Dim light always give way to heightened emotions for me. I can fester in anger... or I can delight in feeling amorous. I can cry for an hour, or I can sit and do absolutely nothing and feel completely peaceful. My music comes more to life than it ever did, and it sometimes bring me to tears. And I'm a hard nut to crack these days.
What happens in the dark I usually do not repeat to anyone.. not even to myself.. because these experiences personal. I almost feel as though I tempt fate by leaking what I hold deep inside, as though if I let it out someone is going to mock me and I'll be afraid to ever open myself up again. This said I want to flashback to not-so-long-ago.. to a few weeks ago. It may or may not have been a mistake. But it's something I did. And I don't want to forget it, even if it did bring about less than happy feelings in the end. The end really isn't even there yet.. so the outcome is still.. up in the air.
I'm a flighty girl. My feet are not on the ground the way they should be. I'm a silly girl and I'm a selfish girl. I didn't used to be, but then I also was never received by others the way I am now. I curse society for this. I however cannot blame my actions on account of others. My choices are mine alone. And my consequences are mine alone.
And I've learned I am not aloud to have friends of the opposite sex who are not married. No, scratch that. I am not aloud to get close to any man.. period. Married or not. I put up walls for so long.. I grew up with walls. Somehow they came down and now.. now I can't keep my head on straight. Enough about lessons though..
I brought a man into my house.. and he welcomed himself into my house willing, though his motives were not my motives it seemed. At the end of the day I forced myself into an embrace with him. I watched him while he stayed a little longer. I remembered when I "stayed a little longer.." so I figured he was waiting for me to do something. So I did something. As far as I know for now the jury is still out. This man.. doesn't say much. He definitely lusts, and he parties with his friends. He loves people, and he cares about people, and he wants to make sure people feel special.. but he doesn't seem to be in love with anyone .. except his daughter of course. He is.. unique. I know I would not feel welcome in his world, with his friends, with his family. We do not have many common interests I think.
Yet I am drawn to him. I'm drawn to the way he treats people. I'm attracted to him physically more than I've ever been attracted to any one person physically. Like he walked out of a movie and looked me in the eyes.. and smiled, and winked.. and asked for my number. I can't get close to him. He won't let me, and I shouldn't anyway. He doesn't chase after me, but he lets me do the talking.. up to a point. So I kissed him. I wanted to know what it felt like. I wanted to touch his skin and feel his warmth. I wanted to know what it felt like to hold someone who looked hot even on his worst day. The thing that gets me is that even though he kept throwing his head back, saying we shouldn't, that it's not right.. he never once said he didn't want to or that he didn't like it afterward. He doesn't want to give me the satisfaction of knowing he might actually thank me for the experience.. because he really did enjoy it. He won't say it outloud. Of course admitting means he's finally given me an edge.. and for some reason he wants to be the one holding that card over my head. It is definitely frustrating. And obviously I have no conscience anymore. Like I said.. I'm a selfish girl.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Wonderful Rain
Rain, rain.. blessed rain. What is it about rain that makes my blood rush?What is it about rain that soothes me and lulls me into serenity and slumber? What is it about rain anyway?
Well.. rain. Rain is a miracle. Man tries to make rain and fails, because rain doesn't come from man. Ever. Rain is part of the growth process. Rain is water, and water makes all things pure. Rain nourishes the flora and fauna from those who've built habitats surrounding my abode. Rain purifies the heavens. After the rain you can smell .. again. Everything is fresh.
It's like never eating -or even liking- salad, but that one salad you crave comes to you cold and crisp with everything in it freshly washed -with dew that lingers.
Rain is the one thing that brings me closer to the waterfall to which I can never hike. Rain keeps me hydrated. I can hear the rain, on the rooftop, on the grass outside, through the leaves in the trees and on the petals of roses. I can't smell too much rain because the rain gathers all other toxins and washes the air so it's free of that horrid debris. But I can feel the rain. When the weather is warm I love to feel those droplets, on my arms and face, my shoulders and forehead, making my hair strangled and mangy. I lift my arms and dance in circles in the rain. I run through the rivers in the streets that are brought about by that rain. I don't care if my clothes are soaked or become muddy from this rain.. the more, the merrier. When it's cold and I'm outside by myself in the rain, I find myself a perch under a branch or tree or rock, and I wait. I wait to see what insects come out or run away, I wait to see the dripping, drip, dripping of all this rain that won't let up. There's crackling and dropping, light dripping and plopping. Trickle, trickle little rain, big rain, rain.
Time to go inside for cocoa and a blankie :-)
Well.. rain. Rain is a miracle. Man tries to make rain and fails, because rain doesn't come from man. Ever. Rain is part of the growth process. Rain is water, and water makes all things pure. Rain nourishes the flora and fauna from those who've built habitats surrounding my abode. Rain purifies the heavens. After the rain you can smell .. again. Everything is fresh.
It's like never eating -or even liking- salad, but that one salad you crave comes to you cold and crisp with everything in it freshly washed -with dew that lingers.
Rain is the one thing that brings me closer to the waterfall to which I can never hike. Rain keeps me hydrated. I can hear the rain, on the rooftop, on the grass outside, through the leaves in the trees and on the petals of roses. I can't smell too much rain because the rain gathers all other toxins and washes the air so it's free of that horrid debris. But I can feel the rain. When the weather is warm I love to feel those droplets, on my arms and face, my shoulders and forehead, making my hair strangled and mangy. I lift my arms and dance in circles in the rain. I run through the rivers in the streets that are brought about by that rain. I don't care if my clothes are soaked or become muddy from this rain.. the more, the merrier. When it's cold and I'm outside by myself in the rain, I find myself a perch under a branch or tree or rock, and I wait. I wait to see what insects come out or run away, I wait to see the dripping, drip, dripping of all this rain that won't let up. There's crackling and dropping, light dripping and plopping. Trickle, trickle little rain, big rain, rain.
Time to go inside for cocoa and a blankie :-)
Friday, April 30, 2010
Rrrrrr...
Recovery.
I am in another stage of recovery. No longer does my heart ache (all right, that's a lie. But I have to lie, because I cannot handle the truth. And the truth is it hurts still so badly and I fear it will always hurt) Memories remain. My actions. My tender feelings.
Remains.
A part of me died about a month ago. What's left is what remains of the mess I made. Some parts still have a good feeling about them. Some parts feel festered. Some parts feel sour, and some parts are ash.
Raw.
You grate a block of cheese and part of your knuckle rubs against the blade. Not a lot, but enough to notice, enough to bleed after 20 seconds. You kiss it and move on. Imagine the feeling of a knee scrape, fresh from a bike ride.. and then take a scouring pad to it.. brush it 10, maybe 15 times back and forth. All that harsh abrasiveness.. all those teeny tiny metals embedding themselves into that fresh wound that only bleeds longer. Now its infected. That's what the week after felt like... a little. Yes, it heals. But that scar is a lot bigger than just the knee scrape itself.
Real.
I am a real person, with a real husband and three real children. One of my children will be finishing the first grade in a few weeks, and then two of my children will be in school by September. Two of my children are on the swim team. One of my children is slowly learning to talk, say sentences.. words and phrases from me and his brothers. My children are boys, with beating hearts and mournful tears whenever their heart breaks or aches. I went out of bounds. It was a dream, but I am real, and my actions were real. What I did was real. And I woke up. And it hurt.
Reflections.
I see my reflection everywhere. I also see his reflection, but not in mirrors or water or glass. I see his reflection in my head. When I look at myself, I remember what happened. My feelings are mixed. I am so ashamed for the shame I've placed on my family. But .. it's no more than I deserve. I make my own heart break, like I can't live without the pain. And it bleeds deeper than just this one instance. When I see myself in my reflection I want so much to forget and move on. And it's so hard to forget sometimes. When I see him in my head a part of me wants to think I don't know that person. They're not a part of my life, I've never seen them before. Another part veers off into the tangent of the life I could have lead. And then all that's real, all that I have now disappears. What hurts more then? And then I think 'just one more time.' 'not done.. ' But it's done. Those thoughts come into my head unwillingly. Subconsciously. I can't control that much. It's there.
Rest.
I want so much to just rest, naturally. Ever since it happened I haven't been able to just peacefully fall asleep. He's haunting my head. He's always there. So I can't rest. Even when I want to. Even when 3 pills aren't enough and I still wake up. And that's almost a daily occurrence. Damn.
Restitution.
Not yet. Not ever probably. This kind of thing isn't up for forgiveness. From anyone. Not even myself.
Ravage.
Yes, I am still ravenous for him.
Regret.
I have all the wrong regrets. Further proof I am past the point of no return. Where I should be in confession with the bishop and making things, it's not what I want. When I was with him however brief it was, we fit. My knees hit the mattress. I didn't squish him. His head isn't overly disproportionate to his body. He has eyes that kill. He's serious and full of pain, like me. He knows what he wants and is gentle to my needs. See.. I have all the wrong regrets.
Repellent.
If only there were some kind of repellent others could wear so I could be immune to their charms. That would solve everything, I'm sure! blargh.
I am in another stage of recovery. No longer does my heart ache (all right, that's a lie. But I have to lie, because I cannot handle the truth. And the truth is it hurts still so badly and I fear it will always hurt) Memories remain. My actions. My tender feelings.
Remains.
A part of me died about a month ago. What's left is what remains of the mess I made. Some parts still have a good feeling about them. Some parts feel festered. Some parts feel sour, and some parts are ash.
Raw.
You grate a block of cheese and part of your knuckle rubs against the blade. Not a lot, but enough to notice, enough to bleed after 20 seconds. You kiss it and move on. Imagine the feeling of a knee scrape, fresh from a bike ride.. and then take a scouring pad to it.. brush it 10, maybe 15 times back and forth. All that harsh abrasiveness.. all those teeny tiny metals embedding themselves into that fresh wound that only bleeds longer. Now its infected. That's what the week after felt like... a little. Yes, it heals. But that scar is a lot bigger than just the knee scrape itself.
Real.
I am a real person, with a real husband and three real children. One of my children will be finishing the first grade in a few weeks, and then two of my children will be in school by September. Two of my children are on the swim team. One of my children is slowly learning to talk, say sentences.. words and phrases from me and his brothers. My children are boys, with beating hearts and mournful tears whenever their heart breaks or aches. I went out of bounds. It was a dream, but I am real, and my actions were real. What I did was real. And I woke up. And it hurt.
Reflections.
I see my reflection everywhere. I also see his reflection, but not in mirrors or water or glass. I see his reflection in my head. When I look at myself, I remember what happened. My feelings are mixed. I am so ashamed for the shame I've placed on my family. But .. it's no more than I deserve. I make my own heart break, like I can't live without the pain. And it bleeds deeper than just this one instance. When I see myself in my reflection I want so much to forget and move on. And it's so hard to forget sometimes. When I see him in my head a part of me wants to think I don't know that person. They're not a part of my life, I've never seen them before. Another part veers off into the tangent of the life I could have lead. And then all that's real, all that I have now disappears. What hurts more then? And then I think 'just one more time.' 'not done.. ' But it's done. Those thoughts come into my head unwillingly. Subconsciously. I can't control that much. It's there.
Rest.
I want so much to just rest, naturally. Ever since it happened I haven't been able to just peacefully fall asleep. He's haunting my head. He's always there. So I can't rest. Even when I want to. Even when 3 pills aren't enough and I still wake up. And that's almost a daily occurrence. Damn.
Restitution.
Not yet. Not ever probably. This kind of thing isn't up for forgiveness. From anyone. Not even myself.
Ravage.
Yes, I am still ravenous for him.
Regret.
I have all the wrong regrets. Further proof I am past the point of no return. Where I should be in confession with the bishop and making things, it's not what I want. When I was with him however brief it was, we fit. My knees hit the mattress. I didn't squish him. His head isn't overly disproportionate to his body. He has eyes that kill. He's serious and full of pain, like me. He knows what he wants and is gentle to my needs. See.. I have all the wrong regrets.
Repellent.
If only there were some kind of repellent others could wear so I could be immune to their charms. That would solve everything, I'm sure! blargh.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Healing and the Downing
A letter to my heart:
Dearest, you've been wounded.. at home and abroad. I think you do this to yourself because you crave the drama. You want some excitement. But ask yourself: is it worth the heartache every time? Is it worth the lies and the lies upon lies? And who .. just who do you end up lying to anyway? Your world is not real. You're seeing this more and more lately. To say it's good well.. it's something. It's not going to hurt you anymore. You like being hurt. I think everyone likes being the one to receive sympathy. Not you. You are alone with your grief. You are alone with your healing. No one really knows why you did it..
Ah.. I almost forgot. You downed them. Ha ha ha.. I remember that day so well. You've been trying to recover from that pitiful day ever since.. You weren't fully healed from it even a week afterward. Yet you keep ticking. Sleep. Ha. You could easily have fallen fast asleep and stayed asleep with as few as 4. But no, you couldn't stop there. You had to make extra sure you'd stay asleep.. for more than a day if I remember correctly. Comatose is what you wanted. Brain-dead. Numb from all feeling, all hurting, all love. You frighten people with your.. antics. You can talk about it now because the wound isn't as sore and open and fresh now. No more salt... to keep 'purifying' it. When I recall that day.. okay, it still hurts a lot. There's so much loss in that one day. When you received the message.. the entire day was gone. And you got that message in the morning! It was raining that day. Your kids were as safe as they could be without spoiling your little secret. But stupid!! You are stupid! Well, okay.. you're not THAT stupid. You were at home where you knew you'd be found. Your timing could have been better. And you wonder why it didn't take effect right away. Sheesh! You couldn't even wait 10 minutes! But listen to me.. who am I to really give advice? You were the one who did this to yourself. You are the one who puts her heart in places where she knows it'll be put through all kinds of torture. Squeezed. Shredded. Punctured with blunt objects. Sliced. Smashed. To a bloody pulp. Good thing the heart recovers... eventually. Amazing actually. How DOES it do that?! Hmmm..
You're still lost, ya know. You're on a better path now though. Reading scriptures for the first time in a decade .. or so it feels like anyway. Reading scripture stories with your children.. that one I especially like. I see you though.. in dark corners. Wishing for things. Yearning for .. things. Wanting things. My advice: stay at home. People keep telling you that you have it good. Listen to them. No one.. NO ONE will love you like he does. NO ONE will respect you or practically worship you the way he does. No one will ever feel the same way about someone the way he feels for you. Trust that .. for once in your goddamn life. Your heart should be locked now. Forever. FOREVER. Seal it. Unless.. unless you actually LIKE being hurt, over and over and over again.
I've heard you say before.. "I'm a liar and a cheat. Who's to say I'm worthy of having someone who treats me the way a girl should be treated?" I .. still don't know how to respond to that one. You ARE a liar. Ha ha, a BIG liar. How many lie-webs have you tangled now?? And you did cheat. Ooo...hurts to even say that. Still in denial, eh? Well.. you'll get over it. You'll come to realize when you give your heart away when it's not free to be given.. it doesn't split so nicely, eh? I can see your eyes right now. They're thinking of "he who must not be named anymore." The one who continually breaks you. You patch yourself up -alone- only to be broken -only to heal ALONE- and the cycle just repeats. What is it that draws you to him, anyway? I'm so frustrated with you. Didn't you say you got married so you'd NEVER HAVE TO BE ALONE?? And so you suffer in silence, alone. Because you're a liar and a cheat. All your lies are what's making you so alone. Think about that..
Oh, you like to be alone. Then what the hell are you doing married? You know you love being with people who love you. You love time together most of all. And yet what you're doing.. is taking all that time away. The time you could spend tilling love into the hearts of children you instead spend pining over lost love that is not yours to lose. You aren't even losing it! You're losing the lame idea of it, because it's fake. This is all fake. Fake love. In your head. Make-believe. Your head is in the clouds. What you do from here.. hmm.
What do you want? Do you know how to get it? Will it bring you happiness? Do you want to be happy? Or do you just want to hurt forever?
Dearest, you've been wounded.. at home and abroad. I think you do this to yourself because you crave the drama. You want some excitement. But ask yourself: is it worth the heartache every time? Is it worth the lies and the lies upon lies? And who .. just who do you end up lying to anyway? Your world is not real. You're seeing this more and more lately. To say it's good well.. it's something. It's not going to hurt you anymore. You like being hurt. I think everyone likes being the one to receive sympathy. Not you. You are alone with your grief. You are alone with your healing. No one really knows why you did it..
Ah.. I almost forgot. You downed them. Ha ha ha.. I remember that day so well. You've been trying to recover from that pitiful day ever since.. You weren't fully healed from it even a week afterward. Yet you keep ticking. Sleep. Ha. You could easily have fallen fast asleep and stayed asleep with as few as 4. But no, you couldn't stop there. You had to make extra sure you'd stay asleep.. for more than a day if I remember correctly. Comatose is what you wanted. Brain-dead. Numb from all feeling, all hurting, all love. You frighten people with your.. antics. You can talk about it now because the wound isn't as sore and open and fresh now. No more salt... to keep 'purifying' it. When I recall that day.. okay, it still hurts a lot. There's so much loss in that one day. When you received the message.. the entire day was gone. And you got that message in the morning! It was raining that day. Your kids were as safe as they could be without spoiling your little secret. But stupid!! You are stupid! Well, okay.. you're not THAT stupid. You were at home where you knew you'd be found. Your timing could have been better. And you wonder why it didn't take effect right away. Sheesh! You couldn't even wait 10 minutes! But listen to me.. who am I to really give advice? You were the one who did this to yourself. You are the one who puts her heart in places where she knows it'll be put through all kinds of torture. Squeezed. Shredded. Punctured with blunt objects. Sliced. Smashed. To a bloody pulp. Good thing the heart recovers... eventually. Amazing actually. How DOES it do that?! Hmmm..
You're still lost, ya know. You're on a better path now though. Reading scriptures for the first time in a decade .. or so it feels like anyway. Reading scripture stories with your children.. that one I especially like. I see you though.. in dark corners. Wishing for things. Yearning for .. things. Wanting things. My advice: stay at home. People keep telling you that you have it good. Listen to them. No one.. NO ONE will love you like he does. NO ONE will respect you or practically worship you the way he does. No one will ever feel the same way about someone the way he feels for you. Trust that .. for once in your goddamn life. Your heart should be locked now. Forever. FOREVER. Seal it. Unless.. unless you actually LIKE being hurt, over and over and over again.
I've heard you say before.. "I'm a liar and a cheat. Who's to say I'm worthy of having someone who treats me the way a girl should be treated?" I .. still don't know how to respond to that one. You ARE a liar. Ha ha, a BIG liar. How many lie-webs have you tangled now?? And you did cheat. Ooo...hurts to even say that. Still in denial, eh? Well.. you'll get over it. You'll come to realize when you give your heart away when it's not free to be given.. it doesn't split so nicely, eh? I can see your eyes right now. They're thinking of "he who must not be named anymore." The one who continually breaks you. You patch yourself up -alone- only to be broken -only to heal ALONE- and the cycle just repeats. What is it that draws you to him, anyway? I'm so frustrated with you. Didn't you say you got married so you'd NEVER HAVE TO BE ALONE?? And so you suffer in silence, alone. Because you're a liar and a cheat. All your lies are what's making you so alone. Think about that..
Oh, you like to be alone. Then what the hell are you doing married? You know you love being with people who love you. You love time together most of all. And yet what you're doing.. is taking all that time away. The time you could spend tilling love into the hearts of children you instead spend pining over lost love that is not yours to lose. You aren't even losing it! You're losing the lame idea of it, because it's fake. This is all fake. Fake love. In your head. Make-believe. Your head is in the clouds. What you do from here.. hmm.
What do you want? Do you know how to get it? Will it bring you happiness? Do you want to be happy? Or do you just want to hurt forever?
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Virtuous
I am not virtuous lately, but I did something of virtue yesterday. Sneaky.. and still virtuous. I am not supposed to have any contact. That's what "severing" is anyway, right? But I couldn't contain myself. I am not one to be held back by restraint. I wrote a letter yesterday and upon completion did not feel 100% right. The words were too personal and desperate. The letter itself was 3 pages (1 1/2, fronts and backs) long which is rightfully too long for someone who doesn't want to hear from you at all. I sealed it and wrote his address. It was ready to go minus a stamp. But a nagging feeling told me I should not mail this letter. I went with it and constructed a new one. This time I wrote in pencil and my words were up-and-down and not slanted. The over-all neatness was pleasing to me. My words were more concise, and my point was better felt. What I really wanted to say I said in fewer words ..without burdening him any more with parts of my history that should not be shared with him. He is, after all, not my husband. I think I have finally let the thought of him go. I wrote of my many apologies. I wrote of taking all responsibility, because I was the one who showed up at his door twice. I was the one who asked to be there a second time, and I am the one who knew what would happen were I invited. I am the one to blame, and I understand why we cannot be close or friends at this time. I hope I can heal spiritually. I want to be whole, and I do not want to be sad. I still have love for him. My heart aches for this loss. But at least now I can be productive again.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Who I Am
I am the one who folds all the clothes
I bake all the muffins,
I dry all the tears.
I am the one who makes sure that there's milk
in the fridge and there's plenty of
leftovers left over.
I drive the car and I chauffeur them all
I keep the tank full and
I never forget
When I'm by myself I crank up the tunes
I scream and I toss
and pretend no one's watching.
I am the one who cries into her pillow
Who loves to no end
Who loves like love doesn't
Love back. I give and I give
and I give of myself
and sometimes I hurt. Okay, I hurt lots.
I am the one who changes sheets at 2am
I say prayers and read stories
and have secret dreams.
I am the one who makes the biggest mistakes
I am full of all kinds
of trouble and mischief.
I am so sensitive. I'm fragile and naive.
I want to be good but
I'll never be the best.
I am okay and that's all that I'll be.
I have voices inside that say
Nothing is Good Enough.
I push myself, because I know my own limits
But do I really?
.. maybe I don't.
There are days when I don't know
the girl in the mirror.
There are days when I feel so alone
my world crumbles.
There are days when I'm on top
where death couldn't stop me
There are days when I truly am
my very own beautiful.
I know I am strong. I know I am soft.
I know I am breakable, gentle, patched.
I know I can be beautiful, but not every day.
I know I have love. And I know life can be simple.
Now .. what to do with it.
I bake all the muffins,
I dry all the tears.
I am the one who makes sure that there's milk
in the fridge and there's plenty of
leftovers left over.
I drive the car and I chauffeur them all
I keep the tank full and
I never forget
When I'm by myself I crank up the tunes
I scream and I toss
and pretend no one's watching.
I am the one who cries into her pillow
Who loves to no end
Who loves like love doesn't
Love back. I give and I give
and I give of myself
and sometimes I hurt. Okay, I hurt lots.
I am the one who changes sheets at 2am
I say prayers and read stories
and have secret dreams.
I am the one who makes the biggest mistakes
I am full of all kinds
of trouble and mischief.
I am so sensitive. I'm fragile and naive.
I want to be good but
I'll never be the best.
I am okay and that's all that I'll be.
I have voices inside that say
Nothing is Good Enough.
I push myself, because I know my own limits
But do I really?
.. maybe I don't.
There are days when I don't know
the girl in the mirror.
There are days when I feel so alone
my world crumbles.
There are days when I'm on top
where death couldn't stop me
There are days when I truly am
my very own beautiful.
I know I am strong. I know I am soft.
I know I am breakable, gentle, patched.
I know I can be beautiful, but not every day.
I know I have love. And I know life can be simple.
Now .. what to do with it.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Paradise Lost
When I think of the word "sever" I think of a giant blade slicing off the head of a dangerous animal, like a snake or ... just something terrifying. I think of blood being spilt, and I think of screaming and gouging, a mighty battle won. When I think of the word "sever," all I can think of is everlasting pain. Something that grew to be a part of something else and was instantly and surprisingly cut off. The source bleeds until it is bandaged. The bleeding gushes uncontrollably. The severed end however.. well, it withers away and dies unless it is grafted on to something that needs it. The withered end is not what's important. What's important is saving the main body from the severed end, because in the end the severed end was killing off the main body anyway. Like a broken leg that gets infected. Better to sever the leg to save the body, then let the infection spread to the body.
Was I really killing him? I feel so depressed now. Food doesn't have a taste. My stomach never needs filling. My arms are too tired to bring anything to my mouth even to replenish my body. TV shows aren't interesting. Piano is definitely not interesting. When I stop for 10 seconds I want to break down in tears. It is just a reaction now. Involuntary.
I don't remember much after I discovered I was only a weak limb, infected and spreading and needing to be severed. I remember wanting to throw up. I remember knowing it would happen. I remember knowing exactly what he was talking about. And yet it still came as a shock, because I hadn't hit him with it first. I should have been the one severing him! But I didn't. I need him. I am dead now. And withering. Next week I will have to slap on a smile and pretend this week didn't happen. I'm going to have to fake this great loss. Sooner or later I will have to start eating again. Because I can't afford another new wardrobe. I am so un-whole right now. I feel as though I've been jabbed in the chest with a short blunt blade. My insides feel full and empty at the same time. I am not a beautiful person. I will never be. He has finally decided enough was enough and I will never have a part of him ever again. The pain though.. the pain reminds me it did happen and that I did feel strongly, passionately for him. It was not just a fling for me. This pain hurts. I just .. didn't want to wake up. Why did I have to wake up?! Why couldn't I just sleep to dull everything? Just .. sleep. Peacefully, not waking. Not dreaming, just.. resting. I am mourning .. nothing. I pity myself, for who does this to themselves? I did this. All of this. It's all my fault. I brought this on and now I am paying for it. Whoever said 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all' can go to hell. Better yet, they can come visit this hell I have to live in now. Yes yes, we all heal with time. Right now I'd rather suffer this loss and feel the pain and know it was real.. so, okay. They don't have to go to hell. It's better to feel something than nothing. Better to care than not care. Yes, I love him. Even still. Truly it is a sad thing.
Was I really killing him? I feel so depressed now. Food doesn't have a taste. My stomach never needs filling. My arms are too tired to bring anything to my mouth even to replenish my body. TV shows aren't interesting. Piano is definitely not interesting. When I stop for 10 seconds I want to break down in tears. It is just a reaction now. Involuntary.
I don't remember much after I discovered I was only a weak limb, infected and spreading and needing to be severed. I remember wanting to throw up. I remember knowing it would happen. I remember knowing exactly what he was talking about. And yet it still came as a shock, because I hadn't hit him with it first. I should have been the one severing him! But I didn't. I need him. I am dead now. And withering. Next week I will have to slap on a smile and pretend this week didn't happen. I'm going to have to fake this great loss. Sooner or later I will have to start eating again. Because I can't afford another new wardrobe. I am so un-whole right now. I feel as though I've been jabbed in the chest with a short blunt blade. My insides feel full and empty at the same time. I am not a beautiful person. I will never be. He has finally decided enough was enough and I will never have a part of him ever again. The pain though.. the pain reminds me it did happen and that I did feel strongly, passionately for him. It was not just a fling for me. This pain hurts. I just .. didn't want to wake up. Why did I have to wake up?! Why couldn't I just sleep to dull everything? Just .. sleep. Peacefully, not waking. Not dreaming, just.. resting. I am mourning .. nothing. I pity myself, for who does this to themselves? I did this. All of this. It's all my fault. I brought this on and now I am paying for it. Whoever said 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all' can go to hell. Better yet, they can come visit this hell I have to live in now. Yes yes, we all heal with time. Right now I'd rather suffer this loss and feel the pain and know it was real.. so, okay. They don't have to go to hell. It's better to feel something than nothing. Better to care than not care. Yes, I love him. Even still. Truly it is a sad thing.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Time to Write
Dearest,
I needed to write to someone and I know you're not available, that you're never available or that you ever want me at all, so I'll write to you here instead even though you don't "follow" me on this blog. I wish I had the right answer. I wish I felt the way I'm supposed to feel.. about everyone. I want to dance like no one's watching me, and love like I'm not afraid to be hurt. I want to let it all go and hold everything close. I want you in my life but I know you'll never want the same. I want you every day. I think of you every chance I get. And it's not intentional.. well, not all the time.
I feel so bothersome toward you! I want to scream at myself, to stop wanting you, to stop following you, to stop caring. Why can't I do it! Why can't I just let you go? Why can't I move on? I am not even available to be in this situation.
I wish we were friends. Good friends. Friends who could depend on each other, friends who've been friends since birth, friends who cut each other's hair and buried each other in the mud and played hide-and-seek and forgot to find the other person because you got caught up in how pretty the flowers were so you decided to build a castle around them with a moat and a princess at the top tower and.. what was I talking about? haha.. I wish I could be the neighbor you turn to when you run out of toilet paper or laundry detergent. I wish I could yell at you and slam the door in your face and you in turn put your hand through a window and we don't see each other for a week until we cool off. I wish I could fill your belly each night with delicious meals that I spent hours making, just for you. I wish I could play music for you into the night. I wish I could sing something you loved. I wish I knew what it is that you love. Besides your mother. I wish I could feel all your happy memories. I wish I could curl up beside you and listen to your heart beating beneath your chest. I wish I could wrap a blanket around us while we listened to the rain, and I wish we could talk to each other the way real people do. I wish I was let in. I wish you'd let me in, or even want me in.
I just realized.. haha.. what I sound like. I sound like a crazy crush-obsessed teenie-bopper who writes love letters to her favorite boy band or actor or tv hero. This is me having a crush. I sound pathetic. I feel pathetic. I feel like part of me is missing, as in not there.. as in a void. My heart aches over that void every day. And my chest feels heavier every time my mind pulls it up. I feel like crying.
The other man came back into the picture. He just.. all of a sudden showed up. I wanted to tell you all about it, ask advice.. make you talk me out of it. I want you to scream at me to tell me to stop. I need to stop. I can't go on like this.. I'm going to end up making myself bleed to death. He wants to .. "talk." What I really want to know is why he thinks he can get anything out of me after how many times he left me alone so I could suffer by myself. He's being an ass, and I really just want him to take a hike. The only problem I have is that I do want to see him again, I just don't want to sleep with him. I don't want any part of sex and him. But that's definitely not what he wants. What he sees is someone who's definitely not attached to him but easy enough to seduce. A free whore. That's all he wants and that's all I am to him. I'm interested in what he has to say. The last time I said that though.. well, let's just say I wasn't disappointed and I wasn't expecting it. I wanted it. I wanted it all. I still want it all.. again. And more. But not from the other guy. From "him."
I have complicated feelings that are all over the map. I wish you could give me what I so desperately need. I wish even more that I deserved it, or that we could even stand a chance if that chance ever came.
Dearest, wherever you are and whomever you're with.. I wish you could feel the love and longing I feel for you. I wish I could bottle up all this energy, this trust and command, this tenderness and kinship.. I wish I could send it all your way so that you could never have a lonely moment. Because I know that you have them. I want to be next to you.. and closer. I want to feel your warm skin and have your fingers caress my arms, my shoulders, my fingers and calves, my knees, my back.. I want to look you in the eyes and tell you I'm your one. Which is a lie.. but sometimes a lie can bring a temporary smile, right? The truth makes me shed too many tears, so I'll keep lying to myself and tell me I belong to you and you belong to me and we are unwhole unless we're together. Goodnight dearest. Until we meet again.
Yours sincerely.
I needed to write to someone and I know you're not available, that you're never available or that you ever want me at all, so I'll write to you here instead even though you don't "follow" me on this blog. I wish I had the right answer. I wish I felt the way I'm supposed to feel.. about everyone. I want to dance like no one's watching me, and love like I'm not afraid to be hurt. I want to let it all go and hold everything close. I want you in my life but I know you'll never want the same. I want you every day. I think of you every chance I get. And it's not intentional.. well, not all the time.
I feel so bothersome toward you! I want to scream at myself, to stop wanting you, to stop following you, to stop caring. Why can't I do it! Why can't I just let you go? Why can't I move on? I am not even available to be in this situation.
I wish we were friends. Good friends. Friends who could depend on each other, friends who've been friends since birth, friends who cut each other's hair and buried each other in the mud and played hide-and-seek and forgot to find the other person because you got caught up in how pretty the flowers were so you decided to build a castle around them with a moat and a princess at the top tower and.. what was I talking about? haha.. I wish I could be the neighbor you turn to when you run out of toilet paper or laundry detergent. I wish I could yell at you and slam the door in your face and you in turn put your hand through a window and we don't see each other for a week until we cool off. I wish I could fill your belly each night with delicious meals that I spent hours making, just for you. I wish I could play music for you into the night. I wish I could sing something you loved. I wish I knew what it is that you love. Besides your mother. I wish I could feel all your happy memories. I wish I could curl up beside you and listen to your heart beating beneath your chest. I wish I could wrap a blanket around us while we listened to the rain, and I wish we could talk to each other the way real people do. I wish I was let in. I wish you'd let me in, or even want me in.
I just realized.. haha.. what I sound like. I sound like a crazy crush-obsessed teenie-bopper who writes love letters to her favorite boy band or actor or tv hero. This is me having a crush. I sound pathetic. I feel pathetic. I feel like part of me is missing, as in not there.. as in a void. My heart aches over that void every day. And my chest feels heavier every time my mind pulls it up. I feel like crying.
The other man came back into the picture. He just.. all of a sudden showed up. I wanted to tell you all about it, ask advice.. make you talk me out of it. I want you to scream at me to tell me to stop. I need to stop. I can't go on like this.. I'm going to end up making myself bleed to death. He wants to .. "talk." What I really want to know is why he thinks he can get anything out of me after how many times he left me alone so I could suffer by myself. He's being an ass, and I really just want him to take a hike. The only problem I have is that I do want to see him again, I just don't want to sleep with him. I don't want any part of sex and him. But that's definitely not what he wants. What he sees is someone who's definitely not attached to him but easy enough to seduce. A free whore. That's all he wants and that's all I am to him. I'm interested in what he has to say. The last time I said that though.. well, let's just say I wasn't disappointed and I wasn't expecting it. I wanted it. I wanted it all. I still want it all.. again. And more. But not from the other guy. From "him."
I have complicated feelings that are all over the map. I wish you could give me what I so desperately need. I wish even more that I deserved it, or that we could even stand a chance if that chance ever came.
Dearest, wherever you are and whomever you're with.. I wish you could feel the love and longing I feel for you. I wish I could bottle up all this energy, this trust and command, this tenderness and kinship.. I wish I could send it all your way so that you could never have a lonely moment. Because I know that you have them. I want to be next to you.. and closer. I want to feel your warm skin and have your fingers caress my arms, my shoulders, my fingers and calves, my knees, my back.. I want to look you in the eyes and tell you I'm your one. Which is a lie.. but sometimes a lie can bring a temporary smile, right? The truth makes me shed too many tears, so I'll keep lying to myself and tell me I belong to you and you belong to me and we are unwhole unless we're together. Goodnight dearest. Until we meet again.
Yours sincerely.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Breath
I didn't want to forget this line, because it's been happening lately and .. I never want to forget. I had a whole day of driving all to myself with lots of time to think, and I thought about this:
Life is not measured by how many breaths you take, but by how many breaths take you away.
Every time he kisses me my lips start to shiver and my arm hairs stand on end. My mind goes blank and I feel like I just got punched in the stomach. Whenever I think about it those feelings return. He always leaves me wanting more, and I can never get enough when I'm with him. What is love anyway, and what makes someone beautiful?
Life is not measured by how many breaths you take, but by how many breaths take you away.
Every time he kisses me my lips start to shiver and my arm hairs stand on end. My mind goes blank and I feel like I just got punched in the stomach. Whenever I think about it those feelings return. He always leaves me wanting more, and I can never get enough when I'm with him. What is love anyway, and what makes someone beautiful?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Farmer's Daughter
Another day, home from school. Mercedes greets me at the car door and graciously I see that she's been busy chasing field mice by way of her reddish-brown matted under-carriage. She needs another haircut soon, I think. I stride slowly up the brick steps, tug at the orange door with retro circular glass, and drop my bag inside the door. Quickly I pick it back up for fear mom will only tell me my things belong in my room and not strewn all over the place. Moms: they have eyes in the back of their heads.
It's night now. Nights are so peaceful here. I practiced my piano, did as much Pre-Calc as I could stand, read a chapter, did some writing.. ate dinner. TV seems so.. unrewarding. I change into PJ's which are customarily sweat pants and a t-shirt. I make myself a glass of ice water, and find a spot outside to meditate. Not too many lights illuminating my path, so I have to take a flashlight with me in case I've forgotten a crack in the path or a missing plank in the back stairway.
As soon as I find a spot to perch I turn my eyes upward toward the heavens. It's a clear night. No clouds, no wind. It's warm. Sticky warm. School's almost over so the night stars reflect that of the summer sky. I can still spot Orion and Andromeda, the dipper and the north star. I can also see Table Mountain and the baseball diamonds, or are they tennisball courts? I'm so alone here. My mind begins to wander about the worries that plague me daily.
I do not feel loved. I do not feel accepted. I do not feel wanted. Boys. That's what I think about constantly. Stupid boys. I like this one and that one, but they dont' even know I exist. They like this girl or that girl. They'd never go out with me. I'd never stand a chance. I'm too fat, I'm not pretty enough, I am not amazing. I'm not exciting. Not friendly, not flirty. Not.. what they look at. I'm such a nobody! But I try not to think about it too often.. only when I'm alone like this. I'm not going to change myself for them, that's for sure. What I really want to do is sing.. sing outloud, just wail. The only thing I can think to sing is "Phantom of the Opera," and what I love most is no one is listening so I can sing as loudly as I want. This is what makes me feel free. So much open space. I am singing to no one. That's all that matters right now. I let it out...
I sit back down on the pavement after a few verses. The ground is warm and grainy, like laying out on a scorching summer afternoon. The heat remains after the sun sets. I look out, I look up, I see endless trees and the headlights from cars at a distance. They remind me of a neon sign with bulbs lined up in a row. I can't hear the bustle, the traffic, the chaos. All I hear is.. hmmm. I'm not sure I can hear anything from here. I go back inside and sneak up to the roof, my favorite hide-out.
The roof is tricky. I open the door from the stairway that leads up to the sunroof. I tiptoe carefully around the edges because the middle of the roof is weak. I crawl up to the side where the roof is better supported, shingled and rough as sandpaper. I make it up to the top, to the smaller houselike structure of the roof which covers the stairway. I sit again, elbows on knees, and just look. My eyes take in all that's around me. There's a tall tree erecting from the backlawn but I never knew what kind of tree it was. Every year it drops a million leaves and we've never been able to have grass because of it. The leaves are so green right now, and the tree is full. It's so dark out.. there's no moon so the stars are extra bright. I will never know this true beauty before me, for years to come. I don't think about how I'll look back on times like this, on how pathetic I thought my life was, on how really important it was then to have every boys' attention. Life's importances do not expand further than a due date on a research paper, or a math test I should have studied a little harder for. I have so much right now, and I'm loved so much by my parents. I don't even know it, or if I do I don't care as much as I should. I'm just another self-absorbed sulking teenage girl who can't get her eyes off today or tomorrow, who's not thinking 10 years down the road, or 5 years even.
I'm very indifferent about so many things. I don't know quite yet who I really am, but I know who I don't want to be.. I know I never want to be the person who never lets someone in, who keeps people on the outside so they can never know what it feels like to be accepted. I never want to be the girl who is fake, who smiles on the outside and thinks trashy on the inside. I don't want to be an idiot, and I want to think for myself. I'm impressionable. Tell me you love me and I'll believe you. Maybe. Show me you care for me and I'll do whatever you want, be wherever you need me to be. I'm grasping, desparate. I'm not a person yet, and I won't realize how important it is to know who I am until much... much later. They keep telling me to stand up for my beliefs, to be my own beautiful, to be stronger than temptation. All these things they tell the youth, and we are too sheltered to really know what any of it means. All I see right now are stars. Landscape. The skyline, the horizon. What I see physically, right here in front of me. Behind me I see the dam and its lights, I see a tall mountain that's not really so tall when you look closely. I see my parent's olive orchard, and maybe I see a bounding deer or two. I hear leaves rustling and the wind starts to pick up. I don't care about any of it, or at least that's what I tell myself. No, not about where I am now, but where I am to the people surrounding me. Yes, I care.. okay, I care a lot. But I don't do anything about it. I'm not important enough.
This is the way I grow up. And it doesn't make a lot of sense to me now, but then I'm the farmer's daughter. Dad was a farmer. I'm not, but I feel like my upbringing was so far out in the woods away from everyone. Sometimes I blame my parents for not giving me neighbors during my "impressionable" teen years. Later I learned I was so bratty to think that. But I wouldn't know it yet. I'm proud of who I am, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
It's night now. Nights are so peaceful here. I practiced my piano, did as much Pre-Calc as I could stand, read a chapter, did some writing.. ate dinner. TV seems so.. unrewarding. I change into PJ's which are customarily sweat pants and a t-shirt. I make myself a glass of ice water, and find a spot outside to meditate. Not too many lights illuminating my path, so I have to take a flashlight with me in case I've forgotten a crack in the path or a missing plank in the back stairway.
As soon as I find a spot to perch I turn my eyes upward toward the heavens. It's a clear night. No clouds, no wind. It's warm. Sticky warm. School's almost over so the night stars reflect that of the summer sky. I can still spot Orion and Andromeda, the dipper and the north star. I can also see Table Mountain and the baseball diamonds, or are they tennisball courts? I'm so alone here. My mind begins to wander about the worries that plague me daily.
I do not feel loved. I do not feel accepted. I do not feel wanted. Boys. That's what I think about constantly. Stupid boys. I like this one and that one, but they dont' even know I exist. They like this girl or that girl. They'd never go out with me. I'd never stand a chance. I'm too fat, I'm not pretty enough, I am not amazing. I'm not exciting. Not friendly, not flirty. Not.. what they look at. I'm such a nobody! But I try not to think about it too often.. only when I'm alone like this. I'm not going to change myself for them, that's for sure. What I really want to do is sing.. sing outloud, just wail. The only thing I can think to sing is "Phantom of the Opera," and what I love most is no one is listening so I can sing as loudly as I want. This is what makes me feel free. So much open space. I am singing to no one. That's all that matters right now. I let it out...
I sit back down on the pavement after a few verses. The ground is warm and grainy, like laying out on a scorching summer afternoon. The heat remains after the sun sets. I look out, I look up, I see endless trees and the headlights from cars at a distance. They remind me of a neon sign with bulbs lined up in a row. I can't hear the bustle, the traffic, the chaos. All I hear is.. hmmm. I'm not sure I can hear anything from here. I go back inside and sneak up to the roof, my favorite hide-out.
The roof is tricky. I open the door from the stairway that leads up to the sunroof. I tiptoe carefully around the edges because the middle of the roof is weak. I crawl up to the side where the roof is better supported, shingled and rough as sandpaper. I make it up to the top, to the smaller houselike structure of the roof which covers the stairway. I sit again, elbows on knees, and just look. My eyes take in all that's around me. There's a tall tree erecting from the backlawn but I never knew what kind of tree it was. Every year it drops a million leaves and we've never been able to have grass because of it. The leaves are so green right now, and the tree is full. It's so dark out.. there's no moon so the stars are extra bright. I will never know this true beauty before me, for years to come. I don't think about how I'll look back on times like this, on how pathetic I thought my life was, on how really important it was then to have every boys' attention. Life's importances do not expand further than a due date on a research paper, or a math test I should have studied a little harder for. I have so much right now, and I'm loved so much by my parents. I don't even know it, or if I do I don't care as much as I should. I'm just another self-absorbed sulking teenage girl who can't get her eyes off today or tomorrow, who's not thinking 10 years down the road, or 5 years even.
I'm very indifferent about so many things. I don't know quite yet who I really am, but I know who I don't want to be.. I know I never want to be the person who never lets someone in, who keeps people on the outside so they can never know what it feels like to be accepted. I never want to be the girl who is fake, who smiles on the outside and thinks trashy on the inside. I don't want to be an idiot, and I want to think for myself. I'm impressionable. Tell me you love me and I'll believe you. Maybe. Show me you care for me and I'll do whatever you want, be wherever you need me to be. I'm grasping, desparate. I'm not a person yet, and I won't realize how important it is to know who I am until much... much later. They keep telling me to stand up for my beliefs, to be my own beautiful, to be stronger than temptation. All these things they tell the youth, and we are too sheltered to really know what any of it means. All I see right now are stars. Landscape. The skyline, the horizon. What I see physically, right here in front of me. Behind me I see the dam and its lights, I see a tall mountain that's not really so tall when you look closely. I see my parent's olive orchard, and maybe I see a bounding deer or two. I hear leaves rustling and the wind starts to pick up. I don't care about any of it, or at least that's what I tell myself. No, not about where I am now, but where I am to the people surrounding me. Yes, I care.. okay, I care a lot. But I don't do anything about it. I'm not important enough.
This is the way I grow up. And it doesn't make a lot of sense to me now, but then I'm the farmer's daughter. Dad was a farmer. I'm not, but I feel like my upbringing was so far out in the woods away from everyone. Sometimes I blame my parents for not giving me neighbors during my "impressionable" teen years. Later I learned I was so bratty to think that. But I wouldn't know it yet. I'm proud of who I am, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Resisting
Afterthoughts come in bright, brief flashes.
Come closer, my friend and see what I mean.
First is felt a hot rush and some smoke and then steam
what is learned and experienced is sure to please
Quietly sitting, I'm calm and relaxed
I pick up my things and try to stay busy
then all of a sudden the rush blows my mind
and I miss a stitch, lose count, seize up and then crack.
My arm-hairs and neck-hairs and earlobes on end
my cheeks turn bright colors and I can't catch my breath
I hear thumps in my throat, in my ankles, the tips
of my fingers can't keep steady. I close my eyes.
It takes over. I let it. I'm gone in a flash.
Brought back to that haven of safety and lust.
Wrapped, tucked, and swaddled, held fast and burning fire
My words come in whispers, shaky, unsteady.
My face holds the touch that burns under my skin
a thumb pressed so gently, that brushes my lips.
A kiss laid firm atop my head,
I hear thumping again and my head starts to swirl.
I can barely make out his features and yet
I am still lost in those oceanic and misty blue eyes.
My body is numb. This will end and I know it
But I pull him still close never wanting to let go.
I resisted the urge and I let it all go.
My cheeks still burn that exotic fire
The urge is not passion but tears of despair
for fear, for fear of never feeling this way again.
My heart leaps and twists and bounds and is free
when I'm near him, when I see him. Life isn't fair.
I am singed but the smoke tells me it was for real.
Were it a dream I think I'd have died.
And yet.. I die anyway. Every day.
Come closer, my friend and see what I mean.
First is felt a hot rush and some smoke and then steam
what is learned and experienced is sure to please
Quietly sitting, I'm calm and relaxed
I pick up my things and try to stay busy
then all of a sudden the rush blows my mind
and I miss a stitch, lose count, seize up and then crack.
My arm-hairs and neck-hairs and earlobes on end
my cheeks turn bright colors and I can't catch my breath
I hear thumps in my throat, in my ankles, the tips
of my fingers can't keep steady. I close my eyes.
It takes over. I let it. I'm gone in a flash.
Brought back to that haven of safety and lust.
Wrapped, tucked, and swaddled, held fast and burning fire
My words come in whispers, shaky, unsteady.
My face holds the touch that burns under my skin
a thumb pressed so gently, that brushes my lips.
A kiss laid firm atop my head,
I hear thumping again and my head starts to swirl.
I can barely make out his features and yet
I am still lost in those oceanic and misty blue eyes.
My body is numb. This will end and I know it
But I pull him still close never wanting to let go.
I resisted the urge and I let it all go.
My cheeks still burn that exotic fire
The urge is not passion but tears of despair
for fear, for fear of never feeling this way again.
My heart leaps and twists and bounds and is free
when I'm near him, when I see him. Life isn't fair.
I am singed but the smoke tells me it was for real.
Were it a dream I think I'd have died.
And yet.. I die anyway. Every day.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Why I think I love this man
I remember the day he learned I was engaged. I remember the day I wrote out his invitation to my wedding. I remember seeing him at my wedding and reception. I remember liking his friendship during our time on temple hill for Temple Pageant while I was engaged. And I remember when he came back from Idaho. This is years later after my wedding plus a kid or two.. I had just mixed myself up in a terrible thing. I let my imagination and some actions run wild about another man, and I was so embarrassed. I felt so guilty toward my husband. I hadn't told anyone. But I wanted to tell... him. And I did. I was in recovery stage and shouldn't have been left alone to tell him all these things. These were desires of the flesh after all. I wanted to smother him in a romantic kiss that night but I fought the urge. I knew it was irrational, and figured he wouldn't want it anyway. He confessed he wasn't the most perfect of saints either, so we had that in common. I still remember his jaw dropping at the word "engaged." It's stuck in my mind like a thorn. Like a betrayal, or maybe I'm just being narcissistic. To me he looked wounded. I remember just how good he looked .. on the stair, after a performance ..that night when I saw him for the 2nd time. I think it was after a Messiah sing-a-long but I could be wrong. Details. It was so good to see him though, and he didn't remember my first name but then.. I didn't remember his either. I remember talking to him and feeling a strong camaraderie. When I'm near him I feel lighter, then AND now. I can feel a smile stretch across my face. My cheeks lift.. shoulders lift.. even my hair lifts (okay, maybe not). My spirits lift. His face is so.. so solid and sure and pleasant to me. The way he looks at me, there's something in his crystal blue eyes.. it makes me wonder what he sees when he's looking at me. I could stare at his handsome face all day. He smiles at me often. He even steals glances which I think is cute. He did that even before I got married. That was all before.. before we got deeper into an understanding about each other.
He has a few blogs and he loves taking pictures. He spills his guts about everything.. a trait I adore. He's a hard worker, and I've only been able to admire him from a safe distance. A very long, difficult, and aching distance. He's had a few girlfriends and for numerous lengths of time, some on and off and back on and then back off.. some just on and then off only once. I know he wants intimacy.. to.. "test-drive before he buys." He doesn't want purity. Well I am definitely not pure. He loves hiking and being out in nature. He loves taking road trips. He's sincere and loyal and strong and yet.. fragile .. very, extremely fragile. He has a hole in his heart that will never heal.. but over time he's learned to live with it knowing it's always going to be a part of him. He's an A's fan! He's not a sporty guy, but he gets urges to exercise. He's a used-to-be swimmer. He enjoys bike-rides. He is a physical and occupational therapist. He works with children and I love his job. I love and respect what he does a lot actually.. more than well.. nevermind. He plays basketball in a wheelchair, not that I've ever been to a game. Because of his picture taking I feel like I've been through his journeys with him. Maybe I AM deluding myself..
Lately the tables have turned. Hard. Eight months ago.. last July I think.. the shit.. hitteth.. the fan. I met him after a meeting and he invited me in so he could borrow a book. I watched tv with him not really knowing he was going to pull some slick moves. I honestly .. honestly didn't know what was going to happen. But it did.. and things haven't been the same. I have become a sex object, and so deliciously has he. And where I have been with him through his pictures on all his journeys he sadly can't say the same.
****Later this same day****
I had to come back to my writing because of my piano students.. my apologies.
So, that night we just had.. that wonderful evening when our fingers had all the sex and we did not.. I told him I loved him and I firmly still believe this to be true. I know now the cause. I kept thinking to myself that I'm in this, I'm invested. But why? He said maybe that I'm just in love with the idea, that I don't know the 'other sides' of him. Do I really need to? But I do know him. I know him because of all his stupid blogging, because I know his good sides when he's around me, because he likes my good side and when I'm around he'll share my company. But I mean..we've already had a disagreement (via email albeit) but it was only because well.. the whole rendez-vous thing was a bit confusing and there was some blame where it should not have been laid.
I'm in love with the boy in the blog. I'm in love with the boy who loves taking pictures, who loves being with his friends, who loves hiking and nature, who does what he wants and goes where he wants and writes what he wants and then shares -through writing- about all he's done. He has pictures to prove it. This is the boy I want to spend a lifetime with. I travel his journeys with him because I read what comes from his mind daily. He is in my thoughts ALL... THE... TIME, because I want him there. And I get him there.. through his blogs. They are, after all, a free-for-all.. open to the author-approved public. I invested my time in him where he did not invest his time in me. I sought him out and I got a part of him to myself. He however did not do the same so obviously he's not going to feel the same way. Obviously. And why should he.. not like I'm available or anything. But that is my ephiphany. They say good writing and good essays -and good speeches for that matter- solve something. There is an introduction/presentation, a problem, a solution.. and if you're lucky there's a resolution.
I want to be with this man. I wish I could have this man to myself, to be selfish with him and make him want me just as badly. I wish we could be together for always. This is probably the worst way to love someone. I read him like I read a book (through his blogs), and I know him like I know my neighbor (neighborly, friendly, but not deeply through conversation.. or lots of conversation anyway.. like on a daily best-friend basis), but I've seen into his mind through his writing and I've put the two together so that I experience the entire package. My heart aches to be close to him. This.. piece of writing.. does not have a present solution. But at least now I know.
He has a few blogs and he loves taking pictures. He spills his guts about everything.. a trait I adore. He's a hard worker, and I've only been able to admire him from a safe distance. A very long, difficult, and aching distance. He's had a few girlfriends and for numerous lengths of time, some on and off and back on and then back off.. some just on and then off only once. I know he wants intimacy.. to.. "test-drive before he buys." He doesn't want purity. Well I am definitely not pure. He loves hiking and being out in nature. He loves taking road trips. He's sincere and loyal and strong and yet.. fragile .. very, extremely fragile. He has a hole in his heart that will never heal.. but over time he's learned to live with it knowing it's always going to be a part of him. He's an A's fan! He's not a sporty guy, but he gets urges to exercise. He's a used-to-be swimmer. He enjoys bike-rides. He is a physical and occupational therapist. He works with children and I love his job. I love and respect what he does a lot actually.. more than well.. nevermind. He plays basketball in a wheelchair, not that I've ever been to a game. Because of his picture taking I feel like I've been through his journeys with him. Maybe I AM deluding myself..
Lately the tables have turned. Hard. Eight months ago.. last July I think.. the shit.. hitteth.. the fan. I met him after a meeting and he invited me in so he could borrow a book. I watched tv with him not really knowing he was going to pull some slick moves. I honestly .. honestly didn't know what was going to happen. But it did.. and things haven't been the same. I have become a sex object, and so deliciously has he. And where I have been with him through his pictures on all his journeys he sadly can't say the same.
****Later this same day****
I had to come back to my writing because of my piano students.. my apologies.
So, that night we just had.. that wonderful evening when our fingers had all the sex and we did not.. I told him I loved him and I firmly still believe this to be true. I know now the cause. I kept thinking to myself that I'm in this, I'm invested. But why? He said maybe that I'm just in love with the idea, that I don't know the 'other sides' of him. Do I really need to? But I do know him. I know him because of all his stupid blogging, because I know his good sides when he's around me, because he likes my good side and when I'm around he'll share my company. But I mean..we've already had a disagreement (via email albeit) but it was only because well.. the whole rendez-vous thing was a bit confusing and there was some blame where it should not have been laid.
I'm in love with the boy in the blog. I'm in love with the boy who loves taking pictures, who loves being with his friends, who loves hiking and nature, who does what he wants and goes where he wants and writes what he wants and then shares -through writing- about all he's done. He has pictures to prove it. This is the boy I want to spend a lifetime with. I travel his journeys with him because I read what comes from his mind daily. He is in my thoughts ALL... THE... TIME, because I want him there. And I get him there.. through his blogs. They are, after all, a free-for-all.. open to the author-approved public. I invested my time in him where he did not invest his time in me. I sought him out and I got a part of him to myself. He however did not do the same so obviously he's not going to feel the same way. Obviously. And why should he.. not like I'm available or anything. But that is my ephiphany. They say good writing and good essays -and good speeches for that matter- solve something. There is an introduction/presentation, a problem, a solution.. and if you're lucky there's a resolution.
I want to be with this man. I wish I could have this man to myself, to be selfish with him and make him want me just as badly. I wish we could be together for always. This is probably the worst way to love someone. I read him like I read a book (through his blogs), and I know him like I know my neighbor (neighborly, friendly, but not deeply through conversation.. or lots of conversation anyway.. like on a daily best-friend basis), but I've seen into his mind through his writing and I've put the two together so that I experience the entire package. My heart aches to be close to him. This.. piece of writing.. does not have a present solution. But at least now I know.
The problem with having no insurance
I am pretty messed up right now in the head so I do apologize for all the ranting that's been done lately. The problem with my husband not having a job is that we have no insurance, so I can't just go out and seek counseling I so desire. Counseling is what keeps me from dumping onto those I love so it sucks for everyone.
We went through a marriage course at church which touched on all topics of marriage: why people get married, the stages of emotion during the lifespan of a marriage, the love languages, finances, depression -how to get out of it- and counseling benefits.. mostly during this last course however the topics were more romantically based so as to enrich our lives on emotional and mental levels. Love languages. We learned about them.. we took a questionaire and decided I am a time-centric lover. In order for me to really feel like he loves me he needs to give me that which I mose desire.. his time. Time is the most expensive thing you can give. You can order something and have it shipped to a friend, but if you deliver it personally and are there with them I believe you wouldn't even need a gift. People in general are enough of a treat for me. If you chose to be with me over anything else the feeling I get would be close to euphoria. Like I didn't deserve it. I need people. I need to be with people. And we don't need to do anything together. I crave energy. I try to spend my time wisely so that people know what I'm giving them is what I treasure most. If I spend the time making a delicious meal for someone, I feel like I'm giving a lot.. more than just picking something out of the store. This is why I hate laundry I think.. laundry is a waste of time even though I know it needs to be done. I'm hardly doing anything while the clothes are getting cleaned. I feel insignificant. Now.. cleaning the kitchen or bathroom or multi-use rooms in the house.. when those are clean I feel better because I know a lot of work went into it. I spent a lot of time doing it. Time.. is how you love me, and it's how I love you.
With regard to my marriage I am not getting enough time wtih the one I should be loving most of all. I love my children whole-heartedly and it hurts my heart so much to teach piano lessons and not spend time with them instead. I think about giving it up every day, but with the lack of job it is now a cushion that I wish didn't have to be. I give my time to others and I use the knowledge I've spent decades of my life learning. I get paid.. for my time. I sit there and I talk and show and write, and that's all I do. But the fact that all I'm literally doing is sitting there.. I could be sitting on the couch too.. but I have to be near the piano while they're playing. At any rate.. when I met my husband he didn't have a job. He visited me for lunch almost every day. We'd go to a swing dance club even though he doesn't dance. We'd go out to the movies. We'd get some dinner or be up at some event at the temple. We've now been married 8 1/2 yrs. And it has been the longest 8 1/2yrs of my life. A friend of mine recently broke up with his girlfriend because I think the term he used was "he makes decions, she goes along with them." I relate all too well with this statement, because I have been living it for almost a decade. We don't go anywhere or do anything at home or abroad unless I say so. It was nice in the beginning. I am so very tired of having all the answers. If I have to live like this forever I may just go nuts. He even asked me this morning, "so do you think the kids will want 1 or 2 pancakes?" and the kids were sitting right there. I get annoyed at this and almost snap back, "I dont' know.. why don't you ask them?" Seriously.. every answer has to be answered by me because apparently I'm always right and if I'm wrong then it's my fault and never his. I am his nag. He is such an incredible slob. He never throws anything away, ever. "Do it later" is his motto. He cleans once a year and lets things pile up and get crusty and dusty and smelly and fuzzy. And I do not want to be known as a nag, so I let his things sit in mold and crud. He even took something out of his one and only garbage and put it by the kitchen, not in the garbage but on the floor.. in my way.. so I had no choice but to throw it out. What makes me the most mad is that he washes and dries the team jerseys every week for basketball. Religiously. And what happens to the family laundry? He pushes it through and leaves it all in hampers. This is the way I live my life now. Every day there's constant screaming in my head. Every day I wish things were different, but I do not want to be known as a bitch. I want to be known as a responsible person who married a responsible person. Lately I question that choice.. more often than I used to. It makes me sad.. depressed. I've been hitting the gym every day and some days twice. I haven't been eating. I haven't been reading. I've been consuming incredible amounts of diet coke. I want to feel good about myself again with the decisions I make, and right now my goal is to be skinny.. I guess. Because in my head, skinny=beautiful. Okay, I have been told that I have a pretty face. I know I do NOT have a pretty body. So I want to make a change. I can't talk to my husband anymore because he's working 4 jobs (instead of 2 when he was employed) and I would feel guilty taking time away from his work to figure out what's wrong with us. See.. ? Again with the time thing.
So I at least need a doctor because it would be nice to have a professional opinion on these issues ...even though I know they are going to say that nothing takes the place of good conversation and enriching activities between spouses. The thing is.. it's so hard to feel loved by him. He can't buy me things, and no words will elate me. Doing thing things for me is nice, but just sitting in the same room, doing the same thing I'm doing.. just being there. All these things have failed me.. even my sense of touch from him. And he knows this. He knows what I want most. I know what he wants most. He wants touch, to touch and be touched physically. I want to know he'd give up everything.. even work.. to be with me, to escape with me and take a vacation somewhere. I need his reassurance that I'm more than a piece of ass and a cleaning crew rolled up in one. Bleh. I make myself sick. hahaha!
We went through a marriage course at church which touched on all topics of marriage: why people get married, the stages of emotion during the lifespan of a marriage, the love languages, finances, depression -how to get out of it- and counseling benefits.. mostly during this last course however the topics were more romantically based so as to enrich our lives on emotional and mental levels. Love languages. We learned about them.. we took a questionaire and decided I am a time-centric lover. In order for me to really feel like he loves me he needs to give me that which I mose desire.. his time. Time is the most expensive thing you can give. You can order something and have it shipped to a friend, but if you deliver it personally and are there with them I believe you wouldn't even need a gift. People in general are enough of a treat for me. If you chose to be with me over anything else the feeling I get would be close to euphoria. Like I didn't deserve it. I need people. I need to be with people. And we don't need to do anything together. I crave energy. I try to spend my time wisely so that people know what I'm giving them is what I treasure most. If I spend the time making a delicious meal for someone, I feel like I'm giving a lot.. more than just picking something out of the store. This is why I hate laundry I think.. laundry is a waste of time even though I know it needs to be done. I'm hardly doing anything while the clothes are getting cleaned. I feel insignificant. Now.. cleaning the kitchen or bathroom or multi-use rooms in the house.. when those are clean I feel better because I know a lot of work went into it. I spent a lot of time doing it. Time.. is how you love me, and it's how I love you.
With regard to my marriage I am not getting enough time wtih the one I should be loving most of all. I love my children whole-heartedly and it hurts my heart so much to teach piano lessons and not spend time with them instead. I think about giving it up every day, but with the lack of job it is now a cushion that I wish didn't have to be. I give my time to others and I use the knowledge I've spent decades of my life learning. I get paid.. for my time. I sit there and I talk and show and write, and that's all I do. But the fact that all I'm literally doing is sitting there.. I could be sitting on the couch too.. but I have to be near the piano while they're playing. At any rate.. when I met my husband he didn't have a job. He visited me for lunch almost every day. We'd go to a swing dance club even though he doesn't dance. We'd go out to the movies. We'd get some dinner or be up at some event at the temple. We've now been married 8 1/2 yrs. And it has been the longest 8 1/2yrs of my life. A friend of mine recently broke up with his girlfriend because I think the term he used was "he makes decions, she goes along with them." I relate all too well with this statement, because I have been living it for almost a decade. We don't go anywhere or do anything at home or abroad unless I say so. It was nice in the beginning. I am so very tired of having all the answers. If I have to live like this forever I may just go nuts. He even asked me this morning, "so do you think the kids will want 1 or 2 pancakes?" and the kids were sitting right there. I get annoyed at this and almost snap back, "I dont' know.. why don't you ask them?" Seriously.. every answer has to be answered by me because apparently I'm always right and if I'm wrong then it's my fault and never his. I am his nag. He is such an incredible slob. He never throws anything away, ever. "Do it later" is his motto. He cleans once a year and lets things pile up and get crusty and dusty and smelly and fuzzy. And I do not want to be known as a nag, so I let his things sit in mold and crud. He even took something out of his one and only garbage and put it by the kitchen, not in the garbage but on the floor.. in my way.. so I had no choice but to throw it out. What makes me the most mad is that he washes and dries the team jerseys every week for basketball. Religiously. And what happens to the family laundry? He pushes it through and leaves it all in hampers. This is the way I live my life now. Every day there's constant screaming in my head. Every day I wish things were different, but I do not want to be known as a bitch. I want to be known as a responsible person who married a responsible person. Lately I question that choice.. more often than I used to. It makes me sad.. depressed. I've been hitting the gym every day and some days twice. I haven't been eating. I haven't been reading. I've been consuming incredible amounts of diet coke. I want to feel good about myself again with the decisions I make, and right now my goal is to be skinny.. I guess. Because in my head, skinny=beautiful. Okay, I have been told that I have a pretty face. I know I do NOT have a pretty body. So I want to make a change. I can't talk to my husband anymore because he's working 4 jobs (instead of 2 when he was employed) and I would feel guilty taking time away from his work to figure out what's wrong with us. See.. ? Again with the time thing.
So I at least need a doctor because it would be nice to have a professional opinion on these issues ...even though I know they are going to say that nothing takes the place of good conversation and enriching activities between spouses. The thing is.. it's so hard to feel loved by him. He can't buy me things, and no words will elate me. Doing thing things for me is nice, but just sitting in the same room, doing the same thing I'm doing.. just being there. All these things have failed me.. even my sense of touch from him. And he knows this. He knows what I want most. I know what he wants most. He wants touch, to touch and be touched physically. I want to know he'd give up everything.. even work.. to be with me, to escape with me and take a vacation somewhere. I need his reassurance that I'm more than a piece of ass and a cleaning crew rolled up in one. Bleh. I make myself sick. hahaha!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
beach daze
*whoosh*
As soon as I shut the door to the car, that's the first thing that pulls at my senses. Sound. The sound of waves beating on the sand and on the water, the lapping and whooshing, seagulls baying, the wind rustling and shaving slight layers of sand from the beach. It's not a very warm day, but the sun is out, and after an hour or two the sun will feel warm on my cheeks. That's the next thing I sense: feel. I can feel the wind on my face and the sun on my lips, my shoulders. The sand finds interesting places to land, on my legs and bag, my chest, my hairline.. all places inconvenient. But I don't care. Sand means proof. If I don't have remnants of sand after the day, it's like I never had a slice of paradise. I raise my arms to the wind and let it brush my arm hairs. They stand on end because of the chill, as do the hairs on the back of my neck. I put my sweater on, grab my things, and head out to the water.
Nestled by the surf I set my chair into the sand and set it to recline. I kick off my sandals, set down my soda, and lay my bag on the sand next to my chair. I start to relax.. I sit. I cross my ankles and stretch out. My feet play in the sand that is warm on the surface. Looking through shades I watch out at the water for a few minutes. There are wanna-be surfers trying to hang 10. They have suits on because they'd catch hypothermia otherwise. The sky is robin's egg blue with streaks of clouds that look as if they were drawn by planes. The sun beats down on the water and rays shine upward, blinding me for a moment at a time. I look away only for a second. I watch the horizon. It's completely clear. No ships or boats today, no sails and no wind surfers. I take a look at my surroundings. All is peaceful, because with the sound of the waves crashing with the sound of the wind whooshing, I am pretty much deaf to anything else. I see children catching and throwing a frisbee. I see dogs being walked, and I see kite flyers. I see people laughing, but I don't hear them. I see sand castles and hand-made ponds. I see mostly tan and blue.. neutrals. If I could spend all day here, I would. I don't even pull out a book or notepad. Why would I want to deter from all this heavenly perfection around me? Life on the beach isn't complicated. It's not busy, it's not difficult. It's not depressed or even too happy. It's there for you when you need to escape, when you need to remind yourself what beauty is.
As soon as I shut the door to the car, that's the first thing that pulls at my senses. Sound. The sound of waves beating on the sand and on the water, the lapping and whooshing, seagulls baying, the wind rustling and shaving slight layers of sand from the beach. It's not a very warm day, but the sun is out, and after an hour or two the sun will feel warm on my cheeks. That's the next thing I sense: feel. I can feel the wind on my face and the sun on my lips, my shoulders. The sand finds interesting places to land, on my legs and bag, my chest, my hairline.. all places inconvenient. But I don't care. Sand means proof. If I don't have remnants of sand after the day, it's like I never had a slice of paradise. I raise my arms to the wind and let it brush my arm hairs. They stand on end because of the chill, as do the hairs on the back of my neck. I put my sweater on, grab my things, and head out to the water.
Nestled by the surf I set my chair into the sand and set it to recline. I kick off my sandals, set down my soda, and lay my bag on the sand next to my chair. I start to relax.. I sit. I cross my ankles and stretch out. My feet play in the sand that is warm on the surface. Looking through shades I watch out at the water for a few minutes. There are wanna-be surfers trying to hang 10. They have suits on because they'd catch hypothermia otherwise. The sky is robin's egg blue with streaks of clouds that look as if they were drawn by planes. The sun beats down on the water and rays shine upward, blinding me for a moment at a time. I look away only for a second. I watch the horizon. It's completely clear. No ships or boats today, no sails and no wind surfers. I take a look at my surroundings. All is peaceful, because with the sound of the waves crashing with the sound of the wind whooshing, I am pretty much deaf to anything else. I see children catching and throwing a frisbee. I see dogs being walked, and I see kite flyers. I see people laughing, but I don't hear them. I see sand castles and hand-made ponds. I see mostly tan and blue.. neutrals. If I could spend all day here, I would. I don't even pull out a book or notepad. Why would I want to deter from all this heavenly perfection around me? Life on the beach isn't complicated. It's not busy, it's not difficult. It's not depressed or even too happy. It's there for you when you need to escape, when you need to remind yourself what beauty is.
trying to find the light through the clouds
I always love traveling into Oakland because I get to take the on-ramp from 24 onto 13 and as you climb up the hill -if the day has been rainy- there are spots in the clouds where when you look just right and the heavens start to open you can see the light pouring down, sometimes in droplets, other times in gushes. Always it's so ethereal. Like divine intervention. I believe there's always divine intervention whether we see it or not. Whether we want it or not.
I am at a point in life where dark clouds are surrounding me daily. I need to find the light again, and there are days when I don't want to find the light, or I don't know where to look for that light, or I'm simply lazy and can find better things to do than be lightened. I get cravings and these cravings are much stronger than chocolate or sex. They are social cravings. Male social cravings. My mind doesn't seem as worked as it used to when it comes to conversation. I miss going to school because at school there is discussion and thinking and writing and being challenged. I am the only one who challenges myself anymore and I'm bored with it. I know I'm a teacher and a mother, but that's not what defines me. What defines me is the way I think and the way I interact with others, my wants and wishes, how I feel I can be a better person and whether or not I'm working on becoming that person.
I have become bored with my flavor of ice cream. There's only one way I consume it now, and I never get sprinkles or whipped cream, I never have it in a cone or at a ball game, at the beach or even on a quick trip to the store. I have it 'maybe' once a day, at the end of the day when I'm spent and too tired to do or say anything about the way I get it. The kicker is I've started looking at other flavors, tastes I've never tried in ways I've never had. (no, I'm not talking about sex. Sex is not everything to a girl) Right now I have Strawberry. Strawberry is chunky and semi-versatile. You can have it with cookies and syrup, with cake.. you can add stuff in very easily.. the flavor is somewhat complex so you have to be careful what you add.. you can add say.. white chocolate chips, or bits of graham cracker crust. These things enhance the strawberry greatly.. I don't think chocolate chips or bits would be very good .. to complexities battling against each other's greatness. Lately I've been looking at rocky road.. nutty, bits of marshmallow, chocolately goodness and every bite is different. Even half melted rocky road is still good. Now because it's rocky road it already has mix-ins, but I'm sure you could add caramel and it'd be great.. you can bring vanilla to the party (like strawberry) and life would still be a beach. But rocky road is just that.. a rocky road. Yes, every bite is different.. I never know how it's going to taste each day. But dang.. I really want that rocky road right now. Nothing sounds better, not even strawberry. I go to the freezer 5 times a day looking for it, but it's never there. And it's not like I can go to the store to buy some, because the store's keep it under lock and key. I have no access. And I can't steal it from anyone else because I would feel bad for the other person. Now.. I can go to the maker of the rocky road..I can go to the source, but you know I would never do that. So much work, and they might not be there, they might not want me there..I don't belong there. They keep it under lock and key for a reason.. for my own good. Because I already chose my flavor for life. I only get one, and I can't double dip. Strawberry will know if there's chocolate on my spoon sooner or later. Oh but I would lick that spoon so clean so no one would know. Besides, it'd only be dipping once. What's once?? Once .. makes all the difference. I had a little lick once, and that only made me want more. So.. I have cravings. I love ice cream and wish I could have it at every meal. But ice cream is lacking at my house greatly. I grew up with different ice cream.. not as intimate, but still.. 2 younger brothers and lots of friends every day. These are things my body needs and I have a definiciency.
I am at a point in life where dark clouds are surrounding me daily. I need to find the light again, and there are days when I don't want to find the light, or I don't know where to look for that light, or I'm simply lazy and can find better things to do than be lightened. I get cravings and these cravings are much stronger than chocolate or sex. They are social cravings. Male social cravings. My mind doesn't seem as worked as it used to when it comes to conversation. I miss going to school because at school there is discussion and thinking and writing and being challenged. I am the only one who challenges myself anymore and I'm bored with it. I know I'm a teacher and a mother, but that's not what defines me. What defines me is the way I think and the way I interact with others, my wants and wishes, how I feel I can be a better person and whether or not I'm working on becoming that person.
I have become bored with my flavor of ice cream. There's only one way I consume it now, and I never get sprinkles or whipped cream, I never have it in a cone or at a ball game, at the beach or even on a quick trip to the store. I have it 'maybe' once a day, at the end of the day when I'm spent and too tired to do or say anything about the way I get it. The kicker is I've started looking at other flavors, tastes I've never tried in ways I've never had. (no, I'm not talking about sex. Sex is not everything to a girl) Right now I have Strawberry. Strawberry is chunky and semi-versatile. You can have it with cookies and syrup, with cake.. you can add stuff in very easily.. the flavor is somewhat complex so you have to be careful what you add.. you can add say.. white chocolate chips, or bits of graham cracker crust. These things enhance the strawberry greatly.. I don't think chocolate chips or bits would be very good .. to complexities battling against each other's greatness. Lately I've been looking at rocky road.. nutty, bits of marshmallow, chocolately goodness and every bite is different. Even half melted rocky road is still good. Now because it's rocky road it already has mix-ins, but I'm sure you could add caramel and it'd be great.. you can bring vanilla to the party (like strawberry) and life would still be a beach. But rocky road is just that.. a rocky road. Yes, every bite is different.. I never know how it's going to taste each day. But dang.. I really want that rocky road right now. Nothing sounds better, not even strawberry. I go to the freezer 5 times a day looking for it, but it's never there. And it's not like I can go to the store to buy some, because the store's keep it under lock and key. I have no access. And I can't steal it from anyone else because I would feel bad for the other person. Now.. I can go to the maker of the rocky road..I can go to the source, but you know I would never do that. So much work, and they might not be there, they might not want me there..I don't belong there. They keep it under lock and key for a reason.. for my own good. Because I already chose my flavor for life. I only get one, and I can't double dip. Strawberry will know if there's chocolate on my spoon sooner or later. Oh but I would lick that spoon so clean so no one would know. Besides, it'd only be dipping once. What's once?? Once .. makes all the difference. I had a little lick once, and that only made me want more. So.. I have cravings. I love ice cream and wish I could have it at every meal. But ice cream is lacking at my house greatly. I grew up with different ice cream.. not as intimate, but still.. 2 younger brothers and lots of friends every day. These are things my body needs and I have a definiciency.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Blessed Rain
I headed out to run my errands just as the rain starting dropping. It's been windy all morning. The garbage cans are knocked over, as are my fake plants that are supposed to decorate my fromt door.. left over from Christmas :-( I think part of me doesn't want to go out on a day like today until the rain starts. I knew it was coming. I went to Michaels and it was still windy and rainy. Raindrops were getting fatter and I put my hair up so the ends wouldn't get soggy. Pony tails tend to get gnarly, okay? I came out of the store and see shoppers running this way and that way as they try to dodge these fat droplets that come at you 20 shots per second. I wanted to waltz in it. I'm wearing light shoes that are supposed to only be worn with dress socks or bare feet. I'm wearing thick socks with them so my feet feel a little scrunched. Nonetheless I loped easily to my car which was only about 15-20 feet away. I could feel every drop as they hit my face in kisses. The wind rustled my hair out of my twist a little bit, and I had to keep pushing it back behind my ear. I unlocked my car, plugged in my iPhone, lights on, wipers on, and backed out so I could hit the second store.
I got to Safeway with my blades going at medium-slow speed. The rain-x treatment is still holding up, so I don't need to wipe as often. I didn't drive quickly, but I didn't lolly-gag either. Again, I felt like dancing in this rain. I got out of my car and walked to the front door carelessly, wishing I had more time and were farther away so I could take longer. The other part of me has more sense.. it knows my shoes couldn't handle water for much longer. I came out of the store after only 5 minutes and stood for a moment. The clouds are the shade of gunmetal. I can still see the effects of strong winds. They're still churning with possibilities of thunder and lightning. My world haults to thunder.. abruptly. I let those fat drops slap my cheeks again and again, just under my eyes on the apples of my cheeks, on my forehead and under my lip. Some hit my lashes and I'm forced to blink. But if I could I'd keep my eyes open for it all. Rain is one of thise miraculous things man simply cannot duplicate, hard as we might try. Rain is sporadic, chaotic. The weatherman can predict it's arrival based on scientific patterns, but they are only predictions -at a percentage. I love this about the rain. And I love that rain is wet. I love that it can be warm or cold. I love standing out in the rain and closing my eyes and feeling that rain. I love watching from a window. It's hard for me to read when it's raining because all I want to do is watch the rain. I want to snuggle up and look on in wonder and amazement. Blessed rain. Oh how I love thee.
I got to Safeway with my blades going at medium-slow speed. The rain-x treatment is still holding up, so I don't need to wipe as often. I didn't drive quickly, but I didn't lolly-gag either. Again, I felt like dancing in this rain. I got out of my car and walked to the front door carelessly, wishing I had more time and were farther away so I could take longer. The other part of me has more sense.. it knows my shoes couldn't handle water for much longer. I came out of the store after only 5 minutes and stood for a moment. The clouds are the shade of gunmetal. I can still see the effects of strong winds. They're still churning with possibilities of thunder and lightning. My world haults to thunder.. abruptly. I let those fat drops slap my cheeks again and again, just under my eyes on the apples of my cheeks, on my forehead and under my lip. Some hit my lashes and I'm forced to blink. But if I could I'd keep my eyes open for it all. Rain is one of thise miraculous things man simply cannot duplicate, hard as we might try. Rain is sporadic, chaotic. The weatherman can predict it's arrival based on scientific patterns, but they are only predictions -at a percentage. I love this about the rain. And I love that rain is wet. I love that it can be warm or cold. I love standing out in the rain and closing my eyes and feeling that rain. I love watching from a window. It's hard for me to read when it's raining because all I want to do is watch the rain. I want to snuggle up and look on in wonder and amazement. Blessed rain. Oh how I love thee.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
I am frustrated.. so I need to write
I have many frustrations right now. My husband lost his job back in January.. at the beginning of the month. Since then we've gone through his last two paychecks, almost all our 401k, and minor paychecks here and there not to mention EDD assistance and my piano money. All for what? My husband has been working on this new company since last summer. I feel he's had nothing to show for his efforts. Ever. Nothing to show for any effort he's ever made on this idea. On any idea. Back when he owned Codifiant he had made no money whatsoever. He was in the red when he sold it to his brother. He even did work for Codifiant after it was sold.. for nothing. He never got paid for his work. And he's not getting paid for his work now. When we were married he didn't have a job. He doesn't know how to make money on his own. He has never made money on his own while he's been with me. It is so frustrating. I feel like he is inadequate. Finances are only the tip of the iceburg.
I don't feel like I have a personal relationship anymore with my husband. I feel like I should go back into therapy. And I'm at a point which I'm not sure I really want to get reacquainted. Everything is about sex nowadays. No one is a virgin anymore. Everyone I grew up with.. most everyone has had sex. Sex complicates things. I believe this is because sex means different things between men and women. My husband tends to feel closer to me after he's had orgasm. I have never felt that way. I don't feel closer to him at all, I only feel a high. I am only filled with endorphins.. the same ones I feel when I accomplish something incredible. Like being able to run faster for longer. Only.. it's a happy high. A jolting, exploding, hit the sun and melt like chocolate high. But it's personal. I don't feel it came from him. I feel it's something my body does with or without him. It's not happiness for me. Sex does not equal happy to me. Sex.. equals ... 'gimme some uh dat..' it used to mean "This feels good.. will he call in the morning? What does it mean to him? Does it mean the same thing?" I should have been asking myself what it really means to me. After I enjoy a night of heavy kissing and petting with a boy all I want to do is be with him thereonafter and wonder if he'll ever do it again. I want to know if it's not a one time deal. I want to feel reassured that it's not the body but the package he wants. Or maybe I want it to be a one time deal. I am 30 years old. I should know what I want by now. I am married with 3 beautiful children. I should be better at wanting things, at knowing what I want. Maybe it's knowing I'll never get what I want, so I stop dreaming of wanting. hmmm..
I am not trying to sound depressive. I am merely expressing my thoughts and trying to make heads and tails of the mess in my brain. I have run out of chat buddies. If my husband isn't working into the wee hours of the morning, he's at a basketball game or orchestra rehearsal. We are not buddies anymore. I vaguely even remember life when we even were buddies. He's .. not me for sure. And I'm not going to try and remember what it was that made me fall in love with him because I think I know the answer. I dont' have one. I love him because he loved me. And he was and is willing to lay everything down for me. But sometimes I wonder what that really means. I know it doesn't mean pampering my each and every whim. I know it doesn't mean he'll truly take care of all my needs. All my needs are sorely not met and have never been met. I need male social interaction.. chatting.. talking. I need to make a connection again, and I'm spent. I do feel lonely.. often. I feel like how I'd see my mother, and frequently, and I'd see the pain and hopelessness in her eyes and wonder if I were doomed to her fate. I remember when I was a teen.. I wrote in my journal that I had so much love to give, if I could just find someone to give it to. I remember praying for someone to love, someone who would love me unconditionally. For me, for who I am inside. Becaus eI grew up feeling worthless on the outside. I mean come on.. my sisters were super-model material. How was I ever to compete? They were all size 6's, hair and makeup always perfect, they always had dates and boyfriends and were kissing in middle school. Me...? After high school.. to a boy who comes from the slums. And he turned out to the best kisser I have ever known. And that boy.. he'll always love me. Even to this day he still loves me and it's a sad story we tell. I don't love him, but I love that kiss. I hate that kiss, too. And every kiss after that. I surely didn't marry my husband for his kissing skills. He has to be the absolute worst kisser ever. Everyone keeps saying I should teach him, or that I should have taught him by now. He doesn't learn. He can't learn something like that from me. He has to want to learn, and I dont' even like kissing him anymore. I don't want to be kissed by him anymore. Ever. It's that bad. I feel trapped in a worst kiss nightmare. hahaha.. maybe because I'm living it. I'm married to it. So I'm frustrated. And I'll post this. Not too many people read this.. if any. Just me.
I don't feel like I have a personal relationship anymore with my husband. I feel like I should go back into therapy. And I'm at a point which I'm not sure I really want to get reacquainted. Everything is about sex nowadays. No one is a virgin anymore. Everyone I grew up with.. most everyone has had sex. Sex complicates things. I believe this is because sex means different things between men and women. My husband tends to feel closer to me after he's had orgasm. I have never felt that way. I don't feel closer to him at all, I only feel a high. I am only filled with endorphins.. the same ones I feel when I accomplish something incredible. Like being able to run faster for longer. Only.. it's a happy high. A jolting, exploding, hit the sun and melt like chocolate high. But it's personal. I don't feel it came from him. I feel it's something my body does with or without him. It's not happiness for me. Sex does not equal happy to me. Sex.. equals ... 'gimme some uh dat..' it used to mean "This feels good.. will he call in the morning? What does it mean to him? Does it mean the same thing?" I should have been asking myself what it really means to me. After I enjoy a night of heavy kissing and petting with a boy all I want to do is be with him thereonafter and wonder if he'll ever do it again. I want to know if it's not a one time deal. I want to feel reassured that it's not the body but the package he wants. Or maybe I want it to be a one time deal. I am 30 years old. I should know what I want by now. I am married with 3 beautiful children. I should be better at wanting things, at knowing what I want. Maybe it's knowing I'll never get what I want, so I stop dreaming of wanting. hmmm..
I am not trying to sound depressive. I am merely expressing my thoughts and trying to make heads and tails of the mess in my brain. I have run out of chat buddies. If my husband isn't working into the wee hours of the morning, he's at a basketball game or orchestra rehearsal. We are not buddies anymore. I vaguely even remember life when we even were buddies. He's .. not me for sure. And I'm not going to try and remember what it was that made me fall in love with him because I think I know the answer. I dont' have one. I love him because he loved me. And he was and is willing to lay everything down for me. But sometimes I wonder what that really means. I know it doesn't mean pampering my each and every whim. I know it doesn't mean he'll truly take care of all my needs. All my needs are sorely not met and have never been met. I need male social interaction.. chatting.. talking. I need to make a connection again, and I'm spent. I do feel lonely.. often. I feel like how I'd see my mother, and frequently, and I'd see the pain and hopelessness in her eyes and wonder if I were doomed to her fate. I remember when I was a teen.. I wrote in my journal that I had so much love to give, if I could just find someone to give it to. I remember praying for someone to love, someone who would love me unconditionally. For me, for who I am inside. Becaus eI grew up feeling worthless on the outside. I mean come on.. my sisters were super-model material. How was I ever to compete? They were all size 6's, hair and makeup always perfect, they always had dates and boyfriends and were kissing in middle school. Me...? After high school.. to a boy who comes from the slums. And he turned out to the best kisser I have ever known. And that boy.. he'll always love me. Even to this day he still loves me and it's a sad story we tell. I don't love him, but I love that kiss. I hate that kiss, too. And every kiss after that. I surely didn't marry my husband for his kissing skills. He has to be the absolute worst kisser ever. Everyone keeps saying I should teach him, or that I should have taught him by now. He doesn't learn. He can't learn something like that from me. He has to want to learn, and I dont' even like kissing him anymore. I don't want to be kissed by him anymore. Ever. It's that bad. I feel trapped in a worst kiss nightmare. hahaha.. maybe because I'm living it. I'm married to it. So I'm frustrated. And I'll post this. Not too many people read this.. if any. Just me.
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