The Power of Coffee

I had eulogized my single life, mourned living alone and accepted morning coffee in its place. In all of the time we were together I never made my own coffee. That was his thing. From the very beginning when he gave me the coffee grinder, he took making coffee for us both in the morning as his thing. He owned it. He loved to add cinnamon, whipped cream, and other sugary items to surprise me with. Given our rocky relationship, whenever we would have a fight or breakup I would always get really sad about making my coffee. And that made me angry. I was the most independent girl I knew before I met him. I did so many things on my own and loved every second of it. But the way that he made coffee so special each morning - I ended up sentimentalizing inanimate objects and yes, even beverages. I didn't even want to use the glorious grinder during our breakups. I didn't even truly miss him. I missed "things," "places," and shared "objects."

I didn't recognize this fact for quite awhile.

After the first time he threw me to the ground I started to figure it out. I got a concussion that July '06 night when we fought over where he had been after I found the picture of him and Amanda. That was the first time that I got a taste of his temper turning physical. He looked like a robot, devoid of feeling. He kept pushing me out of rooms in the house, taking my stuff and throwing it downstairs and refusing to let me check for things left behind. He just kept knocking me down. I got so crazed when I thought about that picture I had found (with an incriminating date stamped on it) and all of the lies that I started flailing at him and scratched him up. He responded in kind. Threw me down and was "restraining" me with both hands pinning mine to the ground. When I tried to lift my head he pushed it back down - hard, hence the concussion. Not to mention the bruises all over my arms and legs.

I don't even know that I can convey how mortified and shocked I was. The cliche of it all smacked me in the face. All of my feelings felt so passe and predictable. I was WAY too smart and independent minded, stubborn even for this. I allowed him to treat me badly and make it up with sex and a morning cup of coffee, and subsequently the rose garden he planted on my balcony. It was humiliating but during that time I couldn't even imagine leaving him for good. I actually believed that I needed him, that I couldn't be happy without him. (Because concussions and black eyes are true bliss). Violence aside, assigning responsibility for my happiness to someone else was terribly misguided.

The humiliation was compounded when I was harassed by the cops when they arrived soon after I called 911. They separated us outside and assigned me to a piece of sidewalk while they spoke with him. As he was telling his story, I heard him painting a picture of some crazy banshee who just went nuts and attacked him! I lost my shit, left my part of the sidewalk and threw the picture at him (up until then he didn't know I had found it). Predictably the cops didn't take too kindly to this. The female officer pulled me back to the front of the house informed me that if anyone was going to get arrested that night it was going to be me. She asked for my license and asked me where I worked. I remember crying when I had to answer that question. I was embarrassed for myself that I had such a dignified position for such a high profile boss and employer. I got petrified thinking that our altercation would be made public in a blotter or such and it would be reported as "DHS aide to George XXXX." I finally admitted to where I worked and she looked at me with a softer face, glanced over to the front door and sternly demanded, "What are you thinking being with this guy??? You are so much better than this and you need to just stop it."

It took 11 more months, a great deal more pain and physical abuse but I finally did stop it. I stopped the madness.

Read My Lips...

" It was oh so surreal being in a different location. One where I knew no one. I had not participated in creating the cracks in the wooden furniture - I didn't know the stories behind the broken kitchen equipment. I had not kissed anyone in there and don't plan on it."

A blog entry that I drafted on September 13, 2007 upon my first night at the Great Neck Big M. Ahhh the innocence of that last line! My first thought is that I wish I had remained steadfast in my "all about business" attitude. My second is that if I hadn't "gone there" yet again I wouldn't have had the patterns in my decision-making significantly illuminated. So much so that I am making changes and progess in changing them as a result. My third thought is that I would have missed out on some nice entertainment, and much needed cheap thrills...

Inside the Fishbowl

Dealing with the drama at work requires discipline. And a hearty sense of humor. I realize as I write this that I want to be as lighthearted as possible about all of the crap that festers in the fishbowl. Lighthearted yet committed to avoiding any and all social mingling with these folks.

I have had recent success in going out of my way to avoid outside-of-work gatherings, staying out of group conversations, and being annoyingly vague about my post-work plans and my social life in general.

Going in to eat last night was fun. I felt great and did notice that with a few exceptions the guys were the ones gravitating to our table. I knew that Honduras would not come over. He was in the boards but sauntered around the dining room floor here and there. As soon as we left the bar to go to our table Steve saw me and said hello (was staring a bit). I am sure that he told H that I was there. Given the fact that Don Juan was one of our servers, he probably heard all about how good I looked, and that we were going into the city- clubbing at that. It made me smile that she told him that. DJ had this lame response that he wished he could go with us. When I pointed Honduras out from far away (he was lingering up at the front line talking to the chefs during a lull) she asked me what my fascination was with the "toad" up there. A perfectly reasonable question. One that I have been struggling to answer for myself. My best analysis has left me with the following:

The way that it ended with his poor treatment of me (unwillingness to walk in the club with me!) was so unexpected and hurtful that I want to prove to myself that I am "loveable" and have a sick and twisted need to once again be chased by him. The fact that I have to see him at work has obviously made this entire situation a way bigger deal than it should be. That and my own neuroses.

I KNOW that the minute that I go out on a date with a "good" guy Honduras will dissipate and be placed in his proper context of a classless, immature, insecure, and NOT GOOD ENOUGH fellow who also happens to work with me. This is going to take a bit longer because I am not in dating mode. I am in career mode. And for now the two need to be mututally exclusive. I have some choices to make, some planning to do in accordance with my goals, and some hard work ahead to get things going again. And you know what? I am really excited about taking some much needed action for myself. With the spring coming it brings change. I love that. I am looking forward to getting myself out of my winter funk and really getting busy out in this beautiful new place. A few months from now I am confident that I won't even be able to find Honduras on a map ...

I Heart DC

I am missing DC a lot lately. Probably more so because I haven't found my professional edge back here yet. In DC I have a clear identity in a professional sense. Also because of the presidential election, and my recent trip back to the District. I feel energized when I remind myself that I will go back - eventually. I know I will. I just need to devise a plan for getting my career back on track, in NY first, and then figure out how DC, and Delta will fit into it. My daunting task right now is visualizing the vision for my future and planning for it without a solid idea of what and where I want to be in oh, 5 years. I don't know if it's the 'Grass is Greener' phenomenon - always wanting for what you don't have - or if I can just really appreciate how much I love living and and working in DC now that I have the perspective of being away.

I do know one thing for certain- this is where I need to be for now. I have no doubt that I needed to go through the nonsense with Armando, Luis, and Jose and company to be where I am now, to learn important lessons, and to have a healthier future. The whole experience of going back to Morton's has been a lesson in itself - a smack in the face reminding me just how special and unique I am, and how I have come too far and overcome too much to allow such small minded collateral crap to sideline me.

Giving the Bullshit Some Perspective

I was close to death on June 25 of 2007. My life changed so much in just a few short hours. So much regret, relief, pain, and fear that I want to capture as much of it as possible. It helps me to write as fragments reenter my mind - to serve as a reminder for how far I have come, capitalizing on what intitially seemed like a colossal roadblock. I also need to reimerse myself in the pain so that I will never, ever subject myself to someone like that again.

I had a flash just a few minutes ago. He was suffocating me on the couch, with a blanket and his hands. Up until then, all of the physicial violence - although serious (bruises, scratches, a concussion, and a black eye) - had seemed like they were only to scare me. I had made the typical excuses to myself but had never, EVER entertained even a thought that he could possibly kill me. I was screaming my head off every chance I got after our altercation moved from the office into the living room. I was battered and a mess. I had scratches, cuts, and blood on my arms and face. It took all that I had to fight him in the office. He kept knocking me down and pushing me with such force that I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe his extreme violent behavior. Knocking me to the ground was what I wanted to avoid- the longer it went on the more I understood that my life was in jeopdardy - that he wasn't going to stop until I was subdued.

It took me 3 times to get results from calling 911. As soon as he heard me he disconnected it and tried to steal the phone. Little did he know that I had been using his phone since mine had died earlier. Thank God we got those new phones in January - the same phone model.