listen & learn

Various versions of past lives run through my head and heart tonight. Repeating the lessons in their little compartmentalized ways.

One sits across from me, familiar and yet so distant, talking like we used to, once before. I am thrilled that I no longer wish to punch him and can behave myself in a civil manner and actually carry on a conversation because I am no longer a part of the equation. I am aware I'm better now, and I'm aware that while I still foolishly care how he is, it does not matter to my life anymore.

The other I keep firmly on the other side of the line, not allowing a step closer, not bending to the requests for affection in his attempt to get me to break to his whims. He accuses me of being independent and stubborn, and I see that as the only compliment he's paid me since he began speaking. I agree with him on this one fine point, and am set in my actions and verbiage toward him. I will no longer listen. Because, as he stated, I know my own mind and want my way. And he is not a part of that, nor a part of me. Suddenly I feel free again and I'm ok with being thought of in those terms.

In the new realm, I listen, we talk. Plans are made. But I already know better. There is no long road here, he voices the effort, or lack thereof, that he wants to put forth. So I will try to remain objective and learn, possibly I'll just take him to bed and get it over with.

As One from above stated tonight, when with me, anybody had better hold on tight to the reins, as they will be in for a ride, one that will probably wear them out. Even he noted that I know what I like and I go for it, and can take care of myself.

Thus concludes today's lesson. I am independent. I am hard-headed. I do want my way. And I damn sure know what I like, dislike, want, and do not want. The next step will be to find a fit for both those categories and for me.

zone of ramble

The quirks of recovery are the stumbling blocks of learning how to walk again. Or of learning how to walk a straight line. Which in reality is so boring, but for some reason we, as a whole, as a society, determine that the straight lines are the ones to be walking.

I have friends and I have acquaintances. The lines will blur with time, I know. Drifting in and out, some may never be seen again, but I consider that my life is a better place for having been there once before. So how does the matter of talking to new strangers make them friends and no longer strangers?

Questions. Lots and lots of questions. Some answers. Sometimes they make sense, like the music in the background. And sometimes they don't, like why the alphabet is the way it is. To me, anyway.

Weather changes, it gets cooler at night now. I know time changed, but the sun seems to set so much earlier now and it throws me off. Just a little while ago, months, I know, but just a little while ago, it wasn't dark till 9:30. Hours now. So different. Who needs clocks?

Sewing tonight. Trying to be a little creative. Trying. Just feel drained. Too much going on? Too much to do? Yeah, probably a little of that. But damnit! That's how I like it. Prefer not to sit too still. Even when writing and watching tv, I'm constantly moving. (Which explains the scratch on my fairly new laptop.) I don't need a regular workout routine, I need a regular sit-still-and-meditate-or-just-be-quiet routine.

Suddenly I forget what I did ten minutes ago. Suddenly I'm in my own little warp. Whoa. I promise I'm not smoking crack. I think I'm just tired.

hit & run

Someone chastised me today for having a tattoo. Not so much the fact that it is visible, and in this day and age LOTS of people do, but that I do. Why he cared, I'm not concerned. What he said, for a moment, yes, made me feel like trash. For a moment. Then I remembered who I am, and why I have my tattoos... well... my response was thinly veiled politeness at saying "go the fuck away now before I choose to take my stapler and throw it at you and your closed mind."

And then I was ok. I mean, my own mother once threatened to scrub a tattoo off with sandpaper if I got one before I turned 18. So, I got it the day before I turned 18, and didn't tell her for a month. But that was over 10 years ago. She's cool with it now. It's, they are a part of who I am. I wouldn't be me without them.

To go from that to a guy who apparently thinks insulting a woman is a good way to turn her on and ask her out - ever so slightly weird. This guy's been here before, is a complete energy drain to me, and I'm pretty sure it's because I feel I have to have my defenses up the whole time. So by the end of my day, I didn't want to go out or do anything. But I made myself go in a half attempt at listening to a musician and just getting out.

That was possibly the best decision I made all day. Because the music was passably good, the bar is fairly new in an old local joint, so I now have a new watering hole. And I met a guy. Sarcasm and sass and banter between songs and people watching made my night. And I gave him my number. And we kissed goodnight. Ok, more like made out... I totally needed that, too. And I'm totally gonna write about it too. Just, not right now. Tomorrow. Elsewhere.

to be of not to be

I see the image in my mind of that place I once visited. Filtered, of course, through the rose colored glasses of past ideals and present reminisces.

The water ripples in the wake of the late afternoon breeze, blowing toward the shore in small slapping waves. What captures my breath is the vast..., well, vast space filled with water and sky. How many miles it stretches. As far as the eye can see.

It fits for me. It clicks. I grew up in the land of far as the eye can see. This is just water, not dirt. How much the same. How different. How fluid and physical.

Other filters snap into place now, like those little circles of clarity in an eye exam. Which is better? One or two?

He stands there beside me. The table beside him is full of trays of foods and drinks. A party. A backyard that stretches as far as the eye can see. At night. So you can only see as far as the stars above now. Someone turns on the lanterns. The music grows louder. The joking and stories spill from the porch to the yard.

The yard where I stand with my back to the house, facing into the night. He stands beside me then leaves. I turn to see the gathering as he disappears into the crowd. I move to follow. The music stops. Everyone stares. I keep looking, but he's gone.

Of course he's gone. He was never there to begin with. The stares are second nature by now. I reach up and touch the vine wrapping around the porch beam. Honeysuckle. Closed. No scent tonight. Fall. Cooler air. Retreat. And I wish to do just that.

I pretend I'm alright at being thought foolish or dispirited. I go back inside and know he's there, but am kept at the door by several people. Why do I reach for that I know doesn't exist then ponder the lucid moments of memories that do? I see his blond unkempt hair over that of another man, and try to reach around to touch him.

It is my own dance in my own search for that which wasn't. When I understand we will not touch again I cry out in goodbye. The people still stare. I wonder if they are in on some grand scheme and play their parts so well to keep us apart. Or if they really cannot see us there together and it's once again my imagination telling me what should be.

The tears are his as well as mine. I feel his loss as well as mine own. But I give up the fight against the grains of the crowd. I reach for him no more. The sigh is collective but not ours. The sense that to keep fighting is not worth it pervades and I turn and walk away from what I once wanted.

Or again, I turned away from what wasn't there.

It's that time of year again...

Since I still can't find my ears, I've been wondering what else I can be for Halloween this year.

The butterfly last year was cute, but the wings were a little cumbersome. As in I had a hard time with doorways and ended up wapping people with them.

No wings this year. So that means, no fallen angel, no fairies, no 'wing & a prayer' - although I liked that one.

It'll work itself out.

I can always resort to gypsy, Bettie Page or Clara Bow or some other vintage actress, or any other of the random outfits I can piece together from what I own.

As a last resort - Medusa. Only because that's easy - I don't have to do my hair!

selfish

A beautiful night. Clear sky above. Enchanting and intriguing everything.

The deeply enticing and deplorable scent of clove cigarettes from somewhere to my left. The sticky sweet tang of lime juice dripping from a spilled margarita on the bench nearby. The young boy dancing and enacting the lyrics of his father singing onstage. The too loud talkers who don't seem to care that some of us really do want to hear the songs. The songs themselves that grip you so completely. The words and images that connect to show that you do come from the same place they do.

Figuratively I'm floating. I'm one of the lucky ones tonight. I'm soaking up as much ambiance and attitude as I possibly can. I have pictures to prove it all, but the notes I jot down are the true reminders. These are the quotes, the lyrics, the descriptions, the stories that, someday, one day, when I go back and flip through them, I will be transported back to here and remember the now that is now past.

(Now to see if I can jot anything half coherent down in an attempt to make a real article out of it. That is the challenge.)

I feel pretty... oh so pretty...

Ahhh.... To be me is an awesome feeling sometimes.

Hot man making eyes at me - nice. Flirting - even better.

5 men - one comments "We'll have to beg her to help us." (referring to getting them hotel reservations anywhere for the night) - my response - "5 men on their knees, I'm going to enjoy this!" Salacious!

A man who I want to find out more about him, and his tattoos - but he hasn't emailed me like I asked him to! - Gah! What else do I do besides flirt overtly and hope he returns the favor? (I can't exactly walk up and smack him on the head and say "Hello? I gave you my info, you gonna do something with it?")

Oh, yeah - compliments on my hair (which has now grown back to shoulder length) which curled great today (natural curls, too. I so could not hold a curling hour to my head for an hour each day), and my smile. Happy sigh.

I like days like this.

connection

One step closer to realizing my dreams and I realize I continue to dream.

When the pieces are falling into their place, as is always noted in hindsight and the footnotes of the history books, the puzzle and picture both get larger.

Then becomes the hardest part. Where next? Or, what next? I can continue to question, as I always do, as I always will. But the question itself is not an answer. It just gets the wheel turning. Picking the direction is the goal. Gotta find a compass that actually points North. So at least I'll know where North is. Just in case.

The groundwork is laid. Oh. It was always there. Just waiting. Go figure.

The groundwork is laid. My pieces have fallen into place. Leaving the easy spaces open for what's next. The easy blanks. Like doing a 100 piece puzzle of a daisy vs. a 10,000 piece puzzle of a bunch of river stones. You get the idea, right? Or do I need to try to explain it further at risk of losing you completely?

Whatever. (Have you noticed how blase I seem to be lately? I don't feel blase. I feel excited. Just a subdued kind of excited. Again, whatever.)

Cause to result. Effect. Affect. Cause to. One step at a time. Continue to make choices based on the information available at the time. Make the best possible choice. Pick one. Go with it. If it works out great. If not, pick again. So what. Remember it's only a choice. Not the end of the world. Unless the choice is to press the big red button or something. Steer clear of the big red buttons, all will be ok.

I've wandered.

Where was I?

Oh. There. I think what I mean is...

In which my mind wanders from thought to thought and I occasionally use CAPS...

My violin came in. Fiddle. Some reason I determine to call it a violin until I actually learn to play it, then I'll call it a fiddle. Or the juxtaposition of the two in my mind confuses me anyway. Even though THEY'RE THE SAME THING! Yeah. Much like a sweet potato and a yam are. Aren't they? Really. Whatever.

The fact that stores are selling cascarones in orange and black for Halloween just trips me out. I know, I know. Holiday fun by breaking eggs on peoples heads and showering them in confetti. Just I feel that the eggs are more for Easter and Spring. Perhaps if they filled gourds with confetti it'd be more for Fall. Maybe a little harder to paint, but functional the same. Why not?

Text messages. Ok. Sometimes easier. Sometimes harder. Sometimes just hard to understand because one person's shorthand does not anothers make. Or something like that. Anyway, my confusion with it is when I don't know the number and the person is blatantly flirting with me because he obviously knows me. And I try to ask who it is, but he dances around, so I flirt right back trying to figure it out, hoping it's one person... and when I figure it out - I feel a sudden thud. Damn. I've been flirting with someone I don't want to be flirting with. Damn. Damn. Damn. So what do I do? He keeps sending. I just quit responding. But HE DOES NOT GET THE HINT. Is it possible to block a number on a cell phone? Have to look into that.

First day of school jitters are over. Now it's adrenaline. Now I have ideas popping into my head about everything. Popping and rolling around. All good. Words, words, words. All falling into their respective places on their respective pages and getting put out there. Now... if I could figure out how to make a living doing such things... or make a living just by getting up every day and eating chocolate and painting things - cause that would be awesome.

sense a bill ity

In the little hints of desperation and desire there lie the prayers offered up in moments of weakness. Prayers that will only be remembered when it's time to collect or time to move on.

The bruises reveal the scars hidden from plain sight. No, the bruises just draw attention to the scars. That long running gouge across the tender muscle remembers that instant the glass shard cut into it. You just have to touch it to remember the quick prayers and Hail Mary that rolled in the back of your mind as the skin parted and blood flowed.

The smear across the ceiling of a truck I'll never forget. The burning sensation that rattles and sends needles down my back is one I'm familiar with. It is my prayer reminder. The thick overgrown tissue that dashes across sensitive flesh reminds me to slow down yet again. To look around at what I've got going now before taking off on another adventure.


*Or it just tells me it's freakin' cold and to put a scarf on.

just a lil' bit o' - what - better

Lush: Etymology: Middle English lusch soft, tender
1 a : growing vigorously especially with luxuriant foliage b : lavishly productive: as (1) : FERTILE (2) : THRIVING (3) : characterized by abundance : PLENTIFUL (4) : PROSPEROUS, PROFITABLE
2 a : SAVORY, DELICIOUS b : appealing to the senses c : OPULENT, SUMPTUOUS
synonym see PROFUSE
- lush·ly adverb
- lush·ness noun *m-w.com

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

Thick and overgrown like kudzu on the telephone poles down South, the reminders of grape vines blend with corn stalks in the fields. Where did such mystery come from and how anyone decided to build a house here I'll never understand. As remote as it is accessible, the roads deliver you straight to a fable.

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

Nevermind that, really.

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

Better than the sensation of going barefoot on shag carpet or thick grass. Better than dark chocolate melting in your mouth. (Almost.) Better than the desire to sweep you off your feet with a solid kiss. Better than lighting a match to a candle and savoring the warmth. Better than using the wax from said candle for other fantasies. (Almost.) Better than receiving a phone call that lights you up inside and out, leaves you smiling all day long no matter what. Better than a text message telling you you're beautiful and I want to see you after work tonight. (Almost.) Better than hot and sour soup on a cold night. Better than a bouquet of bright flowers from someone special at your front door. (Almost.) Better than making out in a coat closet at a party. Better than floating in the Pedernales River. (Almost.) Better than sunrise sex. Better than watching you pull your jeans off to reveal your lovely ass. Better than helping you unbutton your shirt...

That moment. That moment that's better than all this? That moment is when you look me in the eyes like you want to devour me and never let me go. That moment is when you walk up behind me and kiss me gently on the neck. That moment is when you hold my hand while walking down the street. That moment is the thought behind the texts and flowers and candle wax and phone calls and stripping. That moment is when you can't think of anyone else you'd rather be with.

That is what I'm waiting for.

for now

go with it.
just.

to carve a direction out

The map never looks the same as the landscape. Unless you're watching "Elizabethtown" and the map is from 'Claire' or something. No, the map in your hands does no justice to the fenceline or overgrown oaks. The farm houses set back from the roads almost disappear into the hayfields.

This is where the map fails. That intersection up ahead isn't even on there. And at that intersection is the road to the left that leads further into who-knows-where. And it's beautiful. It's the same we've been driving for awhile, but it's more so. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees. The barb wire and fence posts line the roads where just on the other side the sheep or goats or cows graze. Look carefully and a you'll see a deer.

This road that's not on the map turns and splits. Down to the left are more homes. To the right is a small store or cafe, maybe it's both. Pull into the dirt parking lot and amble up the steps to a large porch with tables and chairs. The table by the wall catches my eye. It's a carved table, with designs running the length of the legs and across the surface. With a bundle of dried flowers next to a picture frame with what looks like a poem or tribute written in it.

I run my fingers along the grooves and admire the texture of the wood, savoring the touch. I pause at the flowers, daisies and thistle, paintbrush and milkweed. Roadside field gatherings. You open the door, it is a cafe and store. We go in and buy a couple of beers for the rest of the drive. They have that old fashioned bottle opener on the counter. We make small talk with the cashier and wander back out to the porch. For a moment or two, as the door closes behind us, it reminds me of something I can't quite place.

I glance back at that table, halfway wishing I could do something as beautiful, half wishing I could buy it and take it home. But that wouldn't be right. It belongs here. On the porch of the cafe store on the road that's not even on the map. I glance at this table and gasp. There are fresh flowers now. More daisies, more thistle, more paintbrushes, more milkweed. In the short time we were inside... I look around. Up the road and down. No one. You leaning against the railing, waiting on me. I turn back again and look at this tribute more carefully now.

There, in the words...

I read. I re-read. You say let's go. I say one more minute. You say I'll meet you in the truck. I read again. I smile to myself. I start to shake my head, but instead bow it in a small prayer of thanks for this chance. I touch the carved table once more, turn and walk off the porch back to the truck, beer in hand, smiling all the way. You start the engine and we head out, back up the unknown road, continuing to wander the land. I sip my beer as we cruise, watching the side of the road for the mystery person, knowing I wouldn't know who it is if'n I did see them.

We turn back toward the cities and highways, long after the afternoon has passed, long after the beers are gone. I settle against the seat as our conversations move past the landscape and plans and we begin contemplating our day on the roads off the map. I think back on the table and flowers and little poems and smile.


Once the cut has been made,
Once the love has been shown,
Little mercies will be known,
Peace lies in what is not said.
- To E.O.

When you find yourself here,
Remember you chose the turn,
Others have come and gone,
And leave with more than a beer.
- To You

Silly little rhymes,
In silly little lines,
Mean nothing more,
Than I am bored.
- From M.E.

Some days just surprise the hell out of me. In a totally good way. Really.

The fact that my mother is a great speller and ever so slightly anal about some things (which is where I get it from, yes.) combined with the shortened words in a text message conversation - it both cracks me up and makes me scratch my head. She still amazes me. I forget she's human, too, and not just my mom.

I helped some customers out last week during some bad to worse weather. No big, stuff I do everyday for all our customers. Hotel reservations or car rentals or hangar space. They were appreciative and said they'd buy me a drink. Ok by me. We sat and visited, me and these three guys. (Nice.) Drink bought, conversation, head home. And today I got a package sitting on my desk when I clocked in, with all eyes wondering what it was, who it was from, and why? - Can I say I like that feeling, whatever it is. So, I let them stew. I knew who it was from. When I opened it later - it's a couple of t-shirts and a baseball cap, and a thank you note for taking care of those guys. That's why I like my job.

The auditioning is over, (whew!) and I will be writing for another site! Yea! When he told me I was like vibrating excited. Now that case of nerves that I always get before the first day of school has set in. If I can put my nose to the grindstone a little I'll be ok. 'If' being the operative word, cause even I know better. I'll still keep doing what I do best - umm, welll... give me a second... I'm sure there's something I do best besides blowjobs... oh, heck with it. - and it'll all work out. Kidding. I'm totally stoked about this, and am looking forward to learning more about the guys I date as well as myself while I write about it. Single? Yep. So, I'll use it to my advantage.

I'll still be here for all the other things that roll their way around my head, and still with the freelance articles, and the homework, and I just bought myself a violin (fiddle to me) and am planning on learning how to play it (20+ years after I originally wanted to) but that's for another day. Oh, yeah, the fiddle I bought - purple! (Ok. Shake your head. I am. But it is fitting.)

Ohh! I almost forgot! Chocolate cake! Yes. That's a good thing to my day, too. With fresh raspberries. Mmmm.

Happy sigh.

Tł'éhonaa'éí (Moon)

What began as a chance meeting turned into a long late night discussion about spirits and the earth, about souls and our everyday lives.

Fitting for the time of year. Same time as now really. Same weather. Cool. Crisp. Fall. Volatile afternoon storms. Many moons ago, several winters back. Right before All Hallows Eve. Change in the air, in every breath I took. Take.

What began as a short hello turned into the conversation about muscle memory and dreams. Neither of us laughed at the other, this was intense. This was real in the way conversations about dreams are. A connected point in the atmosphere that surrounds. You can feel it. Just like you can see it. In the mist of the rain on the streets or the whisper against your cheek. That.

He made me dinner that night. Simple. I recall no more than homemade burritos and tequila. At a picnic table in the dining room. A picnic table he handed me a knife to carve my name into, to remember I’d been to his house. I remember. We sat and talked as night fell. We ventured outside to admire the stars as the clouds rolled past. He lived in the middle of nowhere. Or close enough to it.

Dirt roads. Miles of ranch land. Miles of nothing but scrub, grasses, some cattle on the back 40. Literally. Surreal. Real. He built a campfire in his front yard. He could do that. We sat on a horse blanket he pulled from his porch, staring at the flames, leaning against a former tree now turned bench. Watching the sparks dance in the air. Mingling with the mist. The clouds formed a line. That’s what they do when a front blows in. We watched it blow in. How long had I known him? A few days at most. But here we were both observers of the night.

Too much to say. Silent we stayed. The wind. The fire. The pure feel of absolute security in a wide open space. Surrounded by the earth below and sky above. The conversations about spirits and souls was now the conversations with the spirits and souls. You know they are there. Watching us watch the flames.

The rain started. Much like tonight. It came in waves. The fire put itself out. We retreated to the house. He offered me his bed. He slept on the couch. I’m not one to sleep alone if I can help it. He was gentleman enough. I dragged him to bed and we curled together to sleep. Listen to the wind whistle past. Listen to the rain on the roof. Listen to each other breathe.

The night was filled with vivid color and dreams of caprocks and dirt. Of praises and chants. Of dancing and blessing. Of earth and sky. Of fire and mist. Of rain and prayers. Of healing and believing. Of throwing my arms open wide and being covered in feathers. Of hands and symbols. Of this world and those I can’t always see.

We parted ways the next day. He gave me a sweater to keep me warm as I made my way home. I plowed through the mud and re-entered the daily grind. We saw each other once more. Then never again. Our paths had merged for that one night. He handed me a gift of belief that night. One I already had. What spoke clear draws me back each year. Draws me back all the time. To listen. To watch the mists. To find the flames in the simple light of a candle. To feel that whisper as I pass and remember that once I had a conversation. With another. With that I feel. Sense in another realm. Sense beyond sight. Sense beyond faith.

The dreams stayed with me. Stay. The symbols appear. Continuously. The prayers are the same now. The earth still speaks. The sky still listens. My arms are still open wide. And the spirits still reveal themselves in the mists. Still.

a pause to say goodbye...

Grieve for that lost chance that once upon a time was me. Grieve for the gaping hole in my chest. Grieve for the touch and caress I'll not know anymore. Grieve for what words he used to whisper to me to make me smile. Grieve for that goodbye.

Sorrow washes itself away with tears. Now the stoic remembrances settle in. Those doors were closed long before now, I know, but I still wished them open from time to time.

Calm ensues. The better choice has been made. The directions and decisions diverged with or without our help. I know he's happy. And that brings me peace. I know the choice is good for him, and he is where he belongs whether he knows it or not. I can wish for a different ending all I want, but I, too, am where I belong and the choices I've made thus far are mine. I hear the smile in his voice and know he is happy. And that right there is what matters. My tears dry because there is no more reason to cry in loss or pain. I'm actually happy for him. (What can I say, I'm a sucker for any happy ending, even if it's not mine - if only because it gives me hope for my own)

Now I wish to wrap my arms around him again, a deep embrace, and the chance to say "I love you. You were a significant part of my life. Thank you for that. I am happy for you. I wish you both the best!" Congratulations, L. I really am happy for you.

thinkin'

better now. still lots on my mind. but calmer.

the weather has changed. you can smell it. you can feel it. fall is here. there are no trees to turn leaves here in my part of the world, but it's the same sensation.

an offer to bring me something back from Albuquerque. a nice gesture. sweet. what I wanted him to bring me is that glorious smell - the pinion and pine and mountian air. sigh. can that be bottled? I wish it could.

love. that has been a recurring thought. or, more precise, relationships. as in, what do I really want in a partner and why do I seem to keep attracting married men and not single men? yeah. no solution there. just keep asking the questions - cause they don't all wear rings. and the ones that do, well, it doesn't seem to matter. I like a nice comment, a smile, and I'll take attention in pretty much all it's forms, but by golly, I want to believe I've got an actual shot with you before I'm gonna go out with you, and if you're already married? I ain't got a shot! so back up a step or three.

back to the love sitch. well, it's still blank here. and that kinda aches. I want to care about someone. I would prefer to care about someone who cares about me back. and it's been too long since I felt that. months, weeks, years, hours, whatever.

I have a friend who is in a bad funk. now I'm well aware of my own moods, and my own funks (thus why I take a shower every day...), so I'm trying to be supportive, but I'm beginning to think he wants someone else to 'save' him. this is awkward to me. the compassionate side is there to listen and help out. the other side (who happens to get pissy at bitches and hang ups - this is what I affectionately call my dark side) wants to slap him and tell him to grow up already, he knew that what happened was coming and he did nothing to prepare for it beyond complain. I guess I get tired of listening to other people's woes. (I don't even pretend to imagine that anyone wants to hear about my issues, thus why I write them down.)

but this 'saving' thing? I'm no Mother Teresa. I learned a loooonnnggg time ago that I'm on my own and can barely handle that without tripping. I can't carry someone else, too. so with him I'm torn. energy wise, there are some days I have no reserves left to listen anymore. and he can be draining.

there are a couple of other things that have been rolling around in my head for a day or few. they'll get sorted in their own time, I know. talked to an editor locally today. another magazine, he'd heard about some of my articles. still freelance, which works, but closer to home, and I could cover more arts - theater, dining, dance, and music. maybe... looking at all avenues for writing right now, the options are all pretty good.

getting into holiday mode, as in carvings for gifts and such. time to rearrange furniture again, I need more room for some of the bigger pieces already. plus knitting, I've got yarn everywhere. I look around and it is messy, but it's so colorful and creative, how could you not love it?

and I'm off!

Damnit!

I hate bitches. I really hate the ones who have nothing better to do than spend their husbands money and gripe. And I really hate the ones that think they can buy their way for everything. And I really hate the ones who tell my boss I should be fired because I wouldn't let her do what she wanted - even if it was for her own fucking good! So bleah. I have this incredible urge to go find her address and go bash in the headlights on her pretty little lexus. Except that a) I could never actually do that. and b) it's way more effort than it's worth. But I will happily flip her off from behind my desk next time she drives up!

I also hate the hang up. I left my phone at home today for who knows what reason, and I have 5 missed calls! Sheesh. I don't get 5 calls on a normal day. I should leave my phone at home more often. Anyway. One who left a message I tried to call back - and instead of letting it go to his fucking voicemail - he clicked it on and hung up! WTF? If you don't want to talk to me, then don't call me! I get the fucking hint.

I'm ranting. I'm working this weekend, when I'd rather be helping my best friend move another friend. Yes, silly me, lugging boxes and furniture and all that jazz - but with two friends. At least they don't hang up on me or yell at me. No, wait... only when there is drinking involved... but that's ok.

Fuck it. I'm extremely short tempered. I'm going for a run.

here, and here, too...

Warm, wet skin.
Soft, gentle and rough, moving up and down. Just touch me.
Lather up with soap, let the white bubbles slide down my body.
Hot skin. From the shower. From your body.
Slippery when wet.
We're laughing. I keep touching your arms.
We're kissing. You keep touching my breasts.
We're sliding. I shampoo your hair. Watch the water run down your back as you rinse off.
We're moaning. You take the soap and move over the edges of my back and arms.
Down to my legs. I squeal when you bite my cheek. I reach back to slap you away, turning into the shower stream.
You step me back into the water. I pull you closer. I pull you into me.
One more step. Under a waterfall. Cold tile against my back. Hot wet muscles pressing against my body.
Sensations aplenty.
Kisses. Nips. Groans. Sliding into each other against the walls.
So, so slippery when wet.
You take my hand in yours, fingers entwined pressed to the tile. Long body wrenching shudders mix with the moans and sighs.
Gentle vibrations. Rhythm of the water, rhythm of our bodies.
One last deep kiss.
Pull apart so slowly.
No words spoken now.
Rinse the rest of the soap and shampoo off.
Turn off the water.
I turn to grab a towel and you hand one to me.
You wrap one around your waist. I wrap mine around my hair.
You reach around me with another towel, patting the drops, rubbing my body dry.
The steam is still there.
Towels trail us as they fall away.
Skin still hot to the touch. Hot and soft. Yearning soft. Tender soft. Beautiful soft.
A kiss begs to be planted on those lips, on your neck, on my shoulder, down my back, across your chest.
Begs to land on every square inch of my body. Of your body.
Hands can't get enough.
Keep touching.
Here.
And here.
Oh, yes... here.
This is the softer side.
Savor it.
Pull together again.
Into the warm bed. Tangle in the sheets. Take your time. Touch all you want.
Start here...

in a way I'm moved to silent(s)

self sufficient enough to set my own alarm and to tie my own shoes, I somehow still forget to do things like take my vitamins or make sure my shirt isn't on backwards. as has been proven time and again. so today with no real agenda beyond do laundry and go to the store for food and shampoo, I did just that.

in a round about way. I also plugged my ears into my ipod and danced through the laundromat and across the parking lot to the 7-11 to get a bottle of water and a lottery ticket. and I mean I danced. like in those commercials - hips shaking, arms flying, head bouncing - and it felt so good. so good I wondered why I didn't do it more often. like every day.

I also decided to try to avoid answering my phone, but that didn't work so I answered it anyway. good news and bad. in that order. I would have preferred it the other way around. still a balance of some sort, eh?

eventually I made it to the store to buy the things I actually eat like cereal and yogurt and fruit. I behaved myself and left the spooky orange and chocolate ice cream bars in the store freezer. and instead bought a new nail polish. hee, hee. the bruises have gone down on my ankles and I can walk normally now, so I opted to paint my toenails. I think I enjoy it as a decoration because it's not as permanent as a tattoo, it's creative and fun, and when I'm barefoot it looks pretty.

after such a hard day off I took myself out to eat. actually I almost felt pathetic because I couldn't find anyone to go with me, and I did what I usually do when dining alone, I brought a book.

single. not in a relationship. alone.

usually it sucks. like when I wake up with a really good dream and my leg is wrapped around my pillow and not someone I can share the dream with. tonight though was ok. liberating and calming, if those two words can be used together. I enjoyed my burger and beer and didn't have to attempt conversation with anyone. I left when I was ready. I stopped at the music and movie store and picked up a new cd. and came home and played the new cd while I cleaned and put things away. then I continued work on a long term project while I caught up on shows from the last week. and I laughed so hard three times I had to keep rewinding "Studio 60" when he hit the glass with the bat. call me crazy or whatever but that was the funniest thing I've seen since one of last season's "Scrubs" episodes.

yeah. sure. I would rather have someone to laugh with and discuss music with and eat with, but I'm ok by myself. whether I've got a book or not. or fresh batteries. ;) at least I like my own company and don't bitch about myself to myself. no, wait, I think I do that, but not in the way I'm thinking about here.

whatever. ignore the drama and turn the music up loud. it'll all balance out in the end anyway. won't it, eh?

I am blind, but now I see...

A depth charge of emotion hits me like a wall when I finally open my eyes.

He has been so quiet. How was I to know how he felt? No indication was ever given beyond the long stares and smiles. That, to me, is no more indication than maybe I've got something in my teeth or my curls are sticking out at funny angles (which happens a lot).

He never said a word. We talked and joked. We smiled and said our hellos. Never any indication that he wanted to get to know me better. Never. Even with all the questions I asked of him about his life.

I never knew.

And I went out with his friend. His friend who asked me out. His friend who spoke up. His friend who I enjoyed the evening with, but I know there is no more to it.

So now I ponder.

Did his friend know? Did his friend ask me to get to him? Did he just not have enough balls and he asked his friend to ask me out? Am I convoluting too much to a simple thing?

I don't know.

He is nice. I wouldn't mind getting to know him better. Some things I already know, but as with past experiences, that means nothing in the compatibility range.

A simple comment.

And I knew.

And I felt dashed.

For not realizing. For hurting him inadvertently. For whatever. For going out with the wrong man.

Till I understand that dating is just dating. There should not be such emotional turmoil tied into a dinner or a dance. Yet I do it. And that I should not feel so bad for not knowing. For not knowing someone else's feelings.

Had I known, though, what would have changed?

I don't know.

I know that I'm searching for my own yes and no, and that trying to do that when I don't know where other people stand, it means I have to ask. And I know I'm not always the best at asking either. And I know it can be easier to have the fantasy than the reality.

But to find out...

... Like with other things in life, I'd rather have the innocence of not knowing than deal with the burden of knowledge.

I'm sorry. I didn't know how you felt. I was there, too. I'm sorry you never said anything. Does so little to comfort now. Chalks up another mark in the book of life for things that coulda, shoulda, woulda. Says to me that I should pay more attention. And I want to say to him and those like him - speak up.

I am sorry for his hurt that he voiced in a moment of pain of percieved loss.

Now. If he can get over that. If he is open to trying. I am here. But is he willing to do that, or would he rather keep the fantasy?

Who chooses to be blind now? We'll see.

I clean up pretty good

I survived. Good show. Awesome watching the F-18 and P-51 cross the skies together - that's my favorite part. My ankles are so dame sore - 17 hours three days in a row of boots & running & standing directing traffic.

But the kudos from the groups I helped out were nice, the hugs and pats on the back. Yea! I did my job well!

Thankfully no major incidences - only minor. Like a car on the wrong side of the runway and a taildragger (you know what that is if you speak plane) who couldn't see in front of him and his propeller chewed the rudder of another. That - no so fun.

Extremely hot flirting. Too many drinks - you know when the room spins when you close your eyes - yeah, that kind of too many drinks. But even better was the taking off the layers of dirt and clothes and boots and having arms wrap around me and tell me I'm so fucking hot - even with the dirt and sunburns and general not prettiness. Course the passing out before any sex - that kinda sucked. Oh, well. For a minute it was nice.

The wolves were like pussy-cats - pun intended there. In a way, I feel validated (borrowed the word today) for my writing and that feels even better than taking a shower did after this weekend.

Now, to go back to the skirts, although I don't think I can handle heels for a few more days.

quickie randomness

gel insoles are the best investment ever for 8 bucks. 7 hours on my feet on asphalt in West Texas, in Jungle Camo Boots - and my feet have survived. to do it all over again tomorrow and sunday!

while being strung along about a possible job that never actually existed is sucky, at least I know I get awesome reviews and five different department heads want me - if only there were a position available.

a smile from a kid who's having fun is the best thing in the world.

I have a more outgoing and stronger persona when I'm wearing a knife on my belt and big black boots that I can kick ass in, because I feel that way. - as opposed to a skirt and heels. kinda like costumes in drama class. it's always the shoes that made the character.

yea! a wedding for two people I consider family! yea! happy, happy, joy, joy! plus a full moon rise over WWII planes behind them - it's gonna be so cool!

for some reason I'm more afraid of tripping and landing in cactus than I am of getting bit by a rattlesnake, and both are equally possible.

yeah, I'm exhausted, and my alarm is going to go off in a few hours, and I really do wonder why I do this every year... but I do it for my dad and granddad - he's 83 and had triple bypass and he still does it, well, then I can too. - oh, yeah, and I get to be authoritative and all, and that's pretty nice too.

the eye candy is plentiful. sigh. can I just say - 'yum'. too many memories of my own flightsuited boys in the past, and oh, so, nice to watch.

not eating - bad. not eating anything but cereal bars and crackers - not so good. I get cranky. but I already knew that.

having a writing sample submitted to the wolves on another blog - exciting, scary, and interesting. they really tell you what they think there. hmmm...

funny, I think I'm looking forward to December already. and I'm not sure why exactly.

sunburns on the top of your eyelids hurt. must remember sunscreen there. and the top of the nose. and the line of the forehead where my bandanna comes down. and my ears. and my elbows. how did I miss so many frikin' spots? I look like I have red and pink camo on my arms!

I would totally drink more alcohol (beer, margaritas, whatever that crew chief bought me at the pub that tasted so good) if I weren't totally dehydrated already from being in the sun and wind.

parable

A moth spit on me today.
I got to go flying and sit in the right seat tonight.

I think moth spit is like fairy dust.

Tonight I am on shaky ground awaiting the cracks in the earth to point me in the direction I should be leaping

Something like that.

In a different place and time I might tell you what really happened. In another life I might share the stories of my past. In another realm I might be somebody else.

Without too much funkiness or too much drama, here's the sitch.

I need a new job that I like. Like now.
I need to get laid by someone I like. Like now!
I need to quit stressing so much about other people's stupid opinions. Like yeah.
I need to stop answering my phone when a certain person calls. Definitely.
I need to quit wishing a different certain person would call. Because I need to grow some balls and call him.

Anyways. I’m in a mood brought on by exhaustion, and it’s only Monday. This week will be long, always is, but good things will come of it. I have two friends who are getting married (to each other) on Saturday, and I am twisting as many arms as I can to be there, but because of stupid-ass-selfish co-workers, it’s not looking promising right now. But then again, this is only Monday. Who knows? Maybe they’ll grow hearts and brains by then! Ok, that was the optimistic fairy butting in there. She has since been silenced with the blue duct-tape. Blue because that’s what I have handy after wrapping flag poles and because it matches her perky little optimistic wings. You thought I was gonna say ass there, didn’t you?

Anyways. I am horny, and not much thought has gone into sex lately, because the prospects have been extremely slim. As in toothpick slim. As in, well, none. And most of my energy has been focused on the job hunting so I can keep this steady paycheck that I like so well without having to go down to 2nd Street and whore myself out. Although now that I write that it sounds like it would kill two birds with one stone. Then again, eh, not for me, thanks!

Gripe, gripe, gripe. I ain’t got it so hard. I know. I just want a few more things my way and all will be peaches and rainbows in my world. Snicker.

So – until next week after I sleep for two days after this coming weekend where I will be working my ass off, sweating profusely, getting rope burns, and probably cussing a few people out, and taking even more pictures of airplanes that I could ever possibly need, and ogling pilots in flight suits, and flirting with several, ok, a lot of them… then I’ll be back to some form of recalibration of the normal line. Optimistic fairy be damned.

Unless of course she can make a certain someone show up for me soon. Then I’ll happily let her fly anywhere she damn well pleases.

Sweet!

Oh, my God!

No, wait -

OhMiBod!

Hell, yeah.

I want one!

I mean, I already have garter belts, so this would make a very nice addition.

- I have read the other reviews, and now I crave this new toy. Can I just say it turns me on to just think about it.

-- Ooooh... now I'm trying to think of a way to get it as a birthday present. But that's like two months away, and I don't know if I can hold out that long... Perhaps I'll have a boyfriend by that time and can convince him that's what I really want for my birthday.

--- Then again, that could backfire if the guy isn't as open minded about toys and thinks he's being upstaged.

---- Screw that. This would totally be a gift for me! I could begin to enjoy the gift-giving thing all over again.

----- Unless I have a secret admirer out here who would want to get me one? Hint, hint, wink, wink... of course, you'd have to tell me who you are so I could properly thank you.

Once upon a time... can be here now

Ok, so I was like 7 years old.
I really wanted to learn to play the violin.
My best friend was taking violin lessons.
I wanted to, too.
Really.
But nope.
The economy was shot and my parents were using my college savings to manage.
I didn't know this at the time.
I just knew times were bad and money was tight.
And anyways the third grade teacher wanted to put me in Zenith.
I asked if that was like Violin.
I was like 7 years old, give me a break.
Nope, Zenith was for the smart kids.
Ha, go figure.
Oh, you mean me who can't sit still because I'm already done with my work?
Yeah.
So I got out of class to go to a special class and went and learned other things, like brainstorming and storytelling and thinking outside the box.
Fat lot of good it did me socially.
But I was creative and smart!
I never did get to learn the violin.
Instead I was in church choir.
Instead my grandmother insisted I become a proper young lady and learn to play the piano.
The only song i ever learned by memory - Yankee Doodle.
I think I can still pick it out today.
Anyways.
Tonight went to see a band.
Laid back kind of night, fun group, new group.
The fiddle player is a girl.
And she is good.
And I say to my date "I once wanted to learn to play the violin."
And in the middle of a song, she does fiddle tricks like play it behind her back, or set the bow in her knees and play.
And she comes into the audience and pulls me up to the stage and hands me the bow.
No kidding - really!
Me!
So I hold the bow and she whips that fiddle across it.
She plays the fiddle while I hold the bow.
Now that was just too fucking cool!
I want to learn to play now.
All over again.
Really.
Because that was amazing.