I didn’t go to SCA yesterday, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to explain what that actually is.
SCA = Society of Creative Anachronism
Think of it like LARPing, only cooler because it’s real.
“[SCA is an] international organization dedicated to researching and re-creating the arts, skills, and traditions of pre-17th-century Europe.”
So you can have your persona, and that’s cool and everything, but your name has to be an actual name that would have been used in the era you choose from the region your persona is from. If you create your own heraldry, it has to be historically accurate. There are all sorts of guilds for things like glass working, herbalism, cooking, even thread arts which I’m totally stoked to look into. And they all follow historically accurate methods.
And of course, there’s combat!!!!!
I haven’t really settled on a persona yet, but I’ll most likely go with a Norse warrior.
I haven’t been to many of the combat practices, mostly because I started going right before I went on my month long walkabout. And by “not many” I mean I went to two… But they were beyond amazingly fun and I’ve met some really awesome people who I actually miss already. Everyone was super open and friendly and didn’t seem to mind my social awkwardness since everyone is slightly socially awkward. It’s like I’ve found my people finally.
Anywho, I didn’t end up going. I went to boxing instead which turned out to be a fantastic workout. I finally made it through the whole class. The instructor was someone that I’ve never had before, and I didn’t recognize anyone who was there. I’ve never been to a Sunday class before though, so I wasn’t surprised by either of those things. I really liked this instructor. He had us do a lot of elbow strikes, which I love doing.
There’s something completely and totally vicious about slamming your forearm into the punching bag. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because it feels like I’m able to put more force behind it. All of the anger and injustice I feel over mom’s death, over Zane being a jerk, over the Universe making things harder than they need to be… it goes straight from my arm into the bag and I don’t have to worry about it having hurt feelings over it.
The bag doesn’t care. The bag is non-judgemental. The bag takes everything that I have, everything that I give, and still hangs there. It lets me hug it after I’m done so I can hide the tears that are sometimes there. And even though it can’t hug me back I know that I haven’t irrevocably damaged anything by letting go of the hurt and pain inside.
Maybe that’s overly deep. The logic side of my brain says it’s just a stupid bag. But it’s not. For one hour out of the day it’s MY stupid bag and there have been a lot of times where it has helped me and I’m grateful for that help.
So yeah, yesterday was an awesome workout. At the end of it I knew I had to eat some form of protein and drink a crap ton of water since all of me was soaked in sweat.
Corey ended up messaging me asking if I wanted to hang out and watch Deadpool. There have been a few instances where we’ve talked about hanging out, and while we have been spending more time together things can still be sort of awkward between us since we’re exs.
I don’t think I’ve ever written about Corey. He was almost four years ago. It’s sort of sobering to realize it’s been that long. It wasn’t until recently that I revisited the memories of our relationship.
We went to school together. He was in the Game Development program, which is essentially a computer software engineering degree. I was in Computer Animation. There was some thread on Facebook talking about “You know you went to Full Sail if…” and we happened to start talking through that. That led to meeting in person. We were both getting ready to graduate, neither of us knowing where we would end up afterwards, so the goal became trying to find things we disliked about each other because starting a relationship only for it to end sounded like it would suck. Only… we couldn’t find things we didn’t like about each other. We got along so well…
He got a job before he graduated. I interned with Clavan and eventually got hired at the school. So, since we were both staying in the area we started dating. There was no longer the need to stiffle or avoid what we naturally felt towards each other. After a few months we moved in together. The girl I had been rooming with kicked me out because I mentioned how I had an art test for a studio and I didn’t know if I would be moving or not. It depended on if they wanted to hire me.
Turns out they didn’t, but I still was out of a home. Corey let me move in with him. It was a one bedroom apartment. Things were good for a little while. He met mom. I met his family, driving 24 hours in a single day to make it to Maine for Thanksgiving that year. I liked, and still like, his family and I guess they still ask about me.
The good times didn’t last, though. I don’t remember all of the details in that regard. He didn’t like that I always came home later than what I was “supposed” to. All of his previous partners had cheated on him, so my being late would trigger negative emotions and insecurities. I felt like that was unfair because I was at work helping my students or talking with my supervisor or trying to get a project to a good stopping point. I was never more than 30 minutes late, but it was long enough and often enough to be an issue for the relationship.
I became more and more withdrawn which didn’t help anything, and with having a one bedroom apartment I didn’t have a “safe spot” to retreat to. Being more withdrawn made him more angry and insecure which pushed me further away.
It was a cycle that neither of us were able to break. It got to the point where I would cry in my car before going home because I wanted to be anywhere but there. I started self-harming as a way to cope, cutting the bottoms of my feet again.
I told my mom about the situation and she agreed that maybe the healthiest course of action for both of us was for me to move out.
The only person at the time that I could move in with was Warren #2, who I have wrote about. Corey knew he was an ex. A bad one. One that I didn’t like. I didn’t know what else to do at the time. I couldn’t keep coming back to a place where every time I walked through the door it felt like I was being accused of infidelity when all I was doing was my job.
I brought up the possibility of moving in with Warren. A two bedroom apartment where I would have my own space. Corey asked if Warren and I would have sex. I said I didn’t want to, but there was still tension there, and history, so it was a possibility.
We broke up. He felt betrayed. I don’t blame him or begrudge him for those feelings. I would feel that way, too. I couldn’t sit there and lie to him, though. I was already being accused of being unfaithful, so there were the feelings and thoughts of, “What’s the point? I’m doing everything right and it doesn’t matter.” There were feelings of loneliness and isolation. Hurt. I knew even though Warren wouldn’t care for me the way I wanted to be cared for, that he would press for a physical relationship. That’s who he is.
Maybe that was weakness on my part. Small, shallow, unfair. I guess in the end karma worked itself out. I’ve written about the situation with Warren. I’m stronger for the experiences I’ve had, and while I don’t want to repeat them, I’m grateful for them.
But yeah, in the end Corey and I broke up. He didn’t want to talk to me. I accepted that our relationship was over and that he would most likely think of me as a terrible person for the rest of forever.
When mom died I wanted to tell him, but didn’t. I didn’t know how at first. I didn’t know how to get past the hurt and resentment that were most likely still there to tell him what had happened. And then there was everything else life threw at me with Zane that I had to work through… It was always something in the back of my mind, something I “should” do, but never did.
It wasn’t until I thought I was moving to Vegas to live near Jason that I finally reached out to Corey to let him know what was going on. I needed closure before I moved and I needed him to know because mom had liked him. She had been sad we hadn’t worked out.
He was sad when I told him about her death. He thanked me for reaching out. We had lunch a few days later. And I guess the rest of the past few months is sort of history… There have been a handful of times where things become sexually tense, and I’m grateful that we both back away from it. Neither of us wants to go back to a relationship. I’m pretty sure he’s still hurt over the way things ended. In the beginning he would say comments to me which hurt. I eventually said I wasn’t sure where we stood because he would seem fine, like we were friends, and then he would make a comment which cut, deeply, and so I wasn’t sure. If he was still angry I would stay away.
I don’t remember the conclusion of that conversation. I think he apologized. There haven’t been more comments so right now it feels like a fond friendship. He accepts when I’m sad without trying to change it, which I appreciate.
Watching Deadpool had been a plan from a few months ago which had gotten canceled. The offer to watch the movie yesterday seemed nice. I didn’t really have anything else going on other than finding food and showering. I ended up going over for dinner. We had burgers and while the movie was playing I cross stitched. After it was over I helped clean the dishes.
Before I had left for my walkabout I had given Corey all of the food I still had. He didn’t use all of it so he gave me back what was left along with some things he had personally bought but no longer planned on using.
I came home. I processed through my notebook. It’s the first time I’ve had to do that in a while. I made it through a whole week of making to-do lists. I did a good job of completing most of them, too. So it wasn’t a hollow action. I actually did shit with my time. Go me.
I have my weekly list written out. A lot of it is waiting, though. Waiting to find out about the apartment. Waiting to see if I get an interview. Waiting to get the test date for my certification.
Waiting, waiting, waiting…
I’m not good at waiting. I feel like I should be doing something.
I don’t have a lot going on today. Grocery shopping for a few things would be nice. Tomorrow is laundry day since it’s cheaper on Tuesdays, so I “shouldn’t” do it today. Boxing would be good, but I still have three hours before that.
I guess I’ll figure it out.
Tomorrow is the six-month mark of mom’s death. I don’t know what that will be like. I thought I would be scared of that day. I see the wave coming. I know what it’s going to feel like. I know how it’s going to pull me down. But I’m not scared. It’s not unknown anymore.
Maybe this is progress. Maybe this is learning to cope. Tomorrow seems so easy when faced with the reality of December.
I guess I’m going to go for now. Caffeine is needed and punching bags await.