Lately the funk seems to be deepening rather than lifting. . . if you believe in astrology, it is my Saturn Return. If you don't believe in astrology, it's just called growth, right?

Whatever you opt to call it, it makes for a grumpy me with ill-fitting skin. Paired with the heat, perhaps it explains my moodiness in general and the growing complexity of my work.
Ghosts from the past pop up and haunt me, not literally ghosts, but their presence is certainly haunting. You see, before I met my Mr., there was a long history of men-who-were-the-one-for-me. Some of them were easy to get over, some deeply riveted me and propelled me to grow and gain independence. A few, mostly the ones that weren't really "love" but were fleeting interests have remained arms-length friends, but other than that I'm no good on the "lets stay friends" plan.

One relationship in particular was deeply meaningful. It was the talk about anything, passionate, well into the night discussions, quiet moments reading together, enmeshed experiences. The dizzying kisses, weak in the knees moments of anticipation, expectation and hope. It was 4 months together in the same city, a year and 5 months apart in separate countries. I took him to the airport the day he moved to Japan, where he was going to live for 2 years. This was where we'd discussed I, too, would move after he got settled in. The last thing he said to me before going through security was, "You're it for me." We didn't last that long in separate countries, sometime into it he said it was just too difficult. That was around the time I was supposed to go to stay. We remained friends, talking on the phone and staying in touch. Towards the end of his stay he told me he loved me, and that things had never been so clear. Throughout his waxing and waning emotions, I held on dearly and tenderly for the ride. It didn't seem so bad at the time. Before he came home to live stateside again, he said it wouldn't work out and it was all to complicated. Somehow I missed all the signs that he would break my heart again, somehow I never ceased to believe what we had was real.

I was working on healing when I met Charlie. It was the hardest process, one that I'm still working on. . . gaining openness and trust back. When I met Charlie I wouldn't date him because I had to keep working on that healing. Charlie was patient

and strong; he didn't need me, but he wanted me. He supported me and waited for me, with no promises of what I could offer, no definite, he was my friend. Don't get me wrong, he was dating other people, he was living his own life, but he let me know he valued me.

This ex-emotional yo yo lives all over the world these days, most recently living in Spain. I still, fairly recently, believed we could maintain our friendship, trying to be "adult" or "mature" about things. I realized I couldn't, that I didn't have the answers I needed, that I could never know if all the things he told me were true or not. At that point I let him know that we just couldn't be friends and to leave me alone. I was surprised last week, when he got in touch with me to let me know he was back in town, and that he wanted to remain on friendly terms. I need to grown into a really strong person to do that, to give friendship to someone I feel is emotionally irresponsible, dishonest, and escapist. But I have mixed guilt, because maybe I just feel that way because he hurt me, and I am the one being escapist, after all. In the end I told him to leave me alone. He was like a dog that kept biting, drawing blood, and not understanding why I didn't want to play with him. Or so I feel.

I doubt anyone has read this far into my openly personal regurgitation of past affairs. What's the point in all these meanderings of loves lost and gained? Why here? Beyond the need to purge, beyond the need to grasp those feelings, the discomfort of growth is one that affects all aspects of life. From this experience, one that has lasted 5 years, I hope to grow. Foremost, I hope it propels my work back into a more conceptual, meaningful realm. One of my favorite pieces,

One million words never spoken to those that need to hear them most, was a literal purging of thoughts on paper, shredded to prevent embarrassment or hurt feelings. A blanket of words, one much more poetic than an impromptu blog entry.

Perhaps all of this is why Megan Canning's work (found via Design*Sponge) speaks to me so profoundly. But also explains why the blog entry is so long...the need to express through word the challenges of emotional connection and residual growth.

insight. ghosts. maps. sounds like johnny depp has a new movie coming out!