my composition and rhetoric blog.
fall 2002.

project: fractured narrative theory + personal experience = unique format in storytelling.

 

september 9, 2002- 12:34am... fractured narrative: topic= jason.

 

I wish I could have shot him.

I wish I could have had the courage to leave him by the side of I-94 that day. In the end, shooting himself in the foot essentially brought me to my enlightenment of myself. I found who I really was. Which was maybe the nicest gift I ever received from him. Should I have said that at his father's funeral this last new year's? In front of Andi? In front of his family? Let them know that I benefited from being "dumped" by a Kovarik. Jason, at that?

I want you to know that I'm happy for you/ I wish nothing but the best for you both

As if I was a business. As if I was the Target I had worked at during the years I dated him. Like he could do that to me.. and come back and 'get paid' again. Like I wanted to deal with his materialism, his denial of a birthmark on his ass cheek, his overwhelming sense of being better than me because of my age.

That was such a low blow. For you to actually THINK I would take YOU back after all of THIS. You have quite an ego.

Does she know how you told me you'd hold me/ Until you died

Then why the FUCK did you leave me for HER? Why the FUCK are you FUCKING her instead of me? Although, you know, I was the one girl you never got to do THAT to. I didn't want to be your.. your eleventh. A number. A girl with a name like Sybil can NOT be a number. Never. And you.. you became so pussy-whipped over her so quickly. She was living in Texas, I in Battle Lake, and STILL you chose her. Was it because of your Neopolitan complex.. couldn't handle a girl like me that was YOUR height.. a girl with some girth to her? A girl that may gain weight? You know, we still ended up together one last time. By the chickenhawk or whatever the hell that is in Rothsay. Fogging up my old crappy car. You touching, smoothing my hair behind my ear for the first time in four years. I almost wanted you back that night. All I said to you that meant anything was: "You can tell her she's the best if she goes down on you." The most beautiful thing in our whole relationship, maybe, was the physical way it ended. You stopped on the on-ramp that I had headed on, got out of your car, and hugged me. One of your good hugs too. I felt okay that it was over. Like a test I had taken, done alright on, and was through with. You, like the test, will be on my record forever.

It was a slap in the face how quickly I was replaced/ Are you thinking of me when you fuck her?

I should have realized it early. Your obsession with weight. Your parents even let you in on their secret: Looking good for each other helps the relationship. You dwelled on that. Watched me eat fried Chinese food with Hawk-Eyes. Made me anorexic at times. Didn't hear my stomach hollering in the night, like a child. And that day that I came out of your shower and was peering at myself in the mirror- pulling, pinching at skin.. and you made that comment.. about my cellulite. I should have walked out. Walked out of your life.

For so long, I have dreamed.. a small dream (when I rarely do think of you) of you sitting on the toliet, opening Andi's Victoria Secret and seeing ME lying there in some beautiful bra and thong. How I would love to see your face.

She will never be me.

An older version of me/ Is she perverted like me/ Would she go down on you in a theatre/ Does she speak eloquently/ And would she have your baby/ I'm sure she'd make a really excellent mother

 

"I know I may be shooting myself in the foot by doing this."

Yes, you are.

 

 

 

 

"I need to take a leave of absence from this relationship."

But not from jumping into another one right away, hm?

 

 

"You were a great girlfriend. You treated me so well."

Duh!

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You have hail damage on your butt."

You have serious issues. Which is worse?

does just calling it a fractured narrative make it one?
every quote but the last is from our break-up day.
 
NTS: Notes to Self.

september 8, 2002- 6:00pm

-i like fractured narratives.

-bringing up quotes from way back then.. I am not surprised that I remember them. We alway seem to remember the bad more than the good.

-I want to add in lyrics. Probably Alanis Morisette since I listened to her over and over after we broke up. Either her or Sheryl Crow. Sheryl's lyrics aren't has harsh, though, and the tone of my commentary and the quotes themselves are harsh. Using her would allow readers to see the soft side of the relation ship. Maybe I should include that though? Because, really, it wasn't all bad.

september 8, 2002- 1:15pm

-maybe this can just be the mean version. I don't want to add sugar to something this deliciously tart and bitter.

Research

"Far from understanding this continuous paradox-- the price of living relationships--I was devastated when I realized how dependent I was on my lover; I felt like the grand feminist failure of our times.. Why was I so surprised to discover my dependency? Perhaps the problem resided in our critiques and ideologies themselves. Did our trechant critique of family, of marriage, and monogamy presuppose the evolution of autonomous individuals who could retain their autonomy as they wove their way in and out of relationships?"

"However, to the extent that we had a theory of the individual, did we believe in our own economic and emotional independence, particularly from any male lovers we might have? Did we understand that with love came the ongoing need to negotiate the parameters of autonomy and dependence, and that, for most of us most of the time, this would be a 'painful paradox'? Did we accept that, when we really love, our ego boundaries blur? And, when that happens, as it must, are we destined to live again our oldest dilemmas of being-in-the-world, even as we chart our way through a new territory."

"One of my main feelings in my early twenties, and just married, was resentment that no one had ever told me 'the truth'; that there was so much that remained unspeakable and unspoken."

Hamilton, Roberta. "A Politics of Intimate Life." Canadian Dimension. Oct-Nov 1991. v25 n7 p30(4).

 

 

Brainstorming:

september 29, 2002: The first time I actually met him.. at her parents' place and he cracked her back out by the garage. I thought he was cute but definitely out of my league.

Why I think that, I don't know. He was definitely more popular than I was in high school.. perhaps that is why I equate that with him being out of my league. He was the capt. of this and that. Ran track and cross country. Had the most popular girlfriend and everyone cheered and shouted as he went through Grand March at prom. I wasn't there, I heard all this through Tara or him. He bragged a lot about that time period. As did I. Me and my senior tennis season. Maybe it bothered him that he didn't go much farther than Fargo and was taking his good old time getting a degree he didn't even want to go through the graduation ceremony for. He worked at a grocery store for many years. Did he feel washed up?

Anyhow, I thought he was cute. He mentioned while I hung out at their house that I was one of Tara's better friends (no drug relations).. and Tara even, in a drunken state once, said that he and I should marry so she and I could be sisters in law.

All the keg parties they had.. and the one I missed that was a pj-themed one. The one night that I went with that guy with the long eye lashes... he kissed like a snake, much like Tara. And his glass covering to his entertainment thing came off, I brought it into his bedroom and he was in there putting away someone's coat. He told me to close the door and then he pushed me against his cushioned door, grabbed my crotch, and kissed me passionately. I about lost it. I opened my drunkened eyes and was a bit more sober.. maybe to remember it, maybe to realize what had happened. Tara asked me later what happened because I was flush the rest of the night. The next morning (somehow I ended up in his bed with the long lashed man AND him- clothed!), John was helping him clean up and Jason said how he thought I was attractive... how my personality and looks equalled each other. I was happily shocked even though he still had a girlfriend. A girlfriend that, according to Tara, angered him with her moods swings and drug problems. He ended things with her around Christmas. And started to date me in January of 1996. The way we started dating was wierd too... he had gone on a snowboarding trip with friends and came home a day early. At 4 in the morning. He had given me his room to sleep in while he was gone since I wanted to hang out with Tara throughout Christmas break. When they arrived home, he shook me awake but then told me just to move over after I said I would move to the couch. We woke up kind of cuddled together and talked almost the whole morning. Tara was shocked as she knocked on his door that morning... but we explained that nothing happened. The next day, he was shoveling the walk and I came over to watch a movie with Tara.. before I left to take the video back, he asked me to sleep over again. We talked and talked and talked. Finally, a week later we went out in public.. eating and talking on our first date at the Lone Star restaurant (he was glad I wasn't a vegetarian).. a month later we got more physical.. and it sort of took off from there. We made Easter our actual date of being a more official couple.

I am five years younger than Jason. So at that time, he was of age to drink. He wasn't much of a drinker, but there were many times I would get late night calls at Burgum Hall and he would come to pick me up. Those were fun times, sort of. I would sometimes be drunk from my partying and we would giggle together and really, just be silly. I sometimes thought and probably was able to completely be myself. I hadn't really gained a whole helluva lot of confidence though. I worried about him meeting someone out at the bars (leads to my fear of the Northern later).

october 4, 2002: the U2 concert.. holding my hand through Bono's solo song... Sting's concert when i really didn't think i knew any of his songs.. then, jason looked at me as i sang almost every single one. later- "if you love them, set them free" became my motto, but then, at that point, the song "every little thing she does is magic"... he constantly, for what seems so long.. maybe it wasn't, told me how good i was to him. was he as good to me though? why don't i remember that? why was i so self-conscious? why am i not now?

no one really wants to compare new loves to old loves.. or compare at all maybe since analyzing takes up too much time and energy. i think we both did and were amazed that we fit better than we thought. i often heard of andi being his first kiss and that erin was his first love. but how she laid there during sex and had issues with this and that. i had such a history to contend with. brenda and the sexaholic.. what was her name.. and sarah patch. ah, the one who made him hate the word "passion".. i think that was the word. he also had five rules.. she broke every one i guess. don't spit at him, demean his family, hang up on him, swear at him, and his family has to like you. rephrase that: the mama's boy has to make sure his mama likes you. but his family had already adored me before we even kissed at that party. i was tara's good friend. the one that didn't do drugs.. or maybe they didn't know about that. i was the one she rarely, however, really truly hung out with. i was the one who, later, would discover how unstable she is.. and why she slowly lost friend after friend. i could write a whole other narrative about just her for christssake.

man, just last night i had to tell myself not to wait by the phone. i did that so much with jason. missed out on fun.. on hanging with the girls. and that is one of the reasons why now i party more. i missed doing a lot of that underage stuff because of him. i don't blame him, but, well, i missed out on a lot. sure, i met people, but i didn't allow myself to be as independent as i could have been.

"I want you to be my Easter Bunny for many more Easters to come." He writes this on a card I might even still have somewhere. in a dusty box. I remember that morning around Easter break. He'd gotten out of his bed, and I could hear rustling.. movement. As I woke up later, I could see colorful objects lying on the floor next to his frame-less bed. Besides the card, and candy, was a frame. A frame that is definitely my style- wood with funky colors. A photo taken of us recently was inside. I smiled and hugged him and we probably made out too.

I remember at one point hitting my head on the dresser that sat beside the bed, and he seemed a tad more concerned about the old dresser than myself. I, of course, gave him a lot of crap for that.

In fact, he also seemed not to care much when I got into my car accident the day after Valentine's Day (a good Valentine's Day night might I add) one year... I called him from Valley City and had him tow my bronco. Later, after my parents had come to retrieve me, we went to the place where he'd towed it.. I called him and he didn't even care to meet up with us. To see if I was okay. Sure, the accident was with myself (another long story) and I was okay, but really! BUT, like a good guy he is or was he showed up later and hung out with my parents and I the rest of the day. Filling out accident reports and eating at Paradiso. That night, at his house, he let me pass out- my neck and body hurting from shock and being jerked around... I still don't think he touched my hair though.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don't remember when it all went sour really... slowly I guess. Mostly during the summer before the final breakup. The turning point could probably be traced back to a night.. right at the end of April.. right near to where I would be graduating and going out into the Real World to find a real job. He didn't want me to move away, and yet he did. He wanted me to make money. He was materialistic.

Anyhow, that night, we lie in bed.. and I don't know how we got to the discussion, but he started picking apart everything and anything I have ever done to annoy or bother him. It wasn't a pretty list. Many things were not things that could have been easily changed. (I remember at one point him wanting to be my physical trainer of sorts.. put me on a diet.. ugh what an asshole!)

I think I ended up falling asleep from mental exhaustion. Hearing him get upset about my weight again.. and how I pick my teeth... and this and that. Petty things, most of them. It was a disturbing and hurtful conversation. And one-sided. What did I have to say back to him? Basically, that I found no faults in him, really, and that I would change... evolve. How sad. How unfeminine of me not to stand up for myself. And isn't it the woman that always tries to change the man in the relationship.. isn't that how the saying goes?

Well, the next morning, I left. Broken. Scarred. And I got to hang out that weekend with my sisters and their friends. So many of them were all for me dumping his ass. I really really should have. I should have grabbed myself by my courage and done so.

But I didn't. I didn't call him for days though. He called finally, in the middle of the next week and we got together. That night, he said, made him realize he needed to have the summer off from me.. from us. I wanted to smack him. This was the pre-breakup shit. Man, I look back and I was SUCH a wimp. Big fucking wimp.

I remember crying and whining. It was crappy. Later that week we had a wedding dinner to go to and he still wanted me there. That night, however, while drinking at Duffy's, we over flirted and ended up at his place again... messing around. Screwing around with emotions. The wedding, I believe, was the next day and I went to that too. Again, ended up at his place. It took two to tango though then. I think it hit him that he was lonely without me.

Later, in May, he came to my graduation party with his parents. His mom was supportive and great. That was the summer the newest Star Wars movie came out and my sis and I stood in line for tickets for him and us. 14 hours. He owed us big. Still does.

Then, at the end of May (1999), I got an interview (just in time because I was beginning to think that I was never going to get one) with Battle Lake, MN. I went down there, and got it on the spot. That night, he and I celebrated. Red Lobster. Drinks. Laughter. And he wanted us to get back together. Probably because he had to move into a new apartment that weekend, who knows.

The rest of the summer, I don't remember well. I was putsing around.. teaching tennis lessons and doing other odd jobs. I just wanted to start teaching.

An ex-girlfriend of his from 8th grade suddenly came into the picture. She had called his parents in Wahpeton and asked for his number in Fargo. She wanted to get a hold of him. Yea, exactly- a hold. Soon, he was telling me about e-mails from her and talking to her late at night even after we would have screwed around in bed. Again, I trusted him for no reason and, well, got wimpy with it all.

Then came the "hail damage" quote as well as other shit. Right at the end of July, she was going to be in Fargo seeing her brother (she lived in Texas). She and him were going to get together. That night, I sat in my apartment above 7th Ave and University. Watched him take her on his crotch rocket (he kept it in my garage). Her small frame, red shirt, jeans, short blond hair. All of it made me sick.

And I had that gut instinct feeling. A churning of things to come. A foreshadowing pulled and pushed in my stomach.

I really, really should have just known better. I was too trusting and too naive. And dumb too. Why didn't I see any of this? Is that why I am so leary of ever ever ever loving anyone again?

The next morning was going to be my big-stuff move to Battle Lake. He came along. Walked over to my place around 8am and looked tired. I asked nothing. I knew something was up. So I kept to myself, got into my overpacked car, and followed my parents in their Mountaineer with the trailor. We unpacked everything, and as we drove to Vergas (after, too, a romp in the lake where Jason told me my littlest sis was definitely filling out her suit now), he spoke. Leave of absence. Last night was great. She/they kissed. I didn't cry. Didn't yell. Sat shocked. Drove through Dent, MN... thought to myself how coincidental that was. On the way from Vergas to Fargo (my parents knew something was up- I didn't eat anything- no meat.. that means something is wrong in my world.), I drove by Downer.. thought the same. He fell asleep, that ass. It still seems all surreal to me now. I bet the thoughts in my head would have equalled the stars in the sky that night.

I became a pile of jello for the next week. I ate nothing. I did nothing. Just waited to officially move out of the apartment and to Battle. My sister and Jason's sis, Tara, held me up with their laughter.. their support. Tara didn't even talk to her brother because of me for so long. He had crushed me and she was pissed.

2002 by Sybil Priebe My Homepage

go to the CompBlog starting page...

 

*What more to add?: Definitions, scan in notes, poems, more research, feminism, psychology, birth order (both oldest), perfectionist, dependency disorders... figure out setup/organization/1st paragraph of my main focus!

More ideas: journey, cars: valley-mountains, ideas on toliet= ideas in cars inhabited by lyrics/created by lyrics, beat generation and traveling (talking outloud and taping that), ihaveabug (beetle= insignificant bug, bug= illness/disease, for me, of knowledge), title: love, lyrics, and location.. speed limits.. locomotion. How I could take a theme from any of the things I mention and make that my focus but my car, my Beetle, seems the best place to start since it's what claimed my freedom, independence finally, from Jason. From my first love. From my first journey into love. A path that has lead me back to gaining knowledge. Back to what I might have missed out on the most because I was with him so much during my undergrad years. This, too, is another journey that my heart will see. Another love may come out of this one. A smarter love, I hope. A better traveled journey into my love of knowledge, of writing (something he didn't think highly of), of academia. My Beetle travels now through a campus that has seen me before. New lyrics pump the speakers near my kneecaps. Journeys can also be marked by lyrics. What song reminds us of our first kiss? For me, in my car (where no cell phone will ever occupy because of my love for music and it's words), the journeys I have had are tattooed with lyrics. Sheryl Crow while I taught in Battle Lake, Alanis as I got over Jason, and more and more techno now as I find repetition to work to move me. To make me love everyday. To make me dive in, bump and grind to the subcultured education I have thrown myself into. Somehow, everything connects, I realize this. And now, for me, those needed connections are my past cars and their travels, the lyrics that echoed once or more inside them as well as the loves those items saw me through. The journeys and tears and laughter.