  And you should too.

AVALANCHE

Wrap me up in all of your limbs and forgive both of us for all the cruelty we have inflicted upon one another.  Fold tiny pieces of paper and slide them under doors.  Rearrange all the furniture.  Kiss until it makes sense again.  My spine is not made of feathers and my heart is as serious as the Bible.  There are no more questions to ask.  Carry all the baskets.  Close all the doors.  Sweep up the porch. The birds are still making nests.  The secrets a woman holds are no easier to unravel than trying to stop an avalanche.  

 

MBTA 67

I’ve counted all of the leaves in the doorway.  And I have taken to smoothies and comedy shows.  I finally started liking the color orange.  My hair reaches my elbows.  I make jokes.  My skin is dry and cracked near my knuckles but my lips are as soft as little pillows.  Able bodied.  Hip bones resting beneath sheets and deep breaths when the sun becomes so warm on my face.  I would like another glass of water.  I would like to make it to your opening.  It’s at 8 right?

HOW TO BUILD A SANDCASTLE

     Squinty eyed she removed three dollars from her coin purse and fed the machine.  From one place to the other.   The soles of her feet were worn and calloused and it was amazing what brown leather and wool tights could conceal.  Something so exhausted and disdainful covered in something so pleasant and refined. 

     Rain has an incredible way of making things feel possible.  Everything is washed over and green becomes an entire emotion.  A decade.  A monument.  As though you have never seen the color green before.  That is why rain made her feel most herself.  It made her believe that all the terrible parts, the broken parts would have a chance at letting go and disappearing.  Washing away like cigarette butts and little broken pieces of concrete.

    The night before he had touched her hair and consoled her.  It did not feel like relief.  Only a means to an end.  An impossible set up trap of never being able to break free and remember things.  A troubled union between desperation and loneliness.  She woke up at 4:09 as birds were just remembering their busy tasks for the day.  Nesting.  Feeding.  They chirped and howled and she examined her face in the mirror.  Little bumps and silk like hair.  She looked impossibly tired.  She located every imperfection.  Placing them each in little jars inside her brain.  This one explains _________________.  That one justifies ____________________.  How had she aged so rapidly?  Where did her beauty go?

     When movements become labored and your shape resembles that of all the nastiness you’ve been subjected to you are suddenly a shadow of sadness.  Never being the actual object but instead the result of some sort of science you would most likely never understand.  A hunger to be free and relieved of such burdens, but limbless in its presence.  Powerless and dumb you attempt to cut all the strings attached to your emotions so that you can recognize yourself again.  And this is very exhausting.  And this is very sickening.  But you must.

     The desire to feel love is so compelling in its absence we feel incomplete and worthless.  The idea that we are born with replenishing bodies that fight viruses and bacteria.  That we develop interests and pursuits.  That hair is curly or straight.  Skin dark or fair.  And still, with such incredible ability and strength, such impossible science and relentlessness- we find ourselves cracked and sick when we do not experience love.

     Every sentence was contrived.  Every movement.  The way she placed forks in the “forks” section of the kitchen drawer.  The way she lit a cigarette.  Every action over analyzed and feared.   His love felt so fragile that it seemed she could open the door wrong and he would stop loving her.  And this is no way to live.  And this is exhausting.  And this is sickening. 

     When a person becomes impenetrable to pain they are most dangerous.  Their apathy will seep over you like tar and their seemingly careless facade is really a violent fire beneath their souls that will destroy you if you let it.

     But she wont let it.  Nothing is stronger than love.  And no amount of apathy can destroy a loving soul.  But you must know your limit.  You must be diligent and you must listen to yourself.

     She washed her hands twice.  The first time using two pumps of soup and the second time using only one pump.  She glanced in the mirror one more time and this time saw something different.  Someone she recognized.  A little ounce of wonder in her eyes.  Enough to remind her she is no ones shadow. 

     And so a series of change began. 

 

   

DEAR GIRL WHO WAS CRYING ON THE STEPS OF MY APARTMENT,

     I recognize those tears.  That ocean of anxiety and fear and insecurity and sadness.  Self consciously removing tiny curly pieces of hair from your face and adjusting your shorts an awkward amount of times.  Every move you perceive is ugly or unlovable.  Even the way you sob you think must be atrocious and unforgivable.  So when I asked if you were okay and you said “yes” but that you needed a cigarette I handed you two and sat next to you.  Not to make you feel like a spectacle or a mental case.  Not because I was giving myself some false sense of importance.  But because sometimes you’re just a lady sitting on a random apartment buildings steps crying your eyes out because your boyfriend that you think you love and thought you were going to be with for a very long time, is actually a total dick who not only kicked you out of the car but also left you in a neighborhood you’re unfamiliar with to find your own way home without a cell phone or money.  And guess what?  I’ve been that lady before too.

            And the next few weeks are gonna totally suck.  You’ll probably stay up way too late trying to figure out what you did wrong.  Are you that unlovable and terrible that you aren’t worth getting home safely?   No- you’re not.  You’re in a shitty situation with a shitty person who by the looks of it is probably going to have a shitty life.  But you?  You can get out of this.  You can walk away and go to friends and family to give you love and help you heal and move on.  But that jerk is going to be a jerk for as long as he keeps justifying his own moronic and cruel behavior. 

            I don’t have all the answers.  I barely have any at all.  But I’ve cried enough of the tears I saw you cry tonight to know that no one should make you cry like that.  Arguing is one thing.  Not getting along is one thing.  Having ups and downs in moderation in a relationship is one thing.  But those tears you cried tonight aren’t those things.  Those are tears of someone who has been pushed in a corner and isolated and manipulated into believing you aren’t worth communication, love and respect.  And if you’re brave and dedicated you can use this fucked up night as a stepping stone to never allow someone to put you in this position again.

            The only thing that I know right now that you don’t, is that you’re going to be okay.  That today blows but tomorrow is new.  And as long as you keep that scared, bullying and apathetic asshole out of your life, you will only get better and better.

            So smoke those two cigarettes and take the $1.70 and get on the bus and get sleep.  Listen to Mariah Carey, too.   That helps.  And remind yourself that you’re worth more than the position you were put in tonight.

            We’re all in this together.

SMOOTHIES

Every time I order fried rice I convince myself that I will save half for another meal.

 Yea- fucking-right.

 It’s about as true as when my friends convince me to go out and I insist I’m only having one drink only to end up waking up in a hotel room with glitter all over my face and needing to be at work in 20 minutes.

I’m either at home listening to Allison Krauss and making collages that scare their recipients or out some place slamming whiskey and getting 86ed from hip hop nights for sitting in the middle of the dance floor because they “don’t play enough Rihanna”.

I see little purpose in setting limits or rules unless I have a strong conviction to abide by them.  Contrarily, I feel the need to incessantly over-analyze my decisions so that I don’t wind up in a screwy position.

So how do I go about giving myself the space and movement to pursue whatever freak thing it is that I want without jeopardizing my own spiritual and physical safety?

Lots of mistakes.  That’s how.

Nothing has been more educational and staggering than my own moronic decision making.

Like the time I thought it would be a great idea to meet someone on the internet and then pursue a relationship with him.  Flying out to a tropical city that (of course) had just experienced a hurricane.  He was 12 years my senior and just as handsome as the day is long.  Did I get tan as fuck and drink smoothies with a fine ass man for a week?  Yes.  Did I find the sexy-forbidden-but-completely-makes-sense romance I had traveled across the country for?  No.  I cried my eyes out the entire flight home and spent the next month trying to convince him he had made a mistake for not immediately asking me to move in with him and leave my other life behind.

Or the time I was too busy being “young and adventurous” to help take care of one of my best girlfriends during an unbelievably difficult breakup.  Did I get to go out and kiss boys and wear some slutty amazing 1970s rompers to roller rinks?  Yes.  Were those experiences more prominent than the regret and shame I felt for being so selfish and idle towards one of my own? No.  When the outfits ran out and summer was over I knew I had fucked up royally and would spend whatever amount of energy possible to right that wrong and grow the fuck up and recognize my priorities in their respective order. 

It isn’t that flying across the country to pursue love is a mistake or foolish.  It’s that I didn’t recognize my own boundaries and limits.  That I confused lust for love and expected respect and commitment from a tangled jumble of flirtatiousness and sexuality.  And really all that did was reflected my confusion about myself and self worth at that time in my life. 

That being so consumed by having fun isn’t inherently awful or disloyal but that electing to avoid the parts of your life that make you a better person, and instead grasping towards indulgent and temporary thrills said a lot about how much I understood my own priorities. 

So how did I make use of these seemingly sour experiences?  I fucking learned from them.  I learned that before I go demanding love and respect and commitment I better love, respect and be committed to myself.  That sex does not equal love and respect.  That love and respect come with time, dedication and sweetness.  That sometimes all you want to do is go out and dance to Silver Apples and paint your face gold and have big hair, but make sure that before you get all did up you check in on your girl and make sure she’s set for the night and if she isn’t you still paint your face gold and still tease your hair up and you head straight to her apartment and do her up as well and y’all sit in her living room and cry and listen and have a tiny dance party of your own.

I guess I have been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned from my past.  How to not repeat the past.  How to create new chapters in my life and how to come into myself more and more.  And really I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.  Some days I wake up and feel beautiful and alive and competent and other days I feel ugly and misguided and insecure.  It’s a balancing act.  It’s a never ending journey of deciding what you do and don’t want.  What you will and wont do.  That’s why calling things “mistakes” is foolish if you have set out to understand them deeper.  They aren’t mistakes if you’ve made use of them.  And ultimately they have gotten you to where you are today.  So be good to yourself.  Forgive yourself.  Learn from that shit and the dark parts and just keep on livin, ladies.