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April 2017

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2 Alberts, some Angry Gods and Britney bitch

April 8, 2017

Sat at a franchise wing place playing that TV bar trivia thing, and we had 15 questions straight on Greek mythology.

I think I got 12. Missed one about Pegasus.

I got Echo and Narcissus right. She faded away because she loved him too much and nothing was left of her but her voice. I know how she feels.

I know the 12 Herculean tasks. Completed a few.

Sometimes I forget who gets his liver eaten daily by vultures and who has the rolling rock.

I got that one right. Prometheus and Sisyphus respectfully.

One must imagine Sisyphus happy. Albert Camus

Oh Albert, all due respect, NO HE FUCKING ISN’T.

I should know. Neither am I.

I just looked up why Sisyphus was punished. He was a fucking asshole. Killed a lot of people, chained Hades so no one could die, stole a river nymph and tricked Persephone into a pardon. He was a fucking douche bag of a king and husband.

Even at my worst.

No not even at my worst.

My Gods are the old ones. I have said this before. The ones that displayed human emotions joy, pain, revenge.

What did I do? Why have you forsaken me?

Not even at my worst.

Yet Like Sisyphus I am bound to hell. (Sad Cat Diaries)

I was bawling all the way home.

I will bawl again before this is over. Wait for it…there it is.

In my habit of doing things over and over even when they make me cry, my new ear worm is Kaleo All the Pretty Girls. It’s on repeat. It’s not getting easier, especially the end…

I’ll wait, I’ll wait, I’ll wait for you. Over and over and over.

Not funny, none of this is funny.

But for now, a little dark humor.

What do Camus, Einstein and Britney Spears have in common.

Me at the moment.

Einstein said Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

Part of the crying is me realizing I might be kinda insane. No matter what I try it turns out the same. And yet tenacious me keeps trying.

Camus is asking me to decide if I am content with picking different rocks that all have the same roll.

Half the time I barely get them started up the hill lately before they roll away on me.

Bullets/boulders dodged perhaps?

I am not happy.

So, how do I get out of this loop?

Persephone pardoned Sisyphus. But she herself was bound to hell through the winter. Sounds familiar too. Can we imagine her happy? I think so. Prolonged summer days made all the sweeter by months locked away. She is both the patron god of spring and all things pretty and the queen of hell. If the goddess slipper fits, don’t mind if I do.

Speaking of hell…

Went to buy a used car alone. Mercury/Hermes/Daddy has already entered shadow phase, but I love my job and wanna keep it so. Herculean task unavoidable and accomplished. Got turned down for credit, the name on my credit score is that of my first ex common law husband. Beattie. The fuck you say?

Hit me baby one more time.

He was a drunk. And not a fun one.

He did hit me, I left after the one more time.

So that’s Britney out the way.

Which begs the question what of my old ones? The men I dated in the time called before. They were not godlike at all. And to be completely honest I wouldn’t spare a drop of piss if I found any of them on fire. I don’t feel bad about, I am sure they feel the same.

I didn’t love them. I didn’t know how.

Maybe that’s my sin. Thinking I know anything about love.

I am getting better, or I thought I was. Do the insane have bouts of lucidity where they realize they’re nuts or is it just one long boat ride along the river of Denial…hmmm.

“The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart.” Again Albert I gotta disagree here.

My heart hurts and this is becoming its natural state of being.
How long can a bruised thing last before it rots?

Maybe I am Ariadne alone on an island waiting on Dionysus.

Sail on by, sail on by for now
They play naked in the water
You know it’s hard, heaven knows I’ve tried
But it just keeps getting harder.

Summer is so close I can almost taste it, the sun will hang in the sky like a golden apple and I’ll play naked in the water and pretend winter isn’t coming.

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Rising and Falling

April 8, 2017

“You have seen my decent now watch me rise”.

No, fuck you. Where were you when I was falling fucker?

You saw me tripping and you just let me fall?  What the fuck is wrong with you?

No I couldn’t catch myself…my hands were full catching him and him and her and that guy over there and oh ya the dog and I was driving with the other hand and moving something heavy.

Fuck.

I am not a juggler. I am just a girl.

You don’t get to watch me rise. Get off my Instagram, don’t read my blog, Facebook is on lockdown.

I revoke my invitation.

No sanctuary for you. I cannot. There is no room at the inn.

 

 

I wrote that a long time ago. 363 days ago to be exact. Can’t remember why nor about whom. I don’t care to.

Past has passed.

No one is coming to save me.

The opening sequence for Florence and the Machine’s video for What Kind of Man reminded me.

Him: I heard you talking in your sleep last night.

Her: What were you doing?

Him: I was watching you, you seemed sad

Her: Why didn’t you wake me up?

Him: I didn’t want to intervene, you seemed like you were suffering somewhere else and I didn’t think it was my place to drag you out of it so I just let you be

Her: So you just let me suffer?

Seriously, what kind of man loves like this?

I’ve had more than my share of them, no more.

There is a term for those people, “fair-weather friends/lovers”. Only want to be around when conditions are favorable. I have systematically eradicated them from my life, the leeches too. I was musing yesterday that if I had back all the money I had spent rescuing other people I could easily put half down on a condo. Maybe more.

I lived for a long time with little to no self-preservation.

I preserved others for sure, I was a human life-preserver, if you were drowning I’d come get you and keep you afloat.

I don’t regret it per say, but the hurt from being used and turned away when I was in need would be overwhelming if I chose to dwell on it.

So I don’t.

I’ll be waving my hands
Watching you drown
Watching you scream

Clumsy, Our Lady Peace

The times I drowned alone with others just watching from the shore were equally painful.

There are 2 prevalent attitudes…
1- Those who have suffered and think because they did, others should as well.
“I didn’t have it easy, why should you.”
2- Those who have suffered and will do anything in their power to make sure others do not.
“I didn’t have it easy, let me help you.”

Guess which one I am.

The amount of money I earned and never saw a penny of at the farm was a lot, the amount of mortgage I paid out for a house I was constantly cast out of was beyond ludicrous.

Today marks the 5th anniversary of me having to pay out $1500 to my ex to get my dog back, I paid $700 for her in the first place even though she was supposed to be a birthday gift. Ex hubby had a penchant for ‘what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine’. And ‘forgetting’ when I handed over my paycheques.

But enough about him.

Alice is snoring on the chaise lounge right by the heater in my cute, clean apartment. I have a nice life that I built on my own from old lessons and sheer tenacity.

I am surrounded by friends who ebb and flow with me. Picking each other up out of harm’s way or whatever messes we find ourselves in and gently setting each other down. Rising and falling like the tides, mostly floating. And so it goes.

No one can take these things from me.

Same goes with my semblance of self.

The things I have become.

I am incredibly self-aware. I know exactly what I am doing 99% of the time and I know why.

I also know my shortcomings and I work to tame them, lest they have a negative impact on others. I know I am prone to being late so I set several alarms and all clocks are set to slightly different times so I never know exactly what time it is. It’s kind of fun to time travel between the kitchen and the porch.

And I am still late sometimes.

I still falter and fall too. There are things I cannot control, I have a handle on my emotions most of the time, but on occasion they hit like tsunamis and all I can do is grab onto something and hope.

Or this

‘My mouth is a fire escape. The words coming out don’t care that they are naked. There is something burning in there.‘
Andrea Gibson

Fires and floods, acts of god and mama nature.

I am what I am and a massive part of that is authentic. I allow myself to feel what I am feeling, I let it come and confront it as is.
I don’t hide or seek outside help or validation.

I spent 40 something years trying to love myself… I don’t have that kind of time to convince someone else. (Unknown)

 

men

Mountains, Monsters and Men

April 6, 2017

I wanted to write something.

I had it in my head and it was a good idea but…

I am on day one of flipping my schedule from days back to nights and I was up, bleary eyed at 6 this morning.

Logical me wanted to go back to bed.

Smitten kitten me wanted 5 more minutes with Mister.

I saw a thing once or a million times, in movies or on TV where the man cups his hand around the back of a girls neck, with his fingers lightly tangled in her hair and he pulls her ever so gently towards him and kisses her forehead.

Ya, that happened this morning.

I floated home.

Felt as good as it looked and seemed to me it would.

It’s funny, after everything…there are still new things that haven’t happened yet.

It’s the little things.

Always the little things for me.

Big romantic gestures make me squirm. Flowers, although lovely, end up dying. Gifts are just things, words are just words but a kiss on the forehead can feel like the whole world, when the whole world is still dark and he climbs back in bed for one more minute with me.

He pulls choice phrases and words from old posts on here.

One of them claimed that I had ‘copious amounts of sex’.

I thought I did.

Seemed like a lot at the time…but anything compared to nothing is something.

He is something else.

Copious has found new meaning.

Many things have found new meaning.

I wrote once that the only trouble with making something out of nothing is when the nothing starts to show through.

I had a whole lotta nothin’.

I used to make mountains out of molehills and monsters out of men.

“I only date beasts” I said.
“Tell the wolves I am home” I cried.
“Fairy tales and parables about monsters” I wrote.

But what kind of creatures aren’t brave enough to stick around?

Beasts, wolves and monsters don’t run. Well they do, when a hero shows up with a magic sword. And that is exactly what happened here.

These boys I made out to be something they weren’t, weren’t nothing per say…but they weren’t what I made them out to be.

Little did I know that eventually even the heaviest gilding fades, the nothing would show through.

Me and Jon Snow, still don’t know nothing.

Except now I have an inkling.

It was like when Buffalo Bill has Catherin Martell down the well, she’s snagged Precious in the fucking basket and says “I think she broke her leg on the way down…I think she’s in a lot of pain mister.” And he yells back “you don’t know what pain is.”

I used to know exactly what pain was. I also knew a hit could feel like a kiss when the body is starved for attention. (Unknown)

I used to starve.

I was Catherine Martell, living on scraps, down in a hole, in a madman’s basement just trying to find a way out. Rubbing the lotion on my skin when told to do so. Attempting to communicate and negotiate with varying someone’s who mocked my pain and dehumanized me to justify what they were doing.

Now I am out.

Been out for a while now.

But like most prisoners, I kept reoffending so I could go back to the “comfort” of what I knew. Yep, you guessed it…nothing. Or very little at least. Another word for a hole in a crazy man’s basement is oubliette, somewhere you put things you want to forget.

And there I sat, remembering them.

I suppose it makes sense, all I had for company was memories. Little moments and snippets of happiness stitched into a quilt to keep me warm.

Now the quilt is threadbare, slowly becoming the nothing it was made from. Pretty soon just my own indestructible, red thread will be all that’s left. As it should be.

It was a security blanket and I don’t need it anymore. I have a good man to keep me warm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

regular lust

Hey Jealousy

April 5, 2017

“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.

Hey

jeal·ous·y ˈjeləsē/

noun

  1. the state or feeling of being jealous.

“a sharp pang of jealousy”

synonyms: envy, covetousness;

resentment, resentfulness, bitterness, spite;

informal the green-eyed monster

“he was consumed with jealousy”

suspicion, suspiciousness, distrust, mistrust, insecurity, anxiety;

possessiveness, overprotectiveness

“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

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Dark and Light

April 2, 2017

“Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.”— Carl Jung

This is true.

Knowing your own darkness also makes it easier to see your light.

I am not one to waste or kill time, or to wish it away it’s much too precious a thing…but as I sit on the precipice of a double, in the cold, damp rain…I wish Sunday would hurry up and get here. (this was also true, on Thursday)

It’s Sunday, we finally made it.

I’ve been awake for 1 hour and 13 minutes.

When I woke up at 8:12am it felt like the whole town I live in was still asleep.

I took my cue from the birds and stayed awake, they are so happy today, as am I.

It’s a glorious day, the sun is shining, I shall not squander this.
I was thinking it hadn’t been this warm since February, but my version of ‘not squandering’ meant I sat on my porch, coffee in hand and scrolled relentlessly through Facebook and Instagram for about an hour and 12 minutes and Facebook told me it was 18 degrees 10 days ago.

I remember that day.

I could’ve gone back to bed. I wanted to. I worked last night and had vowed to not get overly drunk, and well… I kinda sobered up by the time I came home. Still had the shakes and a foggy head as a war raged between what my body wanted to do and what my brain said was best.

My brain won. Body has decided this is okay.

Summer is coming. In fits and starts, but it’s coming.

I sat outside of my day job last week as it snowed and rained simultaneously, with that cold, damp feeling that had set into my bones and I wondered if I would ever be warm again. I could not bring to mind what the parking lot looked like in the summer, in the sunshine even though I tried.

Today is better. Yesterday I wanted to shut the gray curtains against the grey skies because I was tired of looking at it, so when the sun snuck through my window this morning and landed on my face it felt like a kiss from a long lost lover.

I love that my window faces east.

I’m wondering if I would have such an appreciation for the brief yet glorious summer I experience as a Canadian girl.

Maybe if I had lived somewhere more equatorial as a kid I wouldn’t. But I just lived through my 42nd Canadian winter, I am good now. I have enough muscle memory stored of days the air hurt my face, the never ending search for the answer to the age old question ‘how many hoodies is too many hoodies?’ slush in boots etc.

The last 3 years I’ve gotten to escape to Florida with its perpetual sunshine and the ocean for 3 of the worst weeks here. I know this is a blessing and I try not to squander that either.

I think that might be the secret of life. ‘Enjoy when you can, and endure when you must.’ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe —

We all know how enduring I am, and ever since I learned to find the joy in the little things it has been abundant.

Especially lately.

I think when you see miracles in everyday things, the universe wants to show you more.

God just wants to be loved (The Color Purple)

Part of being loved is being seen and appreciated, in all your glory or all your mess. Someone looking at you when you are down without judgement, knowing this too shall pass and the sun will come back out eventually.

I fall down and falter, but I also rise and shine.

Cruz and were talking in the car the other day, he said something about never being in a relationship with anyone that doesn’t treat you like your best friends do.

Well, ain’t that the truth.

They love me, sometimes it’s tough love but it’s always unconditional.

This is new to me.

Now I wonder, would I have such and appreciation for the way things are now if I hadn’t lived through the winters of my discontent?

Unlikely.

I’m grateful for every grey minute of my past, makes this sunshine feel so much warmer and brighter by comparison.

 

 

 

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