“The green fairy that lives in the absinthe wants your soul.” Bram Stoker’s Dracula
There is another green fairy who tries to eat your soul and succeeds sometimes, she is a scary monster and not a nice sprite at all.
- the state or feeling of being jealous.
“a sharp pang of jealousy”
informal the green-eyed monster
“he was consumed with jealousy”
“the jealousy of his long-suffering wife”
I don’t mean envy. Enviousness, to me, is something completely different.
God said Thou shall not covet.
So I don’t.
I’m happy with what I have where I am and I know that if that changes, I have to change.
I can and do love many things but I don’t need to beg, borrow or steal them from anyone else.
Jealousy is a totally different creature.
I stopped being jealous years ago.
It was one of those times where the Universe swooped in and said “oh you think you are jealous now? Lemme give you something to be jealous about.”
And she did, and it was bad, then it was over, Amen.
I hated that feeling of butterflies in my stomach turned to sharp poisoned things trying to beat their way out. Knowing another woman had been in my house, my bed, my life and wanting something that was never mine to begin with.
Had I stopped coveting what was not mine, I would have saved myself a lot of time, trouble and heartache. I know that now.
I read something once about ‘good men can’t be stolen’. This is true. If he loves you he’ll stay.
Addendum, the best revenge on a woman that stole your man is to let her have him.
Not big on revenge either. Time sorts everything out, some people like to call that karma…it’s really just time spiralling in and out, changing perspectives and a little cosmic comeuppance every now and again.
I love my life now, couldn’t have any of this without all of that.
Cruz has been reading the blog. Uh oh Spaghettios.
When we met he said he wasn’t big on reading and I sighed a big sigh of relief. That didn’t last long. One thing I asked for repeatedly when I was trying to figure out what I wanted in a man/partner/relationship was ‘someone who wants to know all of me’. And that is what he is doing. Trying to learn me, figure me out and it should be bliss, but sometimes it ain’t.
I write fondly of my exes.
Hurts my heart knowing it troubles his.
I have to say nice things, I don’t want to remember the bad bits, although they are in here too. The crying jags, the nights without sleeping trying to deal with this loss or that one. There were so many I can barely keep track and I lived through it and wrote it all down.
Once it’s down on paper I can let it go.
This is my catharsis.
I know, beyond all doubt, I don’t want to go back there.
I asked him over and over to check the dates. But honestly, I don’t think that helps.
I know if he sat down and reiterated and regaled me with tales of his exes the way I write I’d die a little inside with every syllable, every bit of praise he doted on them.
I’m being a little melodramatic, but it stings. Like putting your tongue on a 9 volt battery, you know it’s gonna hurt and yet we do it anyways.
Part of me wants to know, because I want to know him. Not just the shiny fun bits, all of it. He is honest and forthcoming in a way that occasionally knocks the wind out of me. His lack of filter matches mine and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Do not ask the price I pay, I must live with my quiet rage, tame the ghosts in my head that run wild and wish me dead.” Mumford and Sons
More melodrama. Hurts less than a paper cut really, I know he is mine. I trust him implicitly.
I know what I went through and I know how I feel. I pretty things up in here by throwing flowers on graves. Doesn’t make them any less dead to me.
I was looking for something I didn’t think existed. But in my tenacious as fuck way, I kept trying.
She thrusts her fists against the posts and still insists she sees the ghosts.
I do see my ghosts, and occasionally, when we go out, I see his too.
We talk openly about where we have been, what went right/what went wrong. At some point without discussing it, we decided on full disclosure and I wouldn’t change it.
I said to him the other day “I wish you would read the posts about what I wanted”. The posts wherein I made detailed lists of what I was looking for, hoping that if I wrote it all down the universe would listen.
And she did.
Past is gone but something might be found to takes its place (Gin Blossoms)
I wouldn’t trade him for any combination of them.
Now is blessed, the rest remembered. Jim Morrison