After thrashing about and tousling through the sheets for minutes or hours or however long it takes you, it seems common these days to both turn over and go to sleep. No cuddling, no talking, no second round of sex--just sleep. I've found this to be true in relationships and random sex. Sex is just sex these days. Get yours and not worry whether your night's partner gets theirs. There's no connection or love.
Keep your chin up, lovers. I have found an exception to the unloving act of loving. I've never been too keen on the whole friends with benefits thing. It's messy and complicated and one person always seems to like the other person a little bit more. There are too many fine lines that both parties constantly tip toe on until one of them falls off and the whole friendship is ruined.
Well, momma always told me to be friends first. Luckily, I have managed to keep up the game for quite some time now. Not only do I want to remain friends and continue to have a weekly or sometimes biweekly slumber party, but I also want to hold dear the connection that he and I have. Sure, it's great to have a physical connection. It's really fucking great. But, to find a person that not only looks into your eyes but into your whole being is extremely rare.
After thrashing about and tousling through the sheets and both laying there completely bare, panting, heart racing, sweating...and then one of you looks at the other through the darkness that is 3:30 in the morning and starts laughing...and then you laugh. And then, you're both laughing, and neither of you has any idea why. And then, he pulls you to him, and you mold your bodies together, and listen to each other's hearts as the beating slowly returns to normal, and everything in the world is amazing and perfect at that moment. You just lay there, together, chilled by the ceiling fan but warm from each other's body heat. Everything is silent and still. He kisses the top of your head as you slowly trace your fingers in figure eight's on his rib cage.
This is the post sex calm. Find it and cherish it. You would think that it was love. That we were two people in love, in a relationship. But, we're not. We're just friends, and we reassure each other of that daily.
XOXO
Merekat
Sleeping With A Friend by Neon Trees
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Guilt
It's normal these days to have all of our passwords automatically saved on our accounts linked to our phones and laptops and kindles and Ipads and what have you. It's also normal to forget the passwords you created for accounts months or even years ago that get lost and erased from your memory all together until they are thrust back into your mind after countless attempts at entering the correct one. Most of my passwords revolve around the same word and numbers. Same shit since junior high. And now, at the old age of 26, random combinations are scribbled down on pieces of monogrammed stationary that are strewn across my dining room table in the hopes that I can get in to my bank account, email, culinary student loans, Banana Republic credit card, etc. The list goes on and on.
After an exciting night after work involving a few gulps of moonshine and an episode of Da Vinci's Demons, I thought it was a grand idea to log on to my blogger account and see what was going on. As the webpage loads, I see the blank username and password fields staring back at me. Laughing at me. It's all, "Haha, bitch. Let's see if you can remember this one." My head falls to my hand after 4 or 5 failed attempts and the little red hint, "You changed your password 12 months ago." Thinking, thinking, thinking.
Epiphany. I swing my head up so fast, and I get a little dizzy from the booze. "God damnit!" I let out as I slam the mason jar on the table and enter the password as fast as my fingers will type. Of course. Of fucking course. It was the combination of my name and my exboyfriend's name. How could I forget.
"You changed your password 12 months ago." I close my eyes and just like the password, everything from that relationship starts flashing so fast back into the present. 12 months ago, I changed my password. 12 months ago, I was in love and wanted to get married and was making plans to move in to a condo with him. 12 months ago, a year ago, not only did my password to my blogger account change, but OUR passwords for the electric bill, Comcast, etc. all changed to a combination of our names.
And now, 12 months later, and after only being broken up since January, that relationship only lives in my subconscious. It happened more quickly than I thought. I no longer wake up thinking about him or what we could have done to fix our relationship or what if we hadn't lived together or what if I hadn't filled the void of being alone after our first break up with some loser or what if, what if, what if. My thoughts are no longer consumed with the past or if there is any hope of being friends in the future.
I felt guilty the first time I realized I had pushed it all away. Of course it happened, but it faded so quickly once it was over that I live my day to day life like it never did. I felt guilty for burying all of my feelings and love and hurt and anger and seemingly walking away unscathed. What if he was still thinking about me every day--every waking moment? What if he still hurt? What a fucking bitch for forgetting it all and moving on.
After my dad died in 2000, I started suppressing a lot of my feelings. I was 12 years old. It was such a whirlwind of events and people and condolences and flowers. I changed. I learned how to lie. I learned how to lie, fake a smile, and bury my feelings. It was my way of coping and dealing with the public. It was so much easier to smile and answer, "Thank you for asking. I'm doing fine," to the endless "Oh, honey, I am so sorry for your loss. Your dad was such a wonderful person. How are you doing?" People wanted to take care of me, and for some reason, that was not ok with me. I wanted to be the protector--the protector of my mom, my brother, and my own heart.
It was a few years later in high school when I starting feeling the guilt. I realized that I had pushed it all away. I no longer thought of my dad every day. I no longer missed him, and I felt guilty. The memories of his laughter, his nicknames for me, the cold nights I loaded up in the truck to go fill people's propane tanks, plucking feathers with him after duck hunting--all the memories were floating around somewhere in my subconscious. How could I not think about him every day? My dad, my own dad had died, and I was too selfish to have any thoughts dedicated to him.
It wasn't until one night in college when I smelled it. I SMELLED IT! The stench rising off of some college boy after a duck hunting trip found it's way to my nose and traveled down to my soul. The visuals, smells, voices, and everything that David Pittman was immediately overwhelmed my heart. It was then that I knew that I wasn't some cold, terrible human being. There wasn't one day that went by that I didn't think about him. It may not have been in the forefront of my mind, but it's there. He's there.
And similar to the death of a loved one, 14 years later, I went through the death of a relationship. The fighting pre and post breakup, the condolences, the texts, the phone calls...they all led me to do what I do best--lie and save face. Buck up, fake that smile, and move on. Suppress the feelings. Of course I think of him daily when I find cards that were attached to the numerous bouquets of lilies, come across tshirts of his that somehow got lost in the shuffle of returning each other's belongings, pass a car like his on Union, etc. But, those thoughts no longer linger. Memories cross my mind, I place them back into his file, and continue on with whatever I'm doing.
I felt guilty, but not anymore. The good times will always be remembered and the love that we shared will never be forgotten. That's all I owe to him. Not guilt.
And just like that, 12 months later, I'm changing my password.
Merekat
After an exciting night after work involving a few gulps of moonshine and an episode of Da Vinci's Demons, I thought it was a grand idea to log on to my blogger account and see what was going on. As the webpage loads, I see the blank username and password fields staring back at me. Laughing at me. It's all, "Haha, bitch. Let's see if you can remember this one." My head falls to my hand after 4 or 5 failed attempts and the little red hint, "You changed your password 12 months ago." Thinking, thinking, thinking.
Epiphany. I swing my head up so fast, and I get a little dizzy from the booze. "God damnit!" I let out as I slam the mason jar on the table and enter the password as fast as my fingers will type. Of course. Of fucking course. It was the combination of my name and my exboyfriend's name. How could I forget.
"You changed your password 12 months ago." I close my eyes and just like the password, everything from that relationship starts flashing so fast back into the present. 12 months ago, I changed my password. 12 months ago, I was in love and wanted to get married and was making plans to move in to a condo with him. 12 months ago, a year ago, not only did my password to my blogger account change, but OUR passwords for the electric bill, Comcast, etc. all changed to a combination of our names.
And now, 12 months later, and after only being broken up since January, that relationship only lives in my subconscious. It happened more quickly than I thought. I no longer wake up thinking about him or what we could have done to fix our relationship or what if we hadn't lived together or what if I hadn't filled the void of being alone after our first break up with some loser or what if, what if, what if. My thoughts are no longer consumed with the past or if there is any hope of being friends in the future.
I felt guilty the first time I realized I had pushed it all away. Of course it happened, but it faded so quickly once it was over that I live my day to day life like it never did. I felt guilty for burying all of my feelings and love and hurt and anger and seemingly walking away unscathed. What if he was still thinking about me every day--every waking moment? What if he still hurt? What a fucking bitch for forgetting it all and moving on.
After my dad died in 2000, I started suppressing a lot of my feelings. I was 12 years old. It was such a whirlwind of events and people and condolences and flowers. I changed. I learned how to lie. I learned how to lie, fake a smile, and bury my feelings. It was my way of coping and dealing with the public. It was so much easier to smile and answer, "Thank you for asking. I'm doing fine," to the endless "Oh, honey, I am so sorry for your loss. Your dad was such a wonderful person. How are you doing?" People wanted to take care of me, and for some reason, that was not ok with me. I wanted to be the protector--the protector of my mom, my brother, and my own heart.
It was a few years later in high school when I starting feeling the guilt. I realized that I had pushed it all away. I no longer thought of my dad every day. I no longer missed him, and I felt guilty. The memories of his laughter, his nicknames for me, the cold nights I loaded up in the truck to go fill people's propane tanks, plucking feathers with him after duck hunting--all the memories were floating around somewhere in my subconscious. How could I not think about him every day? My dad, my own dad had died, and I was too selfish to have any thoughts dedicated to him.
It wasn't until one night in college when I smelled it. I SMELLED IT! The stench rising off of some college boy after a duck hunting trip found it's way to my nose and traveled down to my soul. The visuals, smells, voices, and everything that David Pittman was immediately overwhelmed my heart. It was then that I knew that I wasn't some cold, terrible human being. There wasn't one day that went by that I didn't think about him. It may not have been in the forefront of my mind, but it's there. He's there.
And similar to the death of a loved one, 14 years later, I went through the death of a relationship. The fighting pre and post breakup, the condolences, the texts, the phone calls...they all led me to do what I do best--lie and save face. Buck up, fake that smile, and move on. Suppress the feelings. Of course I think of him daily when I find cards that were attached to the numerous bouquets of lilies, come across tshirts of his that somehow got lost in the shuffle of returning each other's belongings, pass a car like his on Union, etc. But, those thoughts no longer linger. Memories cross my mind, I place them back into his file, and continue on with whatever I'm doing.
I felt guilty, but not anymore. The good times will always be remembered and the love that we shared will never be forgotten. That's all I owe to him. Not guilt.
And just like that, 12 months later, I'm changing my password.
Merekat
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