Every five years or so I look back on my life

.... and have a good laugh.

From 7.21.05:

I want: to shave my head, to cover my arms with ink, to further diminish my curves, to wear my glasses more often, to cut my wardrobe in half, to finish school, to get a job at an accepting alternative type high school where I am free to be who I want to be no matter what the day or month, to write and be successful with my craft.

And I will.


I penned that during the summer before my final year of undergrad work, while I was in a dying relationship with a woman I rarely see, and never speak to, now. I was working in a bookstore, which had its perks. I was fumbling through a world I didn't really fit into. At that time, I think I had about 3 tattoos.

I still want more, I still want to "cover my arms with ink."

I never shaved my head... the hair has grown, been chopped off twice, grown again, and now is short. And that's my comfort. For the moment, anyway. It's me. For now, I think.

I never got rid of my curves. I probably never will. These hips are here to stay, jutting as they are at times. I still don't love my curves, but I do love my body. 90% of the time, anyway, mostly.

I want lasik, not glasses.

I could be on an episode of Hoarders for the amount of t-shirts I own. And I'm not ashamed.

I finished school, quite well, and got that job teaching high school. But: this is not an alternative, terribly accepting place of employment. It's accepting enough, but I'm not protected, and truth be told, this is not the job I want for the rest of my working life. It's not even the job I aim to have in five years. In 8-9 short-ish months, I will be finished with my MA in English and then... then I can begin to find a new path.

Don't get me started on the writing. And how unbelievably it leaves me.



There is just so much more I want to be.

and then, there was:

what happened to passion

what happened to my desire to do this thing well,

this thing that pays,

that keeps me moving m-f,

that puts me in the direct line of fight

sometimes fire

i end up so exposed

and raw to the bone.

and passion (when outside these walls

wild and full and pure beauty)

is a misnomer

or i just haven't found it

here.

yesterday my girlfriend

(because she is secretly a lawyer)

made me see sides i didn't want to see

or think about

because obviously of course

she asked me questions

i've already asked myself.

i don't have the answers, really

now or ever

but really

i don't remember why i chose this

other than for my love of language

words

stories

hypotheses

theories

long-winded tall-tongued whirl-shake discussion.

i like symbolism, too.

and symbolically my presence here

is death, i think.

i am not fulfilled.

i am not moving forward.

i am entirely stagnant and impatient

save for those brilliant moments

the ones that re-root me

and answer "why?" with "yes."

when i get the urge to escape

wanting to run away

buy a farm

live in a tree

pack my cats (and my girl) and go

it's clear:

i need change.

so i dream of the west coast

of beginnings and continuations

of a slate unmarred by

a reign of unholy terror

sandwiched between attack dogs

and cannons too loose to trust.

i think maybe that is the worst part

that i have nowhere to go, here.

they have taught me to trust no one, not

a one of them.

largely because

they don't appear to trust me.

i have to be professional

in 45 small minutes

i have to buck up

slap a smile on

get my shit together

and be who i am

while being who they want me to be.

in a trickle of honesty

i don't know how i'm going to pull that off

it's too early in the year to cry

over such petty, bullshitty things.

or miscommunications.

or an intended-to-be helpful chat.

i tell my people

to suck it up

and move on.

they don't always listen

and apparently

neither do i.

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.)

this will go unsent.

I won't burden you with specifics, but here's the truth: I'm fucking crazy about you.

I'm not going to belabor my point with citing how long I've felt this way (longer than I'd like to admit) or how it came to be (slow, then with the speed of an undammed waterfall) or what I'd like you to say in response (ok, alright, me too, or not but it doesn't change a thing, it changes everything- for the better, for what we could be).

Years, actually.

Initially, that animal attraction swiped me, cut me. I saw you and I thought: Wow. I'd tell you this, but your reactions to things are so unpredictable, and I can barely say "hi" without stuttering and/or turning a fierce shade of the blush family when I see you, so maybe you'll read this and understand, but I bet not. The reading part. I think you'd understand. You would if you wanted to.

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.

this bridge we've built / i don't need it anymore

I have wasted tears, drowned myself in self-pity and explicit confusion. A missed call, missed signal, no sign of entry. An armed robbery of my heart, you palming your words as weapons, such an archaic tactic but one that levels me to angry silence- and tears, those tears. Where you simmer brilliantly in carelessness and arching brick walls, I bend to sadness and melodramatic heartache. Our acid neutrals clashing, burning, fissuring into bloodied drops of mercury, splitting and running off into the desolate corners we avoid.

I know what it is like to be adored, to be obsessed over, to be desired and wanted, even just liked. The exhiliarating ego rush, even if the feelings are less than returned, and the overwhelming sense of want crushed into the words and gestures of someone that isn't the woman I'm with. It's too much, too little, not enough.

I abuse fragments. I don't draw clear boundaries. I overstep lines, reformulate while I'm playing the game and winning/losing; I never win/lose, I always finish. And I am no angel because I don't know how to say: "I have a girlfriend, and I love her." Instead, my grey area speaks for me and says: "I'm unattainable but you should like me anyway because I love to have my ego fed."

And if I never thought my life would catch up with me, trip me and toss me down a flight of splintered stairs, I was disillusioned from the start.

Stand up with a backbone you've whittled from bamboo and snowflakes. Dissolve your spine into salt and sand, brushburn your knees over the fire you started. I can't listen because I watch, and I can't watch because I don't know how to see.

My heart is a bruised icon, a landmine, a landfill, a dumping ground, and a harbor. And you're not getting your hopes up. I got rid of my hopes over a year ago. I just wanted you to know.

toss & turn around all of the time

I can't tell if I'd rather
A) Get over you
B) Discover that you want me as much as I want you.


Fucking obcrussions.