We chair danced for awhile, which is always easier—less limbs to worry about—
and finally progressed to moving out onto the dance floor. My nerves had finally
relaxed and we were laughing and being silly, what we usually did best. The two of
us never had an issue making idiots out of ourselves.

Buzzed, Roseanne finally shouted over to me, “I’m really horny!”

I raised an eyebrow and shouted back, “Yeah, that makes two of us!” I hadn’t had
sex since I was married. I didn’t believe in premarital sex. So, there was that. I was
human, after all. If I was a guy, I’d have a permanent affliction with which blue was
part of the title.

“But we’re single!” she cried in despair.

And for some reason, that was hilarious. We giggled and high-fived one another
like it was some kind of accomplishment. It was a true Sex in the City type moment.

We danced some more before Roseanne really did start to look like she was going
to drop dead, and we hoofed it back to the hotel. Thankfully, it had stopped

When we got there, however, I felt broody and restless, not yet ready to go to
sleep. I glanced at the clock and, since it was still decently early, I told Roseanne I
was going to go to the restaurant across the street and to go ahead and go to
sleep. She did so and I headed over to Tommy’s Joynt, a place that was
embedded in my memories as much as my ex was. And, really, I think that was half
the reason I wanted to go.

I had taken Roseanne there the night before because I knew she would like it, but I
still felt like I had to confront the ghosts of my past by myself, and Tommy’s Joynt
had a lot of ghosts. People spend a lot of time fearing the ghosts that they think
are real, the supernatural creatures from beyond, but to me, the real ghosts you
should fear are the ones of your own making. The memories from another life that
haunt you, that make it impossible for you to move forward or move back. I had
been dealing with these kinds of ghosts since I’d moved into my studio. I had
methodically eradicated a lot of them, but the ones from this place were some of
the worst…because the memories were some of the best.

I went to the bar and ordered a Guinness, then sat at an empty table and pulled
out a notebook I had brought with me. I felt like I was going to burst. I had too
many indecipherable emotions swirling around inside of me and the only way to
purge them was to write some kind of bizarre, obscure poetry. So I did.

I’m not really sure how long I sat in there. All I know is that no one bothered me,
which I was grateful for, I got out some kind of depressing poem, I briefly
contemplated how sad it was that I was sitting alone in a bar/restaurant writing
poetry, and I came to a startling realization.

I was really tired of being alone.

As much as I had come to love my independence. As much as I loved these girl
adventures with my BFF.

There was something missing.

Something I craved.

Part of my brain bounced back to my conversation with Chris, the conversation I
had at the time been so desperate to avoid. I hadn’t really thought about it up till
then. I had still been too hurt, too raw from everything. Most people said that in
order to get over a relationship that had gone south, you had to go out there and
start dating again, much like the “get back on the horse when you fall off” analogy.
But I wasn’t like everyone. I felt too deeply. The scars had not just scratched the
surface, they had gone all the way through. If it was possible to feel one’s heart
obliterated, that’s what I had felt. I honestly hadn’t thought I possessed one
anymore. Not in a romantic capacity at any rate.

But I sat there, in the place I had gone with my ex so many times, and I
remembered. I allowed myself to remember and I let those memories wash over me
and through me with a bittersweet kind of recognition. I didn’t run from them. What
would be the point? What was done was done, and what would be would be. So I
re-lived those things. Part of my heart smiled. Part of my heart cried. But for the
first time in too long, I actually felt my heart again. And on the heels of that
realization, came an epiphany.

I really wanted another relationship.

I was ready.

I wasn’t broken anymore.

And this terrified me.
When the world is caving in on you, where do you turn?

When all that you've known is crashing down, where do you hide?

Sometimes, a studio apartment can be your solace; sometimes, it
can guide you to beauty, to safety, to life, to a new beginning.

And sometimes...it can guide you to a sunrise where you find
something so far beyond what you imagined, you are left
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October 2015

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Confessions from a
Studio Apartment
Brieanna Robertson