Once Upon A Time

I spent the last two hours writing to you. 

It's long and drawn out and I'm not going to post it here.  It was an attempt to make sense of the last year of my life.  But after I wrote it and tied it up all nice and pretty with a shiny red bow, I realized I wasn't really interested in making sense of the last year of my life.  

Why bother?   

Why do we feel the need to make sense of things?

Sometimes things just don't make sense. 

You can find an answer or a reason for anything but it's not always the right answer or the real reason.  It's just a thing we latch onto to make ourselves feel better.  

To ease our load just a little bit.  

The truth is, I'm not interested in easing this load yet.

When the load eases so do my memories and thoughts of you. 

 

Maybe none of it was real for you.

Maybe you made the whole thing up.

 

I didn't.

 

It was real to me.

I loved you.

And that's all that truly matters in the story of my life.

 

Stephanie loved Noah.

Once Upon A Time.

 

Love Letters to Stephanie

 Dear Stephanie,

It's me, Stephanie.

I've been reading your blog over the last year and.....Whoa, Sister.

You're a bit of a mess aren't you?  Maybe a little ship wrecked?  Train wrecked? I-don't-remember-how-I-got-here-wrecked?

How many more years in a row are you gonna welcome the new year with the 'ol achey breaky heart?  Hmmm?

Got anybody lined up to do the honors come December?

Listen, I need to let you know something that apparently everyone EXCEPT YOU already knows.  It's going to change your life, maybe even save it.  

It's what everyone your age is doing now so you need to do it too.

Okay, here goes.

 

Stephanie.

Don't put your eggs in one basket.

That way when someone is done with you, you will have scattered your eggs around to several different baskets and you can just chill in one of those for a while.  

This will prevent you from giving too many Fucks.  Giving too many Fucks causes you to feel things.  Feeling things causes you to give your Fucks to people who might actually deserve them.  

But listen, you don't have that kind of time.

You're old as shit now and your birthday is in 6 days and you better not even pretend to turn 29 again because, BIIITCH! ain't nobody falling for that now.  Just be honest  with yourself for once in your life and put 36 candles on the cake this year.  For fucks sake, Stephanie.  Everyone already knows you'll be turning 36 anyway.

AND FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY go put your eggs in as many baskets as possible!

Like RIGHT NOW!!!! YESTERDAY EVEN!!!

Look, I don't know who this mysterious person is that you're gonna eventually want to give all your Fucks to but you need to at least be operating at your Max Basket Capacity so you'll have a way better chance at recognizing him when he shows up.  Max Basket Capacity varies for everyone.  Some people are able to operate upwards of 10 or more baskets at one time.  Others can only handle 5 or less.  Since you're a rookie and don't know your MBC (that's Max Basket Capacity), I'm gonna suggest you start big.  You can always narrow it down later.  

NOOOOO, Stephanie.  This is purely math and science here.  Get outta English Lit and walk your ass back across the hall.  

Listen, it doesn't matter if they catch feelings for you, Stephanie.  You are not giving them any of your Fucks, remember?  Right.  So fuck 'em!  That's not your problem.  They'll have to figure out how to cope after you're done with them.  Because YOU WILL be done with them eventually.  They'll learn.  It's not your job to teach them. 

 Repeat after me:  Fuck 'em!  

They're just human beings with feelings and emotions, blah, blah, freaking blah they haven't learned to regulate yet because they haven't taken all the personality and love tests we've taken or gone to hardly any TED talks or webinars or zoom conferences where EXPERTS, Stephanie, EXPERTS tell us what to feel and then  how and when to feel it. 

STEPHANIE  

STEPHANIE 

STEPHANIE

They haven't even set up their Boundary Box!  They don't even have one!  They're just out there -  all willy-nilly and EXPOSED for everyone and anyone.  

THE AUDACITY!!!

Please tell me you have a Boundary Box, Stephanie.  It's the box we keep ourselves in until we get ready to give our Fucks to someone.  No one, and I do mean NO ONE, is allowed inside the Boundary Box.  In fact, if you're a pro like me, you will have a Boundary Box inside a Boundary Box inside another Boundary Box, kinda like those Chinese nesting dolls.  

Listen.  This is important:

The Basket Eggs are allowed to approach the Boundary Box but must never attempt to infiltrate it even a tiny bit.  If that is to happen, you must go NO CONTACT immediately.  Right away.  No questions or explanations are needed for the vile and filthy person who would even think about getting inside your Boundary Box.  

GHOST THEM, STEPHANIE!!!!  It's the only way.  They are EVIL.  They will try to make you feel things for them!  They will try to make you give them all your Fucks!!!!  

Do Not Fall For Their Manipulation Tactics!  

Walk Away Walk Away Walk Away 

Then RUN, bitch!

As fast as you can!

There IS a better egg in one of those baskets and you deserve that egg, Stephanie!

DO NOT settle for just any Basket Egg.  

But absolutely DO let them entertain you until you have found your GOLDEN basket egg.  It makes them feel important and when they feel good they're more fun to be around.  

Win/Win.

No, Stephanie.  They'll be fine!  They're just crying right now but they'll get over it.  Remember?  Fuck 'em!

Repeat after me:  Fuck 'em!  

STEPHANIE!  I'm telling you right now that giving them even half a Fuck will cause you to feel something and feeling something will cause an avalanche of all your Fucks and then you will love them unconditionally forever and ever amen until the end of time because that is what you do and I am tired of saying hello to all the January's of all the years with a broken goddamn heart because you can not stay inside your Boundary Box!

Stop flopping around in the mud puddle and come look at these potted plants from the Home Depot and then bake cookies and sip tea and talk about your crafts and your kids like the rest of the middle aged ladies do!  God!

LYLAS,

Stephanie

 

P.S.  BIIITCH!! We all know you're not turning 36 in 6 days either and if you don't lock yourself up in that boundary box, I'm going to expose you!

 

 

Dear Stephanie,

Hey, it's me, Stephanie!

What's up, ho?  

What the hell did I just read?  You sound a bit unhinged.

Look, I've got this ok?

I have it on good authority that I am a REAL BAD BITCH.  As such, I can handle our shit.  

I'm sorry but you're gonna have to sit this one out, sis. I appreciate your Fucks and MCBs and BBs and the really sage advice about treating people like shit so I can get what I want but that's not really how we operate, is it?  I mean, we didn't make it all the way to 37 (you got me) with our heart still tender and malleable by being a total douchebag, did we?

We didn't.  And I don't intend to make it another 37 years by being one either.

So calm the fuck down already.

We're going to keep right on loving people who may or may not also love us back and then we're going to write about it here on this blog after we have fallen all the way off the cliff, just like the 16 year olds we never grew out of would do.  After a few months of total despair and heartache, we'll find love again.  Or we won't.  In which case this blog will sit dormant for another 10 years.  Maybe forever. 

Or. 

Or, Stephanie.  There's always an 'or.'  Maybe, just maybe, someone will eventually love us back the way we love them and then we can rename our blog "UntangledOrder."

You just never know.  The future is alive with possibilities.

But, in the meantime, you and I will work on neglecting and killing potted plants from the Home Depot, burning the baked cookies, staring at the crafts that we bought but don't give two shits to actually try and, most importantly, avoiding the other old ladies that don't look like us because NO WAY WE LOOK THAT OLD, sister.

Now, let's go listen to Em's new album and try to say the words along with him. That fool is never gonna stop rapping. And we'll never stop listening.

Stephanie, we are beautiful and transparent.

Probably from all that time we spent splashing around in the mud puddles when we were 36, almost 37.

We've got this.

LYLAS,

Stephanie

P.S.  HO, if you tell anyone how old I actually am, I am going to stuff you inside your boundary box inside the other boundary box inside the other boundary box so you can't ever get out and then I can really spread all my Fucks around!  

You can't even imagine how many Fucks I have!  

So very many Fucks.

Fucks for Everyone

Fucks for Days

Fucks Forever

Fucks Unlimited

.................

A Dignified Queen, I Am Not

Every single day I think of you and every single day I think of some different thing I did or didn't do while we were together that made you think "hmmm, you know what?  FUCK THIS."

Because obviously it was a big Fuck This from you.

Right?

What's that stupid shit they love to throw around all over Reddit?

If it's not a HELL YES it's a HELL NO.

I guess it wasn't a HELL YES for you then.

I go back and forth between being sad and heartbroken to angry and confused.  I don't know which place I'm supposed to dwell in until I don't think about you anymore because I've stopped caring one way or the other if I was a HELL YES or a FUCK THIS.

I want to ask you how come you couldn't love me but I don't dare because that is considered weak and pathetic and I'm supposed to know that I'm a QUEEN who doesn't need answers because obviously it's your loss only and 

this one is my absolute favorite:  IT'S NOT ME, IT'S YOU.  

But also, there's this thing called DIGNITY and apparently I'm supposed to want to possess it and therefore can not go flailing about all out of control (who makes these fucking rules!) because that will look bad to the person who broke my heart (you) and I am supposed to want them to RESPECT me later on down the road when they're with someone who is NOT ME!

DIGNITY!

Have some motherfucking dignity, Stephanie.  Make her your bitch  and walk around town with her tattooed across your forehead so everyone will know that when your heart breaks in half you do not fall down or even stumble.  

Why?  

BECAUSE YOU ARE DIGNIFIED! 
AND A QUEEN!  

And when that man asked you to take your final bow for him, you curtsied all the way across the stage like the good little girl you've always been and let him go gently into that good night, back from whence he came.  

Good Day, SIR.

That's how someone with DIGNITY behaves when her heart shatters. 

 

What a load of absolute molasses!!!

 

But, Stephanie! TWENTY SEVEN people on this one post on the internet said it's true and there was also an article on Medium written by an accountant who almost majored in psychology but didn't and she said it was true too.  Plus, there's this sad old woman who writes this pathetic blog about how much she loves all the men who don't love her and she said it's true too....

Wait....

No, she didn't.  

She definitely didn't say it was true.

She says all the things that no one really wants to hear because we've all convinced ourselves that we are gods and goddesses and anyone who thinks otherwise was simply just too dull to bathe in the beauty of our light so they need to GET GONE.  We have bigger fish to fry than to worry about a thing like self-reflection.  FUCK THAT.  The only person who needs to do any kind of self-reflecting is the absolute moron who could have possibly taken a pass on you, Queen.  There is obviously something wrong with him.

It's not you, Stephanie.  Of course it isn't you.  

He only thought you were amazing for a whole year before he met you in person.

Do you think it was your chin?  Or  that you wore too many clothes?  Maybe you should have let your titties hang out more?

But seriously.

What the fuck did I really think was going to go down when you met me?  I mean, the week before you said "This feels more like a dead end than a new beginning because it would be an insurmountable challenge for you to move to Corn City and I don't want to move to Loserville so....."

I will tell you what I thought.  Honestly and Sincerely.  From the bottom of my overflowing heart.

I really and truly thought we'd fall madly in love.

Or, at the very least, we'd like each other so much that we'd want to see each other again.

That's what I thought.

FUCK ME SIXTEEN WAYS TO FOREVER, I never imagined it would be a one and done.  Totally did not see that freight train barreling right on through the station.  I guess I was too busy looking at you and laughing when we stared at that map of Mobile on the wall of that little house we stayed in.

 

I was really hoping I'd see you again sometime....

 

I'd give you back my whole heart if I could rewind time to that day in October when you left your apartment up there to drive down here.  I wish when you locked your door behind you, you were just on your way to the market and not on your way to me.  Then your name would still light up my phone and your voice would still be in my head.

 

I miss you.

 

I hope 2021 is everything you need it to be.

 

 

Unraveling

JANUARY 1

2021

I don't peddle sunshine.
That's the first thing you need to know about me.
If you're here looking for a dose of dopamine,

please exit stage left.

Or
take a seat.

Maybe a dopamine rush is not really what you're looking for anyway.

Maybe you want to be entertained in some other way. 

Some dark horse,
some black night,
some stale bread,
some congealed soup left on the kitchen table for one too many days in a row now.

Maybe that's the kind of rush you're after

Maybe that's the thrill you're seeking.

Check underneath that coffee pot over on the counter. 
I bet you'll find last weeks coffee grounds still under there. 
Don't open the pantry door unless you want to see yesterdays trash still on the floor. 
It fell out when the trash can overflowed and we didn't bother picking it up. 
That makes too much sense, you see. 
And we don't make sense around here. 

We're feral.

We're all the way up in the mess and we don't bother dusting that dirt of our shoulders like Jay-Z told us to do.

Nah.

We wear that shit like a mother fucking badge.

We take it with us out into the world when we open the front door and let the sunshine all the way in to every corner of our unmade house.

Our unmade house.
Our unmade beds.
Our unmade lives.