i had the weirdest dream today. let's see if i can remember it:
i dreamt that i was some kind of way responsible for or involved in the logistics of a band playing. it was a band like nate's Five Spot band, where i know all the guys, only it wasn't nate nor could i recognize any of the guys to be musicians i currently know. so anyway, they're playing on the stage, and it's a large venue kinda like the hollywood bowl, and i'm sitting in the special box seats that aren't terribly far from the stage, maybe with someone (some people) but could've been by myself..
Anyway, here's where it gets strange. So Sean Puffy Combs comes over to the box where I'm sitting carrying a guitar in a case, and he's like, "Hey you mind if I go up and vibe out with the band?" And I'm like, "Well, can you play?" and he's like, "I'm learning..." So, I'm like, "Okay, sure, go on up and let's see what you got!" And this is Puffy, now, but he doesn't have the whole Puffy- I'm the shiz- swag...
So, anyway, he goes up and greets the guys and they're looking like, "What is he about to do?" and he pulls out his guitar and joins in on the song the band starts playing. AND he knows his stuff! Then in the middle of the song he plays the illest solo I ever heard! It was soooo beautiful and dope, and the whole stadium is up on their feet cheering cause he's just going IN!!
So by the time he gets finished, I'm just sitting there like, "Wow.... did I just hear that??" And he comes back over with this grin like, "So what'dya think?" And we vibed for a minute and he was so humble and sincere and funny, and we seemed to really connect for those few minutes. then he went back over to the stage to get back in with the band...
And as he walked away I was like, "Omg, I totally have a crush on Puffy.....!"
and then I woke up.
How STRANGE is that. Because I totally do NOT have a crush on Puffy.
i think part of the reason, psychologically speaking, is that right now i feel like if i fully unpack my life and settle into this new apartment, it will increase the chances that i will remain settled into this apartment by myself five years from now, no closer to my dreams or my love. i feel so wounded right now, more than i have in a long time. i don't know what it is that's overwhelmed me in the moment. too many love stories and sitcoms and romantic comedies with happy endings that dictate in my mind the way it should be in my life right now. too many wedding invitations (so far i've been to one out of four this year) and time spent with friends content with their relationships. i'm not a jealous person, and i'm not envious of anyone's relationship with the next person, don't want nobody else's man... but i am overwhelmed right now with the sense of not belonging to anyone, actually feeling completely rejected, when i want to belong to someone, the one i love. i very much have the "oh lover where can you be" blues. and what any of this has to do with me not unpacking, i have no idea. makes no sense, and i know i have to get it done. but i just don't want to be in this apartment another five years by myself. we get along well, myself and i, she- my self-keeps me quite entertained, strange being that i am. but this immense capacity to share love just seems waisted without a significant other. but that's not altogether true either. i love God with all of my heart, and i have to trust that even if i am here another five with myself, he will be with me and I will be okay. but i've seen the look of loneliness amongst individuals who love God but have no significant other. i don't like that look and want no parts of it, even as i see it within myself right now regardless of the number of family and friends i have around. there was one person who did it for me and i'd hoped to eventually build a home with that person. so i don't feel the urge to unpack my boxes here, even though i will. because i have to be logical right now.
i can't even determine if any of these ramblings are even making sense. but it's coming from a very real place.
in other news, i really did enjoy myself tonight with my cousin and her girls.
I went to see Letter to Juliet today and absolutely loved it. It got me to wondering whether or not romantic comedies are based on true love stories, and the age old question of whether art imitates life or life, art. Regardless, I continue to breath them in, and continue to believe that like many of my favorite movies I'll find my own happily ever after amidst the girl-meets-boy, girl-loses-boy, girl-and-boy-find-everlastinglove-together-again. So, Letters to Juliet has quickly moved to the top of my list of favorites and I can't wait to experience it again (and again).
So, here we have this story of a 70-something year old British woman who met and fell in love with an Italian boy from the countryside fifty years ago when they were 15 years old. There was an opportunity for them to run off when they were teenagers, but, as she wrote in a letter to Juliet Capulet when she was still a teenager (because young ladies with woes of Love write to the statue of Juliet in Verona Italy), she never showed up to the locations where they were to meet and always questioned whether she had mistakenly lost the love of her life.
Fast forward fifty years and the main character of the movie, Sophie, finds the letter and responds back to the woman, Claire, who shows up with her grandson upon receiving the letter (written on behalf of Juliet) to see if she can find the man she lost and determine if their love abounds. As the charming tale unfolds, Claire, her grandson and Sophie uncover the beloved Lorenzo, and love-their love- in fact, has stood the test of time. Fifty years later, after marrying other spouses, having families, becoming widow and widower, and carrying on with their lives, Claire and Lorenzo reclaim their love for one another and commit to spending the rest of the golden years in wedded matrimony. Very happily ever after scenario, especially since Sophie and grandson Charlie end up together by the end of the movie as well.
I love this story, though, because I've often told the love of my life that I'll be an old lady, 78 years old, talking about how I sooo loved and adored this one young man back in my younger days in New York City. I've liked to believe that eventually I will get over the fact that we will not be together, but there is a part of me that cannot be convinced that I'll really get over the fact that I have to move on without him. Even as I purpose to.
So when I see stories like this, it brings hope. Not (NECESSARILY) hope that he'll come around and decide that he wants to share his life with me, but you know, it just gives ME hope.
And an added measure of happily ever after comes full circle as I learn that the two actors who played Claire and Lorenzo, Vanessa Redgrave and Franco Nero, actually began a love affair back in 1967, had a son in 1969, separated and got married to other significant others and had children, only to come back to the love they sewed with one another so many years ago when they married as seniors in 2006. A real life Claire and Lorenzo story. Not only that, but this story, their story reminded me even more of the returned love story of Old Van who I met last summer and who told me of a similar set of circumstances between him and the woman he was in love with back when they were teenagers in the 40s...
So.... (sigh) I'm not saying that I hope to be an old lady when I finally get the satisfaction of satisfied love.
I slept well last night in the new apartment. Don't know if it was because I was delirious and tired beyond belief at 5:13am when I finally zonked out, or if was that the place finally felt like it was ours.
I'm diggin it. Flaws and all. Definitely something to get used to, being down here.
But, it's home now, and I get to nurture it with my love and mai-isms....
moving into a new place. I mean, I am welcoming it; it is certainly a good time for a fresh start.
But, there's something about going into a new place, especially a new OLD place, that takes some getting used to.
They [my housemates] have officially vacated the premises. Apartment empty, keys on the counter. Syonara, nice knowing ya. So, I decided to go down into the empty apartment and just walk around and take in the feel all by my lonesome.
That was................... creepy. I've been in there a number of times, and have always felt warm and welcomed; felt envious that the apartment down there was so much "nicer" than mine upstairs. So much larger, "so much space in the master bedroom!" Loved to visit and sit a spell.
But to go down there just now, and walk around that biiiiggg ole empty apartment, void of any personality and warmth, flaws sticking out like a sore thumb and or nuisance, walking from room to room trying to gauge the vibe of the place, it was..... weird. (In a different way than I am.)
Now, this acknowledgement is in no way to discount the excitement I do have in moving down there, and the anticipation of nurturing a new home from scratch with my brother. But jeez. I didn't feel easy. I was nervous (and a little melancholy). Nervous that the flaws of the apartment would somehow deter my excitement of having wanted to move down there for so long. Nervous that my brother and I living together would end up being more problematic than beneficial. Nervous that I'd love living with him, and then before long he will be ready to move on with his life. (After all, a brother and sister cannot live together forever, and he very well may find a love and move on before I ever find a love to settle down with.) Nervous that it's not entirely a bright idea to completely refurnish an apartment with new EVERYTHING, even if we can afford it. Nervous that all the old furniture coming down into the new place would be just as problematic as buying new furniture, but for completely different reasons. Nervous that I'll possibly get a cat when I've never wanted to own a cat... Nervous that there will be a mice problem if I don't, when I still am not altogether comfortable with the idea of owning a pet (even if I don't have to take care of it by myself).
I was just nervous. So glad that Daddy will be spending the first week and a half with me, I thought. I couldn't imagine having to be in a new place all by myself for the majority of the time. (I'm trying to remember how I felt after my mom left to go back home once I was all moved in.) I don't know when my brother will be moving in, and maybe I'm making myself sick about this move for no reason, but...... I'm not happy about it right now. But I am. I'm torn.
I'm happy to move into the new place, start a new chapter of my life (which, by the way, I have no idea what it will entail), but I'm just sick about leaving my home for the past five years. The same way I cried when I left DC for the last time after graduation, I feel that sense of closing of a chapter. No, I'm not crying, but this apartment has been a big part of my life. (Maybe I'm stating the obvious.)
This apartment was my haven and sanctuary. It was, it is my museum to all things ME. It has my personality written all over it. The antique furniture that was given to me and has suited me well. The pictures, flyers, cards and mementos on the wall indicate what I've experienced throughout the years. The idiosyncrasies that I hate, I know how to deal with. It's never too quiet, because I know the place and it's completely peace. I am comfortable to sleep, dance or play however I like in here. I've not had too many friends over, but the love of my life has spent many hours, days, weeks, years here; even if he never resided here with me we've had so many good times in this apartment and I feel like the memories of our ill-fated relationship have a home here.
The very first time I set foot in this apartment, I knew it was for me. And I've never doubted that from all the time I've spent in here.
But the apartment downstairs. I don't know. I guess this is what cold feet feels like. I mean, it's just an apartment. I'm not marrying it. I won't be there forever, I don't even have a one-year lease... but when I move into a place, I intend to stay a while. I do intend to stay a while. So perhaps knowing that I have that intention straight up, then whatever is waiting for me down there will have work within the framework of "THIS IS MY NEW HOME PERIOD" and it is what I've chosen. I guess kinda like when you say "I'm marrying you, and divorce is not an option," I feel like I want to declare that I'm moving down there, and I'm not moving again until it's into a home with my name on the deed.
And I am declaring that, because I hate moving. And this time I have the unfortunate responsibility to sift through and pack up my whole life by myself. You never feel more alone/single than when it's time for you to do something that you really need help with, and there's no one around or available and willing. But, that's a whole nother story. But since I've barely put a dent into this project (as my mother would call it: project), I should end this and get back to sorting and packing (in between shredding and tossing). I pray that I get finished sooner rather than later. AND perhaps this will be a lesson in how not to keep so many things when I move down into the next apartment. But I'm a sentimental packrat, so there's always justification in my mind for keeping something as opposed to tossing it out. (All the more reason why I need someone here helping me along with the process.)
(sigh.) I just keep reminding myself that all of this is a necessary evil to the blessing waiting on the other side. Growing pains, the rain clears the clouds for the sun. The darkest part of the night before day break... All of that.