Keep My Words

“I remember the exact moment that I knew I had to break up with him,” Josh said. “I was at this party that he was supposed to come to, and I kept watching the door, waiting for him to walk in. I felt so dependent, and that’s not me. I’m not like that. He never showed up to the party, never called, never texted me…”

“Is it really the other person’s fault that we feel this way? They don’t have control over our feelings,” I said.

Josh thought for a moment. “No, it is their fault,” he replied. “People have a responsibility to other people.”

…

Rona had asked me if I wanted to be with him. I said I didn’t know, but I knew that I didn’t want to be without him.

I guess I just got tired of watching the door.

The last time I saw Gram alive was during my Fourth of July trip to Monmouth, Maine in 2007.  She died on Halloween that same year.  I remember the exact second that I last saw her.  She was walking out of the cabin, and she turned to me and waved goodbye.

During that same trip we were sitting on her back porch smoking.  She was talking about when my Grandfather died unexpectedly in 1983.  “I tried to drink myself to death,” she said, “but that didn’t work, so I got a job.”

I know that after my Grandfather’s death, she eventually got a dog that she loved very, very much.  The dog got hit by a car and died.  She had him cremated and kept the ashes under her bed.  When she died, she was also cremated.  I remember my Aunt Heather standing in Gram’s kitchen with her daughter on the day of Gram’s funeral looking at the dog’s ashes.  “This is what your Gram looks like now.  So sad,” my Aunt said.  We buried the dog’s ashes with Gram’s in her burial plot.

This year I want to drive up for the Apple Fest in Monmouth in September.  I’ll be unemployed by then.  It’s also around my birthday.  I hope I can afford it.

Texts from this morning below.  My friend’s name has been changed to protect his privacy.  And by privacy, I mean job (for as long as he decides to keep it).  We’ll call him “Baby Spice”.

Baby Spice: Is it bad to put in your two weeks and then use two sick days to go to Niagra Falls?

Me: Not if you go to the Canadian side.  Going to Canada is considered a sickness.

Baby Spice: Lol

I got a surprise in the mail from my mother today:

Last night I went to see Evil Dead 2 at McCarren Park.  The band was playing before the movie and I was on my second plastic cup of wine (poured from a 2-liter Sprite bottle) when my phone rang.  It was Allison  “Is that your blog?  Devin says that’s your blog.  Did you quit your job???”

I suppose it’s more appropriate to say that I resigned.  Mike says “quit” implies that I am not working from this point forward.  I gave a month’s notice.  Four more weeks of corporate slavery.

In other news, I am on the road to casting all of my care away.  Not my responsibility, just my care.

care (noun) – a state of mind in which one is troubled; worry, anxiety, or concern; grief; suffering; sorrow

It’s easier said than done.  Stifling my ability to be carefree are the thoughts that plague my mind after last Friday.  It’s not just how you always think of better things to say after the fact.  It’s the plans that you made that you realize aren’t going to happen now.  It’s the inside jokes.  It’s the tangible reminders that you want to throw away or hide, but you don’t.  And it’s thinking that the other side of the equation doesn’t care about any of it.

care (verb) – to feel concern about

These kids were outside of Bar Matchless Sunday after the Pool Party.  Future heart-breakers:

I just resigned from my job.  I’ll be working for another month, then I’ll be a full-time student.

The least supportive people in all of this are my parents.

I told my mother two days ago over the phone.  My mother told my father that I wanted to quit my job and go to school full-time.  They both agreed that I should move to Virginia with them and finish school there.  That is obviously not going to happen.  The opportunities in New York greatly exceed those in Chesapeake, Virginia.  This is just a guess, I am not basing it off of any concrete information.  Please let me know if you find otherwise.

I can’t leave New York.  I need my friends in my life right now.  My incredible, unbelievable, wonderful friends.  Let’s get one thing straight – I’m an asshole.  Only portions of my assholey-ness are outwardly expressed.  I let everything else fester in my mind, and I later use it to justify to myself calling myself an asshole.  It is this personal assurance of my assholey-ness which makes me even more appreciative of my friends.  I mean, if there are people amazing enough to comfort me through heartbreak and support me in the boldest decision I have ever made, then maybe I’m doing something right.

I saw two dead birds last Wednesday.  One was at a park on the Hudson near 54th Street, where I sometimes eat lunch at work.  The other was by the ball fields at McCarren Park.  They were showing the first Summerscreen film, Reality Bites.  I was walking to the restrooms with my friend Mike, where I would tragically drop my new sunglasses in the toilet.

Me: “Oh my god, Mike, that’s the second dead bird I’ve seen today!  I need to take a picture of it!  I wonder what it means.”

Mike: “Death.  It’s a sign of change in your life.”

There was one change that I already knew I was going to make.  In short, it involved a guy, and me making a choice to break my own heart this time.  (Lelaina: “Walk out on you? You walk out on them.  I’ve seen you.  You’re out the door before the condom comes off.”  Vickie: “Listen to me, I’m just beating them to the punch.”)  Did I do the right thing?  This isn’t a rhetorical question.  I really want to know if I did the right thing.

Anyway, I feel the need for more change.  So I’m going to quit my job, take out a loan, and (finally) finish school in time for summer 2010.

I can’t just let those birds die in vain.

Manhattan bird (above), Brooklyn bird (below)