Erika Jones's blog

Missing Sunday

I'm in the middle of Monday, and I'm missing Sunday.  Yesterday was a family day - after lounging lazily in bed, enjoying the extra hour of rest thanks to the time change, I met my parents for a leisurely brunch.  We drank strong coffee and ate omelettes with apples and cheddar cheese, crunchy hash browns and pancakes with powdered sugar.  I murmured something about needing to watch my diet and my mother replied, “Why are you doing that?” insinuating I was perfect exactly as I was.  Immediately I felt peaceful and okay (then wondered why it is I can’t seem to give myself the same gift?)

 

After more cups of coffee, we decided to leave the busy restaurant and wander up north for a walk at the mall (and a divine twenty minute chair massage for me!  Oh lordy what a treat…..she really dug into my shoulder blades, and I didn’t have to get undressed OR shave my legs – bonus!)  Dad found a couple of lucky pennies and we got our people watching in for the week. 

 

We rounded out the day in a bookstore cafe – large Mocha with whipped cream for Dad, and a small one for me.  Mom worked on her laptop (end of the month payroll), and I nosed around the travel section and found a delightful little book called “French Milk” – a collection of journal entries, photographs, and cartoons by a young woman who spent six weeks in Paris celebrating birthdays with her mother.  It was a perfect day and exactly what was needed to remind me what makes the world right and real.  Delicious.

 

When the common denominator is you

...it's time for change. 

It's been a long time since I've written anything here.  For many reasons - the most obvious being the fact that I started a new job about seven months ago and it's been kicking my ass in a giant way.   Sure, okay, yeah, that's a valid reason.  But it's also a very large, very overused vanilla excuse. 

The truth of the matter is - I've once again found myself working in a troubled land of team dysfunction, politics, power and poor management.  And I am stymied.  Honestly stymied.   This is the FOURTH job in a row that has turned out like this for me.  I can guarantee that friends are pretty tired of hearing me say, "Work is just so crazy..."  Trust me, I'm tired of saying it too.

So what does this mean?  It means that I'm obviously not learning what I need to be learning.  'Cause if I was, I'd have found my way out of these mazes by now.  The barriers are so familiar.  Issues of accountability, trust and communication.  Twists and turns.  Over and over I try to create solutions in my mind.  I work out problems in my dreams.  I wake up  with new mantras to help me get through the meetings.  I deep breathe.  Read books on zen by the truckload.  Attempt meditation.  Excercise. Scarf down ice cream and drink strong martinis.  But nothing helps squash the fury.  I am angry that I did not trust my intuition that gave me the right message at the right time (It was so much easier to push the inconvenient thoughts out of the way...)  I am angry that I still chose work that is not right for me.  I am embarrassed. Pieces of it are very very right - yes.  Almost entire days are blissful.  But the ragged ones are so sharp they take my breath away and I'm left with nothing to give. 

A very dear friend said something to me recently about my career choices that surprised me.  You have a long, red carpet stretched out in front of you.  He said.  But all you do is keep walking around it.  Ouch.  Is it really that obvious?  Can everyone hear the wise voice except me?    

And now it's close to 1am and here I am.  Rolling thoughts of life and work and meaning and choice and freedom and anger and bliss over and over and over in my head.  Nothing will be solved in this moment.  But I will rest and wake up tomorrow and start again. 

For now I will relish in the fact that tonight I wrote and that was different.    

What if?

We all started telling the absolute truth in our Facebook status updates? 

Can you even imagine?  My guess is that by the time we got to the bottom of the "News Feed"  we'd all be really bored and sort of depressed.   (But isn't that why we're on Facebook anyway??)

Erika is looking for some dental floss.

Erika is putting her socks away and wondering if she'll remember next week that she started a new sock drawer when she can't find anything to wear with her boots to work.

Erika is eating to keep herself company.

Erika is drinking a glass of wine to make the pain in her vertebrae go away.

Erika is putzing around on the Internet in hopes of finding some sort of real connection with another human being.

Gah.

New crush

I have a new crush.  On this guy.

Yes, it's true.  I have the hots for the guy in the Nissan Versa commercial. 

Maybe it's the fact that he's so smart with his money (in these tough economic times, and at my age, this goes in the 'plus' column). 

Perhaps it's the hot music that gives him more of a 'latin lover' vibe instead of a 'short, suburban white guy' vibe. 

It could be the way he waves around that gas pump like he owns it. 

Or maybe it's just the fact that he likes to wear his shirt casually untucked, letting me know he's more laid back than he looks.  (I mean really, who wears khakis to the beach?)

I know, I know, he seems to be happily married and has a car filled with children.

Still doesn't stop me from dreamin'.

And now for something completely different...

I'm guessing I might be the only one round these parts to get the Monty Python reference above.  It's a frightening thing when you realize your cultural references are starting to grow hairs in places they shouldn't. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. 

It doesn't help that I work in an office where the average age hovers around 25.  I made a joke about watching Ricky Schroder in old episodes of Silver Spoons while I was standing at the printer a couple of weeks ago and the kind soul that was there stapling stuff just looked at me blankly and sort of cocked his head to one side.  I could tell he really didn't want to admit that he had no idea what I was talking about (he gets points for this...)  I yammered on and on about it, saying something like, "You know - that cute blond kid that rode around his rich dad's mansion on a little train and made all the twelve year old girls swoon?"  Still nothing.  After he walked away I realized he probably wasn't even born the year I had glued myself to the TV screen, licking the glass and praying that Ricky would ride that little train straight into my living room so we could go out for pizza and make out in my basement.  Sigh.

Anyway....I realize I've been a bit melancholy in my recent posts.  Granted, there's been a bit of melancholy-ness in my life recently, so that was to be expected.  But things are looking up now and it's time to get some sunshine back in these parts.  So yeah, things are good.  Really good.  I am enjoying the unexpected moments that are opening up and taking the time for some fun.  I'm seeing friends and spending time in the city and restaurant-ing and catching up with life.  I didn't realize just how much time went in to taking care of something so fragile.  Cinder walked the edge of death for ten long months.  The feeling of unlocking my front door and wondering whether or not he would be alive when I came home became an unconscious undercurrent.  To have that part of it gone is a very nice thing, and there is more room now for good stuff. 

The title of this post may have led you to believe that this would be something fresh and different, when in reality this is the third time in a row I've written about my cat.  I'm fully aware that I'm treading in dangerous waters here, and I sure as hell don't want to play into the "Single Girl Talks About Her Cat All the Time" stereotype.  It's only been a week, so I think you can cut me a little slack.  And besides, the other thing I've got going on in my life is pretty private (but it's driving me craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazy and I reaaaaaaaaaaaaaally want to write about it, but I just can't  be that boundary-less yet.  Maybe someday when I move into that new blog neighborhood....Soon.)   

Other than all of that, I'm feeling serene.  And anticipatory.  Sort of how you feel when you're trying not to laugh because you're in a serious place, but a slow grin spreads across your face anyway and you simply can't help but to feel silly.   I don't know what it is, but I am excited to find out.  

 

Two Days

It's been two days since I've gotten back from Europe.  Losing Cinder the night I returned has twisted this time into something so different.  I've had to readjust my emotions and stretch into new space I didn't want to occupy just yet.  35 years of life on this planet has taught me that sometimes that's just how it is.  It fucking sucks, and the only way to move through it, is to actually move through it.  (Even though I'd rather stay wrapped in my carb induced haze of croissants and coffee....)

The day I moved out of my house in 2005 to separate from my husband I was in the middle of one of the worst jobs of my life - a stressful, convoluted mess of power trips, team dysfunction, and politics with an insurmountable amount of work to do and not enough staff to do it.  I hardly knew which end was up and everything was strange.  I remember going to the grocery store that first night I was staying with my parents.  I was standing in the soda aisle and may as well have been on the moon.  I felt numb with grief and wanted to sit down and hide among the two liter bottles of Sprite.  Nothing was as it should've been, and I knew it wasn't going to feel good or comfortable for a long long time.  But every day, I chose to get up out of bed and walk to the shower.  As long as I made it that far, that's all that mattered.  I took small bites.  Life was in increments.  If I looked ahead to the yawning expansion of the work that was in front of me, I couldn't do it.  But I could survive the small doses.

So when I found myself this weekend back in a place with too much emptiness and pain, I felt it.  I howled and cried and yelled and got really really sad.   I ached and was angry and edgy and restless.  And then I decided to stop it. This sweet creature went away, yes, but I can't be mad at him for going away.....it's selfish to focus on that piece of it.  Instead I can choose to walk through to the other side.  I know how to do this because I've done it before. 

So tonight I am in a much better place.  I am remembering the goodness and how lucky I am to have known him for eight whole years.  

Gone.

Gone

Goodbye sweet boy.  Thanks for hanging on 'til I made it home to hold you.  Today is so hard without you.

Quiet Anticipation

I'm feeling quiet tonight...and happy to be on the short side of the wait for my trip to Europe.  Three weeks from Wednesday and I'll be stepping off the plane at Heathrow, where I will immediately feel that all is right with the world....(despite the cotton mouth and crushing jet lag headache.)  I will feel like I am home.

 

Zut Alors!

In my continued quest to cultivate an international existence, I have decided to jump back into the French language pool.  These are familiar waters, as I spent my highschool life here.  Granted, I did spend most of that time wanting to curl up under my desk...especially when Ms. Washer would turn to me and ask, "Quest-ce-que sa vous dire???"  Nothing evokes 'blank brain' like a question posed to me in French.  Still, I soldier on, propping myself up with feel good aphorisms and other self-help soliloquies.  " I CAN do it. Yes.I. Can!"  Despite the pain that comes with forming new synapses (no shit, my head actually hurts when I study this stuff....)  I don't mind really, as I'm just happy to have some sort of electrical activity going on.

And speaking of electrical activity, I have a crush on someone.  Oh yes.  It's a real seventh grade butterflies-in- the tummy-I-can't-wait-to-get-up-today-because-I-get-to-see-him kind of crush.  And it's deeeeeeeeeelicious.  It's been a very long time since I've had a crush like this.  But it's the worst kind to have - the kind that touches deeper than the physical.  I'm attracted to who he IS ....not just what he looks like.  For me, that's a little bit dangerous, as it takes a lot for me to be attracted to someone....I'm a choosy girl.   And he is worth the choosing.   (It probably can't go anywhere, for a variety of reasons - two big ones being: 1) he has NO idea and 2) he has a girlfriend - pretty huge roadblocks if you ask me....)  There are some other pretty large boulders blocking this highway of love  - but I won't divulge them here.

Regardless- I will enjoy these feelings for what they are and roll around in them as long as I can.  It was only a few years ago that I sat in a darkened living room listening to Dido's "Honestly OK" on repeat...wondering exactly how I was going to extricate myself from the cold and austere place that was my marriage. I didn't think I'd ever get the chance again to feel this space and this alone is worth it. 

An Open Letter to the Man I've Not Yet Discovered

Hi you.  It's me.  I know you're out there. I know I have to be patient because my God you are worth the wait.  You are funny and warm and generous and I'm giddy and feeling like I want to shout and laugh and spin. 

I love that you love your family and appreciate the craziness and closeness of my own.  I love that you love animals and let the dogs sleep on the bed.  That we can share wine and coffee and ice cream. 

I am happy that you love making love as much as I do.  That you know how to show up at the hospital when the call comes.  You are rumpled and imperfect and warm to the touch.  You go out with your friends and understand when I need my space.

I love that you reach out to hold me.  That music and film and books are oxygen to you.  That you do not allow yourself to be defined by your job or your money. 

I love that you say "yes".  That you are curious and flexible and spontaneous and will share Reese's Pieces with me at the movies.

You bring grace, humor and kindness to the world and have a depth that goes far beyond the surface.  I sense you from far away and you smell better than anyone I know.