Epiphany last night: I haven't been the "aggressor" in a very long time. It's no wonder, then, why my assertive nature has been lying dormant, tucked down in order to save itself from rejection. Etc.
I round it off and say that I've had four serious, long term, "monogamous*" relationships with women. I qualify serious with the in-love factor; there are two other women that I consider ex-girlfriends, but I was never in love with either of them. And there have been dalliances, but again, regardless of the nature of those blips on my radar, they never became serious.
So! My first girlfriend- we got together when I was growing into my own gay skin. I was 20. She was six years older than me, and obviously far more experienced than I was. But that never stopped me with her. Hands down, that was the relationship in which I was most assertive, even aggressive, and I felt so unbelievably confident-- despite the fact that I, at first, really had no idea what I was doing. She provided a lot of firsts for me- I don't know that I did any of the same for her. But the bones of this: I was fearless, with her.
Why? BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE ANY LESBIAN BAGGAGE WEIGHING ME DOWN!
Enter my next girlfriend: El sotano. She is the most sexually aggressive woman I have ever been with; I have serious doubts that I could ever find anyone quite like that ever again. (I suppose that's why we've continued to fuck here and there over the years since we- so justly- parted.) I never had to do a damn thing, initiation-wise. I became very, very accustom to her assertiveness and watched my own start to fade into the background. Of course, there's an explosion of other pieces that go along with this sexual union, and that helps to explain my lack of assertion- she had another girlfriend for a good part of our time together. Ah, yes. I didn't know how to handle that at the age of 22, 23.
After that came a string of not-much-at-all (those 2 semi-serious relationships fall into this time frame), and then came A. I don't have a nickname for her; I rarely mention her. But we spent about 9 months in a relationship that progressed so sweetly, so non-aggressively. I remember initiating here and there, being perhaps a little assertive, but we were so not a match when it came to the bedroom. I oh so fondly recall her saying to me: "You don't have to fuck me like a jackhammer." Awesome! Yeah, so not a match. But again... my assertion was sleeping.
This leads us through another bout of random, semi-sexual encounters. Then comes Great Lakes. She dominated my life for the better part of three years- and I've been completely free of her for nine months. What remains is this fucking block I have with my assertive nature. Great Lakes mutilated that. Totally fucking destroyed it. I was told that I could not initiate sex- and then, many months later, when I voiced my annoyance with the fact that we were not having any sex to speak of, she blamed me. For not taking charge. This is just a shiny little glimpse into the utter bullshit that circled around our every waking moment together. I was never on steady ground with her- mentally, vocally, and certainly not sexually. When there was sex, it was pretty good, but that's what crazy people are good at: fucking. It was a major control issue with her. And within her issues, I totally lost my ability to be A) forthcoming (sexually), and B) assertive (in any way you can imagine).
Now, the healing. I did a lot of that over the summer. I dated quite effectively and did my thing, whatever. I was entirely conscious of everything I did. I dated C for a while and knew it wasn't going anywhere. Sexually- so not a match. I was relying on her to be assertive, and apparently she's not. I wanted to be taken care of, I think. I wanted someone to provide for me all the things that were so severely lacking in my previous relationship. I didn't want to be in control.
It's been a few months since I stopped seeing C. It's given me a chance to continue to claw back to the roots of who I am- and last night, it finally hit me. I was so much fucking happier when I had a heavy hand with control and when I was more assertive. So what the FUCK am I waiting for?
What's going on now is... well, it's interesting. It's a very -be here now / stay in the moment- kind of thing. & it's fun. & sexy. & it makes me smirk, a lot, because it's under most people's radar.
Part of it is almost demanding me to be assertive. I've been doing a fair job with that, I think, and it's helping me to reclaim that part of me I so miss. I've had to realize that there's very little threat of rejection, now. And that commands me to let go of that nagging fear and just go with it... which, again, I've been doing. It's hard, though! Being the non-assertive piece of a (oh fuck, what can I call this... hmm...) fuck-pair (hah!) is SO much easier than being the assertive piece. But if I'm not assertive, I'm sure as shit not going to get what I want, and I was an incredibly patient, hint-dropping factor in this equation for quite some time. There's no reason for my patience now. My caution, yes, and consideration. But patience? Uhm, no. I see no room for it.
What needs to increase is my level of assertion/aggression. Not anger-aggression. More like sexy-hot-fuck aggression. That want has been voiced. I'm still working my thoughts- certainly not my feelings- around this. It's hard to instantly turn that dormant part of myself back on, full volume. So I'm slinking in. She's doing her part, too, which surprised me at first but I so obviously fuckin' love it. It's been a long time since a single sentence has made desire so thoroughly flood through my body. And that very much helps with ye olde nagging fear of Rejection. The little bits- words, notions, suggestions- are helping me steel up, stand taller, drop the past and focus on here & now. It's working.
We're learning~
*monogamous in theory, of course. Not always in practice. ALL ARE TO BLAME!
Showing posts with label basement apartment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label basement apartment. Show all posts
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Dear 2009:
I am leaving you with a lot of feelings.
Some resolved, some freshly scratched open. Some aired out and blown into the fall and swirl of any day's breeze. Some tucked beneath my ribs, pushing against my heart, growing... sleeping... wandering. Pacing. Aglow. Some: still, untended, brittle at the core. & some have rushed up and out to hang in the air like a haze you don't exactly want to see through.
I already know two things. 1) This could be wickedly long, and 2) parts will be unceremoniously vague while others are clear to the point.
FEELINGS: Despondent. Heartbroken. Confused. Gradients of Sadness & Anger. [All resolved]
Perhaps the biggest chunk of 2009 was The Great Letting Go. Consider the break in November 2008- ripe and explosive before a string of holidays. Perfect! Tack on six months of back and forth, do we don't we, we really fucking should not, but maybe we almost could... until, finally, my backbone recalled itself and said: Fucking no, goodbye. Cue a week's worth of downward spiral including one extreme hallucination and terribly restless nights that led to sleeping on my desk at work. Most definitively not my finest hours, that week. Or, really, the first six months of 2009 = some of the roughest blurs of my 2009-life.
(That is what happens when you give three years of your life to someone who perhaps means well but truly cannot give you any shape of what you need because she is too consumed with her own demons.)
FEELINGS: Bright Spot. Intrigue. Want. [Tucked down for months]
In the middle of The Great Letting Go of 2009, there was February. Mixed messages. Music. The kind of held eye contact that makes your palms sweat. Suggestion. Intoxicated flirting. Growing awareness of the simplest connections. Plain & simple curiosity. I knew I wanted her and didn't have the words or actions to show it outside of a wine-induced comment that fluttered then shot from my ribs, out my mouth, into the air, into her ears.
FEELINGS: Achievement. Forward-motion. Validation. Total Awesomeness. [FINALLY]
March took me to Tampa. Tampa took me to USF. Kate Bornstein. Gender/Sex skews. FC, SW, LP. A very healthy & happy few days of relaxation with B&L. On a whim, my submission "for fun" turned into presentation & future publication. It also catapulted me into reassessing my future in the education world, and where I want to go. I still don't know where I want to go, or how I want to get there, but without this experience, I don't know that I'd have the motivation to change course.
FEELINGS: China blue. Want. [Tucked down for months]
Minutes. Literally, minutes. Less than five. It was the quickest reminder of "Oh, right... want." Thank you, end of May. Circles, and circles, circles again. Circles, and circles, got to stop spinning
FEELINGS: Possibility. Curiosity. Want? Hope. [Here & gone]
Enter several women. My ins & outs of March-September. I thought I wanted each of them more than I actually did. Call it healing, call it fooling myself, call it Time. If I had been ready, for any of them, I imagine it would have happened. I count 5. If we tack on the currently-unresponded-to-email I received today, make it 6. As I type, 2 more linger in the backdrop. I have learned to push like a professional... pusher. There are times when I want to beat myself up over this, but I have learned that it's not happening with these women because I don't want it to. Not a one of them is who I want to be with on any level outside of friendship. I tried. I did. I was entirely aware of what I was doing and how I was feeling. I've been honest and cognizant. But you can't create a spark when your match won't ignite.
FEELINGS: Freedom. The Wander. Love, Life, Living. [Continuing ad infinitum~]
The Summer of 2009 was one of the best summers I have ever had. Point blank; there's no fancy way to phrase that. I was spontaneous, happy, unbridled, and hungry for life. Rehoboth (recall the bruise on my spine from the railing on the deck). Dewey Beach. San Diego. Pine Island. Richmond. Outerbanks. I lived my life. I got an incredible tan, did not work out as much as I should, read books, whittled time away by staring at nature. It was perfection, and I absolutely did not want it to end.
FEELINGS: Rapture. [Tucked]
It had been months, and at first glance, every muscle tightened and I dared myself to look away. But I couldn't. A few weeks later, time was on my side, and while the fire glowed and the marshmallows and sticks burned, I reveled in the simplicity of good friends. My want stayed safely inside. It was the best place for it.
FEELINGS: Absence. Second-guessing. The Final Push in Letting Go. [Resolved]
Fall has never been much on my side. 2009 was no different. Fall beats me up, chews around, spits me out in pieces that I'm left to string together in a semblance of The Real Me. I survive fall. This fall, I pushed so many people away. I just wanted to be alone. Quite honestly, much of October and November are a blur of going through the motions (however, I did run my first 5k somewhere in there) and a few too many Friday-after-school beers. I entered this strange period of self-loathing and didn't want much to do with anything or anyone. There were Bright Spots tangled amid other bouts of confusion, but overall, fall failed me. Or I failed it.
I'm glad it's winter.
FEELINGS: Spinal. Guttural. Rushes to the head. [Loved & Over but Present]
I have a dirty habit of not getting mad, of not feeling or directing my anger. This was pointed out to me somewhere in 2009, probably in its early stages. I got mad about the fact that I don't get mad. How meta. Despite my overabundance of them, I love feelings. To realize that I was not capitalizing on the most powerful of feelings was a good kick in the ass. In November or December, I got really fucking mad. And I unleashed. I do not like it when people do not listen to me, but only hear me. You need to fucking listen to my words. Someone didn't, and someone heard all about it. The surge of anger was tipping my nerves into sunshine, and I felt so goddamn alive. There was no holding back; every last bit came out.
It was the first time I'd yelled in probably years. Perhaps some of the anger was misdirected [Great Lakes never got yelled at, and if anyone should bear the fire of my ire, it would be her but that is a lost cause of imperceptible proportions] but most of it was justified. Weeks later, the same person pissed me off, and my spine straightened. It was fucking amazing, and I am never bending again.
FEELINGS: Gratitude. Safety. Love. Stomach-aching Laughter. [Endless~]
One thing that has been made perfectly clear to me throughout 2009 is that I have amazing people in my life. My family is entirely supportive & loving of all my pitfalls and strengths, and my friends are saints for putting up with my over-thinking bullshit. Having been untangled from a controlling relationship, my freedom to do whatever with whomever (and not have to lie about it in order to avoid a fight) has taken over. My internal hermithood may never evaporate, but I don't think I've ever been this social in my life. And the truth is... I enjoy it. Granted, it makes the lay-low-at-home days that much more meaningful. I do not ever again want to lose sight of the goodness that exists in my life. It can be enhanced, absolutely, but I have no reason to not be happy with what I have. That feeling, that recognition-- irreplaceable.
FEELINGS: Peace. Appreciation. Clarity? Hope. [Here... hopefully to stay]
Continuing from the Gratitude, I think it's important to express the feeling of peace I am at with my life. I've not felt peaceful in years. Part of that is due to my constant interaction with women. Dating, relationships, dalliances, whatever. By the beginning of December 2009, I was wholly unattached and very much at peace with it. Am I willing to explore something with someone? Absolutely. Just don't disturb my peace~
FEELINGS: Want. Surprise. Comfort. Warmth. Curiosity. Release. Hot. [...processing]
Truth: I did not expect to end 2009 in this way. My patience had taken over the best of me.
When you are with me, I tend to lose focus. My tongue takes its own trek with words, and my mind flows over and above the conversation dribbling between us. But I was on par that night. The previous two? Not so much. But that night, yes, I was exactly where I wanted to be. It appears that you were, too. Thank you, winter.
It's a want that has tightened my nerve-endings for quite some time. Fulfilling that want... I don't know that I have the words, but perhaps this will do for now: the strongest memory is my mouth, your mouth, moving together, your head lifting ever so from the pillow. One of my hands in your hair. The other hand meeting your hand, your fingers lacing through mine. That is the image cemented in my mind. There are many other sweeps of recall from that night, and you already know I remember everything (though I admit: parts of conversation are hazy), and I could go on with descriptions and images but I don't want to. I want this tucked beneath my ribs with the surges & sparks that follow the memories. I want to keep it safe. Honestly: I don't know how to write it. I do know that you are fucking beautiful, and my want continues.
FEELINGS: Closure. [AMAZING!]
2009 was, kindly, a learning experience. To emerge from the year without new battle wounds is a huge achievement. I've healed, processed, moved forward. I know myself, now, better than I have in a very long time. And I'm comfortable with who I am. I don't put up with bullshit or crazy. I take care of me on a daily basis. I breathe deeply and completely. While I may never stop over thinking, I at least have learned to better compartmentalize my wayward thought processes. I don't feel the need for anything, but I continue to want. My priorities are (relatively) clear. I have had these incredible bursts of awareness & happiness amid the general peace of my life. I am well.
So, thanks 2009, for all the feelings. You've given me a lot to work with. & as I write this, 2010 looms less than 12 hours away. I'm ready for it; I know it will be good to me as long as I am good to it.
Some resolved, some freshly scratched open. Some aired out and blown into the fall and swirl of any day's breeze. Some tucked beneath my ribs, pushing against my heart, growing... sleeping... wandering. Pacing. Aglow. Some: still, untended, brittle at the core. & some have rushed up and out to hang in the air like a haze you don't exactly want to see through.
I already know two things. 1) This could be wickedly long, and 2) parts will be unceremoniously vague while others are clear to the point.
FEELINGS: Despondent. Heartbroken. Confused. Gradients of Sadness & Anger. [All resolved]
Perhaps the biggest chunk of 2009 was The Great Letting Go. Consider the break in November 2008- ripe and explosive before a string of holidays. Perfect! Tack on six months of back and forth, do we don't we, we really fucking should not, but maybe we almost could... until, finally, my backbone recalled itself and said: Fucking no, goodbye. Cue a week's worth of downward spiral including one extreme hallucination and terribly restless nights that led to sleeping on my desk at work. Most definitively not my finest hours, that week. Or, really, the first six months of 2009 = some of the roughest blurs of my 2009-life.
(That is what happens when you give three years of your life to someone who perhaps means well but truly cannot give you any shape of what you need because she is too consumed with her own demons.)
FEELINGS: Bright Spot. Intrigue. Want. [Tucked down for months]
In the middle of The Great Letting Go of 2009, there was February. Mixed messages. Music. The kind of held eye contact that makes your palms sweat. Suggestion. Intoxicated flirting. Growing awareness of the simplest connections. Plain & simple curiosity. I knew I wanted her and didn't have the words or actions to show it outside of a wine-induced comment that fluttered then shot from my ribs, out my mouth, into the air, into her ears.
FEELINGS: Achievement. Forward-motion. Validation. Total Awesomeness. [FINALLY]
March took me to Tampa. Tampa took me to USF. Kate Bornstein. Gender/Sex skews. FC, SW, LP. A very healthy & happy few days of relaxation with B&L. On a whim, my submission "for fun" turned into presentation & future publication. It also catapulted me into reassessing my future in the education world, and where I want to go. I still don't know where I want to go, or how I want to get there, but without this experience, I don't know that I'd have the motivation to change course.
FEELINGS: China blue. Want. [Tucked down for months]
Minutes. Literally, minutes. Less than five. It was the quickest reminder of "Oh, right... want." Thank you, end of May. Circles, and circles, circles again. Circles, and circles, got to stop spinning
FEELINGS: Possibility. Curiosity. Want? Hope. [Here & gone]
Enter several women. My ins & outs of March-September. I thought I wanted each of them more than I actually did. Call it healing, call it fooling myself, call it Time. If I had been ready, for any of them, I imagine it would have happened. I count 5. If we tack on the currently-unresponded-to-email I received today, make it 6. As I type, 2 more linger in the backdrop. I have learned to push like a professional... pusher. There are times when I want to beat myself up over this, but I have learned that it's not happening with these women because I don't want it to. Not a one of them is who I want to be with on any level outside of friendship. I tried. I did. I was entirely aware of what I was doing and how I was feeling. I've been honest and cognizant. But you can't create a spark when your match won't ignite.
FEELINGS: Freedom. The Wander. Love, Life, Living. [Continuing ad infinitum~]
The Summer of 2009 was one of the best summers I have ever had. Point blank; there's no fancy way to phrase that. I was spontaneous, happy, unbridled, and hungry for life. Rehoboth (recall the bruise on my spine from the railing on the deck). Dewey Beach. San Diego. Pine Island. Richmond. Outerbanks. I lived my life. I got an incredible tan, did not work out as much as I should, read books, whittled time away by staring at nature. It was perfection, and I absolutely did not want it to end.
FEELINGS: Rapture. [Tucked]
It had been months, and at first glance, every muscle tightened and I dared myself to look away. But I couldn't. A few weeks later, time was on my side, and while the fire glowed and the marshmallows and sticks burned, I reveled in the simplicity of good friends. My want stayed safely inside. It was the best place for it.
FEELINGS: Absence. Second-guessing. The Final Push in Letting Go. [Resolved]
Fall has never been much on my side. 2009 was no different. Fall beats me up, chews around, spits me out in pieces that I'm left to string together in a semblance of The Real Me. I survive fall. This fall, I pushed so many people away. I just wanted to be alone. Quite honestly, much of October and November are a blur of going through the motions (however, I did run my first 5k somewhere in there) and a few too many Friday-after-school beers. I entered this strange period of self-loathing and didn't want much to do with anything or anyone. There were Bright Spots tangled amid other bouts of confusion, but overall, fall failed me. Or I failed it.
I'm glad it's winter.
FEELINGS: Spinal. Guttural. Rushes to the head. [Loved & Over but Present]
I have a dirty habit of not getting mad, of not feeling or directing my anger. This was pointed out to me somewhere in 2009, probably in its early stages. I got mad about the fact that I don't get mad. How meta. Despite my overabundance of them, I love feelings. To realize that I was not capitalizing on the most powerful of feelings was a good kick in the ass. In November or December, I got really fucking mad. And I unleashed. I do not like it when people do not listen to me, but only hear me. You need to fucking listen to my words. Someone didn't, and someone heard all about it. The surge of anger was tipping my nerves into sunshine, and I felt so goddamn alive. There was no holding back; every last bit came out.
It was the first time I'd yelled in probably years. Perhaps some of the anger was misdirected [Great Lakes never got yelled at, and if anyone should bear the fire of my ire, it would be her but that is a lost cause of imperceptible proportions] but most of it was justified. Weeks later, the same person pissed me off, and my spine straightened. It was fucking amazing, and I am never bending again.
FEELINGS: Gratitude. Safety. Love. Stomach-aching Laughter. [Endless~]
One thing that has been made perfectly clear to me throughout 2009 is that I have amazing people in my life. My family is entirely supportive & loving of all my pitfalls and strengths, and my friends are saints for putting up with my over-thinking bullshit. Having been untangled from a controlling relationship, my freedom to do whatever with whomever (and not have to lie about it in order to avoid a fight) has taken over. My internal hermithood may never evaporate, but I don't think I've ever been this social in my life. And the truth is... I enjoy it. Granted, it makes the lay-low-at-home days that much more meaningful. I do not ever again want to lose sight of the goodness that exists in my life. It can be enhanced, absolutely, but I have no reason to not be happy with what I have. That feeling, that recognition-- irreplaceable.
FEELINGS: Peace. Appreciation. Clarity? Hope. [Here... hopefully to stay]
Continuing from the Gratitude, I think it's important to express the feeling of peace I am at with my life. I've not felt peaceful in years. Part of that is due to my constant interaction with women. Dating, relationships, dalliances, whatever. By the beginning of December 2009, I was wholly unattached and very much at peace with it. Am I willing to explore something with someone? Absolutely. Just don't disturb my peace~
FEELINGS: Want. Surprise. Comfort. Warmth. Curiosity. Release. Hot. [...processing]
Truth: I did not expect to end 2009 in this way. My patience had taken over the best of me.
When you are with me, I tend to lose focus. My tongue takes its own trek with words, and my mind flows over and above the conversation dribbling between us. But I was on par that night. The previous two? Not so much. But that night, yes, I was exactly where I wanted to be. It appears that you were, too. Thank you, winter.
It's a want that has tightened my nerve-endings for quite some time. Fulfilling that want... I don't know that I have the words, but perhaps this will do for now: the strongest memory is my mouth, your mouth, moving together, your head lifting ever so from the pillow. One of my hands in your hair. The other hand meeting your hand, your fingers lacing through mine. That is the image cemented in my mind. There are many other sweeps of recall from that night, and you already know I remember everything (though I admit: parts of conversation are hazy), and I could go on with descriptions and images but I don't want to. I want this tucked beneath my ribs with the surges & sparks that follow the memories. I want to keep it safe. Honestly: I don't know how to write it. I do know that you are fucking beautiful, and my want continues.
FEELINGS: Closure. [AMAZING!]
2009 was, kindly, a learning experience. To emerge from the year without new battle wounds is a huge achievement. I've healed, processed, moved forward. I know myself, now, better than I have in a very long time. And I'm comfortable with who I am. I don't put up with bullshit or crazy. I take care of me on a daily basis. I breathe deeply and completely. While I may never stop over thinking, I at least have learned to better compartmentalize my wayward thought processes. I don't feel the need for anything, but I continue to want. My priorities are (relatively) clear. I have had these incredible bursts of awareness & happiness amid the general peace of my life. I am well.
So, thanks 2009, for all the feelings. You've given me a lot to work with. & as I write this, 2010 looms less than 12 hours away. I'm ready for it; I know it will be good to me as long as I am good to it.
Saturday, November 07, 2009
this is you- me- lonely
I wonder when my walls will tumble down. Is it something I have to manufacture? Do I need to climb them, scale them to their uppermost perches, in order to rip them down, sheet by sheet of startlingly thick glass?
That's me: you can see me. Anyone can, if they look hard enough. My eyes hide nothing, which is why I fix my gaze on a wall when I'm speaking from my roots. We can all look for as long as we'd like, but you can't touch. You can't get in.
Even if you think you're in, because you think you do, you have to realize that you're not. Yes, I tell you a lot. Yes, I let you see me cry. Yes, you read between my scribbled lines. But you don't always hear me, and that's because I don't speak loudly enough.
The matter of want is still plauging me, twenty-four hours later. I don't know why I'm so fixated on this. (Even my Obscure Object had something to say about it. I'm not sold on her musings, but she is right, in the way that I almost don't want her to be right. So I'll say that she is right in some ways. Not entirely.) I just said, not fifteen minutes ago, that I don't know what I want. I was lying, sort of.
I don't know how I feel about falling in love (again). I love a lot, it's true. Right now, I'm spreading my love like a fucking virus. Sometimes it's a silent sweeper, other times it's a warming fever. [can you hear me?] But being in love? No thanks. It's just not what I want right now. I like feeling steady and self-centered (at least I can admit that I know I am self-centered). I don't want to worry about how someone else feels. I mostly like my life just the way it is. I do feel at peace, I am happy.
Seriously, I just think far too much for my own good. I can't even continue this tangent because my brain has overlapped and my thoughts are too tangled to bother to work through.
That's me: you can see me. Anyone can, if they look hard enough. My eyes hide nothing, which is why I fix my gaze on a wall when I'm speaking from my roots. We can all look for as long as we'd like, but you can't touch. You can't get in.
Even if you think you're in, because you think you do, you have to realize that you're not. Yes, I tell you a lot. Yes, I let you see me cry. Yes, you read between my scribbled lines. But you don't always hear me, and that's because I don't speak loudly enough.
The matter of want is still plauging me, twenty-four hours later. I don't know why I'm so fixated on this. (Even my Obscure Object had something to say about it. I'm not sold on her musings, but she is right, in the way that I almost don't want her to be right. So I'll say that she is right in some ways. Not entirely.) I just said, not fifteen minutes ago, that I don't know what I want. I was lying, sort of.
I don't know how I feel about falling in love (again). I love a lot, it's true. Right now, I'm spreading my love like a fucking virus. Sometimes it's a silent sweeper, other times it's a warming fever. [can you hear me?] But being in love? No thanks. It's just not what I want right now. I like feeling steady and self-centered (at least I can admit that I know I am self-centered). I don't want to worry about how someone else feels. I mostly like my life just the way it is. I do feel at peace, I am happy.
Seriously, I just think far too much for my own good. I can't even continue this tangent because my brain has overlapped and my thoughts are too tangled to bother to work through.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
All around me are familiar faces / worn out places, worn out faces
What is it about you, October?
You've brought such extremes to my life over the past four years. In the first, it was sugar-high love, the kind you can never get enough of. But even with the sheen of love, life exploded- mania exploded. I remembered, today, the extremity of the Pumpkin Carving of 2006. One wasn't enough. Nor two. Nor three. I distinctly remember driving to buy more pumpkins because she hadn't carved enough. I thought it was cute. I thought it was good: creative energy. But the carving segued into seed-roasting, staying up late to percolate the house with garlic and dill, cinnamon and sugar. Five or six pumpkins' worth of roasted seeds, and we never ate them all, but I knew, for her, it wasn't enough.
October 2006 was also the month of the minor car accident and my distorted/hopeful thoughts that she would always be that compassionate. It was also rolling over in bed the morning after the car accident and feeling so terribly unsafe but not knowing how to say that without ruining everything. Instead, I cried. I shelved the anxiety and she held me and I felt safe again but that moment was off and running before I could so much as focus in on a mental picture that would pull me, lull me through confusion.
But that night, carving on the wooden floors of my parents' kitchen, laughing and loving and her saying: "You are enough. I have no doubt that I love you. I have never been this happy. I have never been this happy."
Is it a lie when you say something without realizing that you actually have no idea what you're talking about because you're saying you're something that you have no concept of? But you're saying it because you want to believe it: "I don't know what happy is, but if I put air into my lungs and exhale with a word (happy) maybe it will be real and I can say all along I knew what it was but had never felt it until I said it and I said it because I want to be. I want to be happy. With you. I want us to be happy."
Here is the truth: I don't think I ever really was.
I know this because June and July, 2009, I finally opened my eyes to happiness. Each morning since then, each half-smile and sparkle of the eye, each deep breath on Saturday afternoons-- I realize, yes, I am happy.
But in October, I have been notoriously unhappy because I have been frequently blindsided and led astray by extremes. In 2007, Columbus Day gained new meaning and now I refer to it as The Columbus Day Massacre of 2007. She said she'd never forget it, and for a while she apologized a lot for it, but she doesn't have to open that closet door multiple times a day and if just for a moment recall that image, that punched-through-the-stomach-into-the-throat feeling, that complete loss of rationale and understanding. For her, it is probably just another step in her unhealthy journey of attempts to forget herself. But I remember the shaking. I remember the blood. I remember my total and complete lack of movement. What I also remember is the anger.
That should have been the last October- it should have been the last of many things. But despite that, despite the following corrupt months of tension and instability and push & pull, DESPITE APRIL... despite my heart arching elsewhere, aching to bloom in spring but instead being drowned by not tears but by hope: October 2008 existed. And it existed for us.
Two things happened in October 2008: she came here, and I went there. The stretches in between were roughed with knowing the end was near and not knowing how to escape it or embrace it. So I avoided it. Because that is what I do.
When she came here, she left a present of blood on my garage floor. I don't know where it is anymore (I stopped looking for it long ago) but I know it's there. There were demons and manic impulses, there was a clear sign of things being anything but right. I pushed, that time. I pushed hard. But my heart is weak, and in the end, I pulled like hell. I tugged with every ounce of my being until I found myself lying alone in bed, feeling the sinking emptiness of our love streaming out from my pores. It needed to be aired out. It needed to be freed.
There was one night in particular when she packed her things and was ready to go. It was late. I was worried. She'd been slipping in and out of consciousness/sanity and I didn't realize until December that what I'd been so worried about was most likely an act of psychosis, in that nothing was wrong with her other than the fact that she was crazy, knew she was losing me, and yet again was pulling extreme measures to try to keep me. I fell for it, then, but only part of me. The other part was too far gone already. Too aware. Too ready to leave and be safe again.
When I went to her, at the end of October 2008, we were sitting on the bed, she was unusually sweet, I was in a horrible mood, and she said our next step was to get married. An extreme leap, again, to maintain us, to push us forward. Never mind that the logical next step was for one of us to move. Or for us to get counseling, together. Or for me to go. I know I didn't say yes, I know I couldn't hide the look of slightly irritated surprise that shocked over my face.
Marriage never came up again.
It couldn't, as no more than two weeks later, she avoided me steadily for a few days and then we broke up. Finally. And I must have known it was coming, after that last visit. Because in the same moment everything felt warm and I was so, so starkly cold.
Last October, in 2008, somewhere between her being here and me being there, I went to a pumpkin patch. I remember writing about it last year. I recall a particular woman, a lesbian at that, and I remember trying to get her to look up and catch my eye. I can't remember if she ever did. Today, I went to that same pumpkin patch. Today, I found myself sitting on a bale of hay on a trailer attached to a tractor, and I looked up to meet eyes with two lesbians sitting directly across from me. They had an elementary-aged girl with them- the daughter of the taller woman. The women alternated staring at me. I don't know what their motive was. Yes, thank you, I know I'm gay and I don't need you staring at me and getting me to curiously look at you for me to suddenly realize I like women. No, I'm not really attracted to either of you and that's why I'm not staring at you. Obviously. As you are staring at me, for whatever reason and no, thank you, I don't care for an explanation.
Today, mid-fall, I saw fall. I surveyed the light blue sky, alit with puffs of clouds, crushing against the burnished pale yellow stalks of corn. I searched for the globes of orange rolling about the crunch-beneath-your-feet landscape of farmland. I felt the wind whipping around me, through me, taking with it memories and leftover pain. I can see and feel these things, I can hear fall puncture the air around me, because October 2009 radiates with the extremity of absence and of silence.
Why does October always feel so cold? I see the warmth radiating between people, and people in-love. I felt that warmth last night: hour upon hour till all I wanted to do was sleep- and I was grateful every second of the night. I have been entertaining, again, the running (north this time: uncharted territory) but sometimes I simply have to be reminded of how lucky I am to have what I have. I am almost ready to admit how much I want that warmth back. I've touched glimpses of it over the past eight months, but it hasn't been enough. It hasn't been the warmth I crave... or the warmth I need, and I don't say that very often but with this whole happy, self-aware, confidence thing comes the reality and admittance that I do have needs and I don't particularly feel like suppressing them ever again.
I could settle. I know this. I could settle very easily, and the only reason I don't (everything there is pretty great, yes, except: ) is because while there is love, I am not in love, and I'm not going to compromise that. So beyond that, beyond the minutiae of my options (diverse as they are), beyond my lingering affections for the Obscure Object, I wonder: where is mine?
Maybe next October will be different. Maybe it won't be extreme. Perhaps next October, in 2010: maybe it will be mine.
You've brought such extremes to my life over the past four years. In the first, it was sugar-high love, the kind you can never get enough of. But even with the sheen of love, life exploded- mania exploded. I remembered, today, the extremity of the Pumpkin Carving of 2006. One wasn't enough. Nor two. Nor three. I distinctly remember driving to buy more pumpkins because she hadn't carved enough. I thought it was cute. I thought it was good: creative energy. But the carving segued into seed-roasting, staying up late to percolate the house with garlic and dill, cinnamon and sugar. Five or six pumpkins' worth of roasted seeds, and we never ate them all, but I knew, for her, it wasn't enough.
October 2006 was also the month of the minor car accident and my distorted/hopeful thoughts that she would always be that compassionate. It was also rolling over in bed the morning after the car accident and feeling so terribly unsafe but not knowing how to say that without ruining everything. Instead, I cried. I shelved the anxiety and she held me and I felt safe again but that moment was off and running before I could so much as focus in on a mental picture that would pull me, lull me through confusion.
But that night, carving on the wooden floors of my parents' kitchen, laughing and loving and her saying: "You are enough. I have no doubt that I love you. I have never been this happy. I have never been this happy."
Is it a lie when you say something without realizing that you actually have no idea what you're talking about because you're saying you're something that you have no concept of? But you're saying it because you want to believe it: "I don't know what happy is, but if I put air into my lungs and exhale with a word (happy) maybe it will be real and I can say all along I knew what it was but had never felt it until I said it and I said it because I want to be. I want to be happy. With you. I want us to be happy."
Here is the truth: I don't think I ever really was.
I know this because June and July, 2009, I finally opened my eyes to happiness. Each morning since then, each half-smile and sparkle of the eye, each deep breath on Saturday afternoons-- I realize, yes, I am happy.
But in October, I have been notoriously unhappy because I have been frequently blindsided and led astray by extremes. In 2007, Columbus Day gained new meaning and now I refer to it as The Columbus Day Massacre of 2007. She said she'd never forget it, and for a while she apologized a lot for it, but she doesn't have to open that closet door multiple times a day and if just for a moment recall that image, that punched-through-the-stomach-into-the-throat feeling, that complete loss of rationale and understanding. For her, it is probably just another step in her unhealthy journey of attempts to forget herself. But I remember the shaking. I remember the blood. I remember my total and complete lack of movement. What I also remember is the anger.
That should have been the last October- it should have been the last of many things. But despite that, despite the following corrupt months of tension and instability and push & pull, DESPITE APRIL... despite my heart arching elsewhere, aching to bloom in spring but instead being drowned by not tears but by hope: October 2008 existed. And it existed for us.
Two things happened in October 2008: she came here, and I went there. The stretches in between were roughed with knowing the end was near and not knowing how to escape it or embrace it. So I avoided it. Because that is what I do.
When she came here, she left a present of blood on my garage floor. I don't know where it is anymore (I stopped looking for it long ago) but I know it's there. There were demons and manic impulses, there was a clear sign of things being anything but right. I pushed, that time. I pushed hard. But my heart is weak, and in the end, I pulled like hell. I tugged with every ounce of my being until I found myself lying alone in bed, feeling the sinking emptiness of our love streaming out from my pores. It needed to be aired out. It needed to be freed.
There was one night in particular when she packed her things and was ready to go. It was late. I was worried. She'd been slipping in and out of consciousness/sanity and I didn't realize until December that what I'd been so worried about was most likely an act of psychosis, in that nothing was wrong with her other than the fact that she was crazy, knew she was losing me, and yet again was pulling extreme measures to try to keep me. I fell for it, then, but only part of me. The other part was too far gone already. Too aware. Too ready to leave and be safe again.
When I went to her, at the end of October 2008, we were sitting on the bed, she was unusually sweet, I was in a horrible mood, and she said our next step was to get married. An extreme leap, again, to maintain us, to push us forward. Never mind that the logical next step was for one of us to move. Or for us to get counseling, together. Or for me to go. I know I didn't say yes, I know I couldn't hide the look of slightly irritated surprise that shocked over my face.
Marriage never came up again.
It couldn't, as no more than two weeks later, she avoided me steadily for a few days and then we broke up. Finally. And I must have known it was coming, after that last visit. Because in the same moment everything felt warm and I was so, so starkly cold.
Last October, in 2008, somewhere between her being here and me being there, I went to a pumpkin patch. I remember writing about it last year. I recall a particular woman, a lesbian at that, and I remember trying to get her to look up and catch my eye. I can't remember if she ever did. Today, I went to that same pumpkin patch. Today, I found myself sitting on a bale of hay on a trailer attached to a tractor, and I looked up to meet eyes with two lesbians sitting directly across from me. They had an elementary-aged girl with them- the daughter of the taller woman. The women alternated staring at me. I don't know what their motive was. Yes, thank you, I know I'm gay and I don't need you staring at me and getting me to curiously look at you for me to suddenly realize I like women. No, I'm not really attracted to either of you and that's why I'm not staring at you. Obviously. As you are staring at me, for whatever reason and no, thank you, I don't care for an explanation.
Today, mid-fall, I saw fall. I surveyed the light blue sky, alit with puffs of clouds, crushing against the burnished pale yellow stalks of corn. I searched for the globes of orange rolling about the crunch-beneath-your-feet landscape of farmland. I felt the wind whipping around me, through me, taking with it memories and leftover pain. I can see and feel these things, I can hear fall puncture the air around me, because October 2009 radiates with the extremity of absence and of silence.
Why does October always feel so cold? I see the warmth radiating between people, and people in-love. I felt that warmth last night: hour upon hour till all I wanted to do was sleep- and I was grateful every second of the night. I have been entertaining, again, the running (north this time: uncharted territory) but sometimes I simply have to be reminded of how lucky I am to have what I have. I am almost ready to admit how much I want that warmth back. I've touched glimpses of it over the past eight months, but it hasn't been enough. It hasn't been the warmth I crave... or the warmth I need, and I don't say that very often but with this whole happy, self-aware, confidence thing comes the reality and admittance that I do have needs and I don't particularly feel like suppressing them ever again.
I could settle. I know this. I could settle very easily, and the only reason I don't (everything there is pretty great, yes, except: ) is because while there is love, I am not in love, and I'm not going to compromise that. So beyond that, beyond the minutiae of my options (diverse as they are), beyond my lingering affections for the Obscure Object, I wonder: where is mine?
Maybe next October will be different. Maybe it won't be extreme. Perhaps next October, in 2010: maybe it will be mine.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
say: yes, yes- anything you want
I spent today in a whirling dervish of thoughts. Quite frankly, I don't know where it all came from. Could be the time of year, the time of the month, circumstance, the wearisome tread of holding back and in, or maybe it was simply my time to feel the feelings. The thoughts weren't unproductive... but I haven't gotten anywhere with them.
What I did do was finally speak to one of my best friends for the first time in far too long. I'd called her last night (after posting something on here that I haven't yet reread in a state of sobriety), thinking she'd be awake since she's clear across the country, but no luck. We connected today and I unloaded and she said: "Wow. I really should have had a cup of coffee before I called you back." I miss her so.
Then I talked to el sótano for an hour, which was also good. She Freudian slipped and said "when" instead of "if" which made me happy. Actually, wait, she said "is" instead of "would" which is sort of the same but not really at all.
I've been thinking about perspective. Obviously, we all have different ones- if we didn't, life would be cruel and boring. What I'm currently stuck on is how much my experiences have altered my perspective, and how I'm continually startled to realize that people don't see things the same way that I do. But of course they don't, because we have different feelings about the same experiences. So just because I don't see the value or possibility of a long-distance relationship doesn't mean that someone else shouldn't, either. I just don't think I could do that again. I've had enough (finally). Then again... you can't pick & choose who you fall for. But sometimes, I think I do.
Someone told me recently that I "do it right" because I tend to be involved with women that live a bit away from me. It's not totally intentional, but I do like to have my space. [Obviously, my next girlfriend will need to respect my space, regardless of where she lives in proximity to me. Wait: the catch is- she will need to have her own life and a sense of independence in order to fit into my life. Yes. That's the real truth.] The distance does allow me to protect my relationship from the semantics of my life, that being the fact that I'm a public school teacher and am out to my coworkers, but not verbally to my students. A handful of them usually figure it out, and I know there are rumors, and I know that some of my former students resolutely know that I'm gay, but I do have an easier time "hiding it" because my relationships tend to take place outside of my city. I don't particularly like this- it's something that complicates my life while it simplifies it. I don't like feeling like I have to lie about my sexual orientation to my students: what the fuck good is that teaching them, really? But I also don't have the desire to deal with the potential drama, bullshit, and discrimination that would almost definitely be driven at me if I were to be out, fully.
And yes, I realize this further complicates my Obscure Object-ing. Obviously, I know this. And yes, it's part of why I keep my mouth shut about that. Selfish as I may be, the last thing I want to do is complicate her life.
Here's what my obtuse reasoning is circled around: I'm goddamn tired of holding in these feelings for my Obscure Object. I realize that she is intelligent (one of the major things I like about her) and that, really, she must have an inkling to, at the very least, knowing I am attracted to her. In fact, she has to know that part. I basically told her, it just happened in a slightly skewed way. And wait, it happened twice. Three times, maybe? Yes. She should know that part; whether or not she's really hearing it is another story.
I don't know how to tell her that I beyond lust after her. Not that I would walk up to her and say, "I lust after you," because most of the time, I'm a little classier than that. I've never been skillful with talking about my feelings when I'm not sure if I'm walking into a safety zone or a potential minefield. The fact is, I am attracted to her on about sixteen different levels. If someone made me write down each of those sixteen ways, I think I could actually make it happen. Listen, levels of attractions are muy importante to a heart-gets-caught-in-my-head girl like me.
Typically, I am able to write about these things better than I can speak them. In this case, though, I'd rather say it. Every time I think about doing that, my heart nosedives into my stomach.
I would like to be able to sit down with her and say: "I am wildly attracted to you. Sixteen different levels, in fact. I think you are fucking amazing, and it's okay if you aren't reciprocating this; I just needed to tell you."
El sótano asked me today: "Do you just want to have a weekend of wild sex with her, or do you want more than that? A relationship? What? What is it you want?" and I couldn't really answer her because the truth is, at this point, the Obscure Object and I just need to fuck and get on with it-- whatever it is.
(...and I can't get a clear sense of it until our lips meet, tentative then not, just as they did in my Riesling-soaked dreams last night.)
What I did do was finally speak to one of my best friends for the first time in far too long. I'd called her last night (after posting something on here that I haven't yet reread in a state of sobriety), thinking she'd be awake since she's clear across the country, but no luck. We connected today and I unloaded and she said: "Wow. I really should have had a cup of coffee before I called you back." I miss her so.
Then I talked to el sótano for an hour, which was also good. She Freudian slipped and said "when" instead of "if" which made me happy. Actually, wait, she said "is" instead of "would" which is sort of the same but not really at all.
I've been thinking about perspective. Obviously, we all have different ones- if we didn't, life would be cruel and boring. What I'm currently stuck on is how much my experiences have altered my perspective, and how I'm continually startled to realize that people don't see things the same way that I do. But of course they don't, because we have different feelings about the same experiences. So just because I don't see the value or possibility of a long-distance relationship doesn't mean that someone else shouldn't, either. I just don't think I could do that again. I've had enough (finally). Then again... you can't pick & choose who you fall for. But sometimes, I think I do.
Someone told me recently that I "do it right" because I tend to be involved with women that live a bit away from me. It's not totally intentional, but I do like to have my space. [Obviously, my next girlfriend will need to respect my space, regardless of where she lives in proximity to me. Wait: the catch is- she will need to have her own life and a sense of independence in order to fit into my life. Yes. That's the real truth.] The distance does allow me to protect my relationship from the semantics of my life, that being the fact that I'm a public school teacher and am out to my coworkers, but not verbally to my students. A handful of them usually figure it out, and I know there are rumors, and I know that some of my former students resolutely know that I'm gay, but I do have an easier time "hiding it" because my relationships tend to take place outside of my city. I don't particularly like this- it's something that complicates my life while it simplifies it. I don't like feeling like I have to lie about my sexual orientation to my students: what the fuck good is that teaching them, really? But I also don't have the desire to deal with the potential drama, bullshit, and discrimination that would almost definitely be driven at me if I were to be out, fully.
And yes, I realize this further complicates my Obscure Object-ing. Obviously, I know this. And yes, it's part of why I keep my mouth shut about that. Selfish as I may be, the last thing I want to do is complicate her life.
Here's what my obtuse reasoning is circled around: I'm goddamn tired of holding in these feelings for my Obscure Object. I realize that she is intelligent (one of the major things I like about her) and that, really, she must have an inkling to, at the very least, knowing I am attracted to her. In fact, she has to know that part. I basically told her, it just happened in a slightly skewed way. And wait, it happened twice. Three times, maybe? Yes. She should know that part; whether or not she's really hearing it is another story.
I don't know how to tell her that I beyond lust after her. Not that I would walk up to her and say, "I lust after you," because most of the time, I'm a little classier than that. I've never been skillful with talking about my feelings when I'm not sure if I'm walking into a safety zone or a potential minefield. The fact is, I am attracted to her on about sixteen different levels. If someone made me write down each of those sixteen ways, I think I could actually make it happen. Listen, levels of attractions are muy importante to a heart-gets-caught-in-my-head girl like me.
Typically, I am able to write about these things better than I can speak them. In this case, though, I'd rather say it. Every time I think about doing that, my heart nosedives into my stomach.
I would like to be able to sit down with her and say: "I am wildly attracted to you. Sixteen different levels, in fact. I think you are fucking amazing, and it's okay if you aren't reciprocating this; I just needed to tell you."
El sótano asked me today: "Do you just want to have a weekend of wild sex with her, or do you want more than that? A relationship? What? What is it you want?" and I couldn't really answer her because the truth is, at this point, the Obscure Object and I just need to fuck and get on with it-- whatever it is.
(...and I can't get a clear sense of it until our lips meet, tentative then not, just as they did in my Riesling-soaked dreams last night.)
Saturday, January 24, 2009
all I remember / are these opaque conversations
So much going on in my head. So much that I can't seem to get a good grasp on much of anything. Is this what happens when you, three months later, still love your ex and have twisted dellusions of getting back together in living ever after in Happy Magic Land (& totally doubt the existence of said H.M.L.)? When you're still caught in this fierce whirlwind attraction to someone who is nearly impossible to read; someone you've never had more than the briefest of miscalculated/incidental touches and there was that one time it was just a touch more and I swear my heart hit the ceiling; someone who, in all likelihood, is not of your sexual persuasion? And when you're, again, talking/dabbling with an ex from years ago- the one that made your soul bleed, the one that ruined your trust in women, the one that you always wanted because you knew you couldn't have her?
This is also what happens when you go see Chris Pureka in concert for the third time and subsequently cannot stop listening to her music. I love her, it's true, but when I'm in this frame of mind, 90% of her songs make me choke on my own exhales.
Mostly, I can't stop listening to "Silo Song."
Mostly, I'd simply like to grab hold of my life and gain A) perspective, B) clarity, and C) hope. Oh, and I'd really like to hear from the Conference people. I'm not asking for much, life.
This is also what happens when you go see Chris Pureka in concert for the third time and subsequently cannot stop listening to her music. I love her, it's true, but when I'm in this frame of mind, 90% of her songs make me choke on my own exhales.
Mostly, I can't stop listening to "Silo Song."
Mostly, I'd simply like to grab hold of my life and gain A) perspective, B) clarity, and C) hope. Oh, and I'd really like to hear from the Conference people. I'm not asking for much, life.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
autumn rising
fall rushes me into nesting mode: these previously
unspoken (unmentioned) urges propelling me toward
coupledom.
which is funny, i think,
because i have another half (i think).
and the pumpkin patch lathered me with dust, dirt
shadowing my face and clouding my eyes but dirt
is not deceptive.
she had unnatural dark red hair
spiked and faltering at the back
like when i had my first stereotypical lesbian haircut
(also an unnatural shade of red,
though mine favored fire engines, not
pomegranates) and didn't realize
i had to style past the top of my head.
black long sleeved shirt
tucked under a dark grey polo. dark jeans.
calm if stoic expression, and eyes that sparkled even from where i sat,
my ass twitching on a bale of hay.
i didn't exactly mean to stare her down
but she reminded me of a woman i loved
ages ago, a woman that i could have stayed with
if she hadn't been unstable, a bitch, and ultimately
sexually incompatible. so when i say that
i didn't mean to stare i actually mean
i did. and she looked back, surrendering to my super lesbionic
power of eye contact, so i looked away because i recently realized
i am coy, or something like it.
i looked back
as she caught my eye and looked away.
i meant to smile but i forgot how.
dirtier still, my blackberry's screen said:
1 missed call, 1 new voicemail.
i guessed who it was.
i was wrong. and i hesitated to listen
because we were supposed to talk two weeks ago
and when time like that passes, with us,
tones shift and claws unfurl.
but: a pet name, a sullen mouth;
call me when you have time.
and i don't have time for anyone but myself.
the weather turns around me. the breeze
swaddles my bare neck, my eyes blink
against the traipsing autumn sun. i felt most alive
surrounded by burnished corn stalks
and tipping pumpkins. it feels strange coming home
to a human-less house despite my inordinate
love for independence. i am almost worried that
i am too independent, too accustom to my own heartbeat
and pillow-strewn bed, that i won't be able to nest
whenever the nesting feels it's time to begin.
and my cat has been sleeping
in the same spot on the end of bed
for four hours.
i wish i, too, could be as complacent
when i stumble over something i love.
unspoken (unmentioned) urges propelling me toward
coupledom.
which is funny, i think,
because i have another half (i think).
and the pumpkin patch lathered me with dust, dirt
shadowing my face and clouding my eyes but dirt
is not deceptive.
she had unnatural dark red hair
spiked and faltering at the back
like when i had my first stereotypical lesbian haircut
(also an unnatural shade of red,
though mine favored fire engines, not
pomegranates) and didn't realize
i had to style past the top of my head.
black long sleeved shirt
tucked under a dark grey polo. dark jeans.
calm if stoic expression, and eyes that sparkled even from where i sat,
my ass twitching on a bale of hay.
i didn't exactly mean to stare her down
but she reminded me of a woman i loved
ages ago, a woman that i could have stayed with
if she hadn't been unstable, a bitch, and ultimately
sexually incompatible. so when i say that
i didn't mean to stare i actually mean
i did. and she looked back, surrendering to my super lesbionic
power of eye contact, so i looked away because i recently realized
i am coy, or something like it.
i looked back
as she caught my eye and looked away.
i meant to smile but i forgot how.
dirtier still, my blackberry's screen said:
1 missed call, 1 new voicemail.
i guessed who it was.
i was wrong. and i hesitated to listen
because we were supposed to talk two weeks ago
and when time like that passes, with us,
tones shift and claws unfurl.
but: a pet name, a sullen mouth;
call me when you have time.
and i don't have time for anyone but myself.
the weather turns around me. the breeze
swaddles my bare neck, my eyes blink
against the traipsing autumn sun. i felt most alive
surrounded by burnished corn stalks
and tipping pumpkins. it feels strange coming home
to a human-less house despite my inordinate
love for independence. i am almost worried that
i am too independent, too accustom to my own heartbeat
and pillow-strewn bed, that i won't be able to nest
whenever the nesting feels it's time to begin.
and my cat has been sleeping
in the same spot on the end of bed
for four hours.
i wish i, too, could be as complacent
when i stumble over something i love.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
what i crave / i will never show
tonight my sin soaked in blue moon,
and my skin trembled beneath smoke-free lights.
i have yet to figure out
what you cannot see in me--
because somehow,
flailing around my relationship missteps: i still
know my value, know who
i am.
but i suppose you are not meant to be,
and it was a simple slip of the tongue, notsomuch
of the freudian sort,
when a.s. called me your name
instead of my own
to get my attention tonight.
a slip, another mistaken misstep,
another nothing added to the already amassed
rolling bobbin, what we are is
unraveling, stripping to nothing more
then we ever were.
because i know it's nothing.
and i don't know why i stay-
because i am afraid to be alone, because
i fear she is the end of it all and i may never find
another female loving female,
because this is absurd and i am already maybe
laughing at myself.
where everything i am is unsteady.
the garbage cans trailing my stride to the curb,
lolling drunkenly on the sidewalk,
my own steps smeared by two beers
and a table full of coworkers that i love,
a job i accept,
and a workplace i've come to abhor.
i took on yahoo
last week. the night of riesling
and a thumb of xanax.
i offered another unecessary apology
and el sotano accepted. and i forget our conversation
but it rings positive in my memory,
rings with more possibility and a shit-ton
of i cannot do this again.
a funny thing.
knowing you deserve more, and better of more,
but being unable to mobilize
and go awol on your memory,
your busted shatters of possibility and hope-
it is enough to stay deployed in the flimsy recesses
of your own troubled mind.
and my skin trembled beneath smoke-free lights.
i have yet to figure out
what you cannot see in me--
because somehow,
flailing around my relationship missteps: i still
know my value, know who
i am.
but i suppose you are not meant to be,
and it was a simple slip of the tongue, notsomuch
of the freudian sort,
when a.s. called me your name
instead of my own
to get my attention tonight.
a slip, another mistaken misstep,
another nothing added to the already amassed
rolling bobbin, what we are is
unraveling, stripping to nothing more
then we ever were.
because i know it's nothing.
and i don't know why i stay-
because i am afraid to be alone, because
i fear she is the end of it all and i may never find
another female loving female,
because this is absurd and i am already maybe
laughing at myself.
where everything i am is unsteady.
the garbage cans trailing my stride to the curb,
lolling drunkenly on the sidewalk,
my own steps smeared by two beers
and a table full of coworkers that i love,
a job i accept,
and a workplace i've come to abhor.
i took on yahoo
last week. the night of riesling
and a thumb of xanax.
i offered another unecessary apology
and el sotano accepted. and i forget our conversation
but it rings positive in my memory,
rings with more possibility and a shit-ton
of i cannot do this again.
a funny thing.
knowing you deserve more, and better of more,
but being unable to mobilize
and go awol on your memory,
your busted shatters of possibility and hope-
it is enough to stay deployed in the flimsy recesses
of your own troubled mind.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
if you could only see the way she __________ me
I realized several minutes ago that I'm not writing because I don't want to put this lingering story into words-- words spread across my computer screen, winding through the intense desire and mind-bending relative impossibility of a love so carefully/unconsciously grown, a love that rips through the most monotonous of every day tasks; the words will draw out the most shadowed recesses of my imagination (which is totally overactive despite this infatuation) and reveal entirely unfamiliar levels of yes/no.
I don't want to write it, because once I do, that'll be reality. The words, wound and bound. Black and white fiction. Fiction. When I write it, I'll have to face the reality that while the feelings are sometimes too real, the hypothetical and tangible situation is nonexistent (outside of the drawn-from-real-life seriously open-ended real-life experiences involving these feelings for this person). It'll be fiction, for real, but just fiction. & I guess there is a part of me that is unwilling to face that.
I was also browsing on Amazon earlier, ISO good reads (and what did I purchase? Cupcake, of course, because I need to know what CC is up to in NYC), and I got a little nervous that my eventual writing is going to be cliche. I don't want to be cliche. I don't want to write another typical lesbian love story. Uh uh, no sir, not my goal. But it's not as if I'm being proactive in any sense of the word. Me and my lofty goals of being a writer slam to the floor when I realize that in the language of a novella, I have to be real. I'm going to have to unearth the demons of unrequited love, because there is still a part of me that believes one writes best about the things one knows... intimately. So maybe it's not all fiction, for me. Fiction interspersed with the nonfiction of the heart.
In fact, speaking of proactive, which I am not, I am sitting here with two browsers open, totaling four tabs and one additional browser window for Solitaire. I also just im'd a friend to point out that simplicity can be lame, "However, I think complexity is sometimes overrated." Which's pretty amusing considering all the talking I've been doing about how a relationship with el sótano would never work because anything between us is completely superficial. Total lack of depth (which, alright, I think I could appreciate for maybe a handful of months at this point because I am exhausted with Deep Connections that only serve to fuck with my mind). Tiresome. All this talk about relationships/love/bullshit is so tiresome. & not a priority, not anymore.
I thought I'd see the Obscure Object today, but I didn't, and part of me was relieved. I never know at which angle my stomach is going to jump, if we'll even acknowledge each other, if my smile/eyes will betray me, or if she'd even notice.
If I write it down, it can be real for someone else's eyes, and maybe, I think, that's real enough.
I don't want to write it, because once I do, that'll be reality. The words, wound and bound. Black and white fiction. Fiction. When I write it, I'll have to face the reality that while the feelings are sometimes too real, the hypothetical and tangible situation is nonexistent (outside of the drawn-from-real-life seriously open-ended real-life experiences involving these feelings for this person). It'll be fiction, for real, but just fiction. & I guess there is a part of me that is unwilling to face that.
I was also browsing on Amazon earlier, ISO good reads (and what did I purchase? Cupcake, of course, because I need to know what CC is up to in NYC), and I got a little nervous that my eventual writing is going to be cliche. I don't want to be cliche. I don't want to write another typical lesbian love story. Uh uh, no sir, not my goal. But it's not as if I'm being proactive in any sense of the word. Me and my lofty goals of being a writer slam to the floor when I realize that in the language of a novella, I have to be real. I'm going to have to unearth the demons of unrequited love, because there is still a part of me that believes one writes best about the things one knows... intimately. So maybe it's not all fiction, for me. Fiction interspersed with the nonfiction of the heart.
In fact, speaking of proactive, which I am not, I am sitting here with two browsers open, totaling four tabs and one additional browser window for Solitaire. I also just im'd a friend to point out that simplicity can be lame, "However, I think complexity is sometimes overrated." Which's pretty amusing considering all the talking I've been doing about how a relationship with el sótano would never work because anything between us is completely superficial. Total lack of depth (which, alright, I think I could appreciate for maybe a handful of months at this point because I am exhausted with Deep Connections that only serve to fuck with my mind). Tiresome. All this talk about relationships/love/bullshit is so tiresome. & not a priority, not anymore.
I thought I'd see the Obscure Object today, but I didn't, and part of me was relieved. I never know at which angle my stomach is going to jump, if we'll even acknowledge each other, if my smile/eyes will betray me, or if she'd even notice.
If I write it down, it can be real for someone else's eyes, and maybe, I think, that's real enough.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
stop (don't) the beat
I started to write about how I'm having trouble sleeping, which would have segued neatly into the repetitive thought patterns I'm having about A) ending my relationship, B) hating the neatly twisted, lingering what-if with el sótano, C) the impending doom of the beginning of the school year & how it's getting close, and D) the never ending fascination/wonder/tugging of the heartstrings surrounding the Obscure Object. .... and how one of my friends added fuel to the fire yesterday when she informed me that she'd overheard the Obscure Object talking about me. In a totally professional way, but, come on, she could have used 75+ other names/examples/ideas.
I almost just said WHY ME, but that would be a little pathetic, and I'm not playing that card.
I think happiness isn't a goal, it's that life is a journey, not a destination thing. But how could life be a destination? I'm not sure if I'd recognize happiness if it slapped me across the face. I wouldn't, actually, because I am happy, I just have piss-poor "luck in love" and continually end up with women who put on such tremendous airs to get me into their clutches, and then, then the pearly facade erodes and I'm left with a crippling pseudo-replica of whom I thought I was with. And then I get unhappy. Because it's not real. And things that are not real should be boundaried to staying in my head or on paper. So maybe I should not get into relationships until I've been dating someone for, oh I don't know, six years maybe. That should eradicate the possibility of discovering something, once latched into the Relationship, that is totally appalling and impossible to live with. But I guess not, because the Right People are forever evolving, changing, enhancing, and what you experience now is not what you will experience in eleven years. There is always more to learn, and room to grow.
I think, then, that I simply want to be with someone who takes advantage of the room we have in which to grow. Because me + stagnance = disaster.
El sótano told me, back before she started calling me a Liar and getting all fired up about supposed inconsistencies, that she wanted to A) be with me, B) do good by me, and C) have me rub off my better qualities on her so that she could grow as a person. She actually didn't say (C) in those words, because she doesn't speak like that, ever, but she gave me (and our mutual friend) the impression that she wanted to become a better person, and that she wanted to grow. The thing is, as rehashed in discussion yesterday with said mutual friend, while el sótano has the capacity to do these things (we all do, I truly believe that, but the WILL is an entirely different force to reckon with), she won't. Because she is emotionally stunted, and she always gives up before she achieves something intrapersonal and self-beneficial. I don't doubt that she would like to be faithful to me, but we all know she has a very hard time with this because she is not the type who does committment well. And that's fine, but being honest about that is key. She talks a good game, but it's game. And I am a really poor loser when it comes to games.
I've got to rid myself of the illusion of perfection floating before me. It's out of reach, it's probably a blown-up escapist fantasy, and I might not even want it if/when I conquer it. I need to pull a Kelly Taylor and choose me. Because that is probably the only real solution.
I almost just said WHY ME, but that would be a little pathetic, and I'm not playing that card.
I think happiness isn't a goal, it's that life is a journey, not a destination thing. But how could life be a destination? I'm not sure if I'd recognize happiness if it slapped me across the face. I wouldn't, actually, because I am happy, I just have piss-poor "luck in love" and continually end up with women who put on such tremendous airs to get me into their clutches, and then, then the pearly facade erodes and I'm left with a crippling pseudo-replica of whom I thought I was with. And then I get unhappy. Because it's not real. And things that are not real should be boundaried to staying in my head or on paper. So maybe I should not get into relationships until I've been dating someone for, oh I don't know, six years maybe. That should eradicate the possibility of discovering something, once latched into the Relationship, that is totally appalling and impossible to live with. But I guess not, because the Right People are forever evolving, changing, enhancing, and what you experience now is not what you will experience in eleven years. There is always more to learn, and room to grow.
I think, then, that I simply want to be with someone who takes advantage of the room we have in which to grow. Because me + stagnance = disaster.
El sótano told me, back before she started calling me a Liar and getting all fired up about supposed inconsistencies, that she wanted to A) be with me, B) do good by me, and C) have me rub off my better qualities on her so that she could grow as a person. She actually didn't say (C) in those words, because she doesn't speak like that, ever, but she gave me (and our mutual friend) the impression that she wanted to become a better person, and that she wanted to grow. The thing is, as rehashed in discussion yesterday with said mutual friend, while el sótano has the capacity to do these things (we all do, I truly believe that, but the WILL is an entirely different force to reckon with), she won't. Because she is emotionally stunted, and she always gives up before she achieves something intrapersonal and self-beneficial. I don't doubt that she would like to be faithful to me, but we all know she has a very hard time with this because she is not the type who does committment well. And that's fine, but being honest about that is key. She talks a good game, but it's game. And I am a really poor loser when it comes to games.
I've got to rid myself of the illusion of perfection floating before me. It's out of reach, it's probably a blown-up escapist fantasy, and I might not even want it if/when I conquer it. I need to pull a Kelly Taylor and choose me. Because that is probably the only real solution.
Monday, July 28, 2008
The more I want to let it go
I wonder if it's redundant to put honey on my Honey Nut Cheerios. This isn't a critical thought process, but really, the honey in Honey Nut isn't as bold as I want it to be. & I seem to have a slight addiction to honey. It's one of the fucking coolest substances out there- seriously. It's luxuriously thick, so much so that it sinks to the bottom of my bowl and when I scrape my spoon against the underbelly of the ocean of soy milk (alright, it's more like a small pond of soy milk), I unearth clumps of smooth honey. Totally makes my mouth happy, and that's important.
A couple years ago (three? four? : time overlaps anymore and I have a chronological impairment), when I was dating A, two things happened. We fell in love and therefore overlooked everything we ate, AND we began to put honey on everything (excluding ourselves, as far as I can recall, because I don't like being sticky; food + sex is not appealing to me, probably because when I was in high school, I was "hanging out" [he'd never admit we were seeing each other, and we couldn't qualify as dating since we never spent time together outside one of our houses, so apparently we were just Hanging Out] with this boy, the only boy I "dated" that I actually went to high school with, and we were experimenting sexually and once upon a time I do recall chocolate syrup [how cliche, how 1999 of us] being involved, and just, ew, now). The best part of the honey addiction was when we put it on ice cream cake. Hindsight says it was probably sweetness overkill, but thanks to my grandmother, I have an incorrigible sweet tooth. I'd eat ice cream for all 3 meals of the day if I wasn't so influenced by society's heavy-handed food rulebook. A and I did get our terrible eating habits under control, and then I started going to the gym a lot, and then I cut off all my hair, and then we broke up, and she was mad because now that I'd gotten "really hot," she wasn't dating me anymore. We haven't spoken since we broke up, which is strange considering we still live in the same area but because I don't go out much when I know a lot of the gays are out, we never run into each other.
The whole food thing is bothersome, though, because it's always on my mind. I lost my natural curves during a particularly shoddy relationship about five years ago. And admittedly, I really liked the fact that my hips & boobs shrank and finally allowed me to have somewhat of an androgynous body. It didn't last, though, because real life came back/the relationship ended, and all of a sudden, my stomach unclenched and I could eat again. Fast forward to seven months later, and I had my old body back. The curvy, in-your-face-girl body. Since then, I've been trying to shrink my hips. I haven't succeeded, but I have done a fairly excellent job of tightening my quads and calves, as well as honing some pretty kick-ass triceps.
I don't really eat well. I don't care to, because I like being alive, and I like enjoying my life, and therefore I like indulging when I feel the need. I go through spurts where I lack an appetite, and I have weeks where nothing but pizza/ice cream/french fries will quell my appetite. The key to me liking my body has to do with recognizing my limits, the most important of which is realizing when I'm hungry. This is such simple logic, really, but I can understand how people overeat. I eat when I'm bored and when I'm thirsty. Totally not proud of that, but it is what it is, and at least I recognize it. The good news is that I don't eat when I'm upset... I am definitely not an emotional eater. What I forget, sometimes, is that I don't have to eat when I'm not hungry just because all the food authorities tell eager listeners that you need to eat three balanced meals + three light snacks a day. Sometimes I'm not hungry after I eat my fucking Cheerios, okay? Does that mean my metabolism is going to collapse in on itself if I don't eat again until 5pm? NO. Well, actually, I'm !!!! I was going to say I'm right-brained, but the quiz I just took is telling me I'm 65% LEFT-BRAINED. This can't be! Oh shit, I think I'm becoming logical in my late-twenties. That is the suck. I'm losing my creativity/flexibility because I'm not writing. See, no one to blame but myself!
Anyway. All that just to remind myself to do what's right for me, fuck people who tell me what I'm doing is wrong, and eat when I'm hungry and leave it at that.
A couple years ago (three? four? : time overlaps anymore and I have a chronological impairment), when I was dating A, two things happened. We fell in love and therefore overlooked everything we ate, AND we began to put honey on everything (excluding ourselves, as far as I can recall, because I don't like being sticky; food + sex is not appealing to me, probably because when I was in high school, I was "hanging out" [he'd never admit we were seeing each other, and we couldn't qualify as dating since we never spent time together outside one of our houses, so apparently we were just Hanging Out] with this boy, the only boy I "dated" that I actually went to high school with, and we were experimenting sexually and once upon a time I do recall chocolate syrup [how cliche, how 1999 of us] being involved, and just, ew, now). The best part of the honey addiction was when we put it on ice cream cake. Hindsight says it was probably sweetness overkill, but thanks to my grandmother, I have an incorrigible sweet tooth. I'd eat ice cream for all 3 meals of the day if I wasn't so influenced by society's heavy-handed food rulebook. A and I did get our terrible eating habits under control, and then I started going to the gym a lot, and then I cut off all my hair, and then we broke up, and she was mad because now that I'd gotten "really hot," she wasn't dating me anymore. We haven't spoken since we broke up, which is strange considering we still live in the same area but because I don't go out much when I know a lot of the gays are out, we never run into each other.
The whole food thing is bothersome, though, because it's always on my mind. I lost my natural curves during a particularly shoddy relationship about five years ago. And admittedly, I really liked the fact that my hips & boobs shrank and finally allowed me to have somewhat of an androgynous body. It didn't last, though, because real life came back/the relationship ended, and all of a sudden, my stomach unclenched and I could eat again. Fast forward to seven months later, and I had my old body back. The curvy, in-your-face-girl body. Since then, I've been trying to shrink my hips. I haven't succeeded, but I have done a fairly excellent job of tightening my quads and calves, as well as honing some pretty kick-ass triceps.
I don't really eat well. I don't care to, because I like being alive, and I like enjoying my life, and therefore I like indulging when I feel the need. I go through spurts where I lack an appetite, and I have weeks where nothing but pizza/ice cream/french fries will quell my appetite. The key to me liking my body has to do with recognizing my limits, the most important of which is realizing when I'm hungry. This is such simple logic, really, but I can understand how people overeat. I eat when I'm bored and when I'm thirsty. Totally not proud of that, but it is what it is, and at least I recognize it. The good news is that I don't eat when I'm upset... I am definitely not an emotional eater. What I forget, sometimes, is that I don't have to eat when I'm not hungry just because all the food authorities tell eager listeners that you need to eat three balanced meals + three light snacks a day. Sometimes I'm not hungry after I eat my fucking Cheerios, okay? Does that mean my metabolism is going to collapse in on itself if I don't eat again until 5pm? NO. Well, actually, I'm !!!! I was going to say I'm right-brained, but the quiz I just took is telling me I'm 65% LEFT-BRAINED. This can't be! Oh shit, I think I'm becoming logical in my late-twenties. That is the suck. I'm losing my creativity/flexibility because I'm not writing. See, no one to blame but myself!
Anyway. All that just to remind myself to do what's right for me, fuck people who tell me what I'm doing is wrong, and eat when I'm hungry and leave it at that.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
subtle imperfections / i think i know too much
http://newyork.craigslist.org/brk/abo/768961969.html
I'd like that. Like, now. I'd need a roommate though, and it'd have to be someone as modestly introverted as I am. And it'd have to not be someone currently in my life who also wants to make the shift to true city life (because this "city/town" that I live in now is pushing the limits of wanting to be bigger than it really is).
Slowly, I'm allowing myself to realize that my tendency of feeling boxed-in and claustrophobic, though bizarrely comforting at times, is unhealthy and can only be remedied by uprooting this life.
I came into this summer with high hopes of: remaining single, keeping my head above water, Figuring Things Out, getting lost in New England (mainly Maine), writing, organizing my life, bettering my soul. It hasn't really panned out to any of those accomplishments, and I didn't think those were lofty goals, really. Totally attainable. But I should have known myself better.
I allowed myself to be lured back into my formerly dismantled relationship; we broke apart for all of 2 months, maybe. I went back in with these outrageous expectations and not even a month later, I'm already disenchanted. Bitter, too, I think. And yet, because I am who I am (a part-time eternal optimist/total closet masochist), I've stayed/persevered and continue to try and make it work. Probably, I A) should not have allowed this to happen, B) should not tough it out, and C) am a slight moron in the heart area.
While I have completed significant beach time, I haven't ventured to Maine, which's completely sad because I haven't been there in ten years. Or eleven? Last time I was there, I had a boyfriend instead of a boifriend (and I've never said that out loud but one of my exes refers to herself as a "boi" so it's only fair that I lump her into that terminology; she'd like it if she wasn't busy sending me text messages about how she hopes I'm happy that I'm a liar, but I've no fucking clue what I'm lying about especially if I haven't spoken to her in three weeks), had long hair, and wore a lot of striped shirts from The Gap. Maine is beautiful and prime for escapism; the kind with brilliant mountains and ankle-numbing wisps of waves. Also, lots of rocks and lobster, but I'm not the seafood type.
I'm not sure what exactly I thought I would Figure Out over the summer (and I love how I keep writing as though the summer is over when it's not even August yet), but it probably had something to do with:
1. The Former Ex, Now Current Again
2. The 5 Years Ago Ex, recently resurrected Something, now thinks I'm a Liar and is a WTF Nothing
3. The Persistent Infatuation/Never Gonna Get It
4. Non-heart/libido things like my job, where else I want to get certified, where I can transfer to finish grad school
5. My Work with the Keyboard/Pen, which has been completely nonexistent since, actually, I shoved off #2 and gave #1 the means to enter stage left
About that #5... I don't know why it's so hard for me to write when I'm feeling mostly normal. And "normal," of course, is such a loose term for semi-okay-not-crushed-&-incapacitated-by-tedious-affairs-of-the-heart-&-libido. My dad is forever telling me that I'm dramatic/a good writer, but he seems incapable of putting together the equation. In order to be a good writer, I have to have a good imagination, which therefore lends an artistic and perhaps exaggerated perspective when dealing with/manipulating data in my everyday life. I'm not dramatic; I simply like to react (usually), embellish (sometimes), and have a wide variety of facial expressions that generally do not include casual/constant smiles. Why I struggle with taking the hideous normalcy of my life and turning it into something creative, I so don't know.
What I can do in these dwindling days of my summer freedom is attack with vengeance the possibilities that are accessible to me. Totally possible. And yet, kind of improbable. Which's lame.
I'd like that. Like, now. I'd need a roommate though, and it'd have to be someone as modestly introverted as I am. And it'd have to not be someone currently in my life who also wants to make the shift to true city life (because this "city/town" that I live in now is pushing the limits of wanting to be bigger than it really is).
Slowly, I'm allowing myself to realize that my tendency of feeling boxed-in and claustrophobic, though bizarrely comforting at times, is unhealthy and can only be remedied by uprooting this life.
I came into this summer with high hopes of: remaining single, keeping my head above water, Figuring Things Out, getting lost in New England (mainly Maine), writing, organizing my life, bettering my soul. It hasn't really panned out to any of those accomplishments, and I didn't think those were lofty goals, really. Totally attainable. But I should have known myself better.
I allowed myself to be lured back into my formerly dismantled relationship; we broke apart for all of 2 months, maybe. I went back in with these outrageous expectations and not even a month later, I'm already disenchanted. Bitter, too, I think. And yet, because I am who I am (a part-time eternal optimist/total closet masochist), I've stayed/persevered and continue to try and make it work. Probably, I A) should not have allowed this to happen, B) should not tough it out, and C) am a slight moron in the heart area.
While I have completed significant beach time, I haven't ventured to Maine, which's completely sad because I haven't been there in ten years. Or eleven? Last time I was there, I had a boyfriend instead of a boifriend (and I've never said that out loud but one of my exes refers to herself as a "boi" so it's only fair that I lump her into that terminology; she'd like it if she wasn't busy sending me text messages about how she hopes I'm happy that I'm a liar, but I've no fucking clue what I'm lying about especially if I haven't spoken to her in three weeks), had long hair, and wore a lot of striped shirts from The Gap. Maine is beautiful and prime for escapism; the kind with brilliant mountains and ankle-numbing wisps of waves. Also, lots of rocks and lobster, but I'm not the seafood type.
I'm not sure what exactly I thought I would Figure Out over the summer (and I love how I keep writing as though the summer is over when it's not even August yet), but it probably had something to do with:
1. The Former Ex, Now Current Again
2. The 5 Years Ago Ex, recently resurrected Something, now thinks I'm a Liar and is a WTF Nothing
3. The Persistent Infatuation/Never Gonna Get It
4. Non-heart/libido things like my job, where else I want to get certified, where I can transfer to finish grad school
5. My Work with the Keyboard/Pen, which has been completely nonexistent since, actually, I shoved off #2 and gave #1 the means to enter stage left
About that #5... I don't know why it's so hard for me to write when I'm feeling mostly normal. And "normal," of course, is such a loose term for semi-okay-not-crushed-&-incapacitated-by-tedious-affairs-of-the-heart-&-libido. My dad is forever telling me that I'm dramatic/a good writer, but he seems incapable of putting together the equation. In order to be a good writer, I have to have a good imagination, which therefore lends an artistic and perhaps exaggerated perspective when dealing with/manipulating data in my everyday life. I'm not dramatic; I simply like to react (usually), embellish (sometimes), and have a wide variety of facial expressions that generally do not include casual/constant smiles. Why I struggle with taking the hideous normalcy of my life and turning it into something creative, I so don't know.
What I can do in these dwindling days of my summer freedom is attack with vengeance the possibilities that are accessible to me. Totally possible. And yet, kind of improbable. Which's lame.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
i'm not in love / so don't forget
I don't want to admit
that I like it when you call me baby.
And I won't tell you
that I smile when your tongue slips
and you call me sweetie.
A week, six months, a year.
Ready or not, we might come
as we did
over, and over, and over again.
I sang you eighties love songs
as my fingers played over the warm ocean between your thighs.
You laughed, the sunlight startled us,
and we remembered everything that's always been wrong
is fucking ---.
that I like it when you call me baby.
And I won't tell you
that I smile when your tongue slips
and you call me sweetie.
A week, six months, a year.
Ready or not, we might come
as we did
over, and over, and over again.
I sang you eighties love songs
as my fingers played over the warm ocean between your thighs.
You laughed, the sunlight startled us,
and we remembered everything that's always been wrong
is fucking ---.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Won't you come and stay
No / yes / no
I dreamt of segue and transition, all the things we've lacked for five years. Off/on, pressure points blasted by full throttle passion. Yes/no/yes- you've never made up your mind. I broke the word happy over our restless flesh, the sweat drawing tension on my tattooed back. The word rained down like petulant raindrops; a midday reprieve from thunder-dance and you need space.
Where we pay homage to each verb tense, we rest easily in the past. We did, we were, it was, we had. I was. You were. We aren't.
This is a transference of desire. A repetition of never-could-be. Bad timing. Nothing wrong, and that's what's right/wrong.
I could stay here with you forever and be content.
Your mouth stole my lips, my breath, my wary response. The silence robbed my sarcasm, my witty heart-hidden reply. Your fingers pushing through my hair, small brown eyes shut against the glare of sunshine showering over us. I have no remedy for the sickness that's eaten us, the cataclysmic notion that we could be anything more than what we've already been (disaster).
A gold star, a lick of communication. A first.
I have no strings to bind your hands. You won't let me fuck up.
I saw her this morning, and all I could think of was you.
I can't believe I just admitted that.
I dreamt of segue and transition, all the things we've lacked for five years. Off/on, pressure points blasted by full throttle passion. Yes/no/yes- you've never made up your mind. I broke the word happy over our restless flesh, the sweat drawing tension on my tattooed back. The word rained down like petulant raindrops; a midday reprieve from thunder-dance and you need space.
Where we pay homage to each verb tense, we rest easily in the past. We did, we were, it was, we had. I was. You were. We aren't.
This is a transference of desire. A repetition of never-could-be. Bad timing. Nothing wrong, and that's what's right/wrong.
I could stay here with you forever and be content.
Your mouth stole my lips, my breath, my wary response. The silence robbed my sarcasm, my witty heart-hidden reply. Your fingers pushing through my hair, small brown eyes shut against the glare of sunshine showering over us. I have no remedy for the sickness that's eaten us, the cataclysmic notion that we could be anything more than what we've already been (disaster).
A gold star, a lick of communication. A first.
I have no strings to bind your hands. You won't let me fuck up.
I saw her this morning, and all I could think of was you.
I can't believe I just admitted that.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Keep with me forward, all through the night
You've infiltrated this house, leaving
fibers of indecency smattered with lust-
I smell you as I walk through the rooms,
a literal fucking ghost meeting me with each pace. I'd be angry
if it meant we'd fallen in love.
You spat the marriage word again, a familiar
intonation of the much-repeated wish to keep
me, tie me down, not let
anyone else have me. But that's not how you mean it.
You don't want me for love,
we want each other for lust. There would be others,
you explain over your naked torso and my lazy fingertips.
Us, and others. Together and separate, all at once and
never at all. For a moment, I think I could
play house with you:
house with a revolving door for our egos and our libidos,
house with an unspoken but laughed about connection.
We didn't get it together years ago, and we won't get it together
now, but where there is nothing to lose,
there cannot be loss.
(i like what we have become/your hands crushing into me/my tongue scalding over you/our naked breasts to our naked backs/you buy dinner/i buy breakfast)
fibers of indecency smattered with lust-
I smell you as I walk through the rooms,
a literal fucking ghost meeting me with each pace. I'd be angry
if it meant we'd fallen in love.
You spat the marriage word again, a familiar
intonation of the much-repeated wish to keep
me, tie me down, not let
anyone else have me. But that's not how you mean it.
You don't want me for love,
we want each other for lust. There would be others,
you explain over your naked torso and my lazy fingertips.
Us, and others. Together and separate, all at once and
never at all. For a moment, I think I could
play house with you:
house with a revolving door for our egos and our libidos,
house with an unspoken but laughed about connection.
We didn't get it together years ago, and we won't get it together
now, but where there is nothing to lose,
there cannot be loss.
(i like what we have become/your hands crushing into me/my tongue scalding over you/our naked breasts to our naked backs/you buy dinner/i buy breakfast)
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