Granna

Yesterday was a long day. That whole get a new pay-the-bills job is definitely a priority, so I was busy filling out applications. I was working at a small family-owned restaurant, but they’ve had to make some cut-backs and I was one of them. Since I’m a horrible waitress, it wasn’t a huge shock. There aren’t a ton of places hiring right now, so I’ll take what I can get….but I hope I can get something in retail. Selling clothes or books is much more my forte than remembering orders and refreshing drinks.

Anyway, I’m up early this morning and I’m thinking about my grandmother. It’s her birthday today. My Granna is one of the most important people in my life…she and my Papa raised me from the time I was two (a long story in itself).

Their lifestyle is different from mine, of course. They are happy in their small southern town, knowing the same people they’ve known for sixty years and taking their walks around the same streets every morning and evening. They sit on the third pew from the front on the left side of the church every Sunday morning, go out on the beach every warm Saturday afternoon (Papa to fish and Granna to read), and they still plant a vegetable garden every year. Even though I left that place, needing change and risk and just something different, I think that there is something beautiful about contented people. And my grandparents are contented people.

When I think of Granna, a million memories come to mind. Sitting on the back porch, snapping green beans and avoiding those little green worms on corn husks…movie nights when we’d make popcorn and watch the classics (like An Affair To Remember and Little Women)…her insistence that I stand up straight…the perfect sweet tea she makes…the quiet way she is always there for people (taking over food when someone is sick and sending out cards for every occasion or hardship)…the scent of the Pond’s cold cream she used every night…the flowers she’d give me after every performance, even if I just had one line to say or was stuck in the choir…the way she still holds Papa’s hand when they’re walking together…her alto voice singing “My Funny Valentine”…her smile.

I know a part of her would like for me to come back home, get some sort of stable employment, settle down with a good man, and have a few babies. But she never says so, which is amazing when I think about all of the uncertainty my mother (still) puts her through.

If you ask Granna, I’m destined to be the greatest singer/actress the stage has ever known. During my growing-up years, she drove me to every rehearsal, put me through voice lessons, and was a part of every audience. She believes in my dreams, even when I don’t -- which is the best gift you can give someone.

I know she won’t ever read this blog (she still thinks that the internet is strictly for getting your identity stolen and/or getting addicted to pornography), but I’d like to say it anyway.

I wish the happiest of birthdays for the beautiful, wise, and fabulous Margaret Anne.

mid-march resolutions (top ten)

1. I will move on. I will not wallow. I will not watch romantic comedies or listen to old-school wallowing music, including but not limited to: Celine Dion, Brandy's Have You Ever cd, Mariah Carey pre-makeover.

2. I will eat more carbs because I like carbs. I will learn to cook delicious, fancy pasta dishes.

3. I will audition for more challenging parts. I will not be afraid of failure.

4. I will learn how to...I don't know. Do something fun. Like surf. Or knit.

5. I will find a new pay-the-bills job SOON.

6. I will enjoy being single. I will rock it like Carrie Bradshaw.

7. I will find a strong role-model who is not a fictional character.

8. I will not be ashamed of my reality-tv habit. I like reality tv. I will stop watching those doomsday specials on the smart-channels that explain the top ways the country (and, specifically, my state) will be obliterated from the planet.

9. I will keep up with this blog as an experiment in honesty because I am sick sick sick of holding back my real thoughts out of fear of what other people might think about me.

10. I will spend more time outside. Nature is much better therapy than any doctor I can afford.

lost in translation

I have a bad habit of planning out conversations. Walking around, working, in line to get coffee—in my head, there’s usually dialogue going on. Especially if there’s a specific, important conversation I need to have with someone.
So last night, when I sat down for my pre-set phone-date with my long-distance, long-time boyfriend, my plan was to explain to him how frustrated I am with our every-other-weekend trysts. I wanted him to know how much I miss him and how my days don’t feel complete without his presence.
He was supposed to tell me that he felt the same way. He was supposed to pick up on my weeks of subtle hints about the size of my apartment and the benefits of roommates. The country mouse was supposed to tell the city mouse that he loved her enough to start a new life minus Bojangles and John Deere.

And I quote:

Me, sitting in my comfy chair, American Idol muted on the tv: “Daniel, I miss you. Being apart is too hard.”
Daniel: “You’re right. I’ve been thinking about this a lot.”
Me, excited, standing up: “Me, too! Something’s gotta’ give, right?”
Daniel: “Yeah. Exactly.”
Me, thinking how lucky we are to be so on the same page : “So –“
Daniel: “I still love you, but it’s just over. You know we can’t do this anymore.”
Me: ????????????????????????????????????????????????/
Daniel: “Hello? Dale?”
Me: “Sorry. What? I couldn't hear you for a second.”
Daniel: “I was just saying, you know we can’t do this long-distance thing forever. It’ll just be easier on both of us if we go ahead and do the inevitable. It’s better to part on good terms now than resenting each other later on, right?”
Me, ????????????????????: “Right. Yeah. I know.”
Daniel: “I’m so relieved that you’ve been thinking the same thing.” (A loud thump in the background.) “Hey. This is bad timing, but my brother’s at the door. I’ll talk to you later?”
Me: “Sure.”


After all the time we’ve invested in this relationship, that’s our break-up? A three minute conversation? A conversation that took less time than one freakin’ Idol performance and judging?
And my response is ‘Sure’? SURE?

There’s no way I’m gonna’ admit to him that I wanted him to move in with me. To take the next step to our future. I can’t tell him that now, can I? I want to get out of this with some dignity, but then again – that conversation didn’t feel like dignity. It felt like he was canceling a a stupid order from the Home Shopping Network.

So. Now what? Do I call him and tell him that I'm not ready to let go or do I just move on?

I don't know. And I hate, hate, hate this feeling.