Category: Music

Subtle as a windowpane

I’ve been listening to a lot of Ani the past few days. It makes me nostalgic for college, reminds me of past heartaches which were far worse than this, and also provides a little soothing balm to the still tender wound you’ve added. Granted, I don’t feel as consumed as I did the first day and, although I definitely do not like it, not hearing from you for more than three days has put some distance between me and my raw emotion. The thoughts are still swirling though. I have to wonder if yours are too or if, similarly, the lack of contact has allowed you the distance to realize you want more of it; distance, not me. I hope not but I also realize that it’s not up to me. Instead of rambling here though, I have been able to distill my thoughts into smaller, salient points. We know I love a bulleted list.

Why I’m angry:

  • You pulled the plug too fast. I didn’t even get a chance to see how I really felt about you or if you would get annoying.
  • If you decide that I’m worth it, worth giving a relationship with me a fair shot, you have made it far more serious than it should be. The carefree, by default, has been snatched.
  • Likewise, although it didn’t worry me before, now I will have an insecurity about other women. Jealousy is not beneath me but it isn’t where I like to hang out.
  • I was really fucking enjoying things the way they were!

Why I’m disappointed:

  • By your own words, you think I’m pretty amazing and like spending time with me too. I’m disappointed that this either isn’t true, you think you can do better, or isn’t a strong enough pull for you to try.
  • It seems like sex was as good for you as it was me. Again, either that isn’t true, you think you can do better, or it isn’t a strong enough pull to make you want to try.
  • I was really fucking enjoying things the way they were!

Why I’m sad:

  • Queue vulnerability — I got caught up in being happy and didn’t do a good job protecting myself from catching feelings. What’s sad though is that I would even have to do that with a man. Sadder still that I’d have to do it with a good man.
  • I cannot tell if you are just a nice guy or a good guy. They are different. The latter is unacceptably rare, the former is just a master of disguise.
  • At least a dozen times in the past three days, I’ve wanted to tell you something funny or an observation and I didn’t feel like I could. Because as much as you’ve said it’s not goodbye and we can still talk and blah,blah,blah, you’re the one that made this wave. You get to ride it and I just have to fight the undertow.
  • I really want to be able to just rewind to before that “serious” talk and watch it play out if it hadn’t happened. But that isn’t possible.
  • I was really fucking enjoying things the way they were!

So, I wait.

Music for the Mood: Anticipate – Ani DiFranco

Tiger Lily Vegas

What does it all mean?

Tiger Lily Vegas was the name of a cat. In college, maybe senior or super senior year (victory lap), my small and beloved group of guy friends and I illegally had a cat in the dorms for a few, gloriously scandalous weeks. Considering virtually everything was against the rules at our tiny, conservative, Christian college, this was a very big deal.

I wanted to name her Tigerlily. Natalie Merchant was my muse at the time, I think. The guys wanted to name her Vegas (we were unabashedly into the movie Swingers then). “You’re so money baby and you don’t even know it.” Maybe we should have named her Double Down. Anyway, we compromised on Lily Vegas and, after a number of adventures and learning what it was really like to have a cat, illegally or not, in a confined space, we got caught. Probably the smell although, I don’t remember those lesser details now, fifteen years later. Lily Vegas lived out her days on my family’s farm, having babies, killing rodents and living the life fantastic until a car squashed her. I’m not a cat person, or even a pet person, but I had an affinity for Lily Vegas, for what she represented, the memories, the subversion.

I have so many memories and stories like this in my head, upstaged in volume only by thoughts. I like to write but rarely do it, except in the occasional, introspective, wordy and admittedly obnoxious social media post about whatever is rankling or inspiring at that moment. After college, I had a blog and it was cathartic and I met great “friends” there, a few of whom I am still connected with through social media. Some days, especially when I’m walking the 2.5 miles to or from work and my mind wanders or I’m lying in bed unable to sleep, I think about how I wish I had someone to turn to and talk about all these random things. So here we go. Buckle up.