De Ce Monde Secret de l’ Amelie Americaine

Inhale slowly, exhale even slower. “Just breathe.” I tell myself, mid-anxiety attack. I am back in my dream from three nights ago, feeling the emotions as if the events were taking place in my day time hours. My chest is tight. I feel the need to burst into tears. I am looking at his new girlfriend walking down the path from his house toward me. I stop, look at her and said, “He lied.” I make my way up and down this same small path retrieving a little more of my “mail” until I am ready to leave the path from his home once and for all. The symbolism was not lost on me.

“Just don’t lie.” was all I heard him say to me in the beginning of our relationship. I never felt any anxiety about why he said it. I assumed that he had been burned before, and that once he understood how much I loved him, this insinuation would go away. We are all insecure, I wasn’t going to toss a relationship because he was showing a bit of his dark side.

But IT was always there. The sharp mistrust punctuated by emotional outbursts, accusations, and sudden breakups over nothing…followed by over-whelming declarations of love and fidelity. “I want to open your heart.” He confided, “Place my heart inside yours and zip it up so no one else can get inside.” What he always failed to understand was that my heart was already open, no surgery was necessary. I steadied our relationship with even and muted reactions, like a parent, patiently witnessing the out-burst of her toddler.

“He lied.” I finally said the words out loud to a friend. We were driving home from work in my car. The night shielding my face from direct view. “He smoked pot everyday. Although I never knew until his friend blurted it out. He failed the bar at least three times. He told me it was once. And…he was trolling online dating sites at least a month prior to our final break up. He lied.” I admitted to my friend, like a dark confession that needed to be let out. “I gave my heart to the wrong man.” And just like that.  I knew, however anxious I felt about opening my heart to someone else.  I am definitely ready to move on.

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“Women…don’t turn your head away from the battlefield.” Lectured Suze Orman, financial guru on a late night PBS show I was watching last night. “Don’t put yourself on sale…value your own worth.” This woman is a G_d I thought to myself, until I saw the $365 price tag of her dvd/book set.

But the sentiment has not been lost on me. I’ve been TCB, (taking care of business) big time. Since I arrived back in Brooklyn, from a last minute broadcast of the bridge collapse in Minneapolis, I’ve been determined to get moving on the move. I packed boxes, sorted the junk from the treasures, shredded old documents, updated my credit report, met with a real estate broker…Doing everything to set myself up to be ready to take that next brave step forward. My own home, and then maybe if the stars aligned, a family. “If you build it, they will come,” has been my motto repeated to friends and co-workers who are supportive, but are still scratching their heads a bit.

Without doubt the only person who has stood by me with 100% support and zeal has been Nana. ” I’m so proud of you. I always tell everyone how well you are doing, and your job….” She said the last part as if she had used it as a bragging chit to one-up her most competitive acquaintances.

“At least you won’t be throwing away your money on rent anymore.” She applauded, as I told her about the very experienced, competitive buyer’s broker I had lined up for myself.

“Is he married?” She inquired. “Remember, don’t go after the married ones.” She injected.

“NANA, this a business arrangement, about nothing else, other than me getting the best home and him making M.O.N.E.Y.”

“Oh by the way, I never gave him your number. It turns out that he does have a lady friend.” She slide into our conversation.

“Oh good.” I lied knowing that Suze Orman would say my words were out of harmony with my feelings. Yet my mature, practical side was telling me that this was from the get go a slightly inappropriate proposition instigated by my well- meaning, yet truly confused Nana in the first place.

Early this morning in NYC there was a deluge of rain and a tornado set down in Brooklyn. The subway is flooded and shut down.   Another day another disaster, abet on a much less devastating scale, but much closer to home.  Am I deluding myself? What if I end up alone anyway.

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“You’re stronger than you think.” Is the mantra repeated to me by well meaning friends, relatives and the occasion psychic as they seek to explain exactly to me why after so many years I’m still sans soul mate. Understanding in excruciating detail the exact nature of why I’ve needed to become both self sufficient and emotionally contained has never been the problem. I knew very early on in my life, that to be vulnerable to the wrong person would express itself karmically in soul crushing consequences.

Allowing myself the full extent of my vulnerability without judgment, platitude or excuse has been my life’s journey. I know am strong. On a scale of one to ten, I usually manage an eight or nine…maybe a humble seven if I’m willing to accept the immediate loss for the long term gain. But never, have I achieved the ten…which I define as full vulnerability coupled with the expression of strength. To achieve a ten I know there is someone who must loves me unconditionally while I express both, my complete vulnerability and that wise woman inner strength, and so far I have achieved one or the other, but not both simultaneously. This saddens me deeply.

As a strong person I know how to be there for someone and disappoint them if it serves a higher good… even if they don’t realize that is my intent. I know I must be “strong.” I know there is a good reason why, I am who I am, but sometimes a girl doesn’t want to be there for every important person in her life. Sometimes, she just wants someone who will for a change….hold her hand…so that just for a moment, she doesn’t have to be the strongest one.

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He’s older, but not too old, headed in a good direction, and lives on a respectable family block. He had provided well for his previous family…all three daughters happy and well adjusted, had grown up under his insulated roof. They were extremely ambivalent when their mother had decided to move on and let him go. He was the only home they had ever known.

He was smaller than most houses on his block, but charming and well maintained. He wasn’t perfect, but he had all the right qualities…clean, remodeled, sunny rooms, and enough quirky characteristics to make him seem interesting and one of a kind.

But it was not meant to be, at least not right now. My offer on this home was not accepted. The only region that has failed to accept the down turn in real estate is New York. Despite the writing on the wall, prices and expectations are still highly unrealistic. And as much as I would love to make it work, I don’t want to put myself into a awkward, or difficult financial situation either.

So I’ve decided to embrace a new approach, go out on far more prospective dates and opens houses, and see what is out there. I will try, for the time being to not zero in so quickly on a home, and try to make it my own, unless it is absolutely the “right choice.” Ughh! It pains me to have to be out there again. During our brief romance, my imagination went into overdrive as I dreamed about our prospective life together. There is nothing more I want right now, that feel the safety and loving embrace of my own home.

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I’m sweating puddles here in NYC, sans air-conditioning. There are two places that you rarely have the benefit of central air…one is in my own apartment, the other is at the laundry mat. It doesn’t make sense to me either. One thing I quicky learned when I moved to the city is that most older buildings require that you purchase a window unit and install it yourself. Mine is out of service. I am SOL on many levels. It is yet another item I’ve put on the house “must have” list, along with a washer, dryer, dishwasher, and no flooding, cock roaches or termites. I know, I’m such a demanding bee-yotch.

But while I sit here, losing ten pounds of water weight through my pores, I’m watching a Swedish film that I can’t follow, while I play with a broken silver necklace that I threw into my jewelry box eons ago and forgot to dispose of, despite the fact that it has a broken link. I don’t know if it is the same one he gave me when I was eighteen and he was twenty-one, but for now, it is, even if it is only real in my imagination.

What was real was my Nana playing match maker over the phone last week. Her exact words were, “When I mentioned your name, and bragged about how you just up and moved to New York and how you are now working with ___….his voice lit right up. You should write him. Here’s his address. It’s okay you’re both adults.”

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Uploaded by denis_music

A few months ago, a fellow from my MyBlogLog community posted an advertisement for his project using my “prendre une photo” feature on my sidebar. I’m always one to support another artist’s project big or small, professional or amateur, parce que je suis une jeune artiste aussi! Little did I know that when the final product was released that I’d be very impress that this artist was lurking in my blogging world. Here’s to you! If you would like to read a review of the film, visit another MyBlogLog friend Titus, from Le Monde du Titus. (note, if your browser does not support the embedded video player above, please click on the link to view the trailer)

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For the past three month, I have been forced to sit on my rump, with my thumb squarely up my…. There wasn’t any way around it. I couldn’t force the powers that be to move any faster. I watched a lot of movies, drank a lot of wine, and prayed that I wouldn’t grow old before I saw the final results. I thought a lot about all the things that could happen before I reaped the reward of my lucky windfall. Would I get hit by a car, or fired from my job. Would my dog die or maybe another family drama was waiting in the wings to throw me off balance. I reasoned that for everything really positive, there has to be some kind of Murphy’s law backlash to temper and cool this huge success. Things couldn’t JUST be good.

Well, the results are in, and now I am in a position to move forward with my new direction.  So, where do I begin? I still have the dusty papers on the floor, even though every last one of them was paid and dealt with last week. Thought that I would have some kind of formal bonfire, shredding party…but that never happened either. I was not moving forward. I feared that if I shredded these, that new financial gremelins would come out of the woodwork. Some did, but they were prompted dealt with. Now, it feels like a stubbed toe and not a broken foot.

I realized that my feelings were on still on perma-pause, glued down, and buttoned tight to avoid embarassment. Very adult, and non-emotional. I got used to the pause button. There is no risk when you do nothing. There are no-dashed hopes, or directions that need to be altered. On pause you don’t have to accept defeat. There is no bitterness or disappointment. But of course, you’re not really living either. So here I go, trying to NOT hold my breath anymore, sticking out my finger, to push the PLAY button once again.

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