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Goose and Gander

April 14, 2017

I sat upon the balcony yesterday, early evening watching the sky change colors.

Sitting, smoking, waiting.

Just enjoying the warm and the quiet, well almost quiet. Indie playlist on Spotify coming through the screen door. Squirrels arguing over pinecones, woodpecker knocking his face against a tree, grackles cackling and kids playing at the playground.

Couldn’t tell you exactly what I was thinking about, possibly nothing, but unlikely. I am always contemplating something. It’s just my way.

I adulted ultra-super-mega hard all day and needed a brief moment of respite so I took it.

Something caught my eye and I looked up from my phone. A blue jay, glancing over his wing at me, caught my eye and stared at me, as if to say ‘focus girl’. So I focused. I thought I knew what his particular winged portent meant. And I did. “Speak your mind”.
This is the omen blue jays bring. Speak up speak out clear your throat and just say it.

A few hours later I did.

And it was unpleasant.

In the moment I believed I was right.

Adamantly so.

Blue jay shoulda told me to pick my battles. This was nothing but a small skirmish, not a war.

But I suited up and to war I went.

Much ado about nothing but I didn’t see it that way. I was blinded by prior events.

I hate having tantrums, my stomach ties itself into knots, my eyes sting and my throat burns.

But a tantrum I had. Missed the foot stomping part. Sat on the top step and begged instead. Equally as gross.

I lost the fight, if you could even call it that.

I didn’t get my way.

Revelations chapter one.

Why should I?

He said very plainly “You’re and introvert and I’m an extrovert, I want to go out.”

In the din of my internal struggle against panic and worry, I didn’t hear him right away.

I was left alone to gather my thoughts. I get left a lot. It struck a chord in me and not a good one, like a guitar out of tune with a reverb pedal. But eventually the noise faded and my thoughts became clear.

Alone.

Alone I like.

I’ve been craving it, stealing moments when I can. Being late for things just so I can spend a few more minutes with myself. Getting up at 6 am so I can sit on the very same balcony where the blue jay paid me a visit and just have some solitude before I head back into the world.

Herein lay the epiphany that presented itself rather gently as I laid in the bed, my body held comfortably by the divot we’ve made.

I like being alone.

He doesn’t.

What is good for the goose isn’t always what is good for the gander.

And that’s okay.

I sent a text saying “I was wrong” and promptly and peacefully fell asleep.

He made good on his promise and came home on time. No harm, no foul.

Kissing me and tucking himself into me and the aforementioned divot.

I’ve never been one to mind being woken up, especially that way. I rarely have trouble falling asleep or getting back to it.

All of my no’s from earlier were been replaced with ‘okay baby’.

My natural state of being.

I smiled in my half sleep.

There was no conflict other than what existed in me.

He walked away exactly long enough for me to figure things out on my own and then did something entirely foreign to me.

He came back.

And I let it go.

lost boys

Erasing My Fault Lines

April 11, 2017

Um, all of them Rob
ALL. OF. THEM.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20):
Now is an excellent time to FREE YOUR MEMORIES. What comes to mind when I suggest that? Here are my thoughts on the subject. To FREE YOUR MEMORIES, you could change the way you talk and feel about your past. Re-examine your assumptions about your old stories, and dream up fresh interpretations to explain how and why they happened. Here’s another way to FREE YOUR MEMORIES: If you’re holding on to an insult someone hurled at you once upon a time, let it go. In fact, declare a general amnesty for everyone who ever did you wrong. By the way, the coming weeks will also be a favorable phase to FREE YOURSELF OF MEMORIES that hold you back. Are there any tales you tell yourself about the past that undermine your dreams about the future? Stop telling yourself those tales.

https://www.facebook.com/Rob-Brezsnys-Free-Will-Astrology-133041234078/

 

 

But that is what I do. Isn’t it? Post-game analysis, see where I went wrong…

I was wrong…right?

Rob says stop, so stop I must.

This is the end, my only friend the end. The Doors

I haven’t been that emotionally down in a long time.

How about ‘every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end’ (Semi Sonic)

That works.

I never write about endings on here, or very rarely I guess.
Sometimes it’s because…’and then he never called me again and I have no idea why’ doesn’t really make for a gripping story.
Sometimes it’s because things just faded into a friendship, or with the ones wherein I had the revelation that I was 7 of 9 and not ‘his girl’ like they had promised.

Why would I want to archive that? I pick up the pieces and move on, sometimes slowly… then all at once.

I’ve been left and I have been hurt and I refuse to visit pain on others.

I am rarely the one to leave. End of story.

In the interest of clean breaks and tidy endings…

On a long enough timeline the truth always comes out. Still waiting on a couple but I know they’ll come.

My first foray into dating ended after 3 months of happy when I asked if we could be boyfriend/girlfriend, him saying he ‘wasn’t ready for a relationship’ and me waking from a midsummer night’s dream with a very loud voice echoing in my ear stating “her name is Kayla and she has cotton candy hair.”

It was actually K___ and her hair has been baby blue, baby pink and lilac respectively in the months and years that have passed since then.

18 months later, when she was mean to him, I consoled him. Not like that, just said nice things.

The next one fell into a deep chasm of depression and had to move away atop a mountain.
No great mystery there.
He is as happy on his side of the country as I am on mine.

There was a patented Fuckboi in there, again nothing to be solved, he just was what he was. Well, is what he is. He still pops into my inboxes from time to time. I say hello and deliberately leave it up to him to plan something, knowing he won’t. He never calls back until the amnesia wears off again and he wonders what I am doing or runs out of other girls to fuck. He has abandonment issues the reasons for and the likes of which I have never seen so I refuse to be cruel. Ain’t waiting around neither.

Thai Fighter was engaged the whole time.

Black 19 was incarcerated, again.

The mystery of Lumberjack may well remain unsolved. He blocked me from everything ever and it’s not like I ever saw him. The only thing I was good at was living without him, so that’s a freebie.

Gelfling…well that is a whole other tale along the riverbank. I met his new girl recently and everything suddenly made sense, twice actually, once for him and once for another. A two-fer if you will. A perfect balance of me being too much and them feeling not enough. Can’t be helped I supposed. I refuse to shed my muchyness and they have yet to grow up. The hazards of young un’s I suppose. No great loss in retrospect. Like setting down the Holy Grail and deciding on a sippy cup instead. Better call not-Becky with the red hair.

There is a footnote here.

I am hard to explain to people. I am older and strange. By vocation I am a writer of truths and porn, plus the stripper thing. I am not not-Becky, red headed or otherwise.

To be with me, to claim me in public you have to be pretty brave. You have to give fewer fucks than most about what other people think.

Am I worth it?

I think so.

Nevertheless she persisted.

I cook, I clean, I fuck and I love. I clean up nice and can carry a conversation.

I don’t bitch, steal or lie.

I am already way ahead of most.

I know this now.

Took me a while.

I was mired down in the idea that I had to take some responsibility. But it isn’t mine. I did my part. I showed up and I cared. I contributed to their happiness and well-being. I asked for very little in return.

I’ve long held the belief that I as the common denominator must be part of the problem, even if it was so basic as ‘I felt bad about myself and thereby made bad decisions’. At least I made a god damned decision.

That scene in Good Will Hunting at the end. Robin Williams looks through Matt Damon’s file, sees the abuse and says “It’s not your fault” until Matt Damon breaks down and sobs from his core.

It’s not my fault, these things that have been done to me. It’s truly not on me that they left. I did what I was supposed to, I came all the way forward and stayed.

It’s not my fault at all.

Uncategorized

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.

Uncategorized

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

Uncategorized

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.

 

 

 

regular lust

Hard to Swallow

March 31, 2017

I have come to realize my sin is pride. It was not I who drove the wolves away, it was God.
(Mother Abigail, The Stand by Stephen King)

Massive paraphrasing but you get the idea.

We all partake in the seven deadlies, my favorite being lust, least favorite being a tossup between gluttony and envy. Although with anything but food, I do indulge in some things to excess, especially lusty things.
Envy ain’t my thing. I have attained a state of being that is truly happy when others are happy. I make my own green pastures and lie down in them, I shall not want.

I did allow myself to be proud, or maybe I was rejoicing in the pride someone else felt about me a little too much.

And it was definitely not I who kept the wolves at bay, I know this now.
It was god…and I swung the door wide open and let them come a runnin’ back in.

Maybe not wolves…hyenas maybe? Wolves I have been known to love and howl with. These are something else. Carrion eaters mayhap.

I stopped taking scissors to the parts of me that others don’t like.
I am what I am.
Take it or leave it.

Sidenote: I am also not an asshole and can glean when a few of those things need trimming or amending especially when making the transition from single to taken.

What I’ve found myself doing instead is wiggling. Trying to shimmy and squish myself into spaces made for me by others. See how well that worked out for James Franco in 127 Hours, he had to cut off his arm for being somewhere he didn’t fit.

Second verse same as the first.

Sleeping limbs from hands being tied.

Pins and needles.

Those are traditionally used for sewing things together. So why am I feeling torn apart.

Well you see Dear Reader, I forgot how bad I am on paper.

So bad, all ink stains and scribbles. Parables and prose and porn, lots and lots of porn.

This is why the men who leave me find cardboard cut-out versions of me that cook hamburger helper and can’t fuck right.
It’s easier than trying to explain me.

But what happens when someone stays, appreciates the little things, takes my tantrums in stride, sits with me after a stage show and says he’s proud of me and scours the blog so he can learn me better. Even with all of the sharp bits and risks of paper cuts…

Suddenly and by proxy, I am kinda proud of me too.

It’s funny, I always wondered what I looked like through the eyes of others.

Some think I am awful, dangerous even. I know this, its fine.

The ones who know me know I am clumsy and kind.

He thinks I am beautiful.

I think I am all of those things. I wear different faces in different places…but with him I get to take my masks off and just feel at home.

I have strived to be this loving accepting creature. Creative and unafraid. Naked and okay with it in a society where we are told to cover up, calm down, fit in and bleat like the rest of the sheep.

They say the things we despise in others are the things we despise about ourselves and it’s true. But I think it can go the other way too, when we find ourselves reflected in others.

He looks at me and I can see the good things about myself.

I am not wrong, I am just rare, and so is he.

Uncategorized

Love Just Is

March 28, 2017

Love is patient, love is kind.

Oh yes, it is those things.

It is also, ‘put on your seat belt’, ‘did you get enough to eat?’ and reassuring someone after a nightmare even though you really wanna dye your hair…among a multitude and myriad of other things.

“It’s all based off of love. And love isn’t ‘do this for me and I’m going to do this for you’, that’s not what love is. Love is just I’m going to do this for you because I’m going to do this for you.”

YouTube rabbithole I was tumbling down took a weird turn and landed on the Biebs.

Before I realized it was him, I was in full agreeance, after I realized it was him, I am in full agreeance.

It’s true.

I think that love and or fondness for another human being makes little tasks and treats for said person into a pleasurable experience. Mind you I have always been the girl who enjoyed giving gifts at Christmas more than receiving them. Releases some kind of happy chemical in my brain when I see someone else’s joy.

I have written articles before such as Love as a Verb and Love as a Noun. Love is action and a state of being in my humble yet loving opinion.

Case and point, having beers with the boys last night.

One said “I always wished she would have come over and girlied up the place but she never did.”

Which lead into me saying ‘well you weren’t doing what she wanted to do (which was consider letting her move in) so she didn’t do it.’

I choked on the words a bit, but they are paramount truth.

Too many people running around only giving love conditionally.

To me that is withholding, and an abomination against the Lord.

And not at all indicative of love.

But it is so much the norm that that particular behavior is immediately recognizable and easily identified.

Doesn’t make it any less one-sided and shitty.

I post love memes all day every day, and without fail or exception there is a rabble rabble from the crowd…

“But he doesn’t do _____ for me, why should I be nice to him?”

Because you love him maybe? Or claim to?

“You keep using that word (love) and I don’t think it means what you think it means.” Princess Bride.

We are ever evolving creatures that change and learn as we go, or the ones I want to hang out with are. Why sequester yourself in a relationship with someone who stifles that? Puts limitations and expectations on you to be something they have created in their own mind as ideal. I don’t get it.

My favorite thing? Sitting back and letting people be themselves. Watching their eyes light up when they get excited about something they love. Feeling safe to be myself is so incredibly important to me that I try to carry around that idea of sanctuary with me wherever I go.

There are billions of people on the planet, find one that fits as is.

That is exactly what love is to me “I love you as is, just because.” Drunk, sleepy, cranky, happy, strange, dirty, clean…all of those things are faces of you and I like yer face.

I love you because I just do.

men

Amalgam

March 23, 2017

It is strange to me to have to be in a position to ask and or discuss what I write with someone else.

I never felt like I owed anyone anything, and even waist deep in the pseudo-relationships I was in I still felt alone.

Alone most of the time, to figure things out etc.

I sat on Cruz’s couch yesterday and vomited up a huge portion of my past. All stories I have told before but not all at once and not all connected in the way they flowed off my tongue this time.

I really hadn’t put it all together that way before. In a way that made some sense.

How I started dancing, almost losing Rowan, doing drugs to cope and having that make me feel even worse about myself if that was even possible. A detailed description of my decent. All of these things that happened to me that sound like bad chapters from novels.

Oh god I wanted to bolt so bad. Sitting there teary eyed, feeling dirty and vulnerable. But I stayed.
Told him I wanted to bolt.

I did it once before. Bolted I mean, he didn’t like it.

He said it hurt him, the things I had been through.

Back then, the girl I was, didn’t know any better.

I am tired of saying “ya that happened” about the bad stuff.

I would rather count my blessings.

They can be summed up in one sentence “I’m still here.”

I should have been a junkie, I should have been a hooker, I should have been a statistic. But I wasn’t.

Sisterwife called me ‘enduring’ once.

That is EXACTLY what I am.

Even though I couldn’t see it, something in me must have believed that there was something better than where I was.

I used to get scared when I was happy, when things were going too well.

I also used to put my happiness in the hands of others. Therefore they could take it away. Now it’s just mine, and when I fall or fly I own it.

It happened again. I got real fucking happy and I got worried.

I am still the sum of all my parts, all the things that happened to me, the good bad and the ugly.

An amalgam.

He is too, but in the weirdest way.

He is the sum of the others subtracting the bad bits. The youth, the beauty, the sex, the energy multiplied exponentially. I had fleeting moments wherein I was feeling safe enough to tell some of them some of what I am. But with him it’s all of it, all of the time. I can’t help myself, it all comes tumbling out.

We’re seeing Tool and John Mayer 4 days apart. Resort vacation in the Dominican and a trip to a school in rural Cambodia. He is this weird juxtaposition that doesn’t conflict with mine.

He said last night that he is worried because it feels too good to be true.

Oh honey I know. I have been wandering a lot longer, feeling out of place and strange.

I’ve also realized, there is no such thing as too good, if you can keep yourself open to how limitless this life can be. If it can go as bad as it has, it can go the other way too.

I wrote once, not long ago actually, about the idea of luck and how I planned on appeasing the gods by asking ‘why not me?’ with a smirk.

I think they heard me and I am so very grateful.

He really does feel like winning the lottery.

This is just me, as is, and I believe you are just you and somehow it just works.

We’re both nice and easy.

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