How many have watched the tide come in on New Year's Eve?

Dear Ether,

I don’t know if people were more afraid of me last night or if I was more afraid of them.  But, gladly, we all ended up keeping our equal distance.  

It was 4am.  I was bundled up in a coat, my long hair wild having been unraveled from a bun. I was wearing trousers with bright gold shoe booties.  My make-up was smeared around the eyes which were very wet from constant crying.  

I sat overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Santa Monica, about a 20-minute car ride for me, watching the dark water.  The pier stayed lit up for partygoers.  The lights of the Ferris wheel reflected off of the tide. 

It was 2010.  The new decade.  

Was it last night?  Or, this morning? 

Everyone was asleep by then. Earlier, it had been a very pedestrian evening.  I usually come home for Christmas and New Year’s, so I’m used to being in California this time of year.  My family doesn’t do much.  We go for a very nice meal, come home, sit by a fire, and then watch the ball drop on T.V. from Times Square.    

But this time it was different.  This time, I felt trapped.  I felt a big pillow smothering me over my face the whole evening.  2010=my 3^rd decade on this planet, and what the hell was going on with my life?  I don’t want to get into it—many of you know the fine print.  But, I certainly didn’t feel like clinking glasses and signing “Auld Lang Syne.”  Every year when the clock strikes 12, I close my eyes and I swear THIS year will be different.  That things will change.  But they never do.  The only thing that happens is that I get into a bigger bind and I age.  And the people around me age.  That ball is actually like the hands of time reminding me that yet another year has passed………and none of my dreams have come true. 

When I went to hug everyone as the fireworks went off in the background on television, I saw the look of fear and sadness in their eyes.  Maybe it was my skewed and negative imagination.  Big Apple Beauty’s age suddenly betrayed her, as did her loneliness.  Bachelor One of 365 gave me a stiff squeeze and I saw in his eyes a vacancy of a man who has yet to have found love.  My mother held me too tightly.  A sickly woman, she grasped me like it was her last celebration, and I saw desperation in her glare.  My father, the man I’ll always love but will never please, hugged me but stared at me with discontent and confusion.  And then there was English gent.  His once almond shaped and welcoming green eyes looked downcast and defeated.  Yes, he was my New Year’s Eve Kiss—but I felt like our lips simply grazed skin. 

We all parted, Big Apple Beauty asking for an anti-anxiety pill to help her sleep because she couldn’t stop crying.  English gent passing out in his office.  My folks meandering into their own room and Bachelor One of 365, my dear brother, off to yet another party, in hopes of finding that soul mate.  

I sat on my bed, hugged my dog and cried into his fur, threw up in the bathroom and suddenly felt claustrophobic.  I needed freedom.  I kept seeing the Thames lit up and the London Eye spewing fireworks from the news that evening—I wanted to see the water.  I drove in absolute silence to Santa Monica.  I kept hearing my mother’s voice warning me as a kid saying that only drunks drive on the road on New Years Eve.  I didn’t care.  I was in a trance.  As mentioned above, I was still in my clothes from dinner.  I looked wild.  The wind was fierce and I couldn’t light a cigarette.  I gnawed at my fingernails.  I purposely didn’t take a mobile.  I didn’t want to be reached……and I figured if they noticed the car missing, they’d known I’d gone out.  I wanted to be in a bubble.  

I looked back on my year.  Mr. X and how fucked up that had been.  My mess with English gent and all those years now on the line.  My 20’s almost over—and what did I have to show for any of it?  My relationships with people and how sour they’d gone.  Bolting from one place to another and never being happy.  London.  How I slept half my life away.  I looked at all the people holding hands or friends elated to be together on this night.  And here I was on a park bench in stupid gold boots and purse that could have paid a month’s rent somewhere.  

I sat for about an hour.  I couldn’t bring myself to watch the sunrise.  Too romantic.  Wasn’t there for that reason.  And, sorry Ethers, I came to no conclusions.  I stood up, my hair whipping me in the face, smoothed out my coat, took a deep breath, and walked back to my car where I mechanically drove back home.  

The house was still.  My dog greeted me with a stretch, but also with a pleading to sleep.  I walked up the steps, entered my hovel of a room, dumped all of my clothes in a heap on the floor and realized that the bench I had just occupied and vacated meant nothing.  It was as if I was never there.  And, I suppose I feel that often about my impact on the past 29 years of my life.  That I’ve sat on many benches and it wouldn’t have mattered either way if I’d been there or not.  And the people I love who are in pain and agony, who feel lost and scared…….they too have sat on many benches and stared at the sea and it could have been just as well had they never arrived.  

I got into my duvet coffin, the 2010 version I suppose, curled into the fetal position, dog warm at my feet, and wake today……..like any other day……….

I have no resolutions.  I have no dreams or expectations.  I’m just a girl who sits watching the ocean endlessly ebb and flow and life reflect off of it. 

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Dear Ether,

Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote, “Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell.”  

This is how I feel about English gent.

Yes.  He lives here.  I see him.  But who he WAS and who I WAS and who we WERE……….there is a giant abyss.  I reckon loneliness might be one of the most painful emotions of the human heart and mind.  Many a man and woman will die shortly after a spouse passes away–they call this “the broken heart syndrome.” When English gent and I used to be separated, I would feel so alone and be in such a catatonic state that I couldn’t eat, interact with anyone and would force myself to sleep hoping I’d catch him in a dream.  

In so many ways I have let this poor guy down.  He left London, his family, a great job, a lovely flat, friends–the lot–to follow me and a pipe dream to Los Angeles. He did this because his love for me was so great that the above paled in comparison to being alone.   And I, partly through selfishness but mainly because I was madly in love, allowed him to give these things up to come West.  So how did things go so South?

When he looks at me, his once warm eyes narrow and ice over.  I even see them flicker with impatience as he listens to me speak.  He sleeps constantly (not in bed with me) even though he drinks constant cups of coffee to try and fight, what I think is heavy depression.  He still dresses up every day, dapper as a dandy, as if he has a destination.  But sadly, he just sits in his office or walks in the garden smoking cigarettes.  When I hug him he is rigid.  When I touch him he stiffens.  

I don’t want this post to be about what I’ve done wrong or what he’s done wrong.  Nope.  That’s been written about countless times.  This piece is about missing someone.  Feeling their presence.  Hearing their monotone voice.  And feeling that “there is a hole in the world.”  

Poor English gent.  He has no one to talk to about his woes.  Nowhere to go and hide.  No money to treat himself.  Ethers, I can’t fix this.  I can’t fix him or our problems–at least not in the immediate future.  But he’s a good person and I remember so many wonderful moments that we shared that changed both of our lives. I can’t bare watching someone so key in my life suffer.  Yep.  Maybe I miss a ghost.  An ethereal object that will never return.   It haunts me.

What he doesn’t know is that I still smell his jumpers—right around the neck (that’s where he carries his wonderful smell).   I still look at him and think he embodies utter beauty.  When he speaks sometimes I close my eyes and listen because his voice is so melodic and his thoughts so intelligent—I even tear up.  And I watch him in that garden smoking those cigarettes.  Pacing back and forth.  Smoke billowing out of his mouth.  I know he can’t see me, but, like a voyeur I try and guess what he’s thinking about.  To try and crack his secrets.  And he thinks I’ve just discarded all of his handwritten notes that he’s sent to me over the years. Gorgeous letters written in a fountain pen with beautiful drawings around the edges on cream paper.  I’ve kept every single one and have them in a special drawer. I take them out and read them, crying line after line.  

One day I hope this will pass.  That we can either move on and go our separate ways content with our parting.  OR, we can finally accept one another and embrace our future.  But right now, like a horrible nightmare, I keep walking in circles day and night around the space we’ve created.  

So, to you English gent, “I miss you like hell.”

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Dear Ether,

All will be back to normal on Friday.  Well, I hope.  Unless this feature doesn’t kill me first.

In the meantime, a treat for you!  

Here is a photo of English gent looking particularly dandy and chic.  It takes a REAL man to pull off pink, no?

Rings are also tres Karlfeld!

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

A Bad Dream? Or What Was To Come?

Dear Ether,

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

His breath is calm and steady.  He is asleep.  I lay there too.  My back is turned and I am fully awake.  The room is dark except for the street light coming through the slits in the blinds.  The orange glow cracking through dances every time the wind blows making a projected light show on the bare wall.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I leave for the States in 1 week.  I don’t know if I’ll get into a Master’s program and receive a student visa.  If I don’t, I never see him again.  I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone like I love English gent.  

He shuffles slightly.  The bed shakes.  

Tick. Tick. Tick.

God this is unpleasant.  This time I brought my own pillow (if you recall Ethers, his idea of a pillow was a flattened, gray “creature”) but the mattress is old and I can feel the springs.  And his bedding is so shabby I’m freezing.  

It’s the kind of “in love” that I’m in that it’s almost like an obsession.  If I lose him I’ll wonder what would have been?  I’m already in agony when he’s away for the weekend to see his parents.  This is unhealthy.  He’s only 20.  He won’t risk anything for me.  Oh London. My London. I’ll miss you.  I’m going back to where I’m from–ironically, IT’S so foreign now.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The blind wildly whips itself against the pane making the room too bright.  The bed is making me nauseous.  I’m SO uncomfortable.  I can’t stop thinking.  I’m incredibly tired and I can’t sleep.  I just won’t get on the plane.  Yeah.  That’s it.  That’s the solution.  The blind goes wild again.  The silhouettes from the street reflect on the wall in fast flashes.  It makes me jumpy.

They say try counting backwards.  That makes you tired and occupies your mind.  99, 98, 97….

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I jump out of bed and take the ticking beast, wrap a towel from the floor around it and place it outside the room.  CAN YOU GET A NEW FUCKING ALARM CLOCK, CHRIST!

He sits up in bed and stares at me.  I’m downing a bottle of water and he lights a cigarette.  

Finally, the room is silent.

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Because this post really has no theme, I just thought I'd include a total non sequitur image (and hey, I could go for a long shot and say there are people sleeping in this pic and my post DOES talk about sleeping...). Hey, at least this person was A: Toasty. B: Anonymous (great to market to any celeb) C. And totally on trend (those colors are SO HOT right now!

Dear Ether,

I just wanted to say a quick hello before I went back to sleep.  I didn’t feel very good today, went to a meeting despite feeling like rubbish, and then got back into bed.  English gent is wearing a face mask and declares Swine Flu! But I think  I’m just run down (I’m kidding about the Swine Flu but not about the mask….  )  I’ve taken some Nyquil/Night Nurse and hope to be in a green capsule daze soon (actually, I really don’t need that amateur stuff for slumber.  I’ve got Dr. W’s goods.  But, hopefully this will unblock my nose and ease up my throat).  

My meeting was very exciting and was about my future with my newest freelancing gig (which is the one I love the most).  My Editor is a DOLL and immediately assigned me two more pieces (really quirky and fun, I’l tell you about them later) and told me that she should have good amounts of work for me since the department I was writing for was growing.  I asked her to please consider me for a permanent position if one were ever to arise and she gave me her word she would.  She said she’d also keep her eyes peeled for positions internally posted.  I NEVER put my eggs in one basket and I don’t trust anyone EVER, but I hope this Editor is an honest one who comes through, because I’m in love with this gig.  

My first feature came out today, and when I saw my byline along with a 1,200 word article, I really choked up.  I felt like a writer again–a real journalist, not just a star fucker.  It came out in the Sunday edition so it must have been read by  loads of weekenders–and remember–it isn’t always about the dosh for me.  It’s about that lady unwinding on her Sunday after her long work week and picking up the fun part of the paper and reading my piece and smiling.  My next feature, another 1,200 word beauty, is making headlines within the next fortnight.  This is the one I’m crazy about. It’s the spec piece that got me the gig to begin with. They normally don’t take this type of feature as it’s an opinion piece (by me) and it really meant a lot  that it got printed in this publication, particularly because of its prestige.  You see, I tried to sell it to lower grade glossies and no one was biting.  To see it come alive in this newspaper is a real honor.  

Going to see “An Education” with shoe gal and another one of her fab friends (Thursday) who owns a very famous restaurant here in Los Angeles.  The friend is sassy and I like her a lot.  But she’s married to a guy with a BAD TOUPEE–what’s with me and running into people with bad hair-pieces?  She’s a bit of a cougar and a lot of fun!  Maybe a new friend in the making?

English gent and I have spent a few peaceful evenings together.  And though we do have our shorts spats, we try and hold our tongues and get along.  Hey, at least we’re in the same room together right?  Regardless, he’s my best mate and still owns a bit of real-estate in my heart so we have to see what happens.  From my stats it seems like you Ethers really liked that piece about our courtship!  I guess I’ll have to tell you a bit more about our walks down memory lane.  And what a wild, crazy path it was and still is!  

I hope you’re all well.  I’m devastated that Internet Explorer is still banning people from my site (is this so—can you let me know for sure?) and that folks can’t read when they want to escape from doing work AT work and their damned computers only allow them to search via IE.  My host can’t figure it out, Wordpress says it can’t fix it as they can’t see a problem (both say THEY can view it fine on IE on their servers) so, I am extremely confused!  Regardless, I’ve gotten some lovely E-mails from the blog.  Do continue to write.  Those who HAVE can attest to the fact that I DO indeed reply…..and like my hideously lengthy posts (remember this was supposed to be like 2 lines–I’m at 732 words) I write back a generous amount!  Anything you wanna get off your chest, any questions about a post—write me.  

Okay, back to bed (I think when I die, and if I don’t get cremated, I’ll get a coffin that looks like a bed….it makes sense….it’s where I was happiest and spent most of my days!).  I have an adorable pooch snuggled up at the foot of my bed, of course on my cashmere throw (what a prince) and some good books I’m in the middle of.  Oh, and of course a few cookies by my side table

I know many of you have already gone to bed–or will be seeing this in the morning–so I will just say–as I usually do–

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Word Count: 860