So Mom, in homage to you, I was up Halloween night till 3am kvetching and such at an old friends. In our midnight ramblings she reminded me of how messed up I was after I separated, and left our little block at the Coves. Totally lost touch with them you know Mom, and I’m ashamed of that, cause she is a true friend.

I just turned my back from all of that, and walked away. She was so angry; as she had a right to be. I had forgotten so so very much you know. Forgot I was this one day suppose to hang out with her, she came to pick me up, and I wasn’t there. No word, nothing. I don’t remember that at all. Then two years later she called me, after getting my number from Lex, and screamed at me for like two hours or something. I don’t remember that either.

I was in a daze I realize now. I had buried so much crap, had shut off these feelings I had, and in the process shoved away a lot of other stuff I hadn’t meant to. Walked away from people who actually cared. My pain was so great that at the time it felt like the right thing, but I guess we live and learn.

I feel now that I actually maybe have what I could call girlfriends. Yeah, introverted, loner Paula…with GIRLFRIENDS. You know, women I like, and who I enjoy, who aren’t stupid girls, who are Real.

This morning I was even chit chatting via Facebook with a friend from those days up at the Lake with Tim. I told her yesterday she should start a blog, and damn straight that girl can write. Wowzers Mom. Her words reminded me actually of this quote I saw recently from the Velveteen Rabbit…it is true that we often need to go through these trials I guess, in order to become real.

“Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.’Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?”It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

Her journey has been turbulent, and rather rocky, and with her words lies truths, and painful honesty. Someday I’ll let ya have a peak at her stuff, but she’s just getting the hang of things…she just moved in…I guess you could say she’s not ready for guests yet.

She reminded me also that we just have to strip ourselves naked emotionally sometimes, and scrape off all the crud that has collected on our spirits, and shed our skin.

New friends, and old, are good for the soul.

Mom, I now believe that because your death followed so close on that separation, just shy of two years on, that I was so wounded that by the time Fall of 2001 rolled around, and you got sick, I was emotionally drained. I shut off this whole part of myself. Self-preservation I suppose.

I told that old friend from my old street that I felt free, for the first time in over a decade (and then some). Free. Somehow I’ve spent so long catering to, or entangled up in, some man or other. Not all bad, not by any means, yet…far too concerned for others. Along the way I lost myself…forgot who Paula was.

She said I sounded like I was at Peace, and you know, I think she maybe on to something. What a revelation. Me. At Peace? Well, gosh darn.

And in other news, spent the weekend with that Mr. Blue-Eyes I met in the Summer. Oh, Mr. Blue Eyes. Hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks. We’re doing that quiet, careful shuffle I guess. We danced in his kitchen to the blues, and last night I made us real Enchiladas from a traditional Hispanic recipe I found. He cut the onions, and washed the dishes. It was nice. He doesn’t get in the way. I like that about him.

Oh, things are a changing Mom. Things are a changing. I don’t feel in any way shape or form trapped. I feel like for the first time in so long that I am the one at the helm, no one else. Don’t need any help steering, I’m drifting where I want to be drifting, or going forward, whatever, it’s my journey, my way, and I’m not beholden to anyone but myself. I don’t need him, and he doesn’t need me. We’re fine the way we are, you know, just so.

All week goes by and we don’t talk, or text. Quiet, on my own, just me and the white fluffy bombshell, Irish. Who is right now curled up on the stoop catching the cool breezes, and watching the world go by. As am I. Plans are to clean today, and maybe a spin around the village so Irish can sniff out the “news”.

I guess maybe I’ve finally become REAL.

Always,

Paula