I sat at the bar peeling the label off the beer bottle in between my hands. I didn’t want to think so I focused on the task in front of me. The trick was to let the bottle sit about fifteen minutes and as the liquid warmed inside the cold glass, a sheen of liquid formed on the bottle, softening the paper enough to peel it away in a sheet – if you were deft enough. It was a game we played in college and I usually won. I wasn’t having much luck tonight; my focus being pulled elsewhere. I struggled to lose myself in the moment and not let his words haunt me.

Feeling a warmth next to me, I saw him out of the corner of my eye but made no move to acknowledge him, just continued to peel at my bottle. His arm raised and the bartender placed a bottle identical to mine in front of him. His fingers immediately began to pick at the label. I rolled my eyes even though I knew he couldn’t see them. “You have to let it sit a while. It’ll never come off in one piece if you start right away.” His fingers stopped and he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank. Nodding to the four labels stuck to the bar in front of me he asked, “How long have you been here?” I shrugged my shoulders but didn’t say anything. We sat in a long silence, him slowly drinking his beer, me slowly peeling back the label from my bottle.

When I got the last edge free I slapped it on the bar and downed the remaining liquid in one long swallow then motioned for the bartender. He shooed the man away. “I think you’ve had enough.” Turning on my stool I finally looked at him. “I thought I made it clear. You don’t get to make decisions for me.” I hopped off the stool and turned to go but the five beers had taken their toll and my brain was a little too fuzzy to react quickly enough. He caught me before I fell flat on my face. “I think I should get you home.” I glared at him. “You mean the home we made together that you’re abandoning? The home you decided to leave without even talking to me first? The home I’m supposed to walk away from to follow you and your dreams and just abandon mine? That home?” He sighed and put his arm around my waist as he led me out the door of the bar. It was obvious this discussion was far from over.

She was eighteen years old with dreams and ideals and enough enthusiasm to lead an army. She thought she could conquer the world. She spent eight years in college having one idea after another shot down by professor after professor who she was certain had an axe to grind with society. No matter, she gave them no thought and continued on her way. She spent another ten years climbing the corporate ladder, pushing aside her morals and principles, rationalizing that it was for the greater good, there was a higher purpose. She sacrificed her personal life, spent all of her time working, dreaming of a better life. After another eight years, she made partner and was welcomed into the inner circle, the elite few. She was forty-four years old when she reached the top. She felt triumphant as she looked down at her accomplishments only to realize that the world hadn’t changed, only she had.

Trouble was her forte. She liked to cause controversy wherever she went. Like a tempest in a teapot she could take the slightest event and create a dramatic three-act Shakespearian tragedy. Then, with a hint of a smile, she would stroll away, leaving chaos and destruction in her wake.

When I was a teenager I had a massive crush on the drummer and bassist for Duran Duran.

Now that I’m in my 40’s, I still have a massive crush on the drummer and bassist for Duran Duran.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. And some things do get better with age. This concludes my laziness post.

I immerse myself fully in my daydreams, a welcome escape from the pain that daily life provides. Although I want for nothing, my God has allowed me a gift to feel everything. Most days I curse him; feelings unwanted, unexpected, a constant onslaught are no gift, but a penance. And I wonder what sin I have committed, what grievance so severe could demand repayment of such agony and torment.

I told him it was over. He promised he would change if only I would stay. He loved me and couldn’t stand the thought of losing me. He said he would do anything, change anything, whatever it took. As long as I stayed. It took me a week to decide. Our relationship hadn’t broken down overnight and it sure as hell couldn’t be fixed with a few words or empty promises. But his demeanor was different. He was attentive, he listened to what I had to say. He even asked me questions, thoughtful and insightful questions. I thought he really did want to change, that he wanted to save our relationship. So, I stayed. And it was good – for a while. Then he fell into his old ways. It began slowly, almost imperceptibly. A little late from work to have a drink with the guys. Asking me to repeat my question because he was watching the television instead of listening to me. Talking me out of tickets to the art gallery opening in lieu of tickets to the ball game. He was taking me for granted, ignoring me, not willing to share my interests. We were leading separate lives but somehow together. And it was killing me. So, I told him it was over. He promised he would change if only I would stay. I didn’t know how many times I could repeat this pattern.

“But what if you did meet him and he asked you out?  Would you give him your number?” We were side by side at my bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on our make-up. My best friend Becky had gotten us front row tickets plus backstage passes to the hottest concert in town, which just happened to be my all-time favorite singer, Kayson Reed. The thought of meeting him face-to-face, much less him asking me out was so abstract and hypothetical I had a hard time wrapping my head around it. I peered at her through the mirror. “Pfft. Never gonna happen.” Adding another coat of mascara to my lashes, I figured you could probably see them from outer space by now. I normally didn’t wear much make-up but tonight I wanted to feel different – glamorous I guess.

The concert was absolutely the best time I’d ever had in my life. Kayson Reed knew how to put on a show and he had his fans on their feet and screaming for a solid two hours. There were a few times I could swear he was looking right into my eyes, he was that good at selling it. After the show, Becky grabbed my hand and we made our way to the area where we would gain backstage access, along with about fifty other “VIPs”. There was no way Kayson would know me from Adam with this amount of people around. Still, I would at least get his autograph and maybe even a picture with him. That alone was worth it.

When the band finally made their entrance the volume in the room increased exponentially. I could barely hear Becky. She tried to pull me towards Kayson but I resisted and hung back, a little intimidated now that I was so close to him. The reality was so much more intense than the fantasy. I needed a little time to have a very minor panic attack before I had my chance to meet him. By the time my breathing had returned to normal, the crowd in the room had thinned. I felt the hairs on my neck stand up and glanced around the room to see Kayson Reed looking at me while chatting with two very eager, very underdressed fans. A blush crept over my cheeks when I realized the two women hadn’t even noticed Kayson was looking elsewhere – at me – while talking to them.

He quickly wrapped up their conversation with autographs and strode over to me. “You’re the only one in the room who hasn’t gone out of her way to get my attention. I don’t know if I should be grateful or offended.” He let out a small chuckle but I could see a hint of apprehension in his eyes. I smiled warmly, “I wouldn’t intentionally offend you. I’m actually a huge fan. I’ve just been, um, trying to remember how to breathe properly so I didn’t pass out in front of you.” His laugh echoed, a melody in my ears. “No need to be nervous. Front row, stage right. I saw you a few times. I’m glad I got to meet you. Well, actually we haven’t really met.” He extended his hand. “I’m Kayson Reed.” I placed my small hand in his and felt electric sparks, probably static from the carpet. “I’m Nicole Thompson. It’s really nice, really exciting to meet you.” The blush returned to my cheeks. He kept my hand in his, the warmth radiating all the way up my arm. “Nicole. That’s a beautiful name. Listen, there’s no easy way to do this without it sounding like I’m the creepy rock star hitting on the vulnerable groupie. Would you ever consider maybe having dinner with me?”

Nervous.
Restless.
Fearful.
Where is the peace
I crave?

Sad.
Depressed.
Hopeless.
What has become
of my life?

Calm.
Relaxed.
Content.
When will I find
my way?