Logic WIN

*or*
You two must be sisters!

can•cer (kān'sər) n.
1.
a. Any of various malignant neoplasms characterized by the proliferation of anaplastic cells that tend to invade surrounding tissue and metastasize to new body sites.
b. The pathological condition characterized by such this growth.

Main Entry: growth
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: development, progress
Synonyms: advance, advancement, aggrandizement, augmentation, beefing up, boost, buildup, change, crop, cultivation, enlargement, evolution, evolvement, expansion, extension, fleshing out, flowering, gain, germination, heightening, hike, improvement, increase, maturation, maturing, multiplication, produce, production, proliferation, prosperity, rise, sprouting, stretching, success, surge, swell, thickening, unfolding, up, upping, vegetation, waxing, widening

Main Entry: change
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: something made different; alteration
Synonyms: about-face, addition, adjustment, advance, break, compression, contraction, conversion, correction, development, difference, distortion, diversification, diversity, innovation, metamorphosis, modification, modulation, mutation, novelty, permutation, reconstruction, refinement, remodeling, reversal, revision, revolution, shift, surrogate, switch, tempering, transformation, transition, transmutation, turn, turnover, variance, variation, variety, vicissitude

mu•ta•tion (myōō-tā'shən) n.
1. The act or process of altering or changing.
2. An alteration or change, as in nature, form, or quality.
3. A mutant.

So according to dictionary.com- with absolutely no stretch of the imagination (::cough::),
My dad was A MUTANT.


Dad's been on my mind. Again, a lot, always. I wonder if a father's love is the 100% absolute-sure-of love we spend our dating years trying to replicate? I don't know. I *do* know it's kind of comforting that he has to love you no matter what... ;)

EXT. AZIA PARKING LOT- NIGHT

A mostly empty parking lot. A lone streetlamp provides the only illumination.

STEPHANIE is standing tall and proud and beautiful in the weak, yellow light. KELL is sitting in shadow on the trunk of her car- her elbows resting on her knees.

Both girls are smoking and so deep in conversation they are oblivious to the sounds of the night- the couple having a spat on the corner, the sirens heading towards home, laughter spilling from the restaurant.

STEPHANIE

I'm gonna tell you this because I love you- and it's real talk so you should listen. I know you're in this self-improvement state and you're analyzing the past so the parts that didn't work out won't end up in your future- but you seriously need to stop with the internalization of every failed relationship. Yes, I know you kissed that kid and broke Chris's heart. And your hatred of those actions and pining for him led you to push Rich away at every step- I was there. I know this. But Kell... here's the part you're not going to like- they could have forgiven you. If they have loved you enough, they would have forgiven you.

Stephanie pauses and peers intently at Kell as if to gauge how she's taking this news. Kell glances up from lowered brows with a sardonic grin and simply shrugs.

STEPHANIE (CONT'D)

(almost to herself)

I've seen a man in love. He'll be there. He'll do anything. He'll work for it, he'll spend everything he has on it, give everything he's got, hell- he'll even *die* for it. Absolutely nothing will keep him from it. That's a man in love- that's a man for real.

KELL

(curiously, hesistantly)

Hey Steph... what would *we* do for love?

STEPHANIE

You don't know, I don't know- and that's why we're still single. And maybe why we've never had it.

END SCENE.

A handmaid's tale.

I had several cookies and a trough of coffee for breakfast and yet this hangover refuses to back the hell off. ::sigh:: I knew I shouldn’t have left the twizzlers at home...

Girls’ night.

My mother (and by extension- me, I suppose) is descended from Slavic peasant stock- women who were strong, proud, and who had their share of struggles. Their emotional defense against said struggles was a stoic recitation of adages demonstrating the futility of resisting life’s inevitable hardships. Mom, during her turn- could be found automatically uttering the folksy wisdom that had been faithfully drummed into the heads of many consecutive generations. The best advice my mother ever gave me came from this very lexicon. What made this advice different from the rest was the way my mom said it. She *believed* it- she really had thought about it and meant it. She said:

"Be kind, Kellian. Everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle than you..."

Last night found Steph and I back at her apartment, lamenting our lack of funds and playing with the new girl-cat, Cadence. And by ‘playing’, I mean I was letting her chew on my arm until it bled. As always, our conversation turned to love, life, and the pursuit of happiness. We companionably debate things for a bit- just a nice casual evening between two girlfriends. Being a fan of the DECLARATIVE STATEMENT (I like to just throw em out there. I feel unexplained, this makes me more mysterious and deep.)I make a DECLARATIVE STATEMENT. I say:

"I have no idea how to be in a relationship."

Well. I had no idea this DECLARATIVE STATEMENT would produce the results it did, but immediately after the DS, Stephanie was reduced to hysterics. Seriously, I could hardly understand her- she said (I think):

"AHAHAHA!
You *think*?!! Oh GOD Kell- Ms. I-cannot-tell-a-lie Kell. AHAHAHA! You jump up on your soapbox and scream at the top of your lungs- this is ME!! Here are all my secrets, baggage, and issues!!! If there’s anything you didn’t get the first time, just ask! AHAHAHA!! Here’s the problem if we were playing spades- you wouldn’t start off the game by telling me you had the aces of hearts and spades, the kings of diamonds and hearts... right? Hell no. You want to WIN! But in relationships, that’s exactly WHAT YOU DO!!! AHAHAHA. It’s no wonder everybody jumps ship- you gotta be the captain and you’re steering the ship and all these guys realize, holy shit- she’s gonna crash us into that iceberg!!! The captain has no fucking idea what she’s doing!!!! This bitch is CRAZY!!! AHAHAHA- JUMP SHIP!!!! Kell, I wonder if you didn't *deliberately* ruin every single relationship you've had in the past 2 years!!!
AHAHAHA!"

Well. I could defend myself. Or try to anyways. I could launch into a lengthy explanation of my past behaviors and rationalize and justify, etc. I could be defensive- throw some right back at her. Her laughter seems cruel and it’s starting to hurt me but there’s a slightly held-back hysteria to it I don’t like. So while I *could* do these things, I don’t. Instead I remember what my mother said. And I say:

"...Stephanie.
Stephanie, what’s wrong?"

And she stops laughing.
And her eyes fill up with tears.

Reality check.

*or*
Jon deserves a medal for putting up with my emo boy-bullshit on a daily basis.

3:30 on a Tuesday afternoon finds me sitting on a windowsill in the skyway between the Baker and the TCF tower. I’m tucked in, knees drawn up- watching the people confidently navigate the passageways they had forgotten days before. All of downtown Minneapolis has a slightly-out-of-date-yet-not-so-out-of-date-to-be-retro-coo feel to it and the TCF is no exception with its exposed brick interior, reminiscent of old high school auditoriums. But it’s still my favorite. And I suppose that’s why I’m here- drawing comfort, seeking shelter, etc. It was my plan after work to head on over to Caribou for something fattening and all around v. bad for me- maybe pick up some more books too. Work was a nightmare but that doesn’t explain my current dissatisfaction or why I feel so raw about the edges. Oh no, not that- it’s just... well.

Reality check.

Me being me again, I suppose. Instead of the moan I desire, I settle for a sigh but still manage to draw curious glances towards my window. Morosely staring at the neon SUSHI/OPEN24/ICE CREAM signs outside (I’ve never been able to decide if the place is selling those signs or if it’s a lactose-loving, Asian insomniac’s dream come true), I think thinky thoughts. I wish I could mutilate the facts into something much more pleasing to me but at the same time, don’t even really want to think about it anymore.

One last time... here’s the thing:

I guess I always entertained the idea that someday we’d be good enough friends to take a casual trip together somewhere or spend a comfortable evening on each others’ home front for some reason or another. Regardless of what happened in our relationship, I always had the utmost respect for him and valued the things he had to say. We used to talk everyday. We said we’d be friends and this time, with him- I meant it. For me that meant, ‘Hey. I think you’re special. It doesn’t matter that we couldn’t make it work. You go here ____ in my life- always.’

But... we’re not friends. We don’t talk anymore. This is an epic bummer to me for 2 main reasons.

Reason #1. The bad reason.
He saw me at my absolute worst. Depressed, apathetic, self-indulgent, cruel... Afraid to try anything new with no self-confidence- dwelling on the past and making no headway into producing a more vibrant future. I was mean to him. On several occasions. I always thought that now, once I was free of a lot of the baggage and my pressure to have ‘the most perfect fucking relationship ever’ I could somehow be myself and make this up to him. With a sense of acute embarrassment, I realize his opinion of me might now always be made up of these^^^ moments. It's no wonder he doesn't want to keep me in his life.

Reason #2. The romantic Kell reason.
I fall in love once every 10 years. I don’t like that this is the case. I firmly believe you should fall in love as often as you can. And I’ve loved people... but not that epic, oh-my-god-romantic love, y’know? Twice. Twice in my entire goddamn life. And one of them lives in another freakin’ country. It’s not like our paths have the chance to cross on a daily basis. And now that we’re not friends, as dramatic as this sounds- I’ll never see him again. I guess that makes him static- not real to me anymore. Just memories. Lovely ones, to be sure- but just memories.

I feel a little prickling behind my eyes and realize I’ve been musing for almost 10 minutes. I should go before I actually weep in public- god! It’s funny- even though we didn’t really spend a huge amount of time with each other, he saw me cry more than anyone else on the planet. I wonder if that means something? I’m terrified of turning into a ‘tragic’ creature... it’s definitely time to leave the skyways- I think people are beginning to wonder. I refuse to make a spectacle of myself.

As I’m packing up, heading out- I glance over to check the time on the TCF’s orange digital clock on the side of the building. It’s 3:39- plenty of time to pick up my things and get home in time to feed Norman. Maybe after that, I’ll be just fine. Turning to leave, I notice the reflection of the clock on the opposite skyway window.

::snicker::
Oh my god. It’s... HUGE. I look around and everyone is going about their business without one glance. Perhaps it’s my unique vantage but I feel an almost hysterical urge to guffaw at the blatant indifference people are displaying. While that sight is drawing no attention, my struggles to keep from laughing are beginning to get noticed. Ho wah! I really better go now as I suspect I am in the process of making a spectacle of myself!
::snicker::

The Moral:
I wish to god he could have met me *now*.
But I never would have gotten here without him.

...giggling at PEE signs.
Man, I’m such a child.

...And I suspect I’ll be just fine.

When it comes to relationships...

ep⋅i⋅logue
   /ˈɛpəˌlɔg, -ˌlɒg/ [ep-uh-lawg, -log]
–noun
1. a concluding part added to a literary work, as a novel.
2. a closing speech in a play, often delivered after the completion of the main action.
3. the person speaking this.
Origin:
1375–1425; late ME epiloge < L epilogus < Gk epílogos peroration of a speech, equiv. to epi- epi- + lógos word

...this part is never satisfying- nor, in my case, well-written.