start fresh

Go figure that the book I have to read for my next class, in the very first chapter, barely three pages in - describes katharsis, or catharsis. Greek for cleaning and balancing body and soul to bring them back into harmony with each other.

In other words, heal the root of the problem, not the symptom. In other words, get rid of what doesn't work, change my life and try again.

Go figure.

Pulled old stereo out, the cd changer hasn't worked in, well, years, too many moves I think. Rearranged furniture. Again. Clear out old stacks of paintings that were gathering dust in their corners. Take books to book swap store, recyclables, clothes to charities. Close credit card that I finally paid off!

Place a vase with fresh flowers on desk I just bought for by my bed. Put new articles on art up on walls to inspire. Open a bottle of wine while working. Now to start looking for a new stereo so I can have music again.

Timing, baby. It's all in the timing. And I know when my time is right, don't I?

a little something to savor

I'm a fan of art in all it's forms. I'm an even bigger fan of art that is inspiring or passionate. So I love wandering through Wooster Collective and seeing what's new. The photo above is one of Mark Jenkins tape babies, which are just freakin' cool in their own right.
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The post cards at PostSecret always give me something to think about - several over the months have caught my eye and made me wonder if it was someone I knew who sent them in.
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On the lighter end of that spectrum is Love Revealed, started by Wombat of Kiss & Blog residency. He started it as a chance to express, anonymously, loves. I totally love that.
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This guy posts new photos most days of the world he lives in over at serialphoto. This is a like a photo journal, and it fascinates me, to see a part of the world somewhere else, through someone else's eyes.
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As a work in my own creative process, and to make myself look at my world just a little differently, I started a new site a little while ago with just pictures. Things that Catch My Breath Today. Ok, kinda cheesy name, I know, but it's a nice reminder to look at a different point of view.


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I'm always on the lookout for more stuff that makes me think* - any recommendations, send 'em my way please.

*= Thinking in the creative kinda way... not the usual overprocessing that my mind does when left to it's own devices.

ever so slightly self-destructive... but I think I've learned my lesson... maybe

I'm not anyone's " 'dirty' little girl".

I like sex.
I like pretty much anything physical.
I like to be touched. Usually any way I can get it - hug, body rub, sex, leaning my head on someone's shoulder...…
I like to fantasize about it all - sensual or rough.

But the instant a hand smacks my ass I shut down. Ask anyone who's ever been with me in bed, that's the quickest way to turn me off. For some reason I honestly believe L used to think if he did it enough that I'd eventually like it. So, so wrong.

Anyway...…

Senses heightened, when my body is physically aware of every nerve ending, is not the time for rough. Unfortunately that's what I got. And it hurt.

He is not to blame. He couldn't read me that night anymore than he could read Klingon (although I admit I don't know this, he may actually be a closeted Trekkie). He'd been drinking for hours, and I showed up to see him as a surprise. We talked, of course. We flirted, and pushed those lines back and forth. He bit me again, unprovoked, to prove... something, I think. My back tensed up, the nerves on fire, screaming at me. I really did want to hit him right then and there for that. He ended up with a few fingernail scratches on his neck instead.

This is not last week, where it felt good. This is different.

We tease each other with closeness of lips, seeing who will give in first for a kiss.

He starts rubbing my body, my breasts, my nipples... but it hurts. The pinching is painful. Like I said, my body was aware, sensitive... what worked a week ago does not work now.

We dance our tango a little longer, words and conversations, thoughts and explanations. We sit to watch a movie, he hints he'll take that blowjob now... I tell him I'm not a mind reader, I'd already offered earlier and he pulled away, so if he wanted one he'd have to ask. His jeans came down, I started licking and sucking, he really does have a nice cock and tastes good, so I enjoy giving him a blowjob. I really like when he's about to cum, when he tenses up and his muscles shake... I like it.

But tonight he wanted to cum in my ass - I'm all for that too. Usually. Even with lube it hurt. When he tried a different position, and I cringed, he quickly changed again, so I'm thankful for that. And I don't mind a little aggression, when he takes control and pulls me down to the bed or floor or whatever, I do kinda like that - making a decision and going for it. But when he was on top of me, grinding and thrusting, my pelvis was aching, my back was burning from the carpet, it did not feel good. I asked to move, I don't think he heard me. He looked me in the eye, said I'd better cum or we'd never have sex again - how's that for a turn on? Then he yelled “Cum, Bitch!" I looked him in the eye and asked him how calling me names was going to help.

I appreciate that he did then ask what would help, but part of me wonders why he chose to yell that at me in the first place?

I told him I needed a little more - he stared to kiss my neck, to move a little slower, I appreciate the effort he made, but I told him I want more, and he knew what kind of more I meant from our conversations earlier.

In that instant I knew it wasn't going to happen. It. Us. Me. Whatever. All of it hit me at once.

I told him to just cum, because I wasn't going to.

He passed out shortly after, I stayed, not having a key to lock the door with, half-wondering if he was going to throw up. I slept there. I was too tired to even let my mind go back over anything. Until later...

I like sex. Yes. I like to be touched. Yes. But by God and all that's Holy, I do want someone who can pay a little attention to me, and what I need. I don't want any more 'just sex'. I want a connection. I want an everyday, long term, realationship.

I'm seriously considering celibacy for a while, because I want, no, need to have someone who can read my body and signals. And yeah, I know that comes with time getting to know each other and considering I'm not dating right now, then I'm pretty much screwed. But not in the real way.

As for him... well, we will not have sex again. But my reasons are not the same as his.

dance, dance, dance: or, yes, this one's real

I love the fact that I have to preface what's real or not now... ;) Although I did hear that some were disappointed that the other night wasn't real...

I did go out last night... I went to dance... and I did... several times I was the only one on the dance floor... several times it was just packed...

I'm not one for the glowsticks... but this girl was good... I'm one for dancing... it really is a much better workout than anything else, including sex... I had sweat pouring down my body, I could taste the salt when I licked my lips...

in fact that's me in the pink tank top to the left... I prefer spinning and kicking and weaving and moving to the beat... I hit the dance floor at 10pm, didn't stop till 2am... my legs really are like jello today...

I did eventually end up with my own glowsticks they were tossing out... I sweated, I danced, I felt damn good... I even got hit on by pretty young boys...

who just couldn't keep up with me on the dance floor... they would come, smile introduce themselves - Robert? Wade? Rick? I'm not sure, I couldn't hear... but they would tire and wander off... oh well - they can't keep up on the dance floor, then not much hope in them keeping up in bed either... is that mean of me to judge like that?

Four hours of dancing, where the only thing I can do is move - no thinking allowed... I pretty much needed that... and it's an amazing feeling... haven't done this in years really, I surprised myself that I could still do it... even got compliments from other dancers... I felt like a rock star, in my own twisted way...

The best surprise of the night, considering I went alone and knew absolutely no one, was the last dj of the night is a guy I knew/kinda grew up with in a former lifetime... we did tons of theatre and went to school together in junior high and high school... I looked up and we just pointed at each other when recognition hit... so after his set we sat outside in the rain and played catch up on each other's lives... small crazy world stuff... it was cool...

so all in all a good night... no boy (or girl) toys to take home or make out with... although dancing really close with the girls was slightly more of a turn on than the boys - something about the way their bodies moved... but that's for another time...

What my night did lead to when I left... I'm still figuring out how I feel about myself... I'm still processing... so that, too, will be revisited later...

to the beach I wish I go

I arrive in early evening. The day is still young yet for many. The sky is bluer here, perhaps the reflection of the ocean makes it so. The air is salty, breezy enough, beautiful and relaxed. Of course that I'm here relaxes me.

I meander down the streets till I find a little cafe. At a table in a back room looking out the window at the old buildings all around, I sit and order dinner. I'm quiet and contemplative tonight anyway, perhaps it's from being so far away from what I know so well.

A harried waitress brings my order then disappears. A young couple sit at the table next to me, discussing where they want to go next, looking at the tourist maps, trying to figure out the direction. I offer that just a few blocks down then turn east is where they want to go. They thank me than head out. I feel like a local, knowing all about the area, when I'm just a tourist myself.

When I'm done eating I get up and take my plate to the kitchen. Seemed the right thing to do here. Awkward, but right.

I head down the street myself, admiring the little shops with their various bright colored wares. I love the vases, the sculptures in wood or glass. I love the reds and blues, vibrant and showy amidst the neutrals of white and sand. I wander in and out, so many places sell the kitschy junk, the stuff a shop owner stocks just for the tourist trade. I don't want that. I want something local, something someone here made. I admire the driftwood animals, the seashell covered picture frames.

The fluorescent lights inside these stores spill out onto the sidewalk and boardwalk, pointing the way. The people go in, go out, bags in hand, talking and laughing. I am just an observer tonight. I walk along, in and out. I stop and buy chapstick at one store, then continue to the end of the deck on the boardwalk. The ocean is just beyond and I can hear it though it's too dark to see and all the lights behind me make it hard to even gage peripherally where the sand ends and the water begins. But I can hear it. I walk past a restaurant that is closed for the night, the waiters cleaning up and counting out. The cooks gathered around the tv in the bar watching something very intently. The deck is in shadows, with a few chairs and tables with umbrellas out. I like it. I want to take a picture of it. I dig in my purse for my camera, and take pictures of the empty space.

There are sounds coming from down below, the party just getting started on the beach. I lean on the cross beams used for a safety barrier, lean over and watch the bonfire, the people roasting marshmallows and laughing, passing the bottle of Jack, passing the joints. I am just an observer. I am alone and nothing feels more so than in the dark. This doesn't bother me until now. I traveled all this way. I ate alone. I soaked in the atmosphere, alone. But to stand here in the dark, it seems overwhelming.

I turn back to the boardwalk, counting out mentally how much money I have left for the trip, counting how many days it will take me to drive back home. I decide to get a hotel and leave tomorrow. So be it, another road trip, another adventure. But I made it all the way out here by myself, I can make it all the way back, too.

ok! chill!

To those who were concerned enough about me to send me emails because you're worried that I'm being self-destructive here... it was just my imagination, it's just a story. I did not go out and find a guy and get my pussy licked in a parking lot.

To the one who called me a slut... well... that's your opinion. (If the fact that I enjoy sex, a lot, makes me a slut, then so be it.)

Yes, I was extremely upset last night. I really did want to hit things and not put up with people. And I just imagined what it would be like to get my way for a little while.

So - chill already!

Correlating or not...

I watched a couple today, the passive-aggressive pull of power over each other. The control game. I have watched this game many years, usually in my own family. My grandmother, love her dearly, will do anything to press my grandfather's buttons. My grandfather, love him dearly, will do things deliberately the opposite what my grandmother asked. I've even watched my own parents do this. So watching other people do this is interesting. I'm sure I've even done this in my own past relationships.

And I can't stand it. I do not want to be her. I want to be able to reach a compromise without whining for my own way. And if the choice is made, and I am taking care of what is chosen, then I want to be able to do so without pushing away or stamping my feet.

Doesn't mean I will. I mean look at the way I react to my relationships in general - I want my way, I stamp my feet when I don't get my way, I whine. I may not like it, but I do admit I do it.

I prefer to discuss and reach solutions together. I prefer to have answers. And I whine when I don't have them. I want to be able to accept those decisions reached, and be a equal part in making those decisions.

Can I at least try to not be passive-aggressive? Well, yeah. Not always gonna happen. I will still want my way, and I will probably pout and push buttons. But I am after all, just human. I may just cover his mouth and tell him not to talk just so I can get my way. {grin}

to:yes:now

Frustrated. Tense. Both physically and mentally. I'm in no mood for any more jackasses tonight. I'm in to mood to talk to anyone, really. Pull off shirt and bra, drop skirt to the floor, glance at myself in the mirror. I'm in an ugly mood and I can feel it. I want to hit things. Or people. I want to sweat. I suddenly know what I want to do. I pull on a pair of jeans, look at my arm again in the mirror, the bruises are mostly faded, just a little greenish now. I don't care anymore. He told me he didn't want a relationship. Now he's got a pretty young thing. And I wonder why I'm not good enough. I can't compare to a twenty-three year old with perky boobs. Damn. I look at myself in the mirror again. Seriously? What's so wrong with me? I'll never know. I pull on a tank top, not caring that the bruises show. I pull my hair back into a ponytail, grab my purse and walk back out the door. Anywhere. Somewhere. I'm hungry. I couldn't eat earlier, I was so upset. Finally, a little dive club. I hope they have food. The smoke is thick. Suddenly I wished I smoked again. I want a cigarette. The music is loud, with a rhythmic beat. Perfect. I find a spot at the bar, order a beer and a burger. I let my eyes wander, watching the people dancing, watching the people eating and talking. I drink my beer, wait on my burger, and just watch. I let the music roll over me, I want to be out there moving and grinding. The bartender brings the food, and another beer. But I didn't order one yet. She says it's already paid for. I look around, there are too many faces to pick out just one. I give up. I don't know anybody in here, and no-one seems to be watching me blatantly. There is a group of guys at a table a few feet away... I don't know. I raise the beer in the air. "Salud!" then take a drink, thanking my secret admirer for their generosity. The burger is ok, but I'm hungry and I'll eat it anyway. I watch the pretty girls flirting and groping their chosen guys. I watch the guys hitting on the blonde with great legs in a mini skirt just a few seats away. I watch the bartender mix drinks and serve them up. I watch the waiters come and go, weaving in and out of the tables. I watch the jello shot girl, with her tray full of bright colored toxic shocks, the little swarms that gather around her, girls squealing when they take their shots together then shake their heads as if that's the most horrid thing they've ever tasted. I turn around and watch the dancers, grinding, arms flailing, bodies gyrating, hair flying, sweat rolling down arms and bare backs. I finally push away from the bar, tired of being a spectator in this sport, wanting to join in. I weave my own way down to the floor, the music is louder here, the speakers are everywhere. I just start moving, I haven't danced like this in seems like forever, I have to remember how. I have to remind my muscles what I can do. And it starts coming back, the movement of arms and hands, the movement of legs and feet, the general rhythm that follows the beats mixed by the dj loud and clear, the little pauses, the random notes, the conversations of bodies not mouths. Hours, minutes, whatever. The songs blend together, the people keep moving. I'm hot and sweaty and it feels so damn good. My legs will be screaming at me tomorrow but tonight I'm flying free of any rules. I feel a body press against mine and immediately my space is violated, what little space there is out here. I turn around, he's not cute, but he's not ugly either. He's cocky, the grin on his face, he's trying to grind against me. I'm in no fucking mood. Tonight it's about me. I shake my head at him and push him away. He gets the hint. I go back to my world of sweat and movement, dodging another girls long black hair, ducking a random arm. There's a guy, wearing a baseball cap and dark tshirt, on the side of the dance floor watching me. He's staring right at me. I see him, he turns away. But then he looks back and smiles. Ok. I like being watched. I like an audience. But I keep moving and dancing anyway. I wave. He kind of tries to turn away. Doesn't work, too many people. He knows I know he's checking me out. I feel good. Minutes, hours later, the club is closing. I'm exhausted. I feel great. This is a better workout than anything I can think of. No, wait. Second best workout. Sex can be pretty damn good. Heading out the door I find myself next to baseball cap guy. I lean into him, whisper in his ear, I'm horny. He turns around, this startled look on his face, inches from mine. I grin. He smiles back at me. Starts to say something. I put my hand over his mouth. Don't talk. Let's just go. His eyes grow wide. I think I just made his fantasy come true. Ok, we go. To the parking lot. He leads me to his truck, parked near the side, in the shadows. A brief thought of what-the-hell-am-I-doing crosses my mind but is quickly overridden by the desire to fuck. I press up against him, we start grinding together, making out, feeling each other up. I unzip my jeans, he pulls them down, sets me on the seat of his truck, thank god it's not the tailgate I think, he lays me down and starts licking my thigh, rubbing his hand along my stomach, gently fingering my pussy, I'm already wet, so that part is easy. I pull his baseball cap off, put it on my head, run my fingers through his hair, grabbing his ears and neck. He starts licking, my hips start bucking, I'm moaning, he's sucking, his tongue is dancing, his fingers are sliding in and out, oh-my-god, I want to be filled, I want to ride, I want to scream, I want to cum, I do. I'm shaking, my body is clenching. I'm shivering from my sweat drying in the cool night air. He pulls me up to him. He starts to reach for me again. I shake my head no. I pull my jeans up, kiss him on the cheek, say thank you, put his cap back on his head, and walk away. I'm grinning from ear to ear as I walk back to my car. He hollers after me, something, I'm not sure, I wave my hand in the air. I got what I wanted. Mostly. Sorta. Ok, hardly even close to what I really want, but good enough for tonight. I drive back home and peel my clothes off, pouring my body into the shower. I scrub the muscles in my legs, knowing they'll ache in the morning. I shampoo the cigarette smoke out of my hair, dry off, rub lotion on, and crawl into bed to pass out. A shitty kind of day, a damn good kind of night.

Dear Senator So and So,

I realize that you are a very important person. I realize I'm not. I realize you earn 250 times what I do. I realize you have to spend taxpayer money wisely by flying all over the country for your very important meetings. I realize you have to rush to get to these places on time because soooo many people want to talk to you and shake your hand and it always makes you late.

I don't fucking care.

When I say you have to stop to let the gate close behind you, and your driver says "Ok." Then I believe he actually understood me when I said "YOU HAVE TO LET THE GATE CLOSE BEHIND YOU!" and he said "OK." So for me to push open the door and yell STOP! because he didn't stop and kept driving, that was my way of saying - STOP - REMEMBER? THE GATE HAS TO CLOSE BEHIND YOU! REMEMBER ME SAYING THAT JUST 30 SECONDS AGO?

So please understand that these are security measures that YOU, YOURSELF, AS A HIGH AND MIGHTY SENATOR, put into place to protect us, your un-important public.

So when your driver gets all pissed off at ME FOR DOING MY JOB, then he can go suck an egg. Because EVERYONE has to stop at that gate, I DON'T CARE WHO YOU ARE. And when your driver calls me rude and tells me I'm horrible at my job because I didn't let him just go through to get you to your plane, then threatens to take your business elsewhere - that's fine. Let someone else put up with a shitty driver who thinks he's above the VERY LAWS YOU PUT INTO PLACE, JUST BECAUSE HE'S YOUR FUCKING DRIVER.

Please remember this when I refuse to open the gate next time. BECAUSE IT'S FOR YOUR OWN FUCKING GOOD.

Thank you.
The girl who will kick your driver's ass if she ever sees him again.

Even when I think I know what I want to say, I don't.

Polished wood floors. I want wood floors. To walk barefoot on in the summer, to lay rugs down in the winter. To lead from the front porch to the kitchen to the back porch. To go down the hallway or up the stairs. I just want wood floors.

I want a wrap around porch. I want a kitchen bigger than the sink and stove, so many people can gather and eat and talk, or so I can dance while I'm cooking. I want a shop where I can work winter and summer. I want trees and water nearby, like in the backyard. I want a dirt road leading up to the house, to deter those who think it's uncivilized, and to remind me that when it rains that maybe I don't really need to go anywhere today after all.

All I can say is someday. I've started pricing land in the areas I want to look. Someday I'll actually just go look, see what strikes my fancy. See what the energy is like where. And try to envision a house with wood floors and a wrap around porch.

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I had a good day. Talked to 'the boss' who will make the decision about the job thing. He praised my work, said everyone really thinks I can do it. But the decision will not be made for a few more weeks yet. I'm in the running though, if I can phrase it that way. Just means I may be changing positions in a few weeks. I hope. Cross my fingers, knock on wood. Plus it's nice when the 'big boss' knows what I can do.

Also lots of flirting from a few customers today. The nice-to-look-at, not-creepy kind of customers. The compliments and subtle checking me out and leaning over the counter to ask me questions to hear me talk and make me laugh because then they can say "You've got a great smile". Always makes my day.

Next set of classes start tomorrow. Let's see how long it takes me to get those done. I'm actually looking forward to it now. Not sure if it's because I took a break and am ready to start again or if it's because I have nothing else better to do with my time that I'm not already doing - i.e., painting, carving, writing.

Would you look at that! I'm actually in bed before 4am!

E. 53rd

Knowing full well what lies on the other side of the door, I open it anyway. The lights are dim, the smell of fresh bread rolls past me, leaving a trail easier to follow than Hansel & Gretel's bread crumbs. I touch every surface again, a feel that never changes.

Somewhere in my memory I pull forth phone numbers I had to memorize as a latch-key kid. My grandparent's, my other grandparent's, my cousin's - because it wasn't my aunt's number, it was my cousin's number. I still hold to the belief that your grandparents should never change their phone numbers. Ever. Also means they should never move. Because that would collide the real world with the world of safety I grew up with. And that can't happen. I think this and I feel like I'm 5 and throwing a temper tantrum because "I wanna go down to Skunk Valley and catch polliwogs!"

The shelves are dusty, the books haven't moved in ages. Most people probably think they're just decoration. Books on Art, on Architecture, on Algebra, on Gothic Writers, on the History of the World, on the History of Everything Else. I know that once upon a time these subjects were studied furiously. Either furious at having to do homework, or furiously devouring it all. Nestled in the middle of these big books is a small, old paperback, called "The Kentucky Housewife". This one always intrigued me. The recipe for homemade pear brandy especially.

Curtains that stayed closed in the heat of the day, open only in the evenings to watch the kids playing outside. Blue shag carpet that I slept on many more times that I could possibly count. Homemade bread. Homemade milkshakes. She was a soda jerk in her heyday. I don't even know what heyday is, but I like the milkshakes. Swinging on the clothesline poles out back. Hanging clothes on the clotheslines and running in and out of them. Sheets were the best.

Catching the polliwogs with our bare hands. You had to be both patient and quick to do this. Carrying the little coffee jar with murky water and the day's catch, usually two or three. Leaving them outside because "I'll tan your hide if you bring those things in the house!" Taking them back to the lowland swamp the next day. Knowing very well that the frogs that hopped into the yard in a week or so were the exact same tadpoles we'd caught, they were coming back to see us!

The board above the doorframe. I glance up, expecting it to be there. It's not. Hasn't been for several years now. I lost track when. Once when we were defiant, we took them all down, 5 or 6 of them, and hid them. Didn't stop us from getting our hides tanned that night. I know we out grew them, the younger cousins grew into them, they eventually came down. I look up anyway. I'm now tall enough to reach without the chair.

The lowland swamp has been dry for years. Skunk Valley is flatter and more often used for dirtbikes. No more tadpoles. No more frogs. No more little kids running around trying to catch them.

But the smell of bread is still in her house. Her phone number is still the same as when I first learned it many moons ago. And the books still gather dust on the shelves.

time to regroup again

In the same vein that time runs on a different clock in my world, so does it take me awhile to process anything. I have to work it though, see the scenarios (much why idea bouncing helps), and, well, just process it. What ever 'it' is. Much like the ebay commercial, yes.

A comment has been rolling around in my head since someone brought it up. I may be a good writer, but the feeling here - on my site - is usually sad. My return at the time was that this is the place where I go to vent/write/process/rant/whatever all that I don't allow myself to do during the day. But it did get me to thinking. I have anywhere from 20-50 hits a day, some readers, some stalkers, some surfers looking for "stockings and hot chocolate" or whatever else brings them by. Do all these people find me sad, too?

Because then it hits me in my inner drive for perfection, that I don't want to be the downer of anyone's day, that I should be more lighthearted and funny to make people happy here, too. I start striving for that unattainable level of security again, which is what leads to nervous breakdowns again, which screws with my head even more, again.

I can't go there. I will continue to write here what I damn well feel like writing - if it be a story or thoughts or ranting - but I cannot censor myself here of all places.

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On a slightly altered note - I'm reading a book that Betty recommended recently... and I am reconfiguring my thoughts about my life and relationships because of it.

I am secure in what I want, what I need and am well able to take care of myself. What seems to get me is the desire for someone else, that not liking being alone feeling. The fact that I spent three hours in the garage painting and carving tonight after work, and the whole time I kept glancing at my phone to see if a certain person would call, that every time a car drove down the street I looked up to see if maybe it was him... that's just a little bit pathetic in my book. Doesn't stop me from wishing he would though.

He explained that the remark he'd made was in anger, yes. But then he also admitted to being at the same concert I was on Thursday night, and that he was checking me out because he commented that the jeans I wore that night did nothing for me. I didn't know he was there. He was with someone else. And he was checking me out. Knowing this made me feel good. Because it means he can't get me out of his head anymore than I can get him out of mine.

But he swears that we're not right, that he's not good enough for me, that _______________ (fill in the blank), whatever...

Again, my opinion must not count for much.

We get along pretty damn well, we have a good time hanging out or eating lunch/dinner or whatever, we have fun in bed as well (at least most of the time). We sleep together, and I actually sleep, he doesn't kick me out of bed but pulls me to him, we curl up together and hold each other. We have a lot of the same opinions, even if he is more vocal about his. There are things we really 'get' about each other. And yes, there are things we don't. And there are times when I don't want to deal with him, as much as he (obviously) doesn't want to deal with me.

What I want and what he wants... sometimes we appear to be on the same page... others we're shelves apart. I wanted to believe him when he said things. I wanted to believe that what he said he meant. And maybe he did at the time, but maybe it was the beer talking, or the wanting-to-get-laid-say-anything talking. And if so, then I am the fool. But if even some part of him really meant it, then he's pushing me away because he's scared.

At least I want to believe that. Makes it easier to deal with the extremes. (And I thought I was bi-polar.)

So yeah, this attempting to deal with a man I want has made me re-process past relationships again to see if there's a lesson I'm supposed to be learning. Besides patience - I'm forever learning that one, because it still won't sink in that if I'm ready everyone else must be, too. (I have to remember the different clocks thing)

I am making myself aware, especially today in dealing with A (the guy she was falling for found out he's going to be a daddy - with someone else - and broke her heart), that no matter what, I cannot rely on another person to take care of me. (The fact that it's not my nature to do so anyway not withstanding) I learned this with L, with Boat, with everyone else in between - the promises tend to be empty, I have to just go do whatever it is I need done.

So, while I may want a particular person to call, I will not wait for him to do so.

and the question should be: Why can I feel for someone else what I can't let myself feel for myself?

These tears I cry for you my dear. I hold no grief for my own lost loves today. These are for the pain of your broken heart and latest goodbye to what love was for you.

The process always invloves pain. Maybe some can ignore it. But I can't. I want to reach out and comfort her any way possible. But I know that nothing will help. I've been there. I know that to curl up and retreat and lick the wounds... will all take time.

I know that she will be more wary now. I know that she will reserve herself more. I know her dreams were shattered by his actions. I know she already doesn't trust. I know I want to be at her house tonight with a pitcher of margaritas, a gallon of ice cream, and a deck of cards. And a box of tissues.

It's one thing to try to protect myself from pain - but my best friend - I want to... to do something. It's one thing to let a guy I like screw with my heart, but her - I want to walk up and grab the guy by the balls and tell him to apologize for hurting her. (And yet I can't get the guts to do this for my own self...)

Many platitudes. Many hugs. Many tears. We will vent. We will rant against any relationship that did not work out - our own or those we read about in books or see in movies or read in the gossip pages of the magazines and papers. Soothing comes in many forms. (Mine is usually kickboxing or painting. Or new shoes...)

I am upset now. For her. A little for me. I am angry - but there are other factors to that today (work mostly). I question everything and am always surprised when the answers lead to more questions. Nothing is ever solved. There is no black and white, yes or no. There are shades of gray and maybes.

Grief is still grief - lost love or death or goodbye. It all takes awhile to see what was good and remember the happy. Only to step back and look again. Hindsight will forever be 20/20.

today

It's raining. The lightning and thunder make it all cozy like to be curled up in bed.

I started a new painting. Worked a little more on a sculpture. Finished a couple of small detail pieces.

More helping my mom rearrange furniture. My back hurts now. Go figure.

Did take my grandmother to dinner last night. My new favorite food is the lobster pizza at Red Lobster.

Bought a new shirt. Like I need another one. But it's pretty and I wanted it and it was on sale so I got it. I'll wear it. I realized I'd rather buy a new shirt and wear it because it's new and doesn't have wrinkles yet, than to get the iron out and get the wrinkles out of the clothes I already do own.

My cousin asked me this afternoon if I was in an abusive relationship because of the (now purple) bruises on my arm. (we were swimming, I was wearing a bikini top, not a t-shirt) I laughed and said "Nope, it was mutual."

I've done way more in the past two days than I normally do in a week. I'm exhausted. I like it. But I'm going to get some sleep now.

bite marks can be a good thing...

Hmm... I'm having a hard time walking straight this morning, and it's a good thing.

I went to see another couple of bands last night after work... these were both good... yet another new cd for my growing collection - I like it when I can get them signed, because that's just cool.

Now the rant: A guy who doesn't have a clue. (go figure that I'll pick this rant... but let me explain)
I'm wearing a jean skirt, my boots, and my 'Press' t-shirt, which isn't exactly sexy, and my hair pulled up like I had it for work. A guy comes up to me while I'm sitting at the bar taking notes on the band, and his opening line is "Are you a school teacher?"

Wow. Ok, then. But it got worse. He continued to stand there in front of me. He also continued to talk. To himself apparently, because I couldn’t hear 75% of what he was saying due to the loud music. But from what snippets I did hear, I learned he is 15 years older than I am, he is looking for a woman to give him a son, he’s got morals and is noble, he will happily get into an argument or fight just to prove he’s right, he’s drunk, his favorite movie is “Jarhead” because he keeps quoting it like the bible, he doesn’t like the girls here who are in his opinion “too large and have a fat ass” because he wants a beautiful thin woman (well, I can see why he was talking to me then), he’s really good friends with all the bartenders and waitresses, and he’s not going to take anyone home with him because it’s against his morals and he doesn’t want a woman he picked up at the bar, besides he’s going to go to Mexico and buy a wife in exchange for a burro.

Sheesh.

The fact that I had my notebook on my knee and pen moving and I was trying to ignore him did not faze him in the least. The fact that he had dip in his mouth was even more disgusting. At a pause between songs he decided I needed a lesson in being observational and barroom psychology by pointing out the drunk people and how they were all interacting.

He finally got distracted by someone else when I got up to go to the bathroom. Too bad it didn’t last longer. Yeah, I had a headache, and it was not from the loud music or the cigarette smoke. Damn good thing I was sober.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But, the night got way better.

I did get laid. And no, it was not obnoxious-guy-from-the-bar, thank goodness. This was a, well, quirk of timing really. I left the bar the same time RP rode by on his motorcycle.

Let me back up a bit here, he’d come into work earlier and I had been pretty speechless then and I told myself that if and when I did see him again, that I’d tell him what I thought. You know, that kind of guts thing.

So seeing him drive by, I was really surprised, especially at 1am. I honked and rolled down my window and asked what he was doing… then I asked if he was drunk. He said follow him, and I was curious, so I did. We went to his place and both aired a lot of thoughts and opinions.

I’m not saying anything was solved but feelings were soothed, and that felt a whole hell of a lot better than just being angry. Besides he’s got this great smile and charming wit – which I know better, so shoosh - and he’s just damn sexy and knows it. Yeah, I was turned on. As much by standing that close to him as by the heated conversations. I’ll admit I kept baiting him with comments just to see what he would say, but it was kinda fun.

I’m pretty sure the aggression levels were up for both of us, as he said, control, and I kept pushing to see if he’d react. I kept pushing to see if I’d react. To see if I’d walk away or keep going. I kept going. We got a little passive-aggressive, with more emphasis on aggressive, pushing the physical and getting what we wanted from each other.

He let me tie his hands up...
we fucked...
we bit...
I screamed...
he moaned...
oh, hell yes! I came twice and oh-my-god-it-felt-so-good...
thus why I'm barely walking...

... this is just my shoulder... what can I say, I like having a reminder of the night. I have another bruise on my arm, and I'm pretty sure I have one on my ass as well, I just can't see it.

He made his intentions very clear. I did too. That's between us, so I'll leave it at that. I'm well aware he may up and leave at any time (that's something I'm used to anyway), I just want better communication, as in just say so, damnit, instead of blowing me off. Like I said, we actually stood there and talked instead of dodging it. And we had sex, so my night was pretty damn good.

...yes, I spent the night. Totally unplanned. Still nice.

He got up for work this morning, I borrowed a shirt then went and tried to accomplish a few things. Since 8am I have gotten an oil change in my car (finally!), paid a couple of bills, did four loads of laundry, took out the trash, cleaned out the bathroom cabinets (looking for a particular lotion), and helped my mom rearrange her furniture and shampoo carpets. I think I may collapse sometime today, but there are still weeds to be pulled and porches to be swept and laundry to be put away and my mom & I are taking my grandmother to dinner tonight.

Hmm. Yeah. A nap sounds good. With some wicked memories to savor...

oil gods and self preservation through music. or something like that...

I recently noticed the little red "oil" light on my dashboard (the one in my car. the dashboard on my computer has a hula girl. really.) coming on. Yeah, yeah. So I looked at that little sticker on my windshield that tells me when I'm "supposed" to go get another oil change - I was "supposed" to go back in JANUARY! Where have I been? Seriously? I haven't had an oil change in nearly a year? I bought a quart, to temporarily appease the oil gods because they control the engine gods and I don't want word to get around with those deities that I'm a bad payer-of-attention to things like that. Even though I totally am.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I went to see a few bands tonight. Actually missed the first one - yes, work, sigh. - but it's ok, because it was one I've heard a few times before and I already like anyway. The second one had amazing energy, I'd only ever heard of the name, not any songs, and the singer was great. I picked up his cd fast.

The third one, well... I was enthused about seeing, but disappointed in reality. He's a big well-known name, and he does have a good voice... but the energy from him was so... angry. Very negative. Which surprised me. I'd expected encouragement and passion like I hear with a lot of Texas country musicians, but he was really the opposite. Which then made me wonder how he got so big, but the crowd did eat him up - probably just because of who he is. I wanted to leave before his set was over. Thankfully I didn't, the second singer came up for one song, and I felt better, even though the lyrics were disparaging as all the others that they had been playing.

For me the words mean a lot. I love music, tunes, harmonies, chords, notes of all sorts, but the lyrics catch me. While some of this third guy's songs are national, I've heard parts of them, I've never actually listened. Until tonight. And I felt like crap just listening. No wonder I've never had the urge to buy any of his cd's.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several "signs" have been popping up lately, all gentle urgings that I get myself back on my track. I'm not as way off as I once was, this I know. I've just been... distracted for awhile. (which could explain forgetting to get an oil change for eight months...)

I think I keep telling myself that I have to be patient, even though I'm the girl who does go by feel and jumps right in because that's the way I work. I'm not being patient, well, in a way I am, but I'm also procrastinating. I bought my books, so I consider that a non-procrastinating step. Every thing else... well... yeah, a little. I am balancing, and that has been good for me. I'm not 'connecting' as much as I'd like to, or as much as I once did. This bothers me. (I'm sure if I actually put my computer/book/sharp tools down once in awhile, then I could have those moments more.)

The dreams are more visceral lately, like I can bite them and chew awhile like beef jerky. (the real jerky, not that over-processed facsimile that is found in the 7-11) The stories make sense on their own, and, and this kinda surprised me, they do kinda connect at times. The colors bleed into my daily life, I absorb the meaning and weave it into my day to remind myself what it was, then I notice the connections. The coincidences. The signs. It's like a book, but only I know how to read it, because anyone else given these dreams would just shrug them off and say "Oh, they're just dreams. They don't mean anything." But I know better. And I'm trying... I'm trying to... I'm trying... I'm trying to keep believing. In myself. In art. In passion. In love. In life. In everything, the yin and yang of it all. I'm trying to 'be' as much as I'm trying to figure it all out.

And that's about all I can ask of myself right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No. I did not drink anything tonight, so this can not be blamed on any lack of sobriety. Maybe too much sobriety... but that's another post.

snippets of thought

A resounding maybe.

Abstract mind pauses on the odd bits today.

Wonder briefly if...

Curse the machine.

Stare at the rain.

Answer yes or no.

Wish I was...

Kill time and buy oil.

Laughter with a friend.

Invite to a bachelor party.

Mail some smiles.

Almost feel...

Tired of the annoying.

Repulsed by icky flirt.

Toes are red.

Tummy growling, feed it.

Leave me alone!

Cold enough for a sweater - indoors.

No factoring balanced.

Read the directions.

Want a hug.

Feel like a cry.

Crave mint chocolate chip something.

Think about motorcycles.

Try to decide who to see.

Finish another book.

Finally order school books.

I want...

I need...

It's time to go.

Would it have been?

Descriptive dance around.

Want to warn, not my place.

He lies.

Brace self.

Take a walk.

It's so easy.

Consider all the options again.

Care when the caring is gone.

WTF?

Pretty flowers in unusual places.

Too many words again, lost in translation.

Again.

For your own good sounds bad.

Oreos for dinner.

You don't say!

Cancel that reservation.

Realize I'm smarter than I feel.

Wonder how they manage.

Want to do things differently.

Forget soap. Again.

Internal chatter, external silence.

Where is...

Please give me some credit.

Not just for your enjoyment

I know.

Why don't I...

Could have done better.

Remember that moment and laugh.

Longing for what once was.

Where are you now?

And how's the...

Carve for a blind man named Bill.

Eat pastries in a bar.

Paint in reds and blues, dark and stained.

Yes, we need more bananas today.

Roll eyes.

Sing along to self.

Kick the wall.

Settle in with a cup of tea.

Reach out...

Desire.

Relenting to the shadows.

Spell naughty words in the dust.

Lie to myself.

Same routine in action.

Turn away from a mean remark.

Consider what's on tv.

Bite tongue. Hard.

Not on purpose.

Ignore spell check.

Sit still.

Hope for...

Curl up and turn off the light.

I am in desperate need of someone to talk to besides myself

Because I can argue both sides with myself, but I have no objective viewpoint, or more precisely, anyone to bounce off of. Not literally! Although that would be nice as well. The bouncing of ideas and gameplans and variables and avenues and roads less traveled. Someone to help me ponder "what if"s and "perhaps"s and "maybe"s, toss them all around till something seems to fit.

My best friend, love her dearly, does not suit well to these kinds of scenarios. Never has, probably never will. Besides, she's sick and went to bed early tonight. And until the day comes that I can start my own phone consulting business for people who need idea bouncers - I ain't got no one right now.

Blah!

Ok. Here it goes. Kinda. I have the possibility of an opportunity of a new position. The job description would be pretty much the same. The days would be M-F, which means weekends off. The hours - which is where I cringe - would be 8-5. But that means nights free! Obviously not for my burgeoning social life. Maybe to start doing plays again. That would be nice. More likely to keep doing what I already do - paint and carve and go see bands. But this would mean I could get there for opening acts instead of halfway through the main set.

Hmm... see... it is a slim possibility right now. And I already have my game plan with my job set - you know, save the money to build the studio, etc... I suppose I could still do this, just with a few tweaks to said plan. Plans change all the damn time, remember? I think what I might mean to say is - I don't really care. I don't want to be there forever, it's just good right now. Yeah, this is the second longest job I've ever held... give me three more months, it will be tied. So what. Do I live passionately to answer the phones and smile pretty? Um, No! Most days I pour myself in and glide through the day. And then there are days I want to behead the guys... but come on - he sprayed me with glass cleaner! So it would just be a new setting, new people, new hours, pretty much same job.

But - this is/would be the only chance of what is considered advancement. And I don't know if they'd even look at me. Oh - don't get me wrong, I'm well trained, I do my job well, and most people seem to like me - except for... ok, a few who shall remain nameless - those I piss off for security reasons, and those I piss off because I work there, and now those who avoid me because they slept with me and are now pussies - I could do the job - but are they willing to lose me where I'm already at? Which is another point - are either of my co-workers applying? Because I'd be happy to just be rid of them. And yeah, there are mean people everywhere. Deal with it. I know. Whatever. Remember I'm bouncing off myself here, I can say anything I want and not piss myself off.

I don't know. Change. Opportunity knocks. Etcetera, Etcetera, Etcetera... And I'm still the only one left here to make any decisions. Which was always the case. The bouncing is not meant to make the decision for me - or as some men try to do - to 'fix' or 'solve the problem' for me - the bouncing is merely a tool to get me to think outside the box and see a different point of view. Try to remember, it's just a job. The world will continue to spin on it's axis no matter what. Keep telling myself this in ALL situations - see if it eventually will sink in. Especially where men and dating are concerned.

Give up all this arguing when I finally realize it's 4:23 am, I'm not going figure anything out now, and I do need to get some sleep. I said 'some', so quit laughing.

now you see... now you don't...

No way.

It is.

The tattoo on his arm. It’s him.

I’m stunned. There he is. Not fifty feet away. He looks the same. He looks different. Standing on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette, Blue bandanna covering thick dark hair that I remember so well. He seems more muscular now. Always was anyway. He’s smoking and watching a couple of cute young girls in too short shorts walk across the street. I’m standing and staring at him. I step back into the doorway of a store. Suddenly I don’t want him to see me. Isn’t the rule that you’re always supposed to look fabulous when you run into an ex on the street? Doesn’t matter. I never look fabulous on any given day in the first place,

I stand there, watching him smoke. He stubs out the butt in the planter behind him and goes back inside the little beer & burger joint. I’m still stunned. Why here? Why now? A million miles have passed between us since… since… oh. Since then…

January. 2001. Over six years since I saw him last. Over six years since we kissed goodbye for the last time. I just didn’t know it then.

We’d gotten together after M & I split early in the fall, and after his best friend decided to be a dick for a while. We hooked up because… comfort. Friendship first, tired of screwing around, we settled into each other. Over the next few months we went from being a warm body to watch a movie with, to a warm body to share the bed with. He was a ranch hand. He would be gone sometimes a week at a time, working cattle at one or another ranch in the county. And when he came back into town he’d shower, come to the bar I was working, eat dinner, drink a few, and ask me to come home with him. And I did. I massaged his back, not having any training at the time, but going by feel. Only later when I went to school for MT did I learn I already knew what I was doing by feel alone. In some ways, he trained me first.

In other ways he spoiled me too. He didn’t like blowjobs. This I do remember. He preferred the back massage to my mouth on his cock. And I give great blowjobs, so I know it wasn’t me. But he would repay me with the best oral sex I’ve ever had. I’d work his back, he’s work my pussy, we’d have sex, and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Days, months later… I got promoted at work. He worked the ranches, and on his weekends home would pitch in for the breakfast rush at the diner across the street. It was a cold winter. Snow and ice daily. Holidays came and went. I got the call that my grandfather had cancer. I quit smoking that day. He has a rare few days off. We go to the city to shop and eat dinner. Another night, curled up together against the cold outside. The alarm goes off so early, but he has to be at the ranch in an hour, and with ice on the road, he’d better leave now. He kisses me goodbye. I curl up and sleep a few more hours before English class.

And that was it. He worked that week on a ranch just beyond the mountain. Then he took off for Arizona. I never saw him again. Just heard through the grapevine where he was next, what he was doing. Last I’d heard he was somewhere on the coast, building oil rigs underwater. Fitting I thought. He was ex-Marine & Coast Guard. I knew he quit drinking. Had to, doctor’s orders. Didn’t stop him from smoking apparently.

All this comes rushing back as if it was yesterday. Fresh and raw once again. I remember being so upset that he left like that, no explanation at all. I remember I cut all my hair off soon after. I cut it short. Dyed it blood red. Did not want to remember him running his hands through it. Or it was the only thing I could control at the time. I remember wondering what the hell I did to make him leave like that. I figured I did something wrong. Hmm… still a feeling I go through even now. Only now I know that then it was all about him. It had nothing to do with me. And that my life was better off in the end. I try to apply this logic even now, but it’s gonna take a little more time to sink in.

Part of me wants to walk right in and sit down with him and say “Hi. Where’ve you been?” Part of me wants to walk by and see if he notices me. I do neither. I keep the memory to myself. I know not what he’d say, and I prefer it that way. I pull out of the doorframe, turn and go the other direction down the street.

And yet, part of me hopes he’ll walk out that door, recognize me anyway, tap me on the shoulder, and say “Hey. Want to go home with me tonight?” Just like he did so many years ago.

lightness falls dark

Dark has many levels. That instant when the light disappears is when it seems darkest. Then your eyes adjust. Then you notice ambient light, a glow from a nightlight down the hall or the hint of moonlight through the clouds.



No electricity. None. Nada. Zip.

In a way I love it. Everything is quiet. Only the chirp of the crickets and the bleating of the goats down the street can be heard. The sound of rain. The gentle breeze when the rain stops. No power. Means no water, because the pump house has a pole laying across it that blew over when the winds hit. Finding objects from the backyard in the front. Finding the squishy buildup of leaves by the door. Grab the broom, do the best you can in the dark. Give up and wait till morning.

No power. Means no shower. Means no dinner except for the package of crackers and bag of dried fruit. Don't open the fridge, lose the cold air. No microwave. No stove. Almost tempted to dig out the firepit.

Can't see. Carry a candle around, feel like it's eighteenth century or something. Find a flashlight or two. Less risk of burning with those. Can't work. No light to see. No electricity to open the garage door anyway. Can't watch tv. Can't surf the internet, so why drain the battery on the computer by turning it on.

Just lay back and read. Listen to the trains downtown. The crickets. The goats. The occasional car drive by. Wait in anticipation for the click and the ceiling fans to start moving again.

14 hours later it does. Power is back. Clean out the fridge of everything that did not survive. Take a shower. Fix poles, clean drains, remove leaves, pick up pieces. Be thankful. Realize that we rely too much on electricity. Wonder briefly about a generator or solar panels. Ponder a moment about living off the grid. Give up and know I'm addicted to it. (But buy more candles anyway.)

And all I got was a picture...

Sometimes it's good to have my camera in my bag...

Yes, we all turned stupid today when Matthew McConaughey came in. Brilliant quotes like "My wife loves you." from one guy, and startled silence from another. And my words of wisdom were "Do you have a ride?"

Well.... I am single... and as far as I can tell, so is he. (wicked grin)

Hell, I can have my fantasy any way I want it.

edit or (else)

As can be presently displayed here, I have no use for editing beyond the spell check button. Ok, so sometimes the sentances really don't make much sense, and sometimes I get waaay off any percieved point, and sometimes it's just random thought bubbles that turn into words and get typed. I prefer, don't ask me why, to hit delete allll the way back to where I screwed up a word than to use the arrow button, or the mouse even, and go back and fix it, I just delete it all and start over. Lazy fingers I suppose.

But anyway, I know I have to edit my own stuff, to make it cleaner, flow better, etc. And I have no concept of that. "What? You mean 'The band currently plays cover songs like they've been playing them in the basement of the Alamo for practice sessions.' doesn't make sense? It's a joke - remember Pee Wee and his adventures? Remember Big Bird stopping to ask for directions? Remember the Alamo joke?" Oh, shit. Did I just get my silly 80's movies mixed up? Was Big Bird in a Pee Wee movie or am I royally confused?

See - that right there clarifies my whole point! ^! So having an editor for my articles is very good. Otherwise I'm sure most of them would end up reading just like my posts.

ohh, pretty. I want to touch it! oh, wait - I can.

all I gotta say is: I get a helluva lot more work done when I'm single. I actually finish some things. I said 'some' so quit laughing!

ok - staring point, sometime a day or so or two ago.



to be called Pixelated Blues. or: You know what happens when you close your eyes and press the palm of your hand to your eyelids and funny patterns appear? Yeah, that's where this idea came from. Really.

I like this one. I think I'll sell it. Any takers? (in case you're seriously considering it for the next half second - it measures 30in x 40in.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



yeah, this is to prove that I stick so many paintbrushes and pencils in my hair, that at the end of the night when I go to take a shower, I'm usually pulling three or four out of the tangled curls. thus, when I can't find my pencils or paintbrushes, they're by my sink. ok, so this is only documented proof, because I'm already well aware I do this.


'extreme close-up!' ohhh, pretty colors...

umm, yeah. I think I need to let a little more air circulate while I'm working....

a semblance of

nostalgia bared her teeth today. my own damn fault. putting songs on my ipod to listen to while jogging and painting. several are from old mix tapes from an ex many moons ago. good songs, the breakup not withstanding. just triggers memories, that's all.

my back is tight from leaning over the table painting today. it's small detail like stuff. i do have pictures, they're just still in the camera and i don't feel like getting the wires out and downloading and all that jazz right now. course my jaw aches in that way that happens when you chew the same piece of gum for four and a half hours... because that's what I did.

i got a call asking if i wanted to model this semester. no. but i did get a lead on a story. will follow up on that next week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

bearing witness to the fact that i am human results in being stabbed through the heart all over again. perfection never seems like such false hope as when i desperately wished i was someone else altogether. there was no stumbling. all was laid bare and thoroughly devoured. has been for awhile now. so shouldn't be a surprise that i take it all as an emotional hit. damn again. want to cry. want to throttle. want to put up walls again (which I will do anyway) in an attempt to soothe what's left. defenses are gone, the only retorts i can offer are "poopyhead" and "jerkoff". to be kicked while down, that really is a whole new low.

at best, I can say "life goes on". and so it does. but i can't help pounding my memory to figure out what i did wrong. this is not unusual, i do this constantly. try to appease the self-critic so i can possibly learn form my mistakes and do better next time. blame the self, try, try again. so i tune out, literally by turning it up loud. i focus on rhythm and details, leaving my mind free to rethink every single conversation and moments.

and you know what? i still don't have an answer. but this is not unusual either. i never seem to have an answer beyond "mabey he just didnt like what you had to offer" (oh, new retort - "chickenshit") or the self-critical "i'm not geood enough" (yes, that's right, there's an e in there. because i said so.) but i know this isn't so, even though i keep trying to be geood enough. for someone. damnit.

the funny thing here, for me, is that i'm not depressed. i'm hurt, yes. pissed off, severely. but ok nonetheless. all that angry energy is good for kickboxing and... ummm... ok, i can't think of anything else it's good fore. (ok, i give up. e's are just going to be appearing everywhere tonight.) the truth that I'm hurting comes in the most subliminal style - the dark humour and sad pathetic attempts to be funny. i make jokes when i'm in pain. i may not feel the pain physically, or hell, even mentally, but i guess it's there. nothing like BEING TOLD you're not good enough to fuck with your head.

yeah. i can't leave well enough alone either. this proves that i've got some fight in me. but since it's 4am, and the bridges have been burned, i can do no more tonight. well, i actually could because i've got all this pent-up bad energy, but i figure he's not worth fighting for, so fuck it. i really am going to swear off men. (yeah, i wasn't kidding about those walls...)

today's lunch was:

note the black fingernails? I'm painting today, using blacks and blues, so I painted my nails too. I feel like I'm fifteen again... but now I'm not in junior high... hmm... where's my black lace up vest at...?

She says it better than I ever could... and then there's me

Sabrina in Stockings has all the words I wish I could put down about being a sexually independent woman. I stumbled across her in the Sugasm list of articles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This clarifies some things for me - one, that I am not a total idiot for thinking there was a real connection, but I am a total idiot for going ahead anyway.

Yeah, the emotions got deeper than they should have, and I was told today "No." He actually looked me in the eye, after I tracked him down, and said "No." My lip actually quivered. Not in a good way. I'm sorry, but when we talked every day, several times a day, when we had sex and he stayed over, or didn't want me to leave, when he made me dinner or called to check on me: I THOUGHT HE CARED! Stupid girl. I apparently was just a fuck buddy filling in for the ex-gf. Damn.

So I called my former fuck buddy to ask him if I treated him this way. Uh, no. We are extremely straight-forward, and all we had was sex. None of that so-called caring bullshit.

But damnit! I wanted the caring bullshit! I wanted the exclusivity! That's why I stopped calling my fb to see RP.

And that's where I went wrong. I assumed he cared. I assumed we might have been going somewhere, well, prior to this past week anyway. Let me tell you I absolutely hate the blow-off from someone I've slept with. That just sucks. Can you not be an adult about it? Gotta go hide? Can't be honest, gotta avoid phone calls? Damn. Damn. Damn.

I would threaten to swear off men, because they can be such assholes, but I wouldn't make a very good lesbian, so that just gets blown apart. So, I'll pour it into the art. Vent away for a few days, then I'll probably call my fb back and tell him to get his ass over here.

At least with him I don't have to worry about falling for him. That thought in itself is both good and bad.

on the edge of

I'm not a scrambler. I'm the one who pauses every now and again to look up at the big picture, the whole destination, and will find the appropriate path as I go. This works both for climbing mountains and for life.

Somewhere where the wood meets the rock, where there is space to sit and stare at the moon, I do. For nearly an hour. Quiet. Probably seems that way because I have my earphones in. The crickets were chirping loud earlier, so I'm sure they still are, just elsewhere right now. The few clouds in the sky float past the bright moon, magnifying the light, casting an eerie ring for a few moments.

Contemplation. I perch and ponder. I climb up somewhere to get a different view. Much like in "Dead Poet's Society" when he has his students stand on their desks to see the world a little differently. I try to do this to myself. Remind myself there are other points of view. I don't have to agree with them, just accept them.

I'm not afraid up here. I like heights. I used to climb on the roof as a kid. All the better to see the neighborhood. All the better to get away from little brothers or cousins who were too little to climb that high, yet. All the better to hide. All the better to think. I climb to the edge of a rock face, sit and stare at the vast land around, feel the wind whipping my hair and drying my sweat. Tonight I climb on a fence post. I climb up, sweaty and covered in sawdust, and close my eyes to let the patterns and colors swirl for a while. New ideas come like this. New paintings will be done from these patterns and swirls instigated from the different point of view.

I cool off, pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them. I stare at the moon, at the shadows of the trees, at the road, at my fingernails. I have internal conversations with people, but of course they are all one-sided, where everyone sees my side, and all the worlds problems are solved. Well, maybe not the world's problems, but mine are. I wonder briefly about sitting alone outside in the middle of the night, before wondering on to something else.

Sometimes answers come. Sometimes none. Sometimes it's just the perspective that changes me. Sometimes I realize I like being alone up here. Sometimes I want to go back to being with someone. The options are endless, the thoughts are free. The moon shines and I listen to music and let the patterns settle into one I like, one I know I will be putting to canvas tomorrow.

To walk now feels funny. Like gravity has just been invented. Because up there, I coulda been flying. The air feels the same standing still or soaring. The only thing that changes though is my point of view.

it's I'm like an addiction

Yes, I suppose there is a certain amount of drama. I am after all, a girl raised in the fine art of theatre. So a dash of drama is to be expected. But not so to me. Apparently just in the snippets I feel free to embellish for the words sake. My life really is pretty dull. At least to me. Although it was mentioned that the drama is not my life, per se, but in the men I seem to attract and date. This of course was noted by L. And he was one of those men. I'm wondering if he found that ironous. I feel like I just made that word up. It fits.

So to continue with the show... The fact that RP spent the night before I left and then called on the evening of my long-ass day to make sure I arrived in one piece because he knew I was tired, has now been negated by the fact that he told me the next day that his phone wasn't working and the last words he said were "I'll talk to you later." and it has now been four days. I know I'm not all that up in real-time world, but it still ticks me off.

Tonight I am back in the cool glow of my computer and internet connection, sleeping on my bed that is not made of plywood and a mattress that is at least 13 years old but is only slept on for one week each year, sleeping naked because it's still warm outside whereas in the mountains it was pretty chilly and I had a blanket inside the sleeping bag, sleeping without little flying bugs crawling through my hair. That last part is the best part. Really. Followed closely by the naked part.

To be appreciated by friends and family is one thing, they automatically love you anyway. Right? To be given the kudos by the editor who signs the checks, that's like, really, really cool. Ok, I'll admit, I pumped my hands in the air and did a happy dance. I have a couple of pieces in the queue, possibly heading for the print version. This excites me on some level I didn't even know I had.

My alter-ego fear here is the loss of anonymity. I mean, yes, the handful of people who wander by here daily or so may only know by just the stories. I've only told three real world people this place that I write here. On occasion one pauses to see what I've written. I do not put it out there, like on a business card or anything, but it really isn't all that hard to find. RP asked once, but I didn't tell where. I think I fear he wouldn't understand that this is a vent. I think I fear that he would judge me because of it.

That right there may be the drama now. I do not trust him. One day he's on, one day (or four) he's off. And yes, I knew better from the beginning, so shoosh, it's my own damn fault for caring about someone I can't have.

Meanwhile I spent the whole trip unstressed, and enjoying everything. The rain, the air, the trees, the hummingbirds, my little cousins who each have their own way of saying "No!" and getting in trouble and still manage to be endearing, my family as they really are the only entertainment I get, a couple of books, and cookshed biscuits of course.

To walk back into work today and within the third hour have a, not even a customer, just a woman, chew my ass out for doing my job security-wise, I really wanted to deck her. And I didn't care. Because it's just a job. Because she was being a bitch. Even the other people in the lobby said so. My shoulders have risen back to my ears, defensive. And I'm itching to take something - alcohol, anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, something, anything, all at once, whatever. I do not like myself like this. I don't know how anybody does. (Ah, no wonder I'm single!) What the stress is, and I know so well, is playing by other people's rules and ignoring my own self. Steps are already in the process though to keep that part of my self happy(ier). Soon. Soon I tell myself. Someday. Someday I can actually deck the people who piss me off with out the fear of being fired.

No, I wouldn't actually deck anyone. Not my real nature. But I would be able to tell her off as I am wont to do when my mouth has free reign. And that would be very nice indeed.

Thusly I continue on in this world. I use up all my good words for articles and dig around to find a few extras scattered here and there for posts. I use up all my good energy for art and find little left over for the bitches of the world. I try to remind myself that I'm being judgmental, maybe she was having a bad day - flying back from her vacation, spending her husband's money - and she just happened to take it out on me. No. I have my right to feel hurt and upset about it, and not want to deal with it, and want very much to slap the sense right into people like that. Although it usually doesn't work. So my next best plan would be to retreat and go where people like her are not. Because I can then choose to not put up with shit like that.

Same for men. I can choose to not put up with shit like that, too. Because I know what I want when I want it. Articulating it may be another story. But I deserve better. I deserve more happy dances.

or this either

L called. I really don't know what to think about that yet. Still haven't processed it all. I honestly did not expect to hear from him for a long time, figuring he was busy and had forgotten about me.

RP had come over last night, to hang out while I packed, and so I could at least get some sex, considering the horny factor. But after talking to L, let's just say that me getting off was not happening. My mind was going overtime, elsewhere. Damnit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am at work, barely functioning after a couple hours of barely sleep. I don't do mornings. The only reason I can fathom a sunrise is if I've been up all night. Am I totally packed yet? Hah! Um, No. Will of course finish that and throw everything in my car after work.

A few days in the mountains, no internet to surf, plenty of time to ponder and hike. I'll be back Sunday... sometime.

Maybe I'll figure something out.

Ha!

Hmm... Not quite sure what to make of it...

A phone call. Middle of the afternoon - from the rock climber. Booty call, he'd be coming through town tonight, want to hook up?

Another phone call. Middle of the same afternoon - from the short lived FuckBuddy. Booty call, want to come over after work?

Well... I am horny...

Nope. Damn. I'm turning down perfectly good sex? Am I smoking crack?

Two things: I'm going home to pack to turn around and come back to work in the morning then driving to Ft. Davis for four days. And, and this kinda shook me a little, I like RP, even the on-again-off-again whatever we have going on, to not want to sleep with anyone else right now.

I know, I know... guilt trips aside, hook-ups aside... but RP is here. The rock climber would be passing through. Again. And the FB, well, the only thing we had in common is sex.

And I've already noted that I want/need someone here. I need someone a little more constant than every few weeks when he's passing through. And I need someone I actually connect with. While that may or may not be RP, we do hang out and talk more than we have sex, at least he's here, now.

But damn, two hook-up calls from former lovers? I must be putting off 'hot' vibes or something! ;)

security blanket

He tells me he woke up to shouts. He tells me the happenings of his night and how the moon must be full to have had the police out to his complex earlier, and the people across the yard who kicked out the post holding up the balcony, and the yelling of names. I asked if the balcony fell on those stupid enough to kick the post out. Would be fitting, I think. Then he tells me about his guns and he feels safe enough. I cringe at this. I had seen one, once, when I'd stayed the night. That made me wonder then. I am blind, I find my way by touch. To know there is a loaded weapon there, sets me on edge a little bit. Not that guns frighten me, just what they can do. I'm a pretty darn good marksman, at least I was when I took riflery years ago. I used to go dove hunting with my grandfather and uncles. And I know enough to only point if I'm prepared to fire. But to have them by my bed at night? To sleep with? What is wrong in the world when we must defend ourselves while we sleep? What is wrong with the world that lets fanatics blow up buses and trains and hotels and schools and airplanes, when the rest of the world really is just going about their daily life? This perplexes me so much. This is why I retreat. I know this. I turn off the news, can't stand to hear one more word about who killed who today, where. I want to remove myself from this equation. I want to retreat farther away, remote even, where those who feel the need for evil wouldn't even bother to come because it's so far off their radar, then I feel safe.

Is it at all possible? Terror has many levels I guess. To be connected at all means to risk the good and the bad out there. True words on so many parallels. But to fear that which causes harm on purpose? A stress that simply cannot be prepared for. Thus I live in my world, cover my ears, close my eyes, and sing loudly to myself. Doesn't really solve any of the world's problems you know. Just makes me feel better about living, or attempting to live, and sleep, in this world.