Again? Seriously?

Had my bimonthly or however often it is dream about the ex last night.  Do I have more than one ex?  You bet.  But there are only two ex's who frequent my dreams.  Not ironically they are the ex's I loved.  But the healthier relationship of the two gets a small role, appearing only once or twice annually, while the feature role goes to the unhealthy relationship.  My hypothesis is that my brain is still trying to fix things even now.  It's the cold fusion of love: scientifically approached from every angle, but never quite solved.  My subconscious can't seem to accept unclosed doors.  My conscious doesn't like them too much either.  The day after was again a struggle.  Throughout the day I am reminded of things made all too real by my vivid imaginings.  Talking to someone about it would just make me sound crazy or redundant or crazy redundant.  And so I blog.  Just before drifting to sleep in the confusion I feel as I am about to trust my emotions to a REM cycle. 

Cast Off

As if the nostalgia of the past week or so weren't already catching up with me, today hit me like a freight train.  I have been cleaning out my office, going through books, memorabilia, and papers, some of which haven't been seen since before I was married. I have pretty much lived in apartments ever since graduating from high school.  Sure, occasionally I'd have a short stint at mom and dad's, but for the most part I've been in small spaces.  There was never room to open up boxes that had been in storage and just sort through the mess; until now.

All this old stuff has brought back to my mind so many feelings and relationships from my past.  Sometimes, when I'm feeling nostalgic but not wanting to pretty too far into someone's personal life, I will admit that I resort to facebook stalking them.  After all, that's what we post things for anyway, right?  So I climb on to facebook stalk an old love, and the only comment for months is one congratulating him on his marriage.  What?!

Trying to get the scoop on this so called marriage, I text him... Then I call and get the pick up and hang up (oh yes that happened.) So I email and leave it be.  Try the best friend who also happens to be an ex (hey, don't judge. These things happen.) And it goes straight to a busy signal as if I've been blocked.

Basically... I've been downgraded to the status of "ex" not friend or important part of someone's past... And I can't stand it.

How do I still not know for sure is he's getting marred?

Reminiscent

The feelings of nostalgia that I sometimes feel can be intolerable. For example, tonight I was blessed with the opportunity to sit and chat with a couple old friends of mine from high school. As I realized what a chunk of my life they had missed, I couldn't help but retrace some of my steps, especially the ones that shaped who I am today.

Immediately my mind strays to past relationships. How different have I become because of people who have been in and out of my life? What would my life be like today had I made different choices regarding those people? What would happen if I called them right now?

And my mind needs to go to bed. Some things are best left unsettled.

Walmart at Night

Every memorable late night Walmart run I've made has been to stalk up on sex supplies. Am I one of the only Latter-Day Saint women who will happily admit to having had sex? Aren't all the children a dead giveaway? Anyway, I'd best hurry inside; my husband is waiting. ;)

Past Self

Having given up the bladder battle and gotten out of bed to use the restroom already anyway, I decided to take this opportunity to plunk away at this random, stupid blog. It's entire purpose is to jot down the crazy that occurs in my brain "after midnight." But here's the thing...

I started this blog before I had children. Before I had headaches. Before I got tired... Ever. Really. Before, I just slept because I ran out of things to do. Why was no one else awake to play with me? Well, now I can answer that one for my Past Self. Past Self: everyone else was sleeping so they could get enough rest to handle their grown-up jobs and their not-so-grown-up children without throwing either their coworkers or their dogs out the window.

So they sleep. And now, so do I. And suddenly, the same loopy euphoria that I used to get at 3am hits me at about 10:30... I'm pathetic, I know. Past Self looks down on me...... And.... Forward.... I guess...........

So, anyway, 11:45 is now the equivalent of about 4am. I am officially experiencing a kind of strange, emotional perplexity that is otherwise unattainable during regular business hours.  With said emotional perplexity comes a string of thoughts so interwoven into my subconscious that I really don't know who's talking: me, or Past Self.

I don't even cuss, but Past Self is a real bitch. Sure, she seemed all nice and wholesome and hard-working, but what you and I both didn't know about her is that she was busy weaving a web of loyalty, intoxication, need, and abandonment issues meant to ensnare innocent future prey (aka me.)

Too many thoughts. I can't handle so much stuff. Life at this stage is hectic enough as it is, but to be trapped by feelings as far reaching as these... It's suffocating. One can only facebook stalk so much before having to branch out into the real deal. Drama!

What is going on, right? You are sick of the vague, (and trust me, so am I.) Well... I'm having ex-boyfriend issues. Classic, I know.p My best friend suggests I try therapy. I'm going to take a stab at blogging instead.

I have been happily married now for five and a half years. We have two beautiful children. I am pretty freakin' awesome and still I think I may have married up.  My daytime self is a saint, mostly, aside from the occasional temper tantrums, nervous breakdowns, and the fact that I often talk my foot right into my mouth.  But at night, that Past Self (remember, we previously called her a nasty word?) comes out itching to toy with me.

I dream. We are talking, technicolor, surround sound, screen-written dreams. They're memorable too, especially when familiar characters arise. This week I've dreamt of a certain exbf who shall remain nameless because on the off-chance that he ever reads this, why give him the satisfaction? Anyway, I've dreamt of him twice. And if I could think of another reason to say the word, "dreamt" I would, because it's simply fabulous. Dreamt. There, I said it. Anyway, I've dreamt (sigh) of him twice in the past week, and now I can't help but think about him. What's he doing? Who's he dating? Why is he still single? Mind you, that last bit gives nothing away because all of my ex's are still single.... That's a blog post in and of itself...

I wonder sometimes if we both live until we are 85 and our spouses die if we won't get married just to have someone with whom to kill the time? I worry he'll compare my wrinkly old body to the one I had when I was 20; a wrinkly body which was once appreciated by the man for whom I mothered children and with whom I shared a long life could be cheapened and cut down in minutes by such a blow. I wonder how that girl I knew he was dating the last time we spoke has handled his commitment issues? Is she broken like I was? What if she never gets out? I don't necessarily feel bad for her. Part of me wishes I could have had him. That part is overshadowed by the part that feels grateful for the husband I've got. I wonder why he only looks cute in 30% of his facebook photos... All of which I've seen tonight... I could have sworn he was only ugly 7% of the time in real life...?

In a crazy shell, it's time for the beeyotch in my brizzain to Step. Off. 

Peace.

So I'm totally blogging from the comfort of my cell phone on a blow up bed at my parents' house.  Kyleena is sleeping over at my in-laws place. Doug is in Utah. I can't believe I'm alone in bed at mom and dad's.  Crazy flashbacks.  My thumbs are already getting tired. Cell phone blogging is not for the weak of thumb.  I got to watch "17 Again" with mom, Kira, Katelyn, and Ster. Thought that movie looked cute... Didn't expect to love it. Funny.  Mostly I just loved chillaxin with Kira afterward for the last few minutes before she hit the sac the night of her 13th birthday.  I'm off to encourage my brain to detract thoughts of lonliness and magnify thoughts of sleeping in.  Thumbs be darned. 

Michael Jackson: King of Pop

I would be remiss if I failed to post something about Michael at this time. It took me a few days to get here, I was grieving in my own way; watching music videos, playing his music in my car, dancing around my living room with my 1 year old daughter who would hear the beat and-- without realizing mommy was sad-- just had to break out.



· I remember watching music video after music video when Erica and I were riding in the back of her family van all the way to Vegas and back.

· I remember requesting anything by Michael Jackson at every dance I ever attended, and playing something by Michael Jackson at every dance I ever DJ’d.

· I remember thinking it wasn’t coincidence that he became “King of Pop” when he swept the Grammys in January 1984 and I was born in February 1984. Even though I was due in January, I’m sure I said, “Come on! Let me stay and watch Michael win, I’ll totally miss it if I’m all born and junk!”

· I remember dancing to “The Way You Make Me Feel” on swing nights at the MAC.

· I remember looking through Kristen’s Michael fan folder and thinking, “Man, I really should think this is crazy, but I can’t help it. I love it!”

· I remember teaching “Beat It” to my Encore kids, and watching Encore perform “Beat It” on several occasions, always while I thought, “Nobody does it like Michael.”

· I remember teaching the “Beat It” dance at countless dances, parties, and classes.

· I remember teaching “Thriller” to a group of youth for a Halloween mutual activity.

· I remember dancing “Thriller” at homecoming on the football field my junior year and the summer after my junior year at BYU Young Ambassadors Camp. They almost wouldn’t let us perform it because it was kinda “dark” (Hello! Michael posted a disclaimer: This in no way expresses a belief in the occult. Duh!)

· I remember learning and teaching a dance to “They Don’t Really Care About Us” on 3 separate occasions.

· I remember seeing a jazz/lyrical dance to “Earth Song” when I was 12. That was what inspired me to dance other things besides ballet.

· I remember watching Ashley and Rick perform a Rumba in a dark studio to “Whatever Happens” off the “Invincible” album.

· I remember hearing “Invincible” for the first time when Ruthanne bought it and played “Privacy” loud and clear over the BHS dance studio speaker system.

· I remember dancing around mom’s Z3 convertible to “Come Together” and thinking Michael’s version beat the Beatles version 10:1.

· I remember driving in my car and hearing song, after, song, including two in one week that sang “mama say mama saw ma-ma-coo-saw” and thinking “ah, another Michael-inspired copy cat.

· I remember making a list of 3 Michael songs that I claimed, when played in the correct order, could turn me just the right amount of on... (Douglas, for your benefit they are—in very particular order—“Come Together” “Privacy” and “Dirty Diana” and for a bonus afterwards throw in “Blood on the Dance Floor.”)

· I remember making an entire mix based around wanting to play Alien Ant Farm’s “Smooth Criminal” right next to Michael’s “Smooth Criminal.”

· I remember seeing “Captain Emo” at Disneyland and thinking that Captain guy rocked! I also remember protesting the retiring of the attraction and seeing it one last time.

· I remember finally deciding ballroom was cool when I was scrutinizing the “Blood on the Dance Floor” video.

· I remember doing foetes over and over again to “Beat It” in my basement at Windsor Manor Court. I thought that was the BEST song for foetes ever, and it didn’t occur to me until right now that I probably owe the fact that those are so easy for me to that song and the hours of practice it encouraged.

· I remember learning the moves from his “95 MTV Video Music Awards” performance for the talent show. We were shocked and appalled that we didn’t make it.

· I remember making the coolest mix for a street dance out of his “Ghost Remix” and the kids loving the choreography.

· I remember begging for “ABC” or “I Want You Back” to be in our Encore Medley.

· I remember swearing I’d pay anything to see Michael Jackson live in concert. If he ever had a comeback, I’d be there.

· I remember freaking out when he did this little smile he’d sometimes do in the middle of a dance.

· I remember playing a part of “Man in the Mirror” over and over again and trying to count the pencil turns. I want to say he did 11?

· I remember teaching myself the moon walk but always being frustrated when I saw him do it better and on the tips of his toes.


· I remember practicing this move Michael did on the stairs, all the while thanking my ribs and cursing my feet.

Michael Jackson changed what dance was for me and for the world. He brought this funky, technical, sharp, isolated, style to the TV where everyone could witness the power of singing and dancing at the same time. He made it suddenly a requirement that if you wanted to be a huge pop star you’d have to be a triple threat. No more “white man’s overbite.” He pushed dancers to become better-- to study their field. To practice until you make perfect and then keep practicing so you never lose what God and all that practice gave you.

· I remember being inspired by his music and his performance in ways that changed me as a performer forever. He hasn’t just been another artist. He has been a part of my life and my culture for as long as I’ve been alive.

R.I.P.M.J.

Halee