The Animal Kingdom

“This is so unprofessional!” Rose exclaims for the third time that day, and it’s true.  We are unprofessional.  Someone in the office has brought in balloons  and a pump, and most people have stopped their work and are trying to make balloon animals.  There is a cracking “POP!!!” from behind me, and everyone jumps.  

“Guys, seriously!” she moans.  Rose is not making balloon animals.  She is adjusting her glasses and leafing through Wednesday’s Europe reports, trying to ignore everything around her.  

“You want?” Ben asks, holding out a pink balloon puppy with an air of extreme disinterest.  

I say nothing, only smile and point with one hand to a free spot on my desk while still tapping away at Excel with the other.  

He places it down gingerly and then ambles away back to his office.

“Smoke break?” Veronica inquires to the room at large, and five of us girls immediately stand up to join her.

On the roof, we stand in a circle, huddling against the wind.  The new girl, Lex, is wearing a short, fluttering skirt that keeps whipping up in the back.  She shrieks and clutches at the fabric, but we all laugh good-naturedly and assure her that it’s happened to all of us countless time.  

“Gotta give those security guards a good show,” Veronica winks, nodding her head in the direction of a guard skulking around in the distance.  

We pass around a lighter and admire each other’s shoes and outfits--a favorite roof pastime.  So-and-so is having a sale, and no, I got these at a thrift store on Melrose and did you hear that so-and-so’s new collection is out?  We’re all quite the astute fashionistas.  

Then, the conversation turns to guys, as it so often does when we’ve exhausted our shopping trivia.  

“DId you meet the new guy?” Liza asks.  

“Mmmm, very cute,” is Rose’s assessment as she finishes a drag.  

“And that accent!  Oh my *God*!” Veronica places her hand to her chest.

“Cute.  Not my type,” I throw in.  

“What *is* your type, if you don’t mind me asking?” Liza tilts her head.  She’s smiling, hoping I’ll take the bait.  She’s the only one who knows about my relationship with Ben, and she’s teasing me.  I know she would never outright say anything, just as she knows I will make up some lie and dodge her question.  It’s a game meant for teenagers, but there’s nothing quite like office romance to make everyone feel like gossiping kids again.

“Intelligent, interesting, playful, well-read, good taste in music and movies, and doesn’t wear sneakers with jeans.”

“Well duh to all of that,” Veronica playfully rolls her eyes.  “But physically, what’s your type?”

They’re all looking at me, waiting for an answer.  

“Um...nice shoulders?  Dark eyes?  Around six feet tall?  Not too skinny but not too muscular? No facial hair?”

I realize that I’ve said all of these attributes as if they were questions--as if I myself do not even know what my type is.  But in reality, I don’t.  Sean was my first serious boyfriend and my only love, and when you’ve been with someone for almost ten years, you kind of forget what your type is.  Your type becomes the person in front of you and no one else.  

Physically, Sean and Ben are quite different.  Ben is 100% Korean to Sean’s half-Japanese, half-white.  They are both the same height, but they wear their weight differently.  Sean was leaner, a little more wiry.  Ben has a broader chest and thicker arms.  When I was with Sean, I thought he was the most handsome guy in the world--I loved waking up to him and admiring his long lashes, tan skin, and perfectly sculpted nose.  

And waking up with Ben is different, but not in a bad way.  It’s like going from having toast and jam every morning for breakfast to having eggs and bacon--not a negative change, just a change.  

“I can’t believe you don’t like a good beard!” Rose shouts, and with that, the conversation is steered away from me and into the world of intense facial hair.

As we tramp back downstairs, Liza falls in step next to me and nudges my side.

“So basically, your physical type is...Ben?” She says it quietly and no one can hear, but I pretend to shove her hard against the railing.  She laughs hysterically at my faux annoyance and skips down ahead of me.

When we get back in the office, there are balloon animals everywhere.

The Girl Made of Glass II

The people at work who have known him for years can sense a change.  One day, after we’ve been seeing each other for a month, his boss closes the door behind her and turns to him.  

“What’s going on between you and Murph?” she demands.

“Nothing,” is the straight-faced reply.

“Liar!’  

It’s an accusation laced with glee, and he can’t help but laugh.  And with that, our cover is blown.

The head of the department is the next to know.  She has known him for years--hired him when he was just a punk teenager.  She winks when we pass her in the hallway.  

The secret keeps our adrenaline up.  We often ignore each other in the main department--he will pass through, we will make eye contact, and he’ll disappear.  When he says goodbye at the end of the day, I echo the farewells of my co-workers.

***

There is a cap on everything and I knew this from the start.  And there is a paranoia that is all in my head, but it doesn’t make it any less real.  To him, it’s something of an invisible monster.  It’s something he has to believe through my insistence alone.  

I am my worst enemy.  And he will become frustrated, and he will become unhappy.  But I don’t feel like I am in the place to compromise.   I don’t want to have to stomach guilt and horror and jealousy and rage for the sake of someone else.  

He’s heard the story.  He knows the facts, names, places, and dates.  But he didn’t know me back then, and I don’t think he can understand what exactly happened to me in the last six months--how I feel like I’ve aged a lifetime but have also been given a second chance.  And with a second chance, it’s so precious, so rare, so why should I obsess over shadows?  Why should I let myself become so unhappy?

I had never experienced heartbreak.  The phrase was familiar through its associations with dramatic films and radio love songs.  But until November, I never knew what it was like to literally have my heart break.  It was more like a shattering, when I think about it carefully--atoms scattering  away like mist.  I was disappearing into the air, and no matter how hard I tried to conjure a foundation within myself, there was nothing to hold.  The world around me also seemed to break apart into feather-like pieces to float upward into the sky.  I cried and cried, but the tears meant nothing, and those remnants of the past that I managed to catch turned from beauty to rotten in my slowly dissolving hands.  

When I woke up the next day, I was living in neither the past, nor present, nor future.  I had stumbled into some invisible layer separating the three.    I felt neither alive nor dead.  Trapped inside a nightmare that wouldn’t end even in sleep, I walked through a maze of doors where all were locked.

Except for one.  And it was the door I dreaded the most--the one I avoided even trying, because I knew from the bottom of my insanity that it was the only one that would open.  I paced back and forth, trying to calm myself, occasionally pulling on other knobs that still refused to turn.  And sometimes, I heard voices from the other side that caused the tears to bubble and burst until my eyes were burning.  In a frenzy, I tried every key, every trick, every password.  And even though each time I was denied, I found myself sleeping at these entrances, hoping to be woken by the sound of a lock coming undone.  

After some time, I understood how pathetic I was.  I went to stand before that one door and placed my hand over the cool, unfamiliar knob.  Maybe I wasn’t ready, but I couldn’t wait anymore.  My fear wouldn’t wait--my fear of being trapped here forever--and so I pushed through the door and fell back into life.  

That morning, I made myself a large cup of coffee.  The first one to arrive in my department, I set to work on creating and sending out the morning reports.  When Liza arrived, I smiled and talked about how great it was to have my sister and mother visit.  I worked throughout the day without a complaint, and when I went home, it was to an empty apartment and a cold bed.  

And eventually, as the months passed by and those particles slowly fell back into form, I wasn’t the same as I was before.  Underneath my skin was nothing but glass.  

***

A girl made of glass is prone to break, and when she does, it leaves a mess for someone else to clean up.  Others can try to step around her and  some may stick around and try to fix her.  But more often than not, they cut themselves on the pieces, and she is sorry, yet they can’t help but bleed.

The Girl Made of Glass

I am sitting at my desk, waiting on a file to export.  Headphones in (Bill Ricchini crooning about sunny days and saving graces), a room-temperature, half-drank can of cherry cola on my right, a shopping bag resting on my left.  Damn, I shouldn’t have bought that dress.  I’ll have to wear it at least once a week for the next month so it doesn’t feel like a total waste.  It will look good with that sheer, crème colored top with the sweet peter pan collar.  Or maybe I could wear it with those red tights with those crazy zig-zag patterns running down the side.  Nothing long-sleeved—that would look stupid.  But really, I should have not bought that dress.  A wear-once waste.

I see Him out of the corner of my eye.  He pauses as he closes the door to his office, staring down the cavernous room for just half a second before moving toward the main office door.  It’s more of a shuffle, really—a nonchalant, unhurried padding that will surely lead up to the roof, where he will be leaning against the cracking stucco wall, one hand holding a cigarette between two fingers, the other resting in his pocket.

So I take a quick inventory of the room--Peter's chair is vacant (must be in Annie's office), Liza and Rose are both nodding their heads to their music, and Veronica is in the adjoining room, standing over Chris' desk listening in on a conference call.  Elijah has, unsurprisingly, yet to show his face in the office this morning.  I slide out out from behind my desk, locking my desktop and straightening my jacket.  Lighter? Check.  New pack?  Check.  Keeping my head low, I push through the office door and make my way up the stairs, that narrow passageway of too harsh sunlight and dust.  And there he is, squinting against the sun, not even turning his attention at my arrival.

I take my place on the wall a few feet away from him.  He glances over and asks how my morning has been.  I light up and grumble about my broken reports and misguided formulas.  He nods in quiet agreement.  Somehow, it's harder to find words at work.  We are two different people here--he is That Guy--the guy who rarely laughs, who sleepwalks through the day, who isn't shy but just keeps to himself, who has been here for years and who seems to know everyone, even those who don't work in our department. Paint-stained hoodie, hair cropped too short, Chucks or Vans. Calm.  And then there is me--chatty enough with my direct department, but for the most part, silent and making every effort to disappear into the walls.  Grimacing at the desk, seen sighing and squinting through hours of Excel, with a Red Bull every morning.  Doc Martens, jeans, knit pullovers, glasses.  

And yet, after work, there is this transformation.  He becomes the guy that laughs, who buys nice wine, is first to suggest a great bar I've never even heard of, who likes to walk at the reservoir and casually asks if I want to go to Mexico next month.  And even though my pulse may jump, I’m steady as steel.  There will  be no falling head over heels, there will be no daydreaming of whimsical afternoons or surprise gifts.  But there are some allowances.  In a subdued bar on a Wednesday night, a cocktail is poured, and his hand comes to rest on my forearm. I take a drink and let the ice crack and melt off my skin.

I'm going to be re-formatting the way I write these blogs, because I realized this week that my old style just isn't working for me anymore.  My posts are going to look like journal entries from here on out, because that's pretty much how I've been treating my writing as of late.  Without the luxury of professional therapy, I've taken to just writing in random slices and chunks about my life.  I'll probably still have random picture posts and silly stuff, but I'm really going to be using this blog as a way for me to, uh...track my mental progress...

?

FUN FUN FUN.

Cheap and Cheerful

I spent an odd Christmas this year.  It was the first Christmas I'd spent without both Dean and my family, and both my roommate and my only other close friend are still out of town visiting their families.  As it turned out, I ended up at a nearby bar with a co-worker on Christmas Eve.  It was 7 PM and the place was pretty sad--dark, a few huddled figures at the bar, and dozens of empty tables.  We each had one drink before I stupidly mentioned the all-you-can-drink beer and soju joint right next door.  Enthused, my co-worker managed to convince me to check it out with him.

It was a mistake.  My limit is usually one bottle of soju and that's it.  But that night, I had a strong cocktail at the first bar, then a beer, then one and a half bottles of soju.  I don't even really remember what we talked about--our families, friends, tv shows, work--and I don't even remember walking to a coffee shop after or then walking home, but I know it happened.  I completely passed out when I got home, and the next day, I couldn't get out of bed for several hours.

He's a nice guy, my co-worker.  Well, kind of.  Sarcastic. Dead-pan.  Blunt.  But underneath it all, he's respectful and considerate.  A Korean son.

We hadn't really talked much at work for the last three months.  We'd exchange some pleasantries ("this company is going to fucking kill me") on the roof during a smoke break.  I'd wave if we passed in the halls.  It wasn't until the Christmas party last week that we started talking.  He came up to me at the bar and started chatting.  I was drunk.  He was friendly.  We went and got Korean after to sober up.  After that, we still didn't talk at the office.  And then, somehow--I really don't remember--I ended up inviting him to a bar when I was out with my roommate.  And after that, we've talked every day.  We're friends, but we're secret friends.  It's ridiculous.  It's childish.  But neither of us want to start chatting it up at the office, because I know how this office works and it's a fucking gossip mill from hell.  So we ignore each other at work and text at night.  It's uncomfortable and strange.

I want friends, but this relationship already seems like it's off on the wrong foot.

Buried

The last post I had was pretty depressing, but as I was in a "very dark place" at the time, it was fitting.

I'm going to be getting a divorce in the upcoming months, and even saying those words still sound insane to me.  But it's happening and I am just trying to move forward with it.

I had to take a few days off work once I discovered the truth.  My sister immediately flew out and after she left, my mom took her place for two weeks.  Letters and gifts poured in from relatives and friends, and it took me off guard.  You get cards for Christmas, birthdays, and graduations.  But I wasn't expecting this kind of thing at all.  And it really hit me hard what an amazing family and group of friends that I have.

It took me a few weeks, but I jumped back into work as best as I could.  I still screw up on what feels like a daily basis.  After being that person in my district who seemed to know everything, this feeling of utter inadequacy is crushing.  I want to do better, I want to prove that I'm not a total waste to the team, but I just can't seem to get things right anymore.  There is always a hesitation, always a growing shadow of a doubt.

But I can't say that everything is bad.  My former roommate from college moved in with me a month ago.  She's moving back to NYC at the end of January, but it's been amazing getting to live with one of my best friends again.   In Maryland, I did feel isolated--I didn't have close friends to hang out with on the weekends and I was a workaholic.  Now, I love being able to come home at the end of the day so we can pour two glasses of wine, bitch about work, and then just talk.

And my company's Christmas party was last night, which was a pretty good time.  Taking someone's wise advice, I had a few drinks at my apartment before I left, so when I got to the place, I already had a buzz.  I proceeded to have a handful of vodka tonics while talking at the bar.  But there were weird moments, as well.  You're having a smoke on the balcony and some guy puts his jacket over you when he realizes you're cold.  Or you let someone order your drink.  It's stupid little things, but they are things that no one other than Dean has done for me in years.  I never let it happen--I always made it clear when I went out that I was in a relationship.  Not in a bitchy, upfront way, but conversationally.  But now...I'm just seen as a single girl.

One of my co-workers on the other side of the office went through a massive break up during the same week as me.  I didn't know him very well at all, but now, we take ten minute breaks on the roof and talk about how we're dealing with things.  Ten minute therapy sessions.  This is my life right now.

I don't feel like writing anymore.  I should cook dinner or finish up some online Christmas shopping.

Night, all.

The life I've known is over.  I try to pick up the pieces only to figure out I don't know where anything belongs anymore.  Each day feels like a nightmare, but I have never loved my family or friends more.  I try to rediscover what I was like ten years ago, but it's like being curious while looking into a stranger's life.  Is that what I did?  Is that what I loved?  Is that what made me happy?

Happiness is underrated and I never realized that until now.  Aristotle said it was the most important thing in life, which sounds childish, but it really is the motivating force behind all of our plans and actions.  And when life changes, what does that mean for your happiness?  It just dies and you have to start from the beginning again, and all with that single, unanswerable question:  what makes you happy?

Voyager

A photo post.  A lot happened in the last week but it would be exhausting to type it all out.  I kept starting this entry and then deleting it out of frustration.

Went here for Dean's "welcome to LA" first official meal as an LA resident...at 11:30 PM.  We left at 2:30 am right as they were closing.  It was pricier than I am used to, but the quality of meat was top notch.  Great place and only a few blocks away.

The next morning, we walked to Paris Baguette, which I was freaking thrilled to find is just as cheap stateside as it is in Korea.  Holla.

After, we went to Little Tokyo for lunch and in the parking lot, Dean snapped this winning photograph.  Also, I got that shirt at Jet Rag last week--it has a picture of a unicorn and the words "Books are Magic".  It has a few small holes in the back but I could care less.

Just a shot of some stuffed animals we have hanging around the office.  For some reason, maintenance built a shelf there last week and we promptly loaded these on top.

e

Office Halloween party from today!  It was just an hour in the middle of the day, but it was a surprisingly good time.  Our HR chick put together some amusing games and everyone had some laughs.  Things have been insanely busy as of late, so everyone needed an excuse to just let loose.

I was super lame and just recycled one of my costumes from last year.  But Red Riding Hood without the basket...silliness.  

Finally, a closing shot of Dean and Blue hanging out.  I love it when cat's toes curl like that.  I just want to eat them.

Overall, these past few days:  Driving around in a U-Haul, moving in furniture, helping friend move furniture, haggling in Spanish, Supernatural marathon, meat, costumes, computers, soju.

Red

Pardon my absence, but I did not have internet for two weeks.  I was only supposed to go a few days without it, but there was a mishap with the UPS delivery, and then when I did get the necessary junk, it didn't even work so I had to wait for an AT&T dude to come fix it today.  Le sigh.  

The last few weeks have been a blur of late nights with my former college roommate, Lizzy (fried chicken and donuts while watching Sherlock Holmes 2; drinks at Gaam; bumming around Ikea trying to pronounce Swedish furniture and cookies), solitary evenings with a single beer and leftovers from lunch, and then, those nights where I wanted to crawl out of my skin out of boredom.  In those cases, I grabbed my iPod, pulled on my Dr. Marten's, and just started walking.  One night, I walked three miles up and down Wilshire and 6th Street, no destination in mind, playing the same Metric song over and over before I reluctantly allow it to roll into the next song.  I smoked too much.  I lingered outside restaurants and read the menus before guiltily walking away when I realized someone inside was just waiting for me to come in.  

For two nights, I worked on a drawing using my tablet and the Artrage program.  I had bought a beautiful book on Art Nouveau jewelry at a flea market last winter and used it as inspiration.  I used to really dislike Art Nouveau since it just seemed cheesy, but in the last year, I started to really appreciate it.  It didn't try to be anything "cool"--it was shamelessly dreamy, feminine, and mythic.  It was all women with windswept hair, butterflies with jeweled wings, goddesses with crowns of stars.  Natural and whimsical, asymmetrical and unapologetic.  

It was hard to start a new project again and several times, I just wondered if I was being punished for my lack of interest in art in the last handful of years--like everything I had studied and felt "passionate" about until I was twenty-three had deserted me.  But it wasn't a punishment--it was a reminder.  You want to be good at something?  Fucking do it, then.  I had forgotten how pleasurable it is to create something that is so visual, so immediate in its progress.  With work, it's so hard to be judged, and it's not about talent, it's about the left brain.  

Dean comes back tomorrow, though.  Single life just doesn't suit me well.  But then again, this hasn't really been a "single" life--I've been alone but still in a relationship.  I've started my "new life", but not really.  Part of me kept holding back, giving only 50% because it just felt wrong to go about doing all these things as if I were on my own.  

But overall, even though this last month and a half have sucked, I'm still surviving.  The chorus of  "Dreams So Real" by Metric has become my mantra--"I'll shut up and carry on; a scream becomes a yawn."  Fitting words.  I can bitch and moan, but at the end of the day, none of it seems to matter.  Keep your head up, stay alert at work, don't get run over by a bus on your way home (the buses here are CRAZY, by the way--nearly got sandwiched TWICE driving home today), feed the cat, make the coffee, take out the trash, try to eat something.  Probably the most difficult thing about living by myself in a new place is that I don't have very much food and I can't justify buying a lot.  At least three times in the last month, I've just had some crackers or yogurt for dinner.  It's been the "accidental "single" girl diet" AKA "too lazy to cook, too cheap to buy food diet", which has resulted in me going down a pants size.  It sounds stupid, but I'm kind of pissed off about that.  I have furniture to buy--the last thing I want to do is spend money on more jeans.  All of my expensive designer pairs--7s, Joe's, Paper Denim Cloth, Alice + Oliva--are too big at this point, so I can't even wear damn jeans to work.  

Sigh.  Okay, I should try to get some sleep.  I'm just really, really excited about Dean coming to LA tomorrow...I just want to speed up time.  He will land in 24 hours, but I shouldn't expect him until 11 PM just to be safe.  

Have a great night, whoever is out there.

Coughing Colors

I'm not the kind of person who believes in bad luck, but today was just...off.

It should have been an easy day. I woke up early and called Verizon concerning a $200 overage charge on my joint cell phone bill with my husband, and they--very nicely and professionally--agreed to strike $100 off since it was so out of character for us.  This put me in a great mood, so I happily strolled out of my apartment at ten till eight, ready to get into work an hour or so early.

I got in the car and hooked up my iPod, found a song I liked, and turned the volume way up.  I had only driven a few yards before a parking enforcement officer passed by, stared at my car, then motioned for me to stop.  There was a moment of freak out where I thought he was going to comment on my out-of-state license plate, but after I rolled down my window, he sauntered over, pointed at the back of my car, and said, "You know you have a flat, right?"

An hour and one AAA visit later, I was back on the road with my spare tire (to be honest, I didn't even know I had one until the officer opened up my trunk and fished it out), ready to do some hardcore excel shit.   I got in on time to make my lunch order for the day (we order out from 2 different locations every day and can place the orders on our corporate site)--a rainbow roll and miso soup from a popular Japanese place nearby.  By the time noon rolled around, I was starving but hadn't received the email to pick up my food a reception.  Two hours went by, and all of us in our department were feeling flat out mutinous.  Finally, the girl next to me got a call from the front desk saying, "Uh...did you guys like, want to get your food or what?"  Apparently, the lunch emails "hadn't gone through" and eight of us just hadn't received them.  We all stalked off toward the front only to find that it had been sitting there for hours and the restaurant had forgotten our miso soups.

What happened next?  I spilled soy sauce all over my pants.  I ran to the bathroom to try to clean it off, and in the stall, noticed two things:  1) the seam at the top of my new pants had unraveled completely and 2) my underwear was...inside out.  :(

Ok, so for the good parts of the day: I got to leave work early to...sign the lease on my new apartment!!!!!  Also, I walked to the nearby bookstore and picked up "Salt: A World History" and "The Marriage Plot"--the former I had been wanting for several years and the latter has been on my "want" list since Christmas.  So even though I won't have internet for a few days at my new place, at least I'll have some books to keep me company.

On a random note, here are some pics of my nails.  For the last few months, I've really been into glittery, ridiculously girly polishes.  The reason?  Regular polish chips within a day on me, but a few layers of glitter and I'm good for a week at the least.  

My new place!  There are just these units (each building has one unit on top, one on the bottom).  I have a bottom one and the tree is right outside our window.  And the crazy thing?  It's the same number as my previous apartment.

All the rooms have these gorgeous windows which means LIGHT. FCKING BEAUTIFUL NATURAL LIGHT.

Ok, now I'm going to go shower, pick up a little, and read one of my awesome new books.  Have a great weekend!!