Every Now and Again

Every now and again I let myself care.  I suppose it is that I forgot what the pain of rejection and dismissal feels like so I need to dip myself into those cold waters and swim until my limbs seize up and the breath is squeezed from my lungs and my heart feels as though it wants to burst.  Then, the only way to thaw myself is the shower of tears that fall.   My rational mind is mostly unaffected  it reminds my rather stupid emotive side that it knew better and had warned us.  There is not much to do but allow myself the luxury of irrationality from time to time.  The checks and balances of my psyche are a strange and marvelous thing. Actions are so important and if a persons words exceed their actions it is time to reconsider who that person is to you.  When you love someone, show it.  Be kind to them.  Treat them gently because life if difficult enough without adding to the burdens of our daily grind.  The Beatles sang that you have to hide your love away, and Goethe said *what business of yours is it if I love you* and I wonder anymore if there is truth here or simply too much of the pain that comes with opening yourself to the possibility of…. more.

Every now and again my heart wants to be found special and I mistake interest shown for something it is not… I do not understand why we cannot come with instructions and directions on how to find the parts of another that work in unison with our own.  Friends are just as precarious as the desire for lovers.  Too often we lose vital parts of ourselves in a quest to be liked.  Sometimes we give everything and get nothing not even emotional fulfillment.  An expensive lesson to learn… learn it the first time.  If you are fortunate enough to meet someone who gives back as much as if not more, love them well.

RB068_62857.1375490071.128__52107.1382016920.168.168Try not to be bullied by your heart, it is a drunk, blind fool and will drag you into the gutter of misery and defeat if it can.  Sadly, no one will heed these words.  People will continue to be reckless and ignorant when it comes to love.  But me, I am pretty sure that I am getting tired of the cold waters so much so that I won’t be going to the beach.

My Favorite Hours

The construct of time is everything and nothing.

There are a few small hours in certain days that pass more rapidly than I want.

If I am careful the hours stretch like dough silky smooth willing to give as much as needed.  And I knead but am not needed.  I have not solved the puzzle of why me and not someone else… there are plenty of others there always are, never fool yourself, never lie. I tell myself little stories of plausibilities and stop my capitualting with sadly simple truths.  Actions tell a different story than words ever will.

There is a tender place inside of every living thing, it drives us toward irrational thinking.  I pretend I have clad this space in armor and thorns.  But in these hours the eyes it does not have peer through the tangle wondering if someone has come to break it free only to be reminded as it presses toward escape by a sharp jab which sends it crashing backward away from the light.

Perhaps I am wrong to cage such a wild beast.  I let it run amuck once I cannot say I regret it but I can say that I learned much as a participant observer. So that now when my neurons fire and my pulse dances in my veins I check myself looking for chinks in the chainmail or holes in the thorny hedgerow.

The problem I fear is not so much that there is a beast, but rather it is being tamed.  For there is warmth that builds in these hours and it radiates through a frozen core making me want to shed the caging and trim the thorny growth.

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The sharp sting of cold air on warm nostrils reminds me I am alive.  Twilight blue brings dimension to the world around me sharpening my vision and fine tuning my hearing.

I miss you.

I cannot tell you I miss you, for that would be weakness and betrayal.  Mostly in my private conversations between the left and right lobes the determination is that you simply choose to not care ergo I must not care.  And yet, I do.

As I lie here in the gloaming the odd rev of an engine on the highway and my breathing are the only sounds that interrupt my transcendental meditation.  I reminisce about events that never happened.  Earth shattering moments that define love, a gentle caress of fingertips across a forearm, the warmth that fills your soul at a smile from across a room, and the awkward glances and trying not to stare and draw attention because what if they do not feel the same way sorts of moments, moments that never happened.

And the blue changes into a golden glow pushing away the shadows and fantasies.  Light beckons me from my reverie and sends my neurons firing in purposeful fashion upon the solid ground that is reality.  And that reality is that my emotional yearnings are simply a trite happening for a woman of a certain age and social standing because really I should know better than to believe that love can conquer all.

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Snap Out of It!!

Love never hurts.  Love is all that is good.  Love is a gentle emotion that soothes, comforts and heals.  Love brings out the best in us as people.  Things that hurt are rejection, misunderstanding, being punched in the face…  a “broken” heart derived from miscommunication and personal expectations is not a failure of Love it is a part of a growing process.   A person either learns how to Love through introspection and examination of self and the responses one makes or they are doomed to a foolish and repetitive pattern of self flagellation wrongly identified and attributed to the wrong emotion.  As Shakespeare wrote all those years ago, expectation is the root of all heartache.  If you are carrying sadness about expecting the first rush of flirtation to fix you perhaps you need to unpack your own baggage and look at each item you carry with you and realize how these experiences, memories or emotions impact all that you do and how you perceive others.

the ides of October

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Today was so full of cobwebs and ghosts that I need to hire a cleaning crew and an exorcist.

I hit snooze time and again my first alarm going off at five in the morning and the last a quarter of seven.  Just past sunrise the sky was full of clouds, like those in an Old Master’s painting it was as if Rembrandt, from his heavenly repose, had taken his turn painting the sky for the pleasure of us few mortals who bother to look up.

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My mind meanders as I drive and today was no different.  The ghosts arrived as I crested the Kent Narrows bridge and I was thinking back to a weekend visit in which my dear friend Rae had stopped by with her three children.  Her son Atticus bears a striking resemblance to his late father, my friend, George.  I was showing Atticus some Chinese exercise balls and my eyes rested for a moment on his hands, and for that moment they were no longer his hands but those of his father.  I remarked upon it and let it pass only to have that memory hit me in the gut.  It was followed by the memory of George laughing as he would at my maudlin female upset.

The radio mocked me and save for a gun and two bullets it is still there in my car.

I arrived at work in less than timely fashion, although no more than a few minutes late.  The ritual of preparing to work was hurried along by customers requiring help and in forcing me to say the date aloud, reminding me of the loss of my mother’s father.  A man whom I believed to have been named Owl.  I was 19 when I realized that a misheard moment when I was five years old stretched a lifetime.  My Nana in her New York accent said “Oh Al, don’t be silly.” and my ears Heard it as “Oh Owl.”  It made me choke up.  I could not breathe and the tear sprang unbidden to my eyes.  He was a good man.  I miss him.

I shall not trouble you with the drama at work but this too colored my day.

Again, the ride home was miles to review not just my day but portions of my life with the possible expectation of overcoming mistakes and maybe living life in better fashion.  So many mistakes.  I can tell you it is dangerous and difficult to drive with eyes full of tears.

I guess the whole of it is I miss my Owl, my friend, and my unspoiled youth.  I cannot resurrect the dead nor can I mend the past and I am not very certain how to sort out my future so that makes me one helluva mess.

Alone, On Sleepless Nights

I’ve counted every sheep there is followed closely by the cows on ward to tally up the geese and horses and all their farmyard friends before sitting here contemplating between the enumeration of the beasts living in high veld and savannas of Africa or creatures of the forests of North America. Whoever thought the transcendental nature of my thoughts would take me on such a magnificent journey in my quest for sleep?

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Posthumous Cut List

I have decided that there are certain souls I no longer wish to know.  I mean this to apply to  future incarnations and time spent in the heavenly realm.  I have been watching you here in this existence, studying your behavior and how it impacts me and my behavior and I do not like it, ergo I do not like you enough to want to wander eternity as a soul mate, be ye friend, lover or acquaintance.  I am making a physical notation in case I forget when I die that there are as of this moment in time ten of you on this list.

Oddly enough some of you, in this life, I consider to be close to me, but I really do not like the manner in which you have chosen to exist as it is hypocritical and immoral.  You choose evil over good time and again.  I am far from perfect.  So perhaps you would not choose to know me either, but I really do not wish to recycle into another lifetime with some of you.  I would rather not reincarnate, but I do not think we are given much choice in this matter.  There are at least three of you that I would not mind seeing burn in an eternal hell.

Closing Time

Man made time, and dates no doubt to bring order to the chaotic idea of eternity.  In open ended reflection I seek to create new resolve.  I heard it said once, that when you stand close to someone you catch their dreams.  I wonder if anyone has caught mine?

I grew leaps and bounds in 2013.  I learned letting go does not mean giving up.  Cling too tightly to one ideal and you lose sight, perspective and hope.  Releasing myself from the anchor expectation has allowed me to rise to the surface and fill my burning lungs with much needed life.  Much of the year has been spent treading water.  Stupidly waiting for an anchor to rise.  I can see the scars where I let destructive ideals bind me.  Then I realized I did not have to stay close to the anchor, I am free to swim away, and yet for so long I stared at it in contemplation.  People around me prodding me toward the shores of reality saved me from my folly while still allowing me, to be me.  I spent so long with this anchor, thinking it was security, hating the pain it brought by its weight but needing the fixed point that I did not realize it was drowning me.  Stealing my life from me.  It is a crazy amazing thing when you realize you want to live life and not the shadowy idea of one.  I thank my Shooting Star for saving me.  Sometimes goodbye really is a second chance.

I am on the shore now and the horizon that draws closer is the most amazing, scary, thrilling, and wonderful thing.  New beginnings await.  2014 bring it on!

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My Battered Heart

So many grow thinking there is someone for me. Time and again I hoped. I married wrongly, then divorced. I fell in love on line but the complications of time, space and reality crashed that thought to the ground.

I still love him. It makes me angry tho… He lead me on a merry run I’m not the one he wants. I’m not blue eyed, red haired, smoking, English woman. I lied to her so she would feel better. He has her back, he does not need me.

Repossession ~ Or How I woke up one day and decided to take back my life.

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It all starts with love.  It always does.  I become enamored, enraptured and possessed very easily.  I am stubborn and willful when it comes to getting what I want, and the journey of the past few years has been one of learning to let go, to accept, and to understand that life is not about controlling others it is about controlling yourself.

Names and places and any resemblance to real life people is strictly by chance.  Wink wink nudge nudge, No, really, I am serious.  Totally fabricated.  So if you think you see yourself here… you are fucking crazy.  Either that or you have a guilty conscience and you need to take that up with your chosen deity.

Where was I, oh yes, love.  I am a notorious bookworm.  I can read a thousand page novel in eight hours.  This does not leave much time for reality, and breeds a very warped sense of what real life should be.  I do not recommend being a bookworm.  Half of my horrible ideas of relationships came from books filled with tragic and misunderstood heroes and heroines who came to fucked up understandings of how to get along.  Never underestimate the power of words and their impact on other human beings.  My love affair with reading began when I was ten years old.  My crazy father took the television from our home for three years.  I have a huge gap of social events from this time.  I replaced it with trips to the library.  I read through all the young adult section horror to coming of age to romance.  Romance won.  I discreetly began checking out adult romance stories when I was twelve.  My world changed.  My sexual education began to be shaped.  My young mind crafted a need for a hero to woo me.  Upon reflection I doubt this man exists anywhere but in my youthful mind.

High school was a blip.  No one ever flirted with me or paid any attention to me except to call me names like *wheat head* (I had swimmer’s blonde hair) or they asked me about my slutty friend Cassandra who I never really kept touch with after first semester of college.  She wrote me a letter about her new boyfriend wanting a threesome and asked me to join.  As a nineteen year old virgin the idea of my best friend wanting this event did not fit with the mental picture of what I thought my first time should be.

College, or as those in other parts of the world call it Uni, was interesting.  I spent several months obsessing over a young man who I learned many years later had made a promise never to do anything with me out of respect of his friendship with someone else.  This, when I discovered this, pissed me the fuck off.  And I am fairly certain karma is working itself out with the pair of them so while it makes me sad that they are suffering,  they did it to themselves.

I took lots of poetry classes and literature classes in college.  I love writing.  I love words.  It has taken me a lifetime to rediscover this love and I owe it to someone I shall call Tijger.  He knows who he is.  Tijger has been one of the best things to ever happen to me.  He has traveled with me through the hardest times of my life.  I owe him so much.  I love him, unconditionally.  Enough about him for the moment… he was not there when I was in college because if he was I doubt I would be writing this story, it would be something totally different.

I fell for a bad boy.  I always thought that bad boys were secretly good.  This is not true.  This was a myth it took lots of time to disprove.  I think I should have paid closer attention to Anne Shirley when she spoke of wanting someone who was good, but just a little bit wicked. I am not super exotic when it comes to my personal tastes, well maybe I am, but I am not looking for extreme.  This bad boy was also divergent and is someone who will never love me or desire me as I want.  This was a very difficult lesson to learn.  A lesson compounded by children and a failed marriage.  God gave me what I asked for and prayed for, I thanked him for it …. only to discover that no, it was not want I wanted but more importantly not what I needed.

I was relentless in my pursuit.  I shut out friends and family his and mine who warned me about him.  I knew best.  There is only so much they can do to stop someone hell bent on running into a brick wall.  Here, hold my beer… and I don’t even drink a lot of beer.

I must say, I am glad that I waited until I was ready to have sex.  I put everything I read about to use and learned as I went.  It was incredible.  Not many people can say that about their first time, I know I have talked to a lot of people. It is not the honey moon phase of my relationship which I will pull apart and share.  He was charming and all that for a bit.  Or maybe I painted a picture of a charming man.  After we slept together he did not really talk to me.  This should have been a huge flashing sign.  He got laid ergo I had no further spot in his world.  But no, I adopted the odd position that it was a phase and we were meant to be…ding dong dumb… programming from literature cluttered my head.  I was right. I was the heroine of my own life.  I would have my happily ever after with the man who took my virginity.  Yeah… see, not so much.