the shiner

i will raise my hand and plead guilty as a woman who lives life vicarously harder through movies than i do my own life. my own life has cinematic elements just as any other's does-- tragedy, comedy, irony, and the occasional boom-drop in the background. but for most of my conscious life, novelists, playwrights and screenwriters have captured my own words more strikingly, heart-achingly accurately than i have myself.

i saw the departed last month with mr. missiles, on one of those early-in-a-relationship, how-do-our-movie-tastes-match kind of trial runs. and i didn't have the heart to explain to him why i surprised both of us by welling up and dropping alligator tears all over my fleece at a line that hit me out of nowhere like a logging truck. matt damon and his drop-dead-brainy psychiatrist girlfriend are spooning under the sheets when he says: "If we're not gonna make it, it's gotta be you that gets out, 'cause I'm not capable. I'm fucking Irish, I'll deal with something being wrong for the rest of my life." the kind of line that only works if the actor is a genius at line delivery, the kind that makes your heart crack open and bleed as painlessly as a sharp knife cut.

sometimes things sound melodramatically exciting, but you know you'd be a horse's ass to subscribe to them. this quote is not in that category for me. i have learned, in the hardest ways possible, that when it comes to whiskey, translucently-pale skin, outrage and human relationships, i am irish down to my dna. i consider myself a good judge of character, which is one of the things i've worked hardest to be. but it wasn't until i heard this line that i truly accepted one of my deepest flaws-- recognizing character is my strength, leaving when a relationship is bad for me is my biggest weakness. this is the truth. the worst part is that i recognize bad relationships far before my friends, parents, or even the other person in question usually points it out. but somehow, understanding the problem isn't always (or ever) my exit cue... my deepest fear is simply that i would be in a relationship and not have any idea that the poison existed in the first place. this, in my mind, is a psychobabble way of saying that i have no spine. and i'm full of shit. well... i am.

this year, i learned how incredibly, miserably far i have to go in order to leave someone forever... capital FOR, capital EVER. and it was so beyond logic or reason that i scared myself. given the chance to redeem myself not more than a month later, i stuck to my guns, made a stand and delivered an incredible, life-defining monologue in a situation that broke my heart to leave. i did it! hurrah, the gratification trumpets blared, the moral flag-wavers waved. but slowly, over the following weeks, my brain is sinking into the abyss of the flaw... my intense fear and hatred of losing people. and the equally strong unwavering love of finding the 3-dimensionality of people. honestly,i'm scared. i'm scared of getting used up by people who don't really care if i'm not getting anything back. i'm terrified that the next time i learn how to fly a doomed relationship, i'll fly it long enough to *really* do some damage. i don't want to be the woman who *ever* censors her words to make her man less volatile. i don't want to be the woman who apologizes for the minutae because it seems easier than apologizing for not being lovable enough on some level. i don't want to be the woman who would rather be wrong than lonely.

life is short-- it's unpredictability is its only certainty. all i want for this holiday season, this impending new year, and for the rest of my 20s, is to live a life that i can be proud of, no matter how insignificant or mundane it becomes. i wish i could find someone who wanted to share the small joys with me without getting wrapped up in the universal fears of commitment and accountability. why can't we all just bump into each other on the path and walk side by side for a while? seriously, is it so much to risk? that it might end up being nice to just walk for a while, and possibly for a long while after that? god-- it just doesn't seem like it has to have such hard stakes.

the lesson of all of this is what happened to me late last night-- not something i want to get into, but worthy enough for memoir documentation. a non-deserving friend and i fell asleep last night in the midst of a very long, interesting conversation. the pangs of self-hating guilt woke me up, and as i turned to look snarkily at non-deserving friend, i realized how peaceful and sweet he looked... how ridiculous it was to have to put all of these emotional barriers between us, when really, what's a friendly, amazingly comfortable moment among friends hurting the universe? all of my guilt flooded out of me, and i thought-- hey, this can work. people can fuck up with other people, people can fuck up with themselves, and it's not the end of the world. you can still just lie next to them once in a while... you can share your life with that person without being damned by the universe. and right then, literally as soon as i finished the thought, the sleeping angelic face next to me turned over-- still fast asleep-- and literally punched me, hard, square on the bridge of the nose.

3 billion men on the planet, and i have to pick the one who's had more sparring matches than there are cosby show episodes. i sat at my desk all morning propping a can of frozen coffee grinds on my face, tylenol-ed my way through the afternoon, and am horizontal on the couch trying not to move my jaw. the black eye disappeared, the swelling is hardly noticable and thank GOD, nothing is broken-- i have nothing but the comic image of marcia brady's football nose and a lot of horse-face analogies going through my mind. the pain is very real, the situation was very tragicomic, and the lesson should be duly noted. but as soon as the frozen coffee grounds came off of my aching nasal cavities, the first person i wanted to call to share my humorous wound with was the one who is at home, rubbing his knuckles and feeling mildly perplexed as to why they might be sore.