Edits and Rewrites

I have made several changes to "The Story About That Guy" since I posted it. So if you've read it once, read it again. There have been changes everyday. I just did my final edit today.

Monday Blues

I am bored. I have put my finger in every pie and all I have left are unfinished pies. I've started a lot of projects and are far from completion.

I want everything to be perfect. That is the problem. Is it perfectionism or just an elaborate procrastination?

The holidays are over and it is time to take stock of my plans for the year ahead. I am over a week late for my date with the rest of my life. But I have to come with a plan. My goals are clear, but I have to create a blueprint on how to achieve them.

Writing this blog is a good start. It helps keep my thoughts organized and helps keep me focused. I need inspiration for my watercolors and I haven't been motivated lately. I do have some sketches that I need to transform into a painting. I also want to get going on my black and white photography but can't get it off the ground. Maybe I'll sign up for some classes.

It is fortunate that I have a flexible schedule. I was hired as a consultant for a group of venture capitalists. Basically, I review business plans for new business ventures. I conduct an independent market research and formulate financial forecasts. It takes anywhere to three to four weeks to finish a project. The best part is, I work from home. I occasionally fly to San Jose / Silicon Valley where the venture capital company is based. It has been great so far and I have met some interesting people and really exciting business plans. I wish I could write about the projects but my confidentiality agreement prevents me from writing or talking about the projects I work on.

I've crossed off a lot of things on my list. I guess I am off to a good start after all.

MRI News

Six months ago, there were some benign cysts found on my right breast. No big deal, they're benign, but still needs to be watched.

Six months later, my MRI test shows NED. In the cancer world, it means No Evidence of Disease. I have been in complete remission for almost 2 years now. The highest incidence of recurrence is the first 3 years. The longer it is, the smaller the chance of recurrence.

NED, sweet!

The Story About That Guy

It's time to talk about that guy I was with for the past eight years, that guy who I thought was going to send me flowers for my birthday a year ago, but instead...

It is time to tell the story about that guy.

It's not polite to name names. His was Dylan.

We took up, falling fast and hard in the waning light of life but I just can't surrender the idea that these were, are, will be the best days of my life. They weren't, aren't, and won't be. But it was awesome to think so at that time.

Let me tell you a little about him -- for me though, not for anyone else -- in order to reclaim that which has been smothered beneath a calloused heart.

He has a sweet, boyish charm that appealed to me. He is very smart, a geek really, and I am attracted to the intellectual type. He was a bit socially-challenged, not shy though. He just didn't know how to behave in a social situation, but he tried his best. Beneath the dry exterior, he is really witty and funny. He took me on a lot of fun road trips, unforgettable adventures, and played a mean game of cribbage (though I am the undisputed champ). Mostly, he made me laugh.

We moved through the early stages of our relationship in paces that seem stunningly familiar now -- but at the time felt like a fever dream. We lingered, stayed on the phone for hours, not wanting nights to end. We always walked hand in hand, envious of no one, living in the goddamn now. The whole time, one question slowly built in my mind: What if this is the person I never run out of falling in love with?

Alas, the complications of life can only be kept at bay for so long. Eventually, they will attack like rabid animals and tear you apart, and unless there is some passerby to pull you out of their vice-like jaws, you will be grievously injured.

The point, however, is that, mistakes were made. Some were mistakes of stupidity. Others of lapses in judgment. Still, others of stupid lapses of judgment. Eventually, these mistakes would pile up and their weight would become too much for any one girl, or relationship, to bear.

For a few months, we enjoyed something that resembled romantic bliss. But I soon learned that it was a roller coaster ride, the kind that makes you puke. It was the beginning of a vicious cycle, and at some point I stopped trying to determine whether I was coming or going, up or down, roller coaster style. It was my cue to vomit. But I didn't at the time.

He became obsessed with my family affairs. I had a different idea on how to handle it. There also was a culture clash that I did not pay attention to. I resisted -- passively. I pretended to go along with his ideas. That was a serious lapse in judgment. The controlling personality emerged and reared its ugly head. Arguments and accusations ensued, emotions ran high, criticisms were harsh, holidays and birthdays ruined. He's controlling, I'm stubborn -- the elements of a perfect storm.

I left, I came back, I left again and came back. It went on and on like a somnambulist's dream. The last time I left, there was a question of betrayal -- his. It was over. I didn't want to see him ever again. I was ready to start a new life without him. Two months later, he wanted to talk. So we talked.

What was it that kept me coming back when Reason and Practicality were screaming, "Let it go!" (You should know that Reason and Practicality are mean.) Well, though the heady days of falling and falling and falling in love were shrinking in a rear view mirror, there was still hope. That niggling itch that if you keep at it, persevere, it will come back. I convinced myself that you just can't dispose of people you love, you stay, you repair. I wasn't ready to give up. And what came of it?

I was in uncharted territory. Vodka helped me through some of the difficult times. I stayed in the relationship and once again enjoyed a brief romantic bliss. Cue the nausea. Vomit from the vodka.

We made a new plan, the details of which are important only to us. We tried to pick up our life as though nothing has changed. I had a job 50 miles away from home and the job requires a lot of hours, and often makes demands on my weekends and holidays. And because of the pressure from work, there was a need to blow off steam. In my case, it was happy hour and month-end drinking binges. We argued a lot about the amount of time I spend at work and at happy hour with my friends.

I maintained an apartment close to work. But the proximity to work was only the secondary reason. I kept the apartment just in case things don't work between us and end up staying at a hotel or a friend's house. I have my own place to fall back on if things go awry again.

And things did.

We were planning a month-long sailing trip in the summer of 2006, some kind of a shakedown cruise, get the feel of being on the water for an extended period. But I was diagnosed with breast cancer in July and plans had to be put on hold. I was ill for a while. I had to undergo surgery, chemotherapy and radiation, complicated by a bout with pneumonia.

It was rough on him, I could tell. He couldn't accept that I was sick. He wanted me to get a second opinion after 4 independent tests: mammogram, ultrasound, needle biopsy and an MRI. And lest anyone forgets, I have a giant lump on my chest.

Although, he was there throughout my treatment, he wasn't really there emotionally. I think he was secretly mourning, believing I was going to die. I got better.

But our old issues really never went away and have resurfaced. But once again, I chose to be passive-aggressive. I just hid the fact that I am not doing anything that he wanted me to. In poker and the stock market, this is called hedging your bets. In relationships, it's called being a pussy.

I will admit, at this point I was starting to believe my own bullshit and, worse still, had lost the ability to determine what was bullshit and what was truth. Now, this is an easy call. Bullshit. The truth: I was afraid to confront the issues. After the illness, I just want to sort out my affairs on my own time. It was my ticket for an express train to Crushtown.

We drifted. We didn't try too hard to address issues either. I know I tried to try. Alas, I didn't know how to talk to him. Or at that point, if I even wanted to. It was time to take stock of the relationship. I needed to think long and hard about where I was at. What I wanted. What was fair. What was right.

What followed wasn't pretty. Accusations flew, mostly from him. That was the week before my birthday. I had this foolish notion that he couldn't stay mad at me because my birthday was coming up. I thought for sure he would send me flowers on my birthday. Instead, he broke my heart.

Then the sadness. Prolonged, boring, mopey. Plotted countless acts of revenge. It's odd how there's no plural for the word revenge itself. I wanted revenges. And not of the "living well" variety, either. I longed for calamity. Locusts. Fire and brimstone. A pox on his house and car and boat. But mostly I felt bad for myself. I started writing a blog as an outlet, sort through jumbled thoughts and emotions.

A month passed and I found myself in something remotely resembling a serious relationship. Self-mythologically speaking, I'd say I am resilient and strong, I can easily pick myself up and carry on with my life. It didn't take me long to find someone I thought I cared about. In reality, I was broken and disinterested. So the affair was brief.

I just started to date again. The only problem is that the hyper-Darwinian dating scene is a tough nut to crack.

Dylan and I didn't meet cute and we certainly didn't break up neat. After over a year, I came to realize it most certainly wasn't all my fault. In fact, it may be no more appropriate for him to ask for my forgiveness than it is for me to ask for his. But I'm the one writing, so I get to do both. And, in the same way military cadets eventually thank their drillmasters for their cruel tutelage, I offer my gratitude.

Everybody gets crushed. For the lucky ones it only happens once.

The New Year's Resolution

Happy New Year!

For as long as I can remember, the first day of a new year has always been spent in bed sleeping in with a hangover. This year was no different. After a night of revelry and fun to greet the new year, I found myself comatose the next day.

But I am starting the new year by picking up where I left off on my blog, a day late, but not a dollar short, so to speak.

I stopped writing because my ex discovered my blog. It wasn't a problem in the beginning. He said it was "super awesome" and wished me well. Then he suddenly turned Mr. Hyde on me and started criticizing my blog. He said that he does not see any remorse or regret for hurting him.

So I stopped writing, I didn't want him to intrude on my thoughts. How dare he? My blog is not a venue for regrets, it's all about going forward. I've considered starting a new blog, but, NO! This is my blog and no one has any right to tell me how and what I should be writing about.

That said, I want to start with my new year's resolution.

It is time to pursue my destiny, the rest of my life. I am ready.

I resolve to celebrate and cherish the precious moments.

I resolve to go after what I want even without any guarantee.

I resolve to leave behind all the things that are wrong for me.

I resolve to be ready to forgive and to let go when it's too painful too hold on.

My blog is about the pursuit of happiness. I resolve to pursue happy endings even if there is a possibility it never comes.

I am ready.

It is time for the rest of my life.