I've just changed the fonts on my blog so many times that I no longer have any concept of design aesthetic. I think I like it. We'll see in the morning. I also attempted to start working on the new Butter is Love but, as you can see if you click through, there's not much there yet. I'm having trouble moving all the content over from the original site (which I would link to except it looks super funktastic right now because you have to do all this weird changing the code to make it compatible with TypePad and I think actually the problem is with Blogger misbehaving at the moment... anyways) but it's going to be awesome and I'm going to put up my new cupcake recipe. Also, I have someone to cook for, so that means there will be more new recipes! Woo!
But the most exciting new of the evening, is that I'm currently doing all this from the middle of my bed, which is also where I intend to sleep, which I've never done. Even though until last night nobody else had slept in my bed for over a year, I still kept to one side of it. I don't know why. Lara asked me once and I said "I don't know, that's Jacob's side of the bed". I'm pretty sure I had already started seeing the douche, so it really wasn't Jacob's side of the bed anymore, it wasn't anybody's side. It certainly wasn't mine. When I moved into my cabin I switched sides because it made more sense the way my room is set up and because that was the side I generally slept on in the douche's bed but it didn't really feel right. It was like my bed wasn't really my bed anymore. It was just a place I slept. In the same way your house doesn't always feel like your home. Last night Matt (the much alluded to new boy, no fake name, I asked him) spent the night at my house and now somehow my bed is my bed again and this cabin feels like my home.
I'm wary of inviting people into my space. The douche never was asked here; I never let him sleep in my bed. When I was younger I always viewed my room as my private sanctum, a safe place. I would spend hours closed up in it, reading or writing, coming out only when I was obligated to show my face for family dinner or when I had come to the startling realization that I hadn't eaten at all that day. In the last year, I've reverted to that place. With all the shittiness of my relationship (or lack thereof) with the douche, with all the trying to find myself by losing myself, I found myself, right where I always was, in this room with its overflowing bookshelves, colored records hanging in the corner, posters from my favorite museum, table decoupaged with pictures of Audrey Hepburn, furniture I stained myself and shoes generally strewn everywhere. There's nothing hidden in my home, I live in a studio, and all of me is out there for you to see. So you see, it's not something someone I don't trust gets to take part in.
I feel like I've spent a lot of the last year apologizing for myself. Or lying to myself.
"You're right, I do take life too seriously"
"My opinions really should be kept to myself"
"Totally, twenty three is too young to be behaving in a responsible manner"
"Oh, it's Wednesday? Of course I want to get fucking shitfaced in the middle of the week"
"Yeah, I don't like to wear nice clothes either"
And, of course
"I super like sex with no strings attached and I'm not just being used"
You know, all those things that are very much how I want to live. In a NOT AT ALL sort of way.
Living that way built about a million walls around me. The defenses are up 100%.
I mean I'm back to myself now. I am determined to be me. No apologies.
And it's hard to be in both those places at once. And it's terrifying to be in both those places and jump into a relationship. Especially when said relationship seems to be everything you want.
After a year of being told all my thoughts and emotions were invalid, of subjecting myself to constant rejection, I didn't even know how to react to somebody telling me I'm wonderful and they want to date me. Deer in the headlights.
Tell me I'm a crazy bitch and I can fake laugh it off.
Let's replace communication with sex and not enjoying each other's company with too much booze.
I can do those things.
But I said this is what I wanted. I said I wanted back in on feeling comfortable and secure, on being treated well, on giant bowls of mashed potatoes, on dating a nice guy, on the real deal. And I was right, I want this. You wouldn't know it because I've let myself be completely overwhelmed as I write this and there have been tears dropping on the keyboard for a solid twenty minutes now, but I've been incredibly happy. I am incredibly happy. Also, incredibly, incredibly vulnerable feeling.
I forgot what this was like. I forgot what it's like to meet somebody with whom you can see potential. I forgot the terrible, wonderful feeling of wanting to risk sharing all of yourself while simultaneously wanting to keep it all in you're so afraid you'll fuck things up. I forgot the joy in the little things, in cooking, in learning each other's likes and dislikes, in snuggling on the couch. I forgot it all. I forgot what sex is like when it's not just greasy spoon diner sex. I forgot the vulnerability and intimacy when you're not just using each other. I forgot how just a look can send those defenses running, make the walls come crashing down. This is how it starts when you want it. It's been a while. I mean a really, long while since I've been in this place.
I'm terrified. I can't yet envision things down the road, maybe I'm not letting myself, but I'm entering into this with intention, as myself and I think I'm ready for it.