Lysistrata's Journal

Dude, I suck. It's been way too long since I've updated this. Let's just say that I had some crappy shit happen, and I've been trying to work through it. I've got a few posts backlogged and will get them up when I can finish editing them.

I've neglected stuff that I enjoyed for far too long.

Oh, holy to god ever-lovin' hell. What in the world did I do to deserve this?

So a coworker of mine is leaving this evening. It's his last day and he's been visiting me for the past 15 minutes. I've been waiting for the inevitable conversation that I've been dreading ever since finding out he was being laid off 4 months ago. And finally -FINALLY!- he voices the dreaded words.

"Wanna go out?"

I stare at my computer screen wishing it had some secret teleport program in it and I could materialize myself in Timbuktu.

"I know I ask you this at least once a year, but I figured I've got one chance left so I might as well take it." He tries to chuckle to lighten the mood, but I know that he's sweating and hoping and dear god I knew this was coming but I wish it would just end quickly and painlessly.

I finally drag my eyes away from the screen, smile meekly and say, "Thank you, but no."

It's no big thing. I'm expecting this. I mean, the guy asked me out at least once a year for the past 8 fucking years! Do I really think he's gonna pass up this last chance?

Apparently, he's gonna give all he's got because he continues. "I gotta tell you: I'm a relatively smart guy, but whenever I see you, I just lose all intelligent thought. I no longer can think clearly. That's how much you affect me."

Okay. That's a new one. I do believe he just professed his love for me. As this is unexpected I say the first and easiest thing that pops in my head.

"Well, that's very flattering." Sheesh.

He's now sitting there rather awkwardly so I unmute the television and and turn back to my computer, trying to give some signal that this farewell really needs to start wrapping up, but he's just not taking the hint.

So because I'm just an evil masochist I get one last back rub from him. Hey, I know what you're thinking, but this chick loves a good back rub. Call it my weakness. Whatever gets me off the hook for twisting the dagger a little deeper. He starts on my shoulders as normal and squeezes the muscles there to the point of pain. I take a deep breath and immediately start to relax. Note to all future back massage-givers: Bitch likes it hard. No weak-ass tender shit for me. He moves to my lower back and again I feel the tension ease. Since he's given me massages for the past eight years he knows the exact spot at the base of my spine where - oh yeah. Relaxation City.

He goes through the normal routine and I know we're getting to the end when his hands suddenly move to my sides under my arms. I know where he's trying to go. He's toyed with going this route before and I go to give him the usual cock-block by squeezing my arms to my sides. Apparently, the dude is feeling a bit desperate because he keeps moving his hands forward. I take in a sharp breath when I feel his fingers brush the sides of my breasts. I quickly jerk my body forward out of his reach. Oh hell no he didn't!

He sighs and steps around my chair to return to his seat that he's strategically placed in front of the door, effectively barring my escape. I try to bore into the computer with my eyes because I've got a sinking suspiscion that the boy is probably now sporting some serious wood, and I've pretty much handled all the awkwardness I can take for the evening.

Of course, he doesn't think so because he decides to up the uncomfort level by about a hundredfold.

"Y'know, I know you're not into a relationship, but I wanted to let you know that I'm here for other things you might need. I mean, sometimes people just want companionship....on just a physical level."

Say wha'?

Did he say what I just think he said? He now wants to offer up some fuck-buddy services? Seriously?

You have got to be kidding me!

My mental bitch thinks "Thanks, but I've got that job handled pretty nicely thankyouverymuch."

Does he really think that even though I've turned down the millionth date offer, and I've not responded to his profession of love, that I'm honestly gonna just stand up and drop trow right here? Oh yeah 'cause that wouldn't be awkward at all. Is this really his plan? To try to convince me that he could fuck me into loving him?

At this point, I've pretty much run out of polite things I can say. I don't want to be rude to the motherfucker because, deep down, I feel a little sorry for him. So I resign myself to just looking up at him and giving a rueful smile. I ain't got anything else for him.

He sighs again and says, "Well, since I probably won't ever see you again, could I at least have a hug?" And since the guilt is getting to me I oblige, all the while thinking "Please don't try to grab my ass. Please don't try to grab my ass!" because if he does I'm belting him no matter how much pity I feel. I'm also hoping that he doesn't go for the whole body hug 'cause I just don't think I could handle being squeezed up against his hard-on.

He finally lets loose and I try not to scramble back to my seat while he looks at the floor a little pitifully. I'm about to break out a neon sign that flashes AWKWARD! AWKWARD! when he turns toward the door to leave.

"I guess I'll see you around," he mumbles.

"You too," is my eloquent reply.

And then, he's gone.

I breathe a sigh of relief and try to focus back on my work. Not 3 minutes later he's back. With a plastic Walmart bag in his hand.

"Here," he says while thrusting the object into my hands. "I got you a cake for your birthday since I missed it a few of weeks back." He quickly walks out the door again.

Motherfucker got me a cake. From Walmart. For my birthday. That was 2 weeks ago. And it feels like he's trying to now bribe me.

It's about that moment that I start banging my head against my desk...

So, as I said in my last post, I was feeling pretty good about my life that Wednesday night. Of course, that meant it all was about to change.

That evening was the beginning of the next roller coaster emotion. I came home to find that my oldest cat, Max, had died. He was 16 years old and I knew it was coming, but it still knocked the wind out of me. I walked into his room to feed him, and he was laying on the ground like he normally sleeps. It wasn't until I got closer that I realized his eyes were open.

How quickly the drop came. I had been coasting along, climbing straight to the top when, suddenly, I was free falling. I called my mother while I was still struggling to grasp what happened. My father agreed to pick the body up in the morning, but I was to be the one to wrap him up first. My grief wasn't even a tickle in my throat yet. Finally, after all that had happened during the week, the fear finally showed up. I had never had to physically touch the remains of a loved one, much less what was involved here.

I paced in the living room for several minutes trying to work through some of the more illogical fears. Max wasn't going to turn into some zombie the moment I tried to move him. This wasn't "Pet Sematary." My brain kept saying that, but my heart and lungs refused to catch on. I came very close to hyperventilating.

I finally steadied myself enough to find a towel and walk into Max's room. He still laid in the same spot, eyes open and glazed over. It would've been so much easier if his eyes had been closed! I had to force myself to not look at his face as I gingerly touched his stomach.

I don't know how long he had been dead by time I found him, but the rigor mortise was already beginning to set in. I briefly wondered if while the time I was showing off my so-called bravery, he was laying here struggling with his finals breaths. I wanted to think he had died a peaceful death, but his still open eyes brought up too much doubt. I quickly dropped the towel over him, spreading it so every part was covered. I desperately wanted to wrap him up like a baby, to show some small sign of affection, but my hands wouldn't make the movements. I'm ashamed to admit that I couldn't even close his eyes.

I grabbed the large plastic garbage bag I'd brought from the kitchen and shook it out. Since I was too chicken to wrap him in the towel, I couldn't properly lift him into the bag. I finally had to settle for just easing him into it a bit at a time. Once his tail was safely in the bag, I quickly tied the end in a knot and darted out of the room, only pausing for a moment to look back.

My heart had begun to settle a little while I was in the room, but once I stepped back into the living room, the panic began to take over again. The tears finally found their purpose and began to overflow. I called my sister and then a friend in an effort to calm down, but it was too hard to talk. I mostly sat in silence, listening, while large tears rolled down my cheeks.

I didn't sleep well during the night. It was hard to keep those ridiculous fears from popping in my brain while there was a dead body lying in a bag down the hall. What was even more disturbing was the fact that I didn't have just nightmares. Pleasant, hopeful dreams were mixed in sporadically. In the morning, while I waited for my father, I tried to analyze what my subconscious had been up to. The nightmares had been easily forgotten, but the hopefulness that was creeping in was bitterly mixed with feelings of guilt. How could I feel hopeful when a beloved pet who'd been with me for half of my life was dead?

**I started writing this more than a month ago. I just haven't been able to finish it until now.**

It's taken a while to figure out the answer to my question above, but now, a month later, I think I've gotten a grasp on what my brain has been telling me. Back when I decided I wanted to move, there were several factors that gave me reason to pause in my decision. No matter how much I want to go, the logical side of me has brought up a few points that need to be taken care of. And Max was one of them.

For the past few years, no matter how much I loved and cherished Max, part of me saw him as a burden. He's never been able to get along with my other 2 cats and has spent the better part of these last years of his life closed up in his own room. I've tried to reconcile it in my brain that he liked living in that room all shut up, but deep down I know he couldn't possibly have been content there. The guilt has eaten away more than I realized, but now that he's free, a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. The hope I felt in the morning sprang from the fact that I know he's in a much better place, he's at peace, and I'm now more free to make this huge transition that has dominated my thoughts for the better part of the last 2 months.

So here's to you, my sweet baby. You were like my first child in so many ways. I'll miss you more than I can say. I love you, Max.

~Lys

This past week has been one of the most surreal of my life. I can't remember the last time I felt so many different emotions so close together.

It all started on Monday during the weekly department meeting. I found out that 3 of my coworkers were laid off. Basically, they were called into an office and told their job was eliminated. Effective immediately. Pack your stuff and go. Don't even finish the day. One had been here close to 30 years. It was all related to corporate getting rid of 1000 jobs. No one was expecting this.

Naturally, you start to feel the fear, the uncertainty. Could I be next? Am I valuable at all to this place that I've dedicated 8 years of my life to? And I did feel the uncertainty and concern for those that were already gone. But, the odd thing was, I didn't feel the fear. If they called me in and said, "We don't need you anymore", I don't think I would break down. I would obviously be worried about the paycheck part, but I realized that I wouldn't be upset about not doing my job there anymore.

I just don't have the passion for it anymore.

In the past couple of weeks, I've felt a stirring within me. To do something more. Something different. A coworker and I have been talking about leaving this little town and starting over, finding our passion once again. We've finally settled on L.A. which is quite a leap for me as I've never wanted to live there my entire life. But now, it feels like the only place I could want to go. But this is a whole other entry entirely.

Back to the past week.

So Monday was about the uncertainty and concern. Tuesday was about the awakening. After realizing and accepting that I didn't want to do my current job anymore and embracing my desire to move away, I felt this incredible high. It was frustrating and exhilarating and freeing and incredibly manic. As I was driving home from work, I suddenly pulled onto the interstate and started driving north. I didn't want to stop. I called a friend who lives in Atlanta to tell him of my plans. And I couldn't talk fast enough or say the right words to explain what was happening to me. I still can't. Thankfully, he seemed to get it. Regrettably, I forced myself to turn around and drive home.

Wednesday was the courage day. I took my second set of headshots and although I had had little confidence on my skills, they turned out wonderful. That evening, we had our quarterly staff meeting at work. The first item on the agenda was to talk about the changes going through the station. As the general manager spoke, she never mentioned those that we had lost the week prior. I looked around me at all my coworkers who faces showed the fear and uncertainty that I didn't share, and I felt so bad for them. You could practically hear the thoughts screaming in their heads. The GM asked if there were any questions.

And no one said anything.

Everyone knew that everyone wanted answers, but no one spoke. It was so frustrating. And then, out of nowhere, I just blurted out the questions: "Are we next? Should we be worried? What can we do to save ourselves?" I could hear people pulling in small gasps and turning to stare at me. Some just stopped breathing altogether. Now, when I think about it, I feel like laughing. It seems like such a silly response to questions that everyone was thinking.

The general manager turned to me and smiled. "Thank you for that," she said. She continued on and spoke about training and job skills and what we could do to strengthen our own job security, but I already knew the answers. I just wanted to make sure that everyone else knew them as well. They needed something to calm the panicking that had been building the past week.

Afterwards, she sat down next to me while the meeting continued. She pulled out a pen and discreetly began writing on a sheet of paper. I could still feel people glancing over at me, especially now that the boss was sitting with me. After she finished writing, she gently nudged my arm and pulled the paper closer to me.

Thank you for asking such difficult questions.

Then, after the meeting, she thanked me again. Several people came to me and told me I was brave. What a funny thing to say! I thought. Somebody had to ask the questions. It just turned out to be me.

But I did begin to feel a little pride.

However, the evening decided to it had a little more in store for me.
(To be cont.)

~Lys

I do believe I'm a little bit in love.

I have just recently discovered the Twilight series of books by Stephenie Meyer. Well, I take that back. I've known about the series for a while, but I've just finally gotten around to buying and reading them. I used to be a pretty avid reader, but for the past several years, nothing has really ever held my attention for too long. I've never been able to get into the Harry Potter books(suppose I should return my borrowed copy back to Mo), and nothing has ever really interested me that much lately.

But then I started to read Twilight, the first book in the series.

I finished in 3 days. And that was while reading it in spurts, and that wasn't by choice. Had I the choice, I would've skipped work, sleep, meals, ANY annoying human ritual that kept me away from my precious Edward and Bella. Had I the choice, I would've finished in a night. And then read it again to lengthen the initial experience.

Before I finished the first book, I went and bought the second one, New Moon, because I knew the moment I read the last page of Twilight, I would have to start reading the next one. Then, while at the grocery store a day later, I bought the fourth book. Since it had just been released it was on sale. This was a bit of a mistake on my part because I started reading both at the same time.

I wish I could understand what it was that pulled me in so strongly. I sit here, even now, and I feel like I've been awakened. Like I've been living in some sort of haze for such a long time. It's hard for me to put into words what this past week has felt like to me.

I just...feel like I've fallen in love.

The basis of the story is a human girl, Bella, falls in love with a vampire, Edward. It's much like Romeo and Juliet. Very simple actually.

It's a true love story. It feels very familiar and very painful. And it reminds me of someone.

It reminds me of him.

It's amazing how I'm finding it difficult to type -or even think- his name. It was so long ago that I shouldn't have a problem. I should be over this. But my fingers are hesitating. It's suddenly become incredibly difficult to type. I just don't know what to say.

I realize what has pulled me in. I know what was on the other side of the haze and why I stayed immersed in the fog. And it scares me.

I wrote about our story once in another blog I used to keep. I used to have frequent dreams about him, and I was hoping that by purging the memories I could get rid of the dreams. It worked, but not in the way I'd hoped. My brain apparently just suppressed the emotions behind the dreams. I guess my subconscious realized I wasn't able to come to terms with the reality of the situation: that a large part of me still missed him, was still hurting...and was still in love with him.

And then this damn book came along.

I've been thinking about him frequently over the past week, usually when I'm not reading the books that remind me of him. And I'm remembering so many things that I'd forgotten. It's all been so easy to recall, too. I can close my eyes and see millions of exact moments we shared. I can't think of any other memories that are so full of color, sound, smell. It's as if I have a photographic memory, but only about one subject.

Of course, in my stubbornness I've been trying to think about the bad times. Those times when there were arguments and fights and anything that could make it feel like I'd simply lost another boyfriend. That it just didn't work out with someone and we both would just move on.

Anything to keep me from realizing that I've lost true love.

In the second book Edward leaves Bella. He's afraid that being around her is too dangerous for her and that her life would be better if he wasn't there. Her reaction is heartbreaking and all too familiar. It's been hard to read because I know exactly how she feels, and, unfortunately, I'm feeling it all over again.

I think I know why I've become so obsessed with these books. I can immerse myself in her story, feel her love and rejoice in the happy ending she has coming. I can wrap around me the bliss of her true love and pretend it's mine. I can feel all those warm, perfect moments of him and imagine that they're never going to end even when I know they did so long ago. Even when I know true love was once mine, but is now lost.

Because my Edward is not coming back.

My first statement above is true. I am in love. And apparently, I've been in love for a long time.

Yeah, well that went over like a bag of bricks. So much for me posting on a regular basis again. I'll obviously have to work on that.

I'll just add it to the list.

That very LOOOOOOONNNNGGG list of things that need to change around here.

Yes, yes my dears. You read correctly. After 2 1/2 years of silence, I've decided that I have something to say again. What that is - I have no idea. I've just been feeling this need to....well, pretty much the feeling that most bloggers get. To have your voice heard. To make a document of you life. To become famous and have millions of readers and be interviewed by Oprah and Letterman and Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog. (Ok, I'm kidding about the last reason) And seein' as how this year will mark my 30th birthday, it just seemed a good time.

Unfortunately, when I was a blogger 2 1/2 years ago it was at diaryland.com, so pretty much none of you will ever have heard of me before - unless that huge audience of 2 readers I had has been searching desperately for me and has formed this mass cult following that's anxiously awaiting my return. But I ain't holding my breath. If you're curious, I'll post the link to my old blog down in the links section. The graphics are all gone and it looks pretty much like shit, but my colorful, clever and wonderful wittiness is there for all to enjoy.

Of course, getting back in the groove of this is gonna be kinda difficult. I have a lot more going on in my life that this will be competing with. In the span of silence, I've gotten a promotion and a much larger workload, I've been doing a lot of theatre, and I've gained a new nephew, not to mention an iPod!

But don't worry. This is really important to me. I wanna commit to this. I don't want to lose this again. And I gotta get that interview on Oprah before she retires in 2011.

Just as the Phoenix rises from the ashes, so shall Lysistrata.