The last couple days I have been dragging my emotional baggage around like an unwanted appendage.
I tried to write up my whole sob story for you yesterday, and just couldn't put the whole thing into words without sounding melodramatic (because really, my friends, it was.)
About how Library Boy and I had our first minor conflict this weekend - which was really hardly a conflict at all - and how it ended up blindsiding me with feelings of insecurity and self-doubt.Soon enough, though I realized these feelings had nothing to do with him, but were all about being cheated on in my past and about how that relationship ultimately made me not trust myself either.
After all, how can you trust yourself when you go along thinking everything is fine, but meanwhile the person you love is storing up all their grievances against you, only to unleash them in a spectacular display passive-agressive behavior that ultimately ends your relationship?
It's nearly impossible to trust yourself - or another person - after all this. But it's what you've got to do. Learning what you can from the past, but trying not to let it drag you down.
One thing I've learned is that I do NOT get along with passive-aggressive people. I am much too assertive for them- they don't stand up to me when they should and then we all regret it in the end.
So far Library Boy does not seem to be that kind of boy. He's so giving and sweet that I worry about it, of course. About him giving and giving (like some exes who shall remain nameless), and then turning around and saying how much I take from him. But time will tell, won't it?
At least, this weekend, it all worked out in the end. In fact, I even heard Library Boy refer to me as his girlfriend last night.
And you know what? I liked it.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Friday, August 27, 2004
Phew. That was a long haul. Yesterday I sent the first ten chapters of my book, along with my proposal ("my book is better than Book X because Book X is a piece of crap!") to my agent. If all looks good, after one more round of revisions, she wil start the process of trying to sell my little baby.
These chapters should have gone out the door weeks ago. Not least because they've already been picked over by a panel of talented (and unpaid) editors (GalPal #1, GalPal #3, L'il Sis), not to mention one fine paid writing coach, and aformentioned agent.
Let me stop for a moment and tell you about my agent (oh, and to thanks to Deb for referring me to her!). Though she lives in Greenwich Village (naturally), I got to meet her about a month ago when she flew out here for vacation. Now I liked her from the first time she e-mailed me, bubbling with enthusiasm, and saying she wanted to read my book based on the title alone.
But I liked her even better after I met her, and then still more after drinks at the Pink Door. She is tall, blonde, and fabulous, and stepped off the plane looking twenty times more stylish than the cave-dwelling Seattleites around her. But she's also down-to-earth, warm, and best of all, knows how to make a writer feel good about herself.
"Fantastic!" she said about the last batch of chapters I'd sent her, holding her glass of Riesling aloft. "They were fantastic!"
Now, never mind that it took me over a month to incorporate the changes she then suggested, one of them a structural change spanning three chapters, which I wrote, rewrote, and then rewrote again (times 4). That "Fantastic!" (even if I only half-believed it) was enough to spur me on through the endless revisions.
Things have also been slow here in LatteLand because yours truly has not been able to get up early this entire summer. And since I do all my writing in the morning, this has been a problem.
Gone are those charmed months of winter where I got myself into bed at 10:30, went to sleep at 11, and arose, like clockwork at 7:30, refreshed by my 8.5 hours of sleep, with time to write for almost two hours before cruising into work at 10:30-11 (I salute you, oh greatest company in the world, for letting us keep whatever schedules we like!) And yes, it was tough to stay at work til 7, but worth it.
But as the days grew longer, my restlessness bloomed. I started to go out more. Stay out later. Stay up later. Bedtime jumped to 11:30, midnight, 12:30. Wake-up time suffered accordingly, until the average was 9 a.m. 9:30 even!
Because the morning writing habit is so ingrained, this just meant my writing sessions got shortened to an hour, and that - even then - I still didn't get into work until the lonely noon hour, when everyone has been here for at least two hours already (or, in the case of my boss, four).
And just try telling someone who doesn't work at The Company that you've been getting in at noon. They gasp and say "Really?," partly in jealousy, and partly in disbelief, that you - such a slacker - have not yet been fired.
But around here, there are plenty of people who keep crazy hours. So no one seems to mind, especially since I then (try to) stay til 8, but Lord, it's just discouraging. No time to work out. No plans before 8. No time to practice piano (though with a keyboard now in my office, I sneak some time in because, after all, I have to help Sexy Blue-Eyed Boy become the next Bruce Springsteen).
It was all dragging me down. Until yesterday. When three exciting things happened. The Company gave me good review, with a generous bonus. I sent the whole shebang off to my agent. And I also started getting up earlier again.
Now, just a little self-congratulory pat on the back for managing to simultaneously write a book (however slowly), and turn in a good performance at work, and I'm off - perhaps to make it in by the ungodly early hour of 10:30 today!
These chapters should have gone out the door weeks ago. Not least because they've already been picked over by a panel of talented (and unpaid) editors (GalPal #1, GalPal #3, L'il Sis), not to mention one fine paid writing coach, and aformentioned agent.
Let me stop for a moment and tell you about my agent (oh, and to thanks to Deb for referring me to her!). Though she lives in Greenwich Village (naturally), I got to meet her about a month ago when she flew out here for vacation. Now I liked her from the first time she e-mailed me, bubbling with enthusiasm, and saying she wanted to read my book based on the title alone.
But I liked her even better after I met her, and then still more after drinks at the Pink Door. She is tall, blonde, and fabulous, and stepped off the plane looking twenty times more stylish than the cave-dwelling Seattleites around her. But she's also down-to-earth, warm, and best of all, knows how to make a writer feel good about herself.
"Fantastic!" she said about the last batch of chapters I'd sent her, holding her glass of Riesling aloft. "They were fantastic!"
Now, never mind that it took me over a month to incorporate the changes she then suggested, one of them a structural change spanning three chapters, which I wrote, rewrote, and then rewrote again (times 4). That "Fantastic!" (even if I only half-believed it) was enough to spur me on through the endless revisions.
Things have also been slow here in LatteLand because yours truly has not been able to get up early this entire summer. And since I do all my writing in the morning, this has been a problem.
Gone are those charmed months of winter where I got myself into bed at 10:30, went to sleep at 11, and arose, like clockwork at 7:30, refreshed by my 8.5 hours of sleep, with time to write for almost two hours before cruising into work at 10:30-11 (I salute you, oh greatest company in the world, for letting us keep whatever schedules we like!) And yes, it was tough to stay at work til 7, but worth it.
But as the days grew longer, my restlessness bloomed. I started to go out more. Stay out later. Stay up later. Bedtime jumped to 11:30, midnight, 12:30. Wake-up time suffered accordingly, until the average was 9 a.m. 9:30 even!
Because the morning writing habit is so ingrained, this just meant my writing sessions got shortened to an hour, and that - even then - I still didn't get into work until the lonely noon hour, when everyone has been here for at least two hours already (or, in the case of my boss, four).
And just try telling someone who doesn't work at The Company that you've been getting in at noon. They gasp and say "Really?," partly in jealousy, and partly in disbelief, that you - such a slacker - have not yet been fired.
But around here, there are plenty of people who keep crazy hours. So no one seems to mind, especially since I then (try to) stay til 8, but Lord, it's just discouraging. No time to work out. No plans before 8. No time to practice piano (though with a keyboard now in my office, I sneak some time in because, after all, I have to help Sexy Blue-Eyed Boy become the next Bruce Springsteen).
It was all dragging me down. Until yesterday. When three exciting things happened. The Company gave me good review, with a generous bonus. I sent the whole shebang off to my agent. And I also started getting up earlier again.
Now, just a little self-congratulory pat on the back for managing to simultaneously write a book (however slowly), and turn in a good performance at work, and I'm off - perhaps to make it in by the ungodly early hour of 10:30 today!
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Well! Now that I'm not dishing about my evil ex OR my current beau, what the hell, I ask you, am I supposed to talk about. Sheesh! When did I become so virtuous anyway?
Is it because I'm in loooooove perhaps? Is that why I took down that post with those two *just very slightly* negative comments about Library Boy, whereas I normally have no hesitation in ripping my various useless boytoys to shreds?
No! I swear! Not yet anyway. And I am not - hear this - NOT FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN UNLESS ITS FOREVER AND EVER!
Oh crap. Who am I kidding? Most love lasts a few years at most before something horrible happens - someone has an affair or contracts a wasting disease, or declares that they actually love goats.
But anyway, I want Library Boy, if he somehow does turn out to be the Man of my Dreams (not that such a thing exists) to be able to read this blog someday and feel good about it.
Because I certainly can't keep it a secret much longer. Not least because in a month I'm speaking on a panel at Richard Hugo House with a few other tres accomplished people, and I want to tell him about it! And too, let's not forget about the book, shall we?
If all goes to my evil master plan, the world will soon know about my blog! "Breakup Babe" will be feted and toasted the world round! "Hear hear for Breakup Babe, who added something to the chick lit genre that was not completely idiotic, and who taught us something about loss, love, and laughter in the process!"
Ahem. So in conclusion, Library Boy is going to find out about the blog sooner or later, and if we're still together when that happens I don't want him to read bad sh*t about himself. Because this guy, believe it or not, is one hell of a nice guy -- which will probably spell our doom but a girl can hope, can't she?
Is it because I'm in loooooove perhaps? Is that why I took down that post with those two *just very slightly* negative comments about Library Boy, whereas I normally have no hesitation in ripping my various useless boytoys to shreds?
No! I swear! Not yet anyway. And I am not - hear this - NOT FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN UNLESS ITS FOREVER AND EVER!
Oh crap. Who am I kidding? Most love lasts a few years at most before something horrible happens - someone has an affair or contracts a wasting disease, or declares that they actually love goats.
But anyway, I want Library Boy, if he somehow does turn out to be the Man of my Dreams (not that such a thing exists) to be able to read this blog someday and feel good about it.
Because I certainly can't keep it a secret much longer. Not least because in a month I'm speaking on a panel at Richard Hugo House with a few other tres accomplished people, and I want to tell him about it! And too, let's not forget about the book, shall we?
If all goes to my evil master plan, the world will soon know about my blog! "Breakup Babe" will be feted and toasted the world round! "Hear hear for Breakup Babe, who added something to the chick lit genre that was not completely idiotic, and who taught us something about loss, love, and laughter in the process!"
Ahem. So in conclusion, Library Boy is going to find out about the blog sooner or later, and if we're still together when that happens I don't want him to read bad sh*t about himself. Because this guy, believe it or not, is one hell of a nice guy -- which will probably spell our doom but a girl can hope, can't she?
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
It might be sign of age that I find this sexy, but I have to say it really turns me on when a guy makes me dinner with food from his own garden (Library Boy).
Can we say good provider? Can we say guy (who like the Ruby character in Cold Mountain, who helps the heroine connect with the earth for once in her life), might ground me a little - literally and figuratively?
Too early to say, of course. And I must run to catch the bus so must leave the details for later. More soon!
Can we say good provider? Can we say guy (who like the Ruby character in Cold Mountain, who helps the heroine connect with the earth for once in her life), might ground me a little - literally and figuratively?
Too early to say, of course. And I must run to catch the bus so must leave the details for later. More soon!
Wednesday, August 4, 2004
OK, you're in luck. I've had way too much coffee, am stuck at the office, and am bored out of my f*cking mind.
Sigh.
As I know I've been light on details lately, I'll give you the scoop on how the whole Charming Canadian (non-) drama played out.
I stayed true to my word, and never made contact with him again after our "friendly" Instant Message exchange of two weeks ago, when he was up in Canada doing whatever it is those heathens do up there.
I thought, ok, this is probably doomed, downgraded the crush to Mostly Hopeless, dated three million other boys, and waited to hear from him. Figuring, at least that he would have the decency to tell me if he had a girlfriend and was henceforth blowing me off, seeing as we did go on two dates and were engaged in heavy flirtation.
Well, silly me! Why would I have expected such a courtesy?
So. Demonstrating the utmost patience, I wait for an entire week after he returns from his two weeks with that Canadian ho'. I do not IM. I do not e-mail. I do not call. I just wait, and I wonder, with only the remotest stray tendrils of (quickly-withering) hope left.
Fine. He doesn't want me? There are plenty of boys who do! Now if I could live with that complete lack of closure, I would. But I can't. Especially given that he works in the same division, one building over, and I could run into him at any moment. I would like things to be friendly when we see each other. I would like, even to be friends, because he is a cute boy. That is always a suspect thing to suggest at this stage, but you know what, I do it anyway.
I send him a short e-mail last Friday that says hey, don't worry, whatever happened with you I hope that you don't feel awkward, and I hope that we can, at the very least be friendly, and at the most, be friends.
He takes three days to write back and when he does, he's just plain cold. In other words, he does not let me down gently, with kind words. No, he apparently feels the need to be harsh so as to push me far, far away and ensure that he doesn't find me hiding behind his file cabinet with a hatchet.
Something to the effect that now he has a girlfriend; must focus all his attention on her; can't be friends with me because that would make her feel "threatened," and - here was the kicker - he "hoped" I can "respect" that. He ends by saying but of course we can still be friendly, and talk about "work-related stuff" (yeah, right).
WTF? As IF. As IF I am some kind of stalker who doesn't know rejection when it slaps me on the face! As if I LOVE him SOOOO much that I will visit his house in the middle of the night and cook his f*cking pet RABBIT for dinner!
Get over yourself buddy.
Anyhow, as much as I would like to crucify him and his little Canadian cow, I have to say I saw him at a party today (yes- at a 500-person event, I accidentally seat myself five feet away from him!) and he made a special effort to come over and say hello, and then to say goodbye when he left, going so far as to touch me on my tanned, supple shoulder.
At least I looked sexy as hell today and was surrounded by admiring men at the time.
F*cking bastard.
Sigh.
As I know I've been light on details lately, I'll give you the scoop on how the whole Charming Canadian (non-) drama played out.
I stayed true to my word, and never made contact with him again after our "friendly" Instant Message exchange of two weeks ago, when he was up in Canada doing whatever it is those heathens do up there.
I thought, ok, this is probably doomed, downgraded the crush to Mostly Hopeless, dated three million other boys, and waited to hear from him. Figuring, at least that he would have the decency to tell me if he had a girlfriend and was henceforth blowing me off, seeing as we did go on two dates and were engaged in heavy flirtation.
Well, silly me! Why would I have expected such a courtesy?
So. Demonstrating the utmost patience, I wait for an entire week after he returns from his two weeks with that Canadian ho'. I do not IM. I do not e-mail. I do not call. I just wait, and I wonder, with only the remotest stray tendrils of (quickly-withering) hope left.
Fine. He doesn't want me? There are plenty of boys who do! Now if I could live with that complete lack of closure, I would. But I can't. Especially given that he works in the same division, one building over, and I could run into him at any moment. I would like things to be friendly when we see each other. I would like, even to be friends, because he is a cute boy. That is always a suspect thing to suggest at this stage, but you know what, I do it anyway.
I send him a short e-mail last Friday that says hey, don't worry, whatever happened with you I hope that you don't feel awkward, and I hope that we can, at the very least be friendly, and at the most, be friends.
He takes three days to write back and when he does, he's just plain cold. In other words, he does not let me down gently, with kind words. No, he apparently feels the need to be harsh so as to push me far, far away and ensure that he doesn't find me hiding behind his file cabinet with a hatchet.
Something to the effect that now he has a girlfriend; must focus all his attention on her; can't be friends with me because that would make her feel "threatened," and - here was the kicker - he "hoped" I can "respect" that. He ends by saying but of course we can still be friendly, and talk about "work-related stuff" (yeah, right).
WTF? As IF. As IF I am some kind of stalker who doesn't know rejection when it slaps me on the face! As if I LOVE him SOOOO much that I will visit his house in the middle of the night and cook his f*cking pet RABBIT for dinner!
Get over yourself buddy.
Anyhow, as much as I would like to crucify him and his little Canadian cow, I have to say I saw him at a party today (yes- at a 500-person event, I accidentally seat myself five feet away from him!) and he made a special effort to come over and say hello, and then to say goodbye when he left, going so far as to touch me on my tanned, supple shoulder.
At least I looked sexy as hell today and was surrounded by admiring men at the time.
F*cking bastard.
OK, I am in that zone. The addicted zone.
And Library Boy is the drug.
The Red Couch O' Love has seen a lot of heavy makeout action these last few days, and the drugs are flowing heavy through my veins. I sent Corliss Boy the Lets Just Be Friends e-mail, Jet Ski Boy has disappeared off the face of the planet, and the "Charming" Canadian not-so-politely slammed the door in my face.
Instead, I seem to have gotten this Christmas present of a cute boy who seems to unquestioningly, unequivocally, like me -- one who is open and warm instead of cagey and closed-off.
I don't know, of course, what the future holds. The physical attraction is there, that's for sure. But for me, Miss Gemini, the intellectual spark needs to be almost - if not equally - strong. With Corliss Guy, the intellectual spark was there, but the chemistry was not.
And so, as I'm swamped by a rush of hormones and hope, I'll be trying to figure that out. Can Library Boy keep my mind - as well as other parts of my body - stimulated for a long time to come?
Stay tuned.
And Library Boy is the drug.
The Red Couch O' Love has seen a lot of heavy makeout action these last few days, and the drugs are flowing heavy through my veins. I sent Corliss Boy the Lets Just Be Friends e-mail, Jet Ski Boy has disappeared off the face of the planet, and the "Charming" Canadian not-so-politely slammed the door in my face.
Instead, I seem to have gotten this Christmas present of a cute boy who seems to unquestioningly, unequivocally, like me -- one who is open and warm instead of cagey and closed-off.
I don't know, of course, what the future holds. The physical attraction is there, that's for sure. But for me, Miss Gemini, the intellectual spark needs to be almost - if not equally - strong. With Corliss Guy, the intellectual spark was there, but the chemistry was not.
And so, as I'm swamped by a rush of hormones and hope, I'll be trying to figure that out. Can Library Boy keep my mind - as well as other parts of my body - stimulated for a long time to come?
Stay tuned.
Monday, August 2, 2004
This is what I have to say about Library Boy for the moment:
He is one hell of a kisser. And I like kissing him more than I've liked kissing anyone in a long time. One might say it feels dangerously good to kiss him.
So not only does the new Seattle Public Library offer Wi-Fi, coffee that you can bring to your tables, and an immense, airy space that lets your imagination roam free, it also offers up hot, professional, available men, right at your table.
Go there. Immediately.
He is one hell of a kisser. And I like kissing him more than I've liked kissing anyone in a long time. One might say it feels dangerously good to kiss him.
So not only does the new Seattle Public Library offer Wi-Fi, coffee that you can bring to your tables, and an immense, airy space that lets your imagination roam free, it also offers up hot, professional, available men, right at your table.
Go there. Immediately.
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