Dark and Angry

K├╝bler-Ross’s model for grief doesn’t seem to apply here, as it suggests five distinct stages in a particular order – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance – and that’s not what’s happening right now.

In fact, further research suggests this theory is really only a theory, and others argue this model only applies to people whose loss is the passing of a loved one.

Grief, in general, applies to loss. Of anything significant. Maybe I’m still grieving New York City, which sounds downright pathetic.

Thing is, I can’t tell if I’m grieving, or if I’m just depressed and angry. I struggle with it. I go out and spend time with friends, I look for work, I go to church, I strive to be good. But my mind recedes into the shadows.

Throw guilt on top of that – feeling I’m always saying or doing something wrong or hurtful or making things more complicated than they are.

On the bright side, the dark thoughts that used to enter my head haven’t tried lately. These ideas used to visit me on subway platforms and other places.

I don’t feel I can really talk about it. I mean, I was getting better at talking to anybody about whatever I wanted. But if I were to try opening my mouth and uttering words – actual soundbytes – I wouldn’t be able to. It’s frustrating.

The best I can do is sum up: I’m sad and angry and guilty.

It’s time to get ready for church.

Not Too Shabby

I just got home. I saw New Moon at 4pm today. It was okay.

But people, I just got home!

Tonight was the first time this extremely long month that I’ve actually felt … alive. I don’t know if it was the old faces or the adults who have seen a fair amount of life and can relate to each other or the sarcasm or cussing Mormons, but I haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time. The past three hours were so stimulating, yet relaxing. I laughed heaps tonight. Harder and more than … I don’t remember when. It felt so good. It felt like home. On my way to the car from my friends’ home, I nearly cried, I felt so grateful and so … uplifted.

Maybe part of it is I’m a bit surer of myself than when these people last saw me. Maybe part of it is that these people have known me since I was 10 years old. Maybe part of it is I’m one of the coolest things that has ever returned to this town. Maybe it’s a bunch of things.

All I know is I liked it.

I loved it.

Things

Things are a little weird, strained, different. But not unfamiliar.

I’ve been here before, and it’s been my fault, and I had a hard lesson to learn.

I’m ready to do it again. Whatever it takes.

At least it’s busy today. The distraction helps for now.

Thanks to those so far who have made my day fun.

Here we go.

I Want to Ride Your Bicycle

While sitting at the park this afternoon, I managed to read, listen to music, take pictures, and people-watch all at the same time. I sighted a few runners, observed their form, thought about how much I miss running. Then I got over it and went back to whatever I was doing.

A while later I caught a bicyclist in my periphery. I usually notice the bike first – what kind it is, the pedals, the gears, the handlebars – and if I see the pedals are clipless, I try to see what kind of shoes are attached, then I can’t help but notice the legs that are attached to the shoes, etc. YOU know.

This guy rode a red mountain bike, which looked old, but sturdy. He was bald, and it crossed my mind how much he looked like Mr. Locke from Lost, but younger. He seemed a little older, but not too old. I guess like his bike, except more attractive.

Before I realized I was actually staring at him so I could quickly look away, he found my eyes and smiled at me, and we said hello to each other.

He rode past me and stopped to rest a few benches away in the shade. We looked at each other, and then I sent the following text to some friends: “A guy rode on his bike into the park. We said hi to each other. If he tried picking up on me, I might let him…”

I went back to my book, all the while acutely aware of the bicyclist ogling me. I took a drink from my water bottle and happened to glance at him drinking from his. I sat a while longer, pretending to read, watching people walk by me and adoring their cute babies.

The bicyclist remounted his bike and rode past me again, and he told me to have a good day, and I told him to take care, and I thought that was the end of it. I “read” for a little while longer and saw that he stopped at a fountain behind me, about 75 feet away. I could feel his eyes searing the top of my head.

I checked the time and decided it was time to go. I packed up my things and started walking toward the car. I ended up walking in front of the bicyclist, and I smiled at him, then all of a sudden I got really shy and turned away onto the path that led to the car.

As I neared the park entrance, I turned my head to the right and saw the bicyclist riding next to me. He asked what my plans were. I cleared my throat. I asked him to get off his bike, and I would tell him. We stopped at the gate.

He gently pushed me against the threshold, and before I could breathe, he leaned down and kissed me. The breeze from the river blew through my hair. His hands barely held me; it was his warm, soft lips that paralyzed me, except for my arms which pulled him closer.

Without breaking, we fumbled our way to a bench, and our mouths continued to work together. His stubble tickled my face. I liked his hands holding the back of my head, the small of my back. All of my senses drastically sharpened, except for my sense of time, and perhaps, my common sense.

Just kidding! We did chat for a moment when he pulled up beside me, then he just kept on riding.

And I went home.