winkgirl4's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chameleon Two thoughts have echoed in my head this weekend- and they've rung in such disharmony that I have found it difficult to think on anything else. "Oh, but Heather, you are good at adoration, " Christian Carvajal "You're not the kind of person who's good at being alone," Charles Mann I've once claimed that those two men were the only people who knew me better than I knew myself- and perhaps they still are- but everything in me wants to argue those points. You know, maybe it's not a bad thing to be good at adoring someone- thorns and all. Maybe that makes me a better partner. And maybe I'm not so different than most of the other people out there who just don't want to be alone. Only so much can be said for being an independant person who doesn't need anyone else. Still, I wonder what each of these things have said about me. I wonder, (and perhaps the wondering of it is it's own proof) am I really as insecure as they've sold me all these years? You know, I was just about to argue that point, too, by saying, "But, I know what I want and I know what I like," but then I thought about it and I had to admit that what I've wanted and what I've liked, in the past, has been strongly influenced by the men with whom I've been in relationships. Let's take my relationship with Brian, for instance. Clearly, I was too young and immature to know what love was, but I would have sworn with my very last breath that I was in it. And, in the four years that we were together, I made myself believe that a fate worse than death faced me if I were to question man, God or him. I was the strongest of christian girls and purity was my name. I adored him. I defended his pompous and arrogant ways and I stood proudly at his side. I learned to love airplanes and computers and the Beetles. And I liked those things before but, because of him I loved them so much more. But, also because of him, I spent less time in the theater- a place where I'd always felt at home- and I stopped working at the skating rink because it was in my own best interest thatI start keeping better company. And then there was Christian (take one) from whom I spent more time running away, rather than allowing myself to completely adore. But I was drawn to him. In a way very dissimilar to what I had felt with Brian- dissimilar from what I swore was love. Christian introduced me to life outside my dorm room. He invited me to ask questions. He encouraged me to be creative. Only, my mind was a whirlwind and I fought against the activity that was his life and opted for one of seclusion- where I could nurse my deluded little girl mind. And, in walks Raymond. Raymond is simple. He's easy. He doesn't have any expectations for me. He doesn't challenge me. He doesn't do anything that comes across (in my mind) as being pressure or a demand to reach my potential. Simple was his life and simple was my life with him. And I adored him. I adored his simplicity. I adored his dreamer-mentality. I adored his family. I defended his lack of education. I defended his need to go out without me and have fun with his friends and girlfriends. I defended his thoughtlessness when it came to things like saying I love you or Happy Mothers Day. I learned to love race cars and techno-music and I tried to learn to love smoking pot but no matter how I tried, it just wasn't me. But I did like cars. I was facinated by their construction and inner working. And I liked techno music. Very few genres afford such great dancing beats and if there is one thing that I do love, it's dancing. Still I loved all those things so much more because of him. But, again, because of him I walked away from a family that he said made him feel inferior and friends that made him feel stupid and a life outside of my house that made him feel threatened. And, yes, then there was Christian, again. Only this time I was running to him and not away. With Christian-hoping for Christian- I experience the happiest moments of my life. Even now, my heart skips a beat when I think about him. With Christian, I was in love for the first time in my life (and last) and I was so filled with hope. I was more creative than I've ever been. I felt more free than ever before. I saw him on special occasions and occasional holidays but when we were together it was... magic. When we weren't, I would lay with my armed draped over the absense of him and I slept- thinking about the day that space would be filled. And when I adored him, I really adored him. I could have gotten drunk on the mere scent of him. Thoughts of him drew long comforting sighs and he became the first time I really thought of my future of becoming more than I'd settled for- of deserving him. Oh, I spent more than enough time defending accusations that he was a home wrecker and that he was an arrogant ass, too stubborn and single minded to consider a lesser man's ignorant ideas. I defended the thoughts of his elitest friends who are often too smart for their own good. And I defended my love for him- a love no one- but we- understood. I learned to love films and screenplays and production and the glitz and the glamour of Hollywood. And I do like films. And I love writing. And I miss California so much that it breaks my heart almost as much as Christian does. But I loved them all so much more because of him. For him I denied my interest in sports and the company of people deemed less intelligent than he or I. And I almost- just almost denied my daughter. (And I knew the moment that choice was made that it would haunt me for the rest of my life.) And finally there is Shannon. Shannon, Shannon, Shannon. He walked into my life with a broken heart and a shared need to have someone to hold onto. We were the alternative to an empty bed and the assurance that we'd never love each other enough to break each other's heart. And we're so much alike I don't know how we don't kill each other every single day. And I do. I adore him. He's been the best friend I could ask for. He's goofy and unexpectedly sweet. We play and talk and fight. Believe me, there's been more things than I can count about Shannon that have called for defense. He's self-centered. What he wants to do with his life seems to change from day to day. He has a Peter Pan complex. He's always looking for the easy fix. He's an ass who relies on his charm and good looks far too much. Oh yeah, I could go all day. But, because of him, I learned to love sports and I learned to love poker and I learned to love organizing social activities. Don't get me wrong. I love college football and I love baseball- I always have. And it was something I couldn't share with either Raymond or Christian- but I learned to love them so much more because he took the time to explain plays and options and trading systems and line ups. He took something that I did love to another level and gave me the freedom to talk about it. He taught me how to play poker and taught me percentages and taught me how to win. Still, it's something that I do because of Shannon not because it's my driving force. And, of course, being with Shannon wasn't without it's drawbacks. He, like Raymond, was suspicious of my being out of the house and around other people. He, like Raymond, cheated on me. He, like Raymond, surpisingly broke my heart when I didn't think I had given them enough ammunition to do it. So it is that I found myself thinking about all these things that I've loved, that were such large parts of my life- simply because someone else was. It reminds me of the not-so-great romantic comedy, Runaway Bride, in which Julia Roberts attempts to become the perfect person for the men she's about to marry and finds herself sprinting from the commitment, like a robber from a bank. And, again, I have to plead that I'm not too different from many other women- in this tendency. Guys have less of an inclination to pour themselves into their partners interests but, ask just about any girl and she can tell you at least one time when she's done it. Still, it leads me to wonder: how do I like my eggs (the defining question in the afore mentioned movie)? What would someone have to know about me to love me- thorns and all? Here are just a few of those things: I have a passion for writing. I've wanted to be a writer from as early as I can remember. If this is the best way from me to do that then I will accept that when the time comes. Until then, I will believe that there is a book in me somewhere and I will write until it comes out. It doesn't even have to be a good book. It just has to be written. I just have to prove that I have what it takes to do it. I love building things. It's why I have ever been interested in cars. I love power tools. I am more protective of my tool box than I am of my jewelry box. I love construction. I love hammers and nails. I get a stronger itch to spend money in a hardward store or in a lumber yard then I ever have in a department store or a mall. I pick up and inspect each tool or gadget. I plan in my head what this could be used for or what type of angle this might cut. My love for the theater was based on building flats and designing sets and less on pouring myself into a role. It's hard to explain to guys that you love tools and table saws and so it's something that comes out a little at a time but that I've kept to myself, mostly. With all the christian leanings aside, I do like being in a parnership with someone where I can be submissive. I am at home in that role. I like doing for others. It fulfills something in me that I can't explain. Again, it's something that I've felt as long as I can remember. Some women resent cooking dinner- except on special occasions- but I thrive on planning a meal. Doing laundry while I cook. Setting dinner on the table and feeding the ones that I love. As much as I detest folding and putting away laundry, I love the satisfaction I feel when I do it- ironing his shirts just so and folding his pants just right. It's silly. It's probably what makes me seem weak to people but it's one of the things that I like about myself. I don't like clutter and things that are disorganized. It makes me feel... hm... what's the feeling... nervous. I am agitated when the house is dirty (and since I've lived with Shannon, it pretty much stays that way, as I can't keep up with cleaning after three guys.) Anyway, I am more productive in other venues of life if my house is clean and everything is put away where it should be. I don't like things being shoved at the back of closets. I don't like things being tucked under beds. I don't like cutlery mixed in the silverware tray. Do I go bisirk if if happens? No. Of course not. But I can feel the nervous aggitation grating inside until it's fixed. I'm late for everything (except work). I have been all of my life. I think that it's tied to my procrastinators mentality. You would think that someone who craves organization as much as I do would also be driven by punctuality but I'm not. In fact, it doesn't bother me to show up 'just on time' or a little late. It should. It's rude to others. It's irresponsible. But it's how I am. I've done a million things (okay, so maybe not a million things) to force myself to be more punctual and, if only out of respect for others, I've improved. But I'm just always going to be a late person. I'm always going to procrastinate. Well, hopefully not always. Maybe there's someone out there that can help me with that. But until then you might lie and tell me that the event starts earlier than what it actually does. It's what my sisters do, and it seems to work for them most of the time. I'm a girl. I'm one of the girliest girls that I know. I know. I know. I have a lot of masculine leanings and that's confusing but I like my feminity. I like being a girl. I don't want to be a big, power-playing bitch on the ladder of success. I like being the person with the smile on her face who brings candy to the people in the office and sneaks in early in the morning to cook breakfast for the early shift. I don't want to be the boss. I don't like being the boss. I guess this, kind of, comes back to my submissive nature. Finally, I love academics. It's why I was drawn to teaching and why I realize that I will probably go back. But I love learning new things. I still get a kick out of find out something new and interesting. Despite the turmoil that was my childhood, nothing could go wrong when I was in class. All was right with the wirld if I had a sentance in front of me that I could diagram or an algebraic formula to memorize. Everyone around me dreaded going to school, but, to me, it's always felt like you had this break from the pressures of life to learn how different kinds of puzzles were put together and if you listened and learned long enough, it might just make the pressures of everyday life just a little less pressing. So that's it. Mix that with a few other things that should make it on "The List" and you have...well, ME. these are the things that I really like to do. How I really am. How I really like my eggs. (And just so you know, I like them over easy with lots of pepper, a dabble of salt and two pieces of buttered toast.) 8:39 p.m. - February 26, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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