this feels like a million and a half years ago.

Germany has been incredibly difficult for me. It’s the “ocean” thing again. Sometimes the memory waves are pretty calm and peaceful and then sometimes they’re really choppy and strong and just knock me over and don’t get me started about the undertow that keeps wanting to suck me back to August 11th all over again. Like now, I don’t know what it was but last night no matter how hard I prayed or thought about other things, every time I went to sleep (because I don’t sleep through the night, of course) I had dreams about him. Is that you in front of me, coming back for even more, exactly the same? I can’t tell you why either, being alone in Germany has allowed (forced) me to think about things that I have been able to push away for a long time and no matter how much I try to deny it, I still love him with parts of my heart I didn’t know existed. You must be a masochist to love a modern leper on his last leg. Well I crippled your heart a hundred a times and it still can’t work out. And all I want is for it to stop but they don’t. I used to stop them as soon as they started (or at least tried to stop them as quickly as possible). I tried to push the memories out of my head because I thought that was the way to control them. But still, they never stopped, so then I tried allowing myself to let my mind go where it wanted so that maybe once I would remember then my brain would say something like “ok, we remembered that, reflected on it, now we can file it away with other things from the past, never to be revisited.” You see I got this disease I can’t shake it and I’m just rattling through life. But nope, that seemed to have the same effect, they never stopped. The one thing I keep going back to was that last conversation before he changed his mind about me. It’s like I have survivor’s guilt or something, like I was driving the car in which everyone died and I didn’t so now I have to live a life of regret and guilt. The worst thing is, I can’t even remember all the things I said. I can’t even pinpoint what it was exactly that pushed him completely away yet, I know I kept asking him what it would take to push him away again. I cut my foot to spite my leg. Is that you in front of me, coming back for even more, exactly the same. You must be a masochist to love a modern leper on his last leg. And I finally did it, I was successful. I’ll never forget what Emily said to me after it all happened, that I didn’t take him seriously when he wanted to come back (and he was apparently serious) so I should take him seriously when he said that his feelings have changed. So I have, and I stopped the nonsense I lived in after we broke up which was me living in disbelief that he wouldn’t come back. I don’t entertain that fantasy anymore and instead I am just incredibly sad that this time (even more so than the last time) it is incredibly real. I still can’t stop suffocating on his memories. And that is exactly what it is, suffocating. I want so badly to get some air and instead even in times of supposed reprieve (sleep) I am still haunted. I keep imagining a special pill or a special kind of lobotomy that will take away those memories because despite how happy I was, I would give away all of that happiness if it meant ridding myself of what I am going through now. Well I am ill but I’m not dead. And I don’t know which loss I’d prefer. Cuz that limb that I have lost it was the only thing holding me up. There is you, In front of me coming back for even more, exactly the same. Are you a masochist to love a modern leper on his last leg?

Yesterday I came across the benadryl pill that I always had with me in case he had an allergic reaction. It’s funny how a stupid little pill could mean so much. I thought more about him than I thought about myself, I wanted to protect him more than I protected myself, and I probably loved him more than I loved myself. You are not ill and I’m not dead doesn’t that make us a perfect pair? So you and me, can start again. You can tell me all about what you did to me. What you did to me.

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Filed under ghosts of the past, i take sleeping pills not to sleep but to forget, unrequited love

stuck in the web.

so for this post, let’s just jump to the present rather than dwell in the past, shall we? i have my whole life left to admit to all the debacles that have happened. and believe you me, revisiting them aren’t at the top of my list of “things to do.” but ok, let’s focus here internets, i have problems NOW.

apparently, in some kind of weird twist of fate, i’m dating two boys at the same time. i hadn’t planned for this to happen and i really feel like a huge asshole juggling two people at the same time but the one doesn’t fulfill my needs and the other seems entirely too young to be “the one.” so my solution to this problem is the worst-possible-solution-known-to-mankind or in other word’s “shannon’s way”.

the entire situation makes me nauseous (but clearly not nauseous enough to break either off) and yesterday i literally said “ok, i have to break it off with #1” and then 4 hours later i said “ok, i’m definitely breaking it off with #2.” (to which i was promptly called out by my roommate that i had just contradicted my original decision hours earlier, she is such a bitch sometimes).

the thing is, when i think about it really *really* hard, they’re probably both just blips on the radar because that warm fuzziness hasn’t happened with either person (yet, could my guilt just be masking it, at least with #2? perhaps a question to ask the magic 8 ball one day). anyway, the situation is incredibly complicated and not something i’m able to articulate at the moment (after drinking a bottle of wine) and more importantly (maybe?) i especially don’t want to start a relationship with either of them that is marred by infidelty (i may be a cheating whore at the moment, but i do have morals lurking underneath the surface of scum, c’mon).

but like, i’m not double dippin’ so that’s a plus, right? yeah, i didn’t think so. sigh.

yet, probably the hardest part is admitting that #1 reminds me entirely too much of “the one who got away” while #2 doesn’t, and i’m disgustingly torn simply because of this reason alone.

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Filed under i take sleeping pills not to sleep but to forget, mistakes were made, shannon shenanigans

conversations from the past 48 hours.

Jenn: oh god, so my mom insisted on holiday pictures yesterdaythey found a santa hat for claraso undignifiedme: my mom hasnt had pants on in 2 days.TWO DAYS.she vaccuumed pantsless.me: BAKED PANTSLESS.Jenn: it’s my greatest regret not meeting phlegmhow is it warm enough to be pantless?i am currently wearing a fleece robefloor lengthreindeer snowflakes and pine treesso i’m in no position to throw stonesme: jennifer.my mother is not a skinny woman.she redefines the phrase “thunder thighs”Jenn: hahai think i need a fur coatdo you think owen would break up with me if i wore one everywhere?me: doubtfulowen doesnt seem the type to jump ship due to fashion.that’d be very hypocritical of him.Jenn: well he is a vegetarian for moral reasonsbut i really want a fur coati saw one the other dayit was hugeand fabulousme: oh pleasewhatever. he wears leather shoes. people have been wearing animals for ages.if his ancestors didnt wear fur, well, owen wouldnt be here today.let’s talk about that.

Emily: its okay. you tried.that’s what matters.me: that’s what we’re going to tell dr. crew.so what do you think of the new housewife?(gretchen)?

yes, i am referring to the real housewives of orange county.

me: i’m googling liz taylor’s eyes.
2:14 AM did you know they were violet?
Emily: i’m sure you will tell me why.
but what about bette davis’ eyes?
get it?
these eyes are blue at best. from the pictures i’ve seen.
2:18 AM i wish i would have paid better attention to her white diamond commercials.
Emily: maybe its a scam. you know, back in the days of black and white movies.
you could find one on youtube.
duh.
me: i’m not that dedicated.
2:19 AM my mattress hurts my back. is a pillowtop mattress and it’s too soft
doesnt offer enough support.
probably wasnt designed for someone to be in bed for 16 out of the 24 hours in a day though, either.
Emily: true.
we are pathetic.
me: we are not.
2:20 AM although i will let you know that i sneezed a bit ago and snot was all down the front of my tshirt for a bit until i realized the wet sensation on my chest.
it’s like i belong in a nursing home.

Emily:i just don’t want to be seventy on a cruise looking for love.

me: i found that poo pamphlet.

me: shit. bristol palin’s baby daddy’s mom arrested on drug charges.Emily: that warms my face.

emily: I an sitting in the car with gloves and a hat on.me: just like when you were a kid. i’m sure.i charitably just gave my brother my ipod touch.emily: He better not call you an asshole now.me: fo’ real. me: i’ll keep u occupied on your long car ride. phlegm just said “i have to rob peter to pay paul.”emily: i cantafford this communication. My dad wants to listen to a book on tape about islam all the way to ca.


Jenn: remind me to never let david talk me into smoking a bowl with himme: i love david.Jenn: we ended up in holiday sweatersme: i LOVE david.Jenn: seriously, covered in gemsthe sweater had a built-in necklaceme: david, david, david!my mom has one of those, it was my grandma’s, i think.Jenn: he also has black and gold paisley velvet paintpantsme: can david be straight and marry me?or ok, stay gay but still marry me and like, hold me at night?Jenn: OH, he also has a christmas tree at his houseme: and then we can just bone who we want to bone?Jenn: made of pink feathersit lights upme: seriously. do you see me not responding to your messages? iwant to BE WITH david.


r: likeneeded to seem coolfor him, when he was just a sketchy dudeanywaysme: well. why didnt you tell me he was a sketch dude?if you knew all along?that is THE POINT OF YOU BEING THE MALE PRESENCE IN MY LIFE. AND LIKE, MY SURROGATE DAD.i blame you for this relationship’s failure.

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Filed under convos that keep me grounded

home for the holidays.

so let’s real talk about my christmas vacation. seriously. the question that repeatedly keeps looming in my brain is:

why do i come home for christmas when i’m forced to watch only christmas television, listen only to christmas music, take the long way home to see the christmas lights and essentially serve the sole purpose of a cog in phlegm’s cookie making machine?

on top of being inundated with christmas cheer, i also am showered with verbal abuse, here’s a taste.

me in reference to cookie dough: why wont this roll?
phlegm: because the bad is coming out of you, and it feels it.

phlegm to me: “you know, my wedding dress was a size THREE and they had to take it in. you’re not that size now and you wouldn’t fit in the dress.” this surprisingly doesn’t cut deep anymore, i’m used to comments about my weight. for example, two christmases ago i came home after a month of telling my mom that i had gained weight. i was stressed from grad school, my rock solid relationship was on the rocks, and i was living in a new city, state, etc. HOWEVER, the first words out of her mouth AT THE AIRPORT were “oh you did get heavier.” there’s nothing like positive reinforcement, thanks mom.

and lastly (for now) this:

phlegm to my father and me: “she is an annoying kid. no wonder you can’t keep a boyfriend longer than two weeks.”

’tis the season.

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some things never change.

in the 6th grade, i was in love with a boy named Ryan. He was dreamy in 6th grade terms, he was popular, played soccer, blue eyed, and his father drove a Jaguar (which i imagined us inheriting on our wedding day). i pined after him for the entire school year, even started shaving my legs for the first time in hopes he would notice. i devotedly (read: pathetically) scoured every teen magazine in hopes of advice on how to get him to be mine. In one of the magazines in particular, there was a section of readers’ art and poetry. One poem spoke to me in particular. It waxed poetic (no pun intended) about a girl’s secret crush and perfectly articulated exactly what I wanted to say to Ryan insomuch that I was convinced if he could only read it, it would surely make him mine. So i copied the poem onto my best stationary.

Not only did i copy it but I wrote it in calligraphy. (i found an old calligraphy set in our basement, complete with how-to instructions and i meticulously practiced each letter of the poem until it was a perfect representation of not only my feelings but the hours of calligraphic pratice). the only alteration that i made to the poem was my signature “from, your secret admirer.” I put the letter in my bookbag and shuttled it to school daily for about a week, unable to figure out how to get it into his desk all while becoming increasingly less certain about delivering it as each day passed. then one day, the odds tipped in my favor.

On this day, Ryan got sick in school and had to be sent home and my teacher asked ME to pack the books in his desk into his bookbag. I took this as a sign of the opportunity that I had been waiting for. I steathily sneaked the letter to his desk, placed it in the middle of a textbook, packed everything into his bookbag and gave it to my teacher. My logic was that he would be out sick for a few days, wouldn’t find it for a few days or even weeks, think that it was in his textbook for awhile, never speak of it out loud and the entire thing would never be traced back to me. this was the logic of a simpleton.

Ryan came back to school the next day, with the letter in hand, and had started a major investigation into its origins. I unconvincingly feigned surprise, interest, and tried to also play detective in order to hide my identity as the author (or plagiarizer). By the end of the day, it was pretty much apparent to everyone that  that I wrote the letter. I was the only known person who had access to his desk and had packed his bookbag the day before. When I was approached by the cool girls who directly confronted me about writing the letter, I felt my face turn red yet I continued to deny any and all involvement. However, because no one had claimed authorship and my teacher was a huge bitch, she decided to read it out loud in front of the entire class in hopes of getting a confession and further reinforcing mortification. I turned bright red, everyone watched my face as she read it but yet to this day, I never publicly owned up to the letter.

this story, and hopefully this blog are indicative of the ridiculousness that consumes my life, spurned predominantly by my own misdeeds and doings. now, thirteen years later I realize I haven’t changed much; i’m still hopelessly quixotic, rash, and impulsive. but this time, and only here, am i owning up to it all.

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Filed under shannon shenanigans, unrequited love