I'm Just Not There, Yet

I've been asked a lot lately why I haven't been writing. There are several answers to that very complicated question, and my normal storytelling self would want to get into them all, but the simple truth is this:

I haven't felt like it. I'm just not there. Yet.

It is not that I don't miss the feeling of a great post, when the words are spilling out of me faster than I can type them, or the reactions that your amazing comments provide me, or the increasing pride I feel as I realize that people are actually affected by, amused by, or intrigued by the silly, mundane, casual life observations I make.

But, I'm just not myself lately.

On the upside, there have been some good things. Christmas was wonderful with my family and my sister's lovely boyfriend. We lounged, ate homecooked meals, watched movies, fixed computer issues, went to church, shopped, saw a movie, enjoyed the 60 degree days with walks around the neighborhood, played board games and opened gifts with relish.

New Year's Eve was far more fun than I could have hoped for, and included dressing in 1920s garb for a speakeasy party in a renovated warehouse on Randolph Street. The party hosts had planned for rides home, and the warm sedan has never been more welcome. I ushered in the new year with a kiss and a toast with my friends. Unlike years past, the tick tock of the clock at midnight was a blessing, not a curse.

The Bulldogs got a win at their bowl game on New Year's Day. The birthday gifted tickets to "Wicked" were wonderful, and the show didn't disappoint. The snow couldn't put a damper on the celebration that entire weekend. For my birthday in Chicago, the girls and I closed down dinner at the lovely Jane's restaurant in Bucktown, and owned Marie's Riptide for several hours dominated by silly songs on the jukebox and cheap drinks from an 80 year-old bartender. All in all, my birthday was a week-long celebration with family and friends, and I feel so fortunate to be loved by so many, and so deeply. I ate well, drank well, dressed up and danced like no one was watching. Despite the 394 photos I know were taken to prove otherwise.

Lately, the job search is getting better, so that is a plus. I have two final last round "chemistry check" interviews this week, with two very different agencies, and am feeling like an offer is near. I also have two other interviews, one as a follow-up to a phone interview in early December, and one that is a "let's get creative and find a position for you because you're great" kind of thing. So, overall, this week could be it for the job search. I may actually get to open the bottle of Vueve Cliquot champagne that I've been saving for this occasion. The toast I will make, after twelve weeks without employment, will be with gusto and meaning.

On the downside, winter has been rough the past few weeks. It has been cold, bitter, disastrous, brutal, disheartening and far beyond any definition of cold that Webster's has ever drafted. It has sucked. Lucky for me, I haven't had to leave the couch all that often in the sub-zero temps. My car has remained put in the toasty warm garage, and my condo has never been cleaner.

But, the combination of the post-holiday blues, the unemployment blues and the winter blues is enough to make anyone feel not quite like themselves.

Frankly, I'd love to blame it on that.

The bitter truth is this: I'm heartbroken.

I won't divulge the personal, raw or painful details, but the fact is that I'm not quite myself in this role. I'm good at being the optimist. The positive thinker. The generous friend. The compassionate buddy. The loving and generous girlfriend.

I'm not good at being the one left behind. With so many questions. And so few answers.

I don't know how to begin. I'm waiting for the day when it isn't the first thing on my mind when I wake up, and the last thing on my mind when I go to sleep. I'm anticipating the moment when I can almost forget the pain.

I feel raw, opened up, exposed, vulnerable and ripped apart at the seams. I ache. I burn. I tire from running through all of the memories. I have forced myself to delete the images from my digital photo frame, to relieve myself of the 'kick in the gut' feeling that I had every time I entered the kitchen, faced with the past year of my life.

While I'm happy to recall the good times, they are the most painful of all. So much was good, rewarding, loving, kind, fun, hilarious, silly, comforting, generous, familiar, unfamiliar, new, fantastic, crazy, friendly, familial and great. But, apparently, that wasn't enough.

I'm ready to feel better. I'm anxious to feel normal. I desire to move on.

But, I'm just not there yet.

So, forgive my silence. My bitterness. My complete and total lack of ability to write about something else. Something funny, absurd, mundane and normal.

I'm just not there yet.

This too shall pass. Time will heal. Everything happens for a reason. Good things come to those who wait. I deserve someone who loves me fully, without abandon, devoid of reservation, as much as I do them.

Blah blah fricking blah.

I know this.

I'm just not there yet.

So, please—respectfully, painfully, honestly—I beg you.

Spare me the cliches. Save the "atta girl" comments. Keep the relationship advice to yourself. I can't take it. Just say hi to show your support. That is enough, for now. I'll know what you meant.

Trust me when I say that while it means a lot that so many people care, and want me to know how great I am, and how this will just be a blip on the radar someday, and how if this is not right, something else will be, and all that jazz...

I'm just not there.

Yet.