I haven't checked my stats counter in awhile, but I can assume that most have stopped checking in on my Confessions. To those of you who do click on my link occasionally, or have not removed me from your feed reader, hi.
Here it is: 2008 is coming to a close, and I am doing the end-of-the-year-what-does-it-all-mean thing. During the second half of this year I have dealt with a couple of deaths, a deep depression which resulted in a traumatic hospitalization, and a month ago, Nick and I split.
I did not choose this break up, but Nick and I had been fighting it for months by the time he finally called it off. My sexuality, our sexuality, played no small part in our break up. As I piece it all together, or pull it all apart, I'm not interested in parsing it on my blog.
And yet, I'm not ready to give up Anna Smash. I am still having fun adventures, still musing about sex and sexuality, and still narcissistic enough to think that other people might be interested. While I decide what to do with the blog, I encourage you all to follow me on Twitter. In between the mundane, the trite, and the cryptic, I may have something thought-provoking or at least humorous to say.
As I wait impatiently for 2009, I am cautiously optimistic, if only because the other option is to wait for things to get worse. Recently, I have been reminded that not only am I still capable of being in love, I am still capable of being loved. That is no small thing.
If that is not enough reason to be optimistic, I will close with a story I picked up during my holiday travels.
Like countless other people this holiday season, I found myself stuck in an airport a few days before Xmas. While standing in the two and a half hour line to speak with a ticketing agent so that I could re-book my flight, I struck up a conversation with the woman ahead of me. Coincidentally, we were supposed to be on the same flight. She was headed to her hometown, the city I currently live in. Our conversation wandered from local landmarks, to our current careers, and on to our recent break ups.
Like me, her boyfriend had broken up with her a bit before Thanksgiving Day. We commiserated with each other while we crept along in the line.
"I'm not marriage material? Me? Seriously?" I vamped.
"Oh no no no. Check this out," my new friend said, "A few weeks after my boyfriend and I broke up, I went out for some drinks with a friend. We went to a bar that is pretty well known as a pick up spot. As soon as we walked in I saw my ex's best friend, so I knew that he was around somewhere. I told my friend that I was going to go to the bathroom, and that we should take off when I was done.
"When I got out of the bathroom, there he was: my ex. He looked at me and then stuck out his hand. 'Hi, I'm Henry. Nice to meet you,' he slurred.
"I was stunned," said my airport companion, "I just looked at him and said, 'I know your name is Henry. I went out with you for two years, you drunk motherfucker!'"
Yes, it's true. Her ex was so drunk that he didn't realize that he was hitting on his ex-girlfriend.
Keeping this little anecdote in mind, I am approaching 2009 knowing that there is so much further I could fall, and that I probably won't.
29 December 2008
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