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February 21, 2011

I got a lot of shredding done last night. I shredded some old notes to (and from) ex-boyfriends and remembered how painful it was to be in relationships with them; I found legal paperwork from 10 years ago, reminding me how bad I was with money at one time; I found (and destroyed) several pounds worth of paperwork I filled out and signed in my quest to become a homeowner, something that just never happened at that time, which, really, turned out for the best.
Some of the gems I found, however, were notes I wrote when I was by myself. I had just moved for Portland nearly 4 years ago, and I was forcing myself to go out a lot to meet people, and though it didn't happen very quickly nor naturally on my part, I did meet some really fucking awesome people, especially in the Timbers Army. People I count as good friends to this day, and one whom I'll be calling my husband in a few months. These writings were lonely and oh-so emo, but I love the fact that I remember exactly where I was when I wrote each of these, and how I was feeling. I'm so glad that I had these experiences, and that they've led to a more happier me.

Written at the Bullpen Pub sometime in August 2007
I suppose it's totally inappropriate to commandeer an entire table for myself, but the others paired off & I'm again alone. I guess I'm kind of hoping that someone will come and sit with me, though that's probably not going to happen while I look busy writing. Maybe I should just sit here looking bored & drink my beer & go. And that might just be what ends up happening. I'm not good at approaching groups of strangers, even drunk strangers. And here come the pipers.
Lord knows that the crowd here is mostly older folk, & if anyone sits at my table, it'll likely be one of these chummy pairs that have lived so long, nothing is embarrassing.
Everyone has their own friends already, their own comfort zones, & I'm infringing upon their borders w/ wishful eyes.
The game tonight was shite. Both teams played poorly, & the goal PT scored was taken away to much hissing & booing.
I can feel people eying me, the girl in the green striped shirt, writing hungrily on tiny pieces of paper w/ a 2/3 full beer. I suppose once I run out of paper, I'll have to live life again as a normal fan drinking a beer, someone approachable & nice - sweet & undaunting, cute and not [unreadable - unassuming?].
At that point, I may meet a neighbor or a new friend. Or maybe just someone fed up enough to sit down @ a 3/4 empty booth next to a stranger, so good at avoiding the world after being part of a great community - part of the Timbers Army. Alone amongst the 100s.

I really wish I had written more stuff that was maybe less moody and more upbeat about learning to live in a new city. I did love it here, and do love it here still. I just think I actually took time to reflect when I was drinking by myself... hah.