By michaela renee on 10/21/2009 7:11 PM

I’ve been trying to write this piece since the day he called and said he was driving across California to get my stuff and bring me “home.” I thought about writing this the night I drunk dialed him and told him I’d buy a one way plane ticket from San Diego to Sacramento to fly up and drive back with him on the same day.

I contemplated writing this piece the afternoon he bit his tongue and worked side by side loading the truck with a guy I used to date who was still a good friend. And I wrote a whole paragraph the day I saw him pull out of the driveway with all my furniture headed for Northern California while I sadly stared down my final few days in San Diego.

By michaela renee on 10/14/2009 9:34 PM

My cat is the reason I know that everything happens for a reason. If you’ve read my memoir, you already know that Indy and Java both died at 6 years old, 6 weeks apart. It tore up my life and my heart in a way that was indescribable. I was at mile 18 of training for the 26.2 mile Rock N Roll Marathon. I was 4 weeks away from the race and after five months of training, I quit. I couldn’t face life. I couldn’t breathe, let alone run.

At that time I was living in the first home I ever purchased, a brand new condo in the heart of Mission Valley, San Diego. I’d bought the house before it was built, and designed it from the ground up. I love everything about that house, including that it was a stone’s throw from Qualcomm stadium where my San Diego Super Chargers played football.

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By michaela renee on 10/12/2009 11:55 PM

I don’t need the last word, but I got it. It took me a long time to realize that sometimes the last word isn’t spoken.

I’m not sure there’s much worse than opting to remain silent, when you would give anything to tell your side of the story. I’m not sure there’s anything more awful than knowing you’re right, and they’re wrong. I’m not entirely convinced that anyone ever gets closure by letting the other person have the last word. But what I know is, there’s peace in letting the last word go unspoken.

Someone whom I’ve never met, which believes they know me personally through friendship connections and Facebook opted to invade my privacy and send me a nasty email a few weeks ago. I opted to take the high road, which for me, was responding in kind and offering closure to her via an in person meeting, which would add dimension to the “me“ she believes she knows from my social networking site and our mutual friends.

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