As a child I was close to only two people, Christine and Nadine. and to me, they were my sisters. In the summer, the Brunelles were my other family. In later years, Joanie, Laraine, and Sylvia were the only confidantes, and later in high school- I was a theater geek, and a newspaper writer, so I had garnered a very tight group of outcasts as the only people I could rely upon. Chris, Mischa, Rebecca, Bob, Vinnie, Joe and I were it. Just a hovering of weird, in a world where weird seemed okay. Human Sexual Response was our band, and I never got into smoking, drugs or anything like that- because I figured a clear head was the only asset I could ever have. Home life, terrible, my escape had always only been in my friendships. The only place I felt like I belonged was around people who didn't feel like they belonged anywhere either.
About 30 years ago, I went to Massachusetts College of Art for the first time. There I was heavily involved in performance art, and got to meet some incredible people like Jim Jarmusch, Dave Van Ronk, and even the non-named people who still influence my work today. But, money being money, and survival being survival, I left my home ground of art, and joined the Navy. I don't know if it was to see if I belonged someplace, or to see if I could just do it and find a place in the world. I found again, some great people, like Debbie Barnes, whom I haven't found since.I fell in love really hard, for the first time, and not with my original starter husband- it was after the divorce that I met Erich - that one love that proves to you how unfair life can be, and the only person in my young life who I ever really looked to as an equal. He didn't feel the same, and by the time the Navy was done, I was heading back to Mass Art, and trying to find out what I could learn about myself.
How did I still not fit in when the world around me there was nothing but nonconformity? Ironically, Nadine, who had changed her name by this time, was also a close friend again, and I trusted her because I knew where she came from, and what her heart was. I never wanted to have a friend again, after Erich, but there I was, now with two. Reconnecting with her somehow made me feel like I had roots, and I had something I could rely on- a past that wasn't all scars.
Graduating came early, as it had in high school. Early, but late, that is. I started school then left, then started again. I met my first live-in boyfriend, and he taught me how to appreciate myself again. As a rebound, the relationship started doomed, but as an education, it was key to my life ahead, and I'll always be grateful for it. When I launched into graduate school at Cal Arts, I was determined to meet friends there, and have someone to talk to besides myself or my guitar. I'd always written music, and songs were spewing like a baby on sour milk. Now I was behind the camera, and then again, on stage with Second City. I tried keeping in touch with my ex, and the artist formerly known as Nadine. And she was even key in getting me reconnected to the other only friend I had- Christine.
Christine was busy with her own life, and I wrote a couple letters to her then. I sent one inviting her to see me at Second City, Santa Monica, and another to tell her I was working in a film company. By this time, I also became close to Shayne, Michelle, Pamela, and Jen H., who all were parts of the diamond that made me- each facet cooled or warmed by different reflections. I didn't hear back from Christine, but it didn't hurt as badly because I was in a place I felt, for the first time as an adult, in a home- a place of belonging. After graduating, save for Shayne, I couldn't seem to find anyone anymore, and I couldn't seem to connect. I returned to that place I was in high school, and undergrad school, of desperately looking for a place in the world that was mine. Solo life was more familiar to me, and I spent many years, not seeking a single person to spend time with. I preferred being in my car, singing at the top of my lungs or working at the Comedy Store- I could be on stage but not part of the experience, that way.This was a world I could observe, and make people laugh about, but it wasn't one I could feel human in, at all. It ended up crushing me, so much so, that when I finally did feel love, it only lasted minutes.
Life was hard on lots of levels- my health was deteriorating, I had surgeries, I sat in hospitals without family, and the one boyfriend I had during that time, broke up with me six hours after I left the hospital after throat surgery. When my work life was great, my home life was shite, and vice versa. This isn't really a blog about any of that, though. It's about reconnecting and feeling worthy of anyone else's attention. People would tell me positive wonderful things, but at the same time, I was hearing that they wanted me to change what I did or how I did it. This was so great in one case, that I ended up nearly homeless for life, and certainly at the lowest point I had ever attained. I'm skipping the New Mexico lifetime. It's a blog on its own. Somehow I managed to return to California, to San Francisco this time, so I could sing, and learn about music, and do stand-up above a laundromat. Again, amongst atists I found a small flock to fly with, and one friend, Sandy, I took upon as a personal quest- to be her big sister in a way I couldn't be to my own flesh and blood. And then we lost touch.
I ended up married again, for the only reason of wanting to be needed or to belong, and that, as you would assume, turned out terribly. He was in love with drinking, and I was working three jobs to support us. He ripped into my self esteem worse than anyone had- I blamed myself for his inability to be kind to me. This, after I chose a man who only showed love to his daughter once when I was around him. He couldn't be a whole person, and to this day, I can't understand if I was part of his life so I could avoid mine or if I was part of his life so his daughter could see him as stable for the first time. Shattered shards of crystal that made up anything I had ever done for myself were laying around at my feet. At this time, I tried hooking up with my lost friends- the ones who knew me under all the titles- and hoped someone would return the need. The song writing was my one solace. It still is, but for different reasons.
One person I connected with was doing well in her life. Another, Pamela, had moved to Reno, and became a show girl, I didn't even emotionally recognize her anymore. Everyone was disappearing. I had a dog. That was something. One of the friends invited me to dinner, where we enjoyed talking about life, liberty, the use of adjectives, and even the smell of curry. But for some reason I still don't comprehend, she thought I wanted to hurt her in some way. I was at the lowest point I had been in years, had no self esteem, had no friendships except, thankfully Shayne's, and my life was just torn up by divorce, moving from northern to southern California, and hunting for a job anywhere. Have you ever sat in a dining room with someone who slipped a piece of silverware into their bag? Or at least you THOUGHT that's what they did. and tried to confront that person? You eventually notice that the silverware was hidden by someone's foot on the floor, and even with this information, you still argue to this person about the wrongs in thievery. That person still feels accused, and tries and tries to get you to see the truth? I felt that way. I felt like I was being accused of stealing silverware, when I was just clumsy. I finally relented realizing, I couldn't refute the claim anymore, and it was exhausting even trying. The only way to prove to someone that you want nothing from them is to ask for nothing and walk away. This one event still hurts more than any lovers quarrel or spat with an ex- it hurts more because it came from someone I never in my life ever thought of harming, nor taking advantage of- my only recourse was to step away to the loneliness again.
The Ren Faire geeks took me in, and I slowly built a new emotionally stronger person out of the shards and burnt edges. My health finally took over my life completely. Time for friends stopped. I became a stage/recluse person. I lived online if I wanted to talk, but I missed my friendships. I was so grateful to have never lost Shayne- she is my rock in most ways- we're completely different, from Politics to religious matters- but she is what I try to be-- brutally kind to those around her. I started engaging in human contact again, and after many years, although I still embrace solitude, I fear loneliness far less. In recent months I've reconnected with the Brunelle family, and some people from my childhood neighborhood. I still would love to find Nadine again, and Deborah, and Rebecca, and anyone who helped me be who I am today, in the best way possible. And I've resigned myself to the notion that some people will always assume the worst out of a friendship and not see me as I am, but me as they assume I am.
Today, I'm happily married to my LAST husband. I have a close relationship with my Dad. I miss two really close friendships that took me away from the unhappy parts of life- Amethyst, a Rennie, died at the age of 34- from a disease she never should have had. My sole mother figure died in 2001, days before 9/11, and that story is recounted in my books, and on another set of blogs. I now chat day-to-day with old boy-friends, old gal pals, and former classmates with only the feeling of belonging again. Thanks to my husband, I don't feel alone at all, and if anything he has filled my life up with more amazing people. In a few weeks I will return to Massachusetts for the first time in years. I hope to find a trio of Suzies, a former boyfriend and his wife, even my brother and sister. For their sake, I'll also meet with my mother, although I don't know if this is a smart move. It is one of kindness, so that their lives are less difficult, though. One of our dear friends, Kelli, is watching our children during this trip- our children all have fur, four legs, and in some cases, a passion for litter.
As I get closer to 50, I hope to continue re-discovering the warm relationships with people. I don't know if they all feel the same about returning that discovery. If I lose them again at this point in life, I have to just grieve and move on. There are people who do make me feel worthy of love, attention, kindness. A former high-school teacher, Mary, has become one of my favorite people on the planet, and I consider her to be closer now than those many years ago. I've reconnected with Michelle and Pamela- both of whom are now parents to children as beautiful as they are. Each week yet another Jen, (I know about 15 of them?), and her husband Carl come by for movies. I'm very close to a few people whom I only know via textual context online. Life works so much better when we've accepted those bits and pieces of the past and integrated them into our present. Life would be painful if I lost friends- and because I didn't reach out to them- after they've gone, died, - without any way to feel the happiness I felt with them again.
This is also the age I now understand if the past shapes us, it needs to be understood, not ignored. There are so many people I'd love to understand now, whom I may never have contact from again, like Deborah, or Rebecca. There are the outcasts who know what it's like to have only music or words as a place of solace- like Joe, or Mischa. If everyone could shake of their titles for ten minutes, it would be so great to reconnect with the PEOPLE that made up my world, rather than their jobs, or their ambitions. I hope to always be a friend to those who saw me as one. And, if I'm not up to their standards, quality, or description of friend, then I hope they'll leave me with just the memory of the times we were close. Memories are the only possessions I really have- everything else can disappear. As long as I'm able to think, and reason, the memories are all I will ever have- and I'm quite wealthy, in a sense, because of them.
About 30 years ago, I went to Massachusetts College of Art for the first time. There I was heavily involved in performance art, and got to meet some incredible people like Jim Jarmusch, Dave Van Ronk, and even the non-named people who still influence my work today. But, money being money, and survival being survival, I left my home ground of art, and joined the Navy. I don't know if it was to see if I belonged someplace, or to see if I could just do it and find a place in the world. I found again, some great people, like Debbie Barnes, whom I haven't found since.I fell in love really hard, for the first time, and not with my original starter husband- it was after the divorce that I met Erich - that one love that proves to you how unfair life can be, and the only person in my young life who I ever really looked to as an equal. He didn't feel the same, and by the time the Navy was done, I was heading back to Mass Art, and trying to find out what I could learn about myself.
How did I still not fit in when the world around me there was nothing but nonconformity? Ironically, Nadine, who had changed her name by this time, was also a close friend again, and I trusted her because I knew where she came from, and what her heart was. I never wanted to have a friend again, after Erich, but there I was, now with two. Reconnecting with her somehow made me feel like I had roots, and I had something I could rely on- a past that wasn't all scars.
Graduating came early, as it had in high school. Early, but late, that is. I started school then left, then started again. I met my first live-in boyfriend, and he taught me how to appreciate myself again. As a rebound, the relationship started doomed, but as an education, it was key to my life ahead, and I'll always be grateful for it. When I launched into graduate school at Cal Arts, I was determined to meet friends there, and have someone to talk to besides myself or my guitar. I'd always written music, and songs were spewing like a baby on sour milk. Now I was behind the camera, and then again, on stage with Second City. I tried keeping in touch with my ex, and the artist formerly known as Nadine. And she was even key in getting me reconnected to the other only friend I had- Christine.
Christine was busy with her own life, and I wrote a couple letters to her then. I sent one inviting her to see me at Second City, Santa Monica, and another to tell her I was working in a film company. By this time, I also became close to Shayne, Michelle, Pamela, and Jen H., who all were parts of the diamond that made me- each facet cooled or warmed by different reflections. I didn't hear back from Christine, but it didn't hurt as badly because I was in a place I felt, for the first time as an adult, in a home- a place of belonging. After graduating, save for Shayne, I couldn't seem to find anyone anymore, and I couldn't seem to connect. I returned to that place I was in high school, and undergrad school, of desperately looking for a place in the world that was mine. Solo life was more familiar to me, and I spent many years, not seeking a single person to spend time with. I preferred being in my car, singing at the top of my lungs or working at the Comedy Store- I could be on stage but not part of the experience, that way.This was a world I could observe, and make people laugh about, but it wasn't one I could feel human in, at all. It ended up crushing me, so much so, that when I finally did feel love, it only lasted minutes.
Life was hard on lots of levels- my health was deteriorating, I had surgeries, I sat in hospitals without family, and the one boyfriend I had during that time, broke up with me six hours after I left the hospital after throat surgery. When my work life was great, my home life was shite, and vice versa. This isn't really a blog about any of that, though. It's about reconnecting and feeling worthy of anyone else's attention. People would tell me positive wonderful things, but at the same time, I was hearing that they wanted me to change what I did or how I did it. This was so great in one case, that I ended up nearly homeless for life, and certainly at the lowest point I had ever attained. I'm skipping the New Mexico lifetime. It's a blog on its own. Somehow I managed to return to California, to San Francisco this time, so I could sing, and learn about music, and do stand-up above a laundromat. Again, amongst atists I found a small flock to fly with, and one friend, Sandy, I took upon as a personal quest- to be her big sister in a way I couldn't be to my own flesh and blood. And then we lost touch.
I ended up married again, for the only reason of wanting to be needed or to belong, and that, as you would assume, turned out terribly. He was in love with drinking, and I was working three jobs to support us. He ripped into my self esteem worse than anyone had- I blamed myself for his inability to be kind to me. This, after I chose a man who only showed love to his daughter once when I was around him. He couldn't be a whole person, and to this day, I can't understand if I was part of his life so I could avoid mine or if I was part of his life so his daughter could see him as stable for the first time. Shattered shards of crystal that made up anything I had ever done for myself were laying around at my feet. At this time, I tried hooking up with my lost friends- the ones who knew me under all the titles- and hoped someone would return the need. The song writing was my one solace. It still is, but for different reasons.
One person I connected with was doing well in her life. Another, Pamela, had moved to Reno, and became a show girl, I didn't even emotionally recognize her anymore. Everyone was disappearing. I had a dog. That was something. One of the friends invited me to dinner, where we enjoyed talking about life, liberty, the use of adjectives, and even the smell of curry. But for some reason I still don't comprehend, she thought I wanted to hurt her in some way. I was at the lowest point I had been in years, had no self esteem, had no friendships except, thankfully Shayne's, and my life was just torn up by divorce, moving from northern to southern California, and hunting for a job anywhere. Have you ever sat in a dining room with someone who slipped a piece of silverware into their bag? Or at least you THOUGHT that's what they did. and tried to confront that person? You eventually notice that the silverware was hidden by someone's foot on the floor, and even with this information, you still argue to this person about the wrongs in thievery. That person still feels accused, and tries and tries to get you to see the truth? I felt that way. I felt like I was being accused of stealing silverware, when I was just clumsy. I finally relented realizing, I couldn't refute the claim anymore, and it was exhausting even trying. The only way to prove to someone that you want nothing from them is to ask for nothing and walk away. This one event still hurts more than any lovers quarrel or spat with an ex- it hurts more because it came from someone I never in my life ever thought of harming, nor taking advantage of- my only recourse was to step away to the loneliness again.
The Ren Faire geeks took me in, and I slowly built a new emotionally stronger person out of the shards and burnt edges. My health finally took over my life completely. Time for friends stopped. I became a stage/recluse person. I lived online if I wanted to talk, but I missed my friendships. I was so grateful to have never lost Shayne- she is my rock in most ways- we're completely different, from Politics to religious matters- but she is what I try to be-- brutally kind to those around her. I started engaging in human contact again, and after many years, although I still embrace solitude, I fear loneliness far less. In recent months I've reconnected with the Brunelle family, and some people from my childhood neighborhood. I still would love to find Nadine again, and Deborah, and Rebecca, and anyone who helped me be who I am today, in the best way possible. And I've resigned myself to the notion that some people will always assume the worst out of a friendship and not see me as I am, but me as they assume I am.
Today, I'm happily married to my LAST husband. I have a close relationship with my Dad. I miss two really close friendships that took me away from the unhappy parts of life- Amethyst, a Rennie, died at the age of 34- from a disease she never should have had. My sole mother figure died in 2001, days before 9/11, and that story is recounted in my books, and on another set of blogs. I now chat day-to-day with old boy-friends, old gal pals, and former classmates with only the feeling of belonging again. Thanks to my husband, I don't feel alone at all, and if anything he has filled my life up with more amazing people. In a few weeks I will return to Massachusetts for the first time in years. I hope to find a trio of Suzies, a former boyfriend and his wife, even my brother and sister. For their sake, I'll also meet with my mother, although I don't know if this is a smart move. It is one of kindness, so that their lives are less difficult, though. One of our dear friends, Kelli, is watching our children during this trip- our children all have fur, four legs, and in some cases, a passion for litter.
As I get closer to 50, I hope to continue re-discovering the warm relationships with people. I don't know if they all feel the same about returning that discovery. If I lose them again at this point in life, I have to just grieve and move on. There are people who do make me feel worthy of love, attention, kindness. A former high-school teacher, Mary, has become one of my favorite people on the planet, and I consider her to be closer now than those many years ago. I've reconnected with Michelle and Pamela- both of whom are now parents to children as beautiful as they are. Each week yet another Jen, (I know about 15 of them?), and her husband Carl come by for movies. I'm very close to a few people whom I only know via textual context online. Life works so much better when we've accepted those bits and pieces of the past and integrated them into our present. Life would be painful if I lost friends- and because I didn't reach out to them- after they've gone, died, - without any way to feel the happiness I felt with them again.
This is also the age I now understand if the past shapes us, it needs to be understood, not ignored. There are so many people I'd love to understand now, whom I may never have contact from again, like Deborah, or Rebecca. There are the outcasts who know what it's like to have only music or words as a place of solace- like Joe, or Mischa. If everyone could shake of their titles for ten minutes, it would be so great to reconnect with the PEOPLE that made up my world, rather than their jobs, or their ambitions. I hope to always be a friend to those who saw me as one. And, if I'm not up to their standards, quality, or description of friend, then I hope they'll leave me with just the memory of the times we were close. Memories are the only possessions I really have- everything else can disappear. As long as I'm able to think, and reason, the memories are all I will ever have- and I'm quite wealthy, in a sense, because of them.
