My client and I worked out several lists for our beach trip, what to bring, what to eat, and what to do. The To Do list was a practice in setting aside my needs and wants for another’s. Here is my list:

Sit down with other adult and watch client from a safe distance.

"Rest my eyes" while client is distracted by food.

Look for shells while client is pretending to be a hobbit and affecting an unintelligible accent.

Dig two holes in the sand and connect them with a tunnel.

Bury self up to knees in sand.

Avoid the water at all costs.

My client and I worked out several lists for our beach trip, what to bring, what to eat, and what to do. The To Do list was a practice in setting aside my needs and wants for another’s. Here is my list:

Sit down with other adult and watch client from a safe distance.

"Rest my eyes" while client is distracted by food.

Look for shells while client is pretending to be a hobbit and affecting an unintelligible accent.

Dig two holes in the sand and connect them with a tunnel.

Bury self up to knees in sand.

Avoid the water at all costs.

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Floss haul.

Floss haul.

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ihavejob:

Drawing with thread. Jurassic Park. Samuel L. Jackson “Hold on to your butts.”

This is inspiring.

ihavejob:

Drawing with thread. Jurassic Park. Samuel L. Jackson “Hold on to your butts.”

This is inspiring.

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Just Somebody That I Used to Know

Last Thursday morning, the only heart I ever knowingly (but not willingly) broke passed me on I-5 as half of Portland commuted to work. I don’t often glance at the drivers next to me due to being happily occupied shoving handfuls of granola in my mouth between yarling loudly along with Pearl Jam or trying to win radio contests for free pizza, but this burnt orange, souped-up Acura was pulling up at a solid clip on my right and all I saw at first was an arm in a suit jacket fiddling with a pack of cigarettes. My initial reaction was to scoff. “Cigarettes? Really guy?” The car was impeccably clean, and the arm was poured into that jacket sleeve as the elbow rested casually on the edge of the open window. It was a tiny and odd glimpse into a fellow commuter’s life, and, voyeur that I am, I was compelled to put the granola down and get a long hard look as this person passed me. 

Then I saw his profile. I remember it well, if only because he posted a sad picture on Facebook the moment after I ended things and the moment before he unfriended me. And he smoked a lot, so seeing a cig hang between his lips was a memory-evoking scene.

I remembered that he was a nice guy who really, really liked me, and I felt like a class-A jerk for telling him I didn’t think we should get serious. I believe my words were, “I’m not ready for you to be my boyfriend.” I figured maybe in time I would want that, but he was older and looking for a commitment that I just couldn’t picture that early on. A depressed person, he had put the burden of his happiness on my shoulders rather than seeking to help and empower himself. I wasn’t feeling it; I wasn’t down. It was too much pressure and I was only 25.

Then I remembered that he blamed me for his lack of faith in anything, saying some other horrifying things that I won’t repeat here, and got really passive aggressive via text and email over the following months. This is where I stopped feeling like a jerk. He was hurt and I was sorry, but we had only *kind of* dated for a month and the duration of his lashings-out was ridiculous. He turned the 1/3 rule* into the 4x rule. On my birthday he told me to “enjoy**, if possible.” He is also the first person whose number I deleted and accounts I blocked on because of bad blood. I was compelled to thank God for my new, decidedly nondescript car as he whizzed on past me without so much as a glance.

It’s my hope that he has since come to a place where he thinks of me as a women with whom it just didn’t work out rather than a cold-hearted bitch who just took what she needed and ran. It’s not that I worry about how he perceives me, it’s that his perception on the whole affair was dangerously immature. Because, after all, I didn’t run. I gave it a shot and when I realized we weren’t compatible I told him. I cried and apologized, a lot. I genuinely wanted to remain friends because our friendship had been a lot of fun. This doesn’t make it less painful to be rejected, I know, but even after my most devastating breakups I have inevitably and with enough time concluded that it was for the best because I didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want to be with me. I had to learn this the hard way during my first serious relationship after several failed attempts to rationalize and debate with Erick why we should be together. Despite caring deeply for me, his heart just wasn’t in it, and I learned that as much as this might suck it’s best to save your time and attentions for someone who wants to be with you. The lesson I learned from this other guy was that the only thing worse than getting back together with someone by wearing them down is motivating them via guilt or emotional abuse.

I hope he’s happier now, but I have no way of knowing and may never know. Sometimes I still cringe at the whole thing, but then I remember I handled it as maturely and gently as possible

* - For anyone who might not know, the 1/3 rule states that the amount of time it should take to get over a break up is 1/3 the total length of the relationship. Having dated for about a month, he should have recovered in about 10 days, but was still contacting me months later.

** - I enjoyed the crap out of my birthday, BTW.

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This was a fun, fast project, and consequently the house motto Daniel and I chose.

This was a fun, fast project, and consequently the house motto Daniel and I chose.

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Adonis

I want to travel back in time to the early 70s so I can be sandwiched between—somehow, I don’t care how, on a crowded elevator is fine, I’m not picky—Paul Newman and Robert Redford. And then I will die from a sexual explosion.

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I offer to you, without context or explanation: this picture Matt photoshopped of me.

I offer to you, without context or explanation: this picture Matt photoshopped of me.

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I made a video using around 150 pictures my coworker’s son took on the on-call phone. It was clear he intended to tell a story with these pictures, and that I needed an excuse to download a bunch of Star Wars lightsaber sound effects and to listen to the Star Wars music all day. The whole thing, on my part, is slipshod and slapdash, but I only had my lunch break to devote to it. I’m pretty sure a couple pictures are out of order, too, but that gives it the feel of a Michael Bay movie if you ask me. And on a budget of $0 that’s a fine achievement. 

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As for the “solitary confinement of the mind,” my theory is that solipsism, like other absurdities of the professional philosopher, is a product of too much time wasted in library stacks between the covers of a book, in smoke-filled coffeehouses (bad for the brains) and conversation-clogged seminars. To refute the solipsist or the metaphysical idealist all that you have to do is take him out and throw a rock at his head: if he ducks he’s a liar. His logic may be airtight but his argument, far from revealing the delusions of living experience, only exposes the limitations of logic.

— Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire, 1968.

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Newki, bent in half at bedtime.

Newki, bent in half at bedtime.

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