SO I GOT TO THINKING....

Writing for Writing's Sake

2011-05-09T17:00:00.003-04:00

Sake? What does Japanese rice wine have to do with it all?

This is literally an entry to tell you that I should write more often. Or to tell me that I should write more often. I am not really sure. Here is a quick view of how I feel, and if I am so inclined I will expand later. More likely than not though, I will forget about you again until I feel compelled by some inner weighty guilt to give you another quick debriefing with more empty promises.

The Boy's Sister was recently married. Actually, recently engaged and recently married. I actually will not be getting to in-depth here about this because I generally like Her and the nice young man she married, but it was all around an interesting marriage. I have the following feelings: She is so young and she knows him so little and I don't want her to make the same mistakes I did and there is ever so small a jealous beast beneath my serene exterior, et. al. Expressing any/ all of these makes me feel

That I sound like my mother

Like a jealous beast. Not a small one, a real, life-sized one.

Like I am meddling. Which I have never had a real problem with before, but whatever.

School is... trying? No, I am trying, school is winning. I am exhausted, grumpy, and have a flat affect towards everything not school related. I am a solely goal oriented troglodyte, not hunting berries or boar, but hunting a C average and interested only in facts, numbers, and medical terms.

That isn't totally true. I have found time this semester to finish a book I knew I was going to love before I even started: Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South. It was an inspiring novel about the differences among the class systems in 1860 England. It gave a very clear view of the Northern rural England and the Industrial South through the eyes of our heroine, Margaret Hale, who goes through such a transformation as is not warranted in modern literature. Gaskell created a credible and endearing heroine while choosing carefully to not promote the North or the South, but rather allowing the reader to choose for himself.

Home ownership is not for the weary. There is a reason they cost so much: To convince you not to buy one because they cost so much time, resources and sanity. I love our home, I just wish this were pioneer days and we could have built our own little log cabin and had gas lamps. Fooey on modern innovations. Who asked for you any how, running water and light fixtures? Who indeed.

Wedding planning is in the same vein. I won't repeat it, I will write a whole separate article about it later. But beware. I will whine. That is all I have the energy for. I think.

More later, if I remember. I really do want to try to please you and to keep you coming back, ye few.

Something New...

2011-01-27T21:41:00.004-05:00

I wrote this over a year ago, and except for the fact that I am now a new, unpronounceable zodiac sign, it is actually perfect. We are perfect. In case you were wondering.

"But Boy are you sure?"

There are a million and one things to think about when saying yes to someone. For one, What are they really asking you to do? Is a simple lunch date to you really the best chance this person has to collect some of your hair for their alter to you?

By saying yes when someone asks you to babysit are you really signing your life away to an ungrateful mom who will call you every Friday night?

By telling someone you love them, does that mean that life is over? That you have made a choice between that person and every other passionate dream you may have ever had?

When I asked the guy that set The Boy and I up for an account of The Boy, I had no idea his answer would be "He's tall." But that was the perfect answer for the beginning of the most calming, delightful, and comfortable relationship I have ever been involved in.

Last night I was trying to figure out why we work so well together. Turns out, it is written in the stars. Taurus and Scorpio are destined to be a loyal, formidable, fantastically passionate couple. He is a strong, constant earth sign with a determined nature. His love of possession and my love of power make us a pair to be reckoned with in the job market. I will teach him to never settle and to always wonder at life and he will teach me that sometimes life is just a four letter word. In short, we have always been intended. If you believe all that mumbo-jumbo.

The question is, what does it mean to say yes to this boy? To say "Yes, I love you?" To say "Yes I will love you?"

To say "yes" to The Boy is to whisper his name onto every doorstep. To wear his heart on my sleeve. To have people see his light on my face.

To say "yes" is to take this man in front of me and see him for what he is- stripped of florid poetry, devoid of sparkling entreaties, silent and waiting for one word.

To say yes is to hold him in my heart, to let him walk beside me, to be unafraid to show him all of my faults, to share with him every thought he begs and some he could never imagine.

To trust.
To want.
To share.
To see.
To say "yes" is to turn to him and admit that I am unsure of what it means but I am willing to find the definition together.

By the way, The Boy and I are engaged. In case any of you out there are not friends with me on any other social media outlet.

It's true. He loves me and I have a ring to prove it. :)

I should have typed this before I read that.

2010-12-21T18:13:00.003-05:00

I just made the mistake of checking my final grade in Big Girl School and I really should have written this entry before having done so.But, c'est la vie, we cannot unlive, oui?

I was going to write some sort of year end list including all of the exciting, sad, mysterious or otherwise interesting things that happened this year, but I just forgot it all in the emotional tumult.

This semester I took one course. A fundamentals course. With a lab. I passed, but just barely.

Since when am I a C student?

Dear Brain, determination, interest, and self-preservation:
Please return. I have a whole world to conquer and so little time to do it.
Sincerely, Success or failure, I am still me.

They don't print your GPA on your certification, right?

That is all.

2010-12-10T16:27:00.000-05:00

I haven’t written in quite a while and I know you are upset.

Actually I don’t know that. In order to continue writing at all, I have to pretend “You” are still reading and continue this one sided conversation in every long- awaited blog experience. All I really know is what I have or have not done and how that makes me feel. Congested. I feel congested with thoughts, feelings, preponderances, concerns and needs.

I would like to make a list, but I am feeling you are a little tired of lists. Actually, I am tired of lists. And I keep forgetting that you are me.

The Boy’s Grandmother passed away. As the Boss Lady says “Grandparents are special people.” So are Aunts, and Cousins, and friends who believed in you. All of whom have run out of this life much in the same way they came in, quietly, and without pretense or expectation.

It is the quiet that makes me heartsick. The patient waiting for death to come, the quiet resonance of the emptying heart too tired to beat. I am heartsick until it hurts over the people I love, the people I barely know, and the people I see everyday. I know their end is coming. I know my end is coming. I don’t know what comes next. I know what I have been promised, and what others have refuted, debated, believed and wished. But I do not know what is for sure. I am less and less confident that this isn’t just a one way ticket. That the end isn’t just a quietly drawn curtain, closing the show and kicking the guests out of the auditorium, so they may have their own numbers called.

But who cares? Who cares about the long, dark, permanence of our own ends when there is so much to fill these minutes and make them a contrast from the anti-time we experience. The endless papers to write, people to please, tests to pass, food to cook and eat, house to clean, dogs to walk, children who look up to you, money to make, music to hear, creations to create, facebook status updates to laugh at, books to read, snow to shovel, cars to drive, bills to pay, flowers to smell… Who has time to die when we are so busy living, right? Right. Right…

I finally achieved my life long goal of becoming a divorcee. Yay…. My life is complete. That is about all I have to say on that subject. Not very enlightening, and steeped in sarcasm, but it is about all I have left- for anything.

I suppose I have unloaded enough for you. Perhaps, but the next time I find a moment for myself, or you, it might be more cheery. Perhaps not, but you and I both know- well, we both know all of the same everything, so who really cares.

The Stress is Killing Me.

2010-09-28T16:20:00.004-04:00

I am just a girl. A girl who goes to school, works two jobs, walks her dog, and loves her Scott. And frankly, everything I love is killing me. The stress of just keeping up has buried me and I am starting to show the wear and tear of weary days and long nights.

I am starting to do what I used to do to myself. When I was a crazy kid, bogged down by all of the expectations of teacher, parents, and friends, the stress of upholding my goody-two-shoes, smarty-pants reputations, and the daily rhythm. I am starting to doubt myself. I hate this. I hate this feeling like life is running by me and everyone is seeing something at a speed which I simply do not function; a frequency I was simply not born for.

I am not a action movie, I am a slow foreign film with subterfuge, abstruse theories and long, organic scenes involving the protagonist and their private miseries becoming public.

I am writing this blog, for instance, for myself. To catalog time and group instances of greatness in my life. But it is no greatness. It is a body of writing that will melt away when I am gone, or be used as a general stamp of our times and era. People may find it, years to come, as a useful morsel of the "Internet Age" and make it an example that people would write or say anything in this open format, pretending to be more important than they were.

And That is what I am doing. I am pretending that all of this life is important. Pretending that I feel like continuing on, doing what I have always done, achieving what I have always achieved, growing the way I have always grown. I write this blog, I paint this picture, I pass this test, I log time in an office, I serve this food. I do this life. I do it and I do it and I do it until I see no meaning in the sum of what I have done.

Will you remember that I painted that in your old age, when the paint has faded and the colors seem less rich?

Will you read this, or re read this in search of something applicable to your life, to make you feel like someone existed on the same vibrations as you?

Will you know my accomplishments and be proud of them?

Or am I playing out this long, lonely story on an empty stage to an empty auditorium, while others have a full audience and roses at their final curtain call?

Life is not for the Grown.

2010-09-13T08:53:00.002-04:00

It is for the growing.

I tend to have this idea that I am grown up and done learning. And then the first day of school comes and it is followed by more days, and notes, and exams, and modules, and books, and study groups, and powerpoints, and class times, and orientations, and web forums. Then there is homework and meetings, and clinicals, and the juggling act.

And then I realize this is all there will ever be.

This rushing around to meet deadlines. This asking a hundred questions just to keep in tune with the flow of the conversation. This feeling like I am just floating on the surface, just keeping myself up, pedaling just enough to keep with the pack.

And it feels like life. It feels like vibrance and shifting motion. It feels like the race.

An Ending of Sorts; Begining a New Course

2010-09-08T17:33:00.002-04:00

I have found you. Or I would have found you, if you weren't already dead. Somehow I always knew, or thought I knew, or felt that I knew that this would be more dramatic than this. That there would be more than this. But this is the end and the end is all there is.

All my fervent wishing that you were or would be longing for me somewhere far or near with happiness or disappointment is over. I thought that the worst would be that you were busy loving someone else like I was sure I deserved to be loved. But that wasn't the case, and, as it turns out, that wasn't even the worst case.

You are gone, dead, and not just a fake dead where I am allowed to choose the terms. Not just a "You are dead to me, sir. I want you not." Dead as in never to breathe again. Dead as in never to see, never to hear, never to want, never to dream. Dead. Not even a cold, long, sad dead. Just a clean, ashen, gone dead.

And I am so disappointed.

I feel as though I have been cheated. You owed me so much and now your dead. You owed me so much and you didn't even have time to know what I deserved. The end of you was and is and always will be and I am still here and still have no way to say or see or know anything of you. And I am so disappointed. So cheated. So bereft. So angry.

I am a good kid. I always was a good kid. Sure, I throw temper tantrums. Sure, I had an awkward adolescence. Sure, I am flawed. But there is so much in me that warrants notice. There is so much in us all that you should have seen.

I know that you are not worth all of this. I know that you are just some illusion, some ethereal mist that I shouldn't concern myself with. But now I will never know. I will never get to make that decision myself. I will never get to look you in the eye and call you a cad- a coward- a cur. I will never get to cry to you, to plead with you, to hear your reasons and your pathetic excuse.

All I truly have now, at the end of this lifelong search for you- at the turning point when questions are answered and answers must be dealt with accordingly, and feelings must be cataloged and owned, and condolences allowed, and pride must surface to buoy the soul- all I have now is me. I get up and I look at my reflection, the reflection that seeing you was supposed to clear and restore in some way, and all I see is me.

A flawed, but completely whole, me.

And the only one to hear my complaints and deal with my tears and hold back my anger is me.

Young, disappointed, cheated me.

And what shall I allow myself? How shall I feel about you today, since you are not here to gauge my emotions, to approve or deny, to hide or to appear? Shall I remain forever hurt? Shall I remain forever tied to the idea that you could not love me, who in the world would?

No. I am not of you. I am just me. Whole, without you. Whole, even though I hurt. Whole, and sufficient.

I can be the best me, without you.
I am the best me, without you.
I am me, without you.
I am me; without you.

Fiddle-dee-dee, Thursday Thirteen

2010-07-22T14:41:00.003-04:00

Thirteen unanswered questions from The Great American Novel, Gone with the Wind

If you have yet to read it, do so now. If you are afraid by the sheer volume of the book, don't be. Every page is worth it.

1. Does Scarlett go back to Tara?
2. Is Mammy still alive when/if she does?
3. Where did Cathleen Calvert Hilton end up?
4. Was Scarlett and Rhett's unborn child a boy or a girl?
5. What did Rhett tell Melly during his drunken bout?
6. Where was Will Benteen from?
7. Did Tony Fontaine make it to Texas?
8. Why didn't Alex Fontaine marry Dimity Monroe and move her in with him and his sister-in-law?
9. How did Old and Young Miss die?
10. How much longer can Ashley live without Melanie?
11. Why did Rhett join the army after Atlanta fell?
12. How much money did Rhett really have? How much of it did he earn before the war?
13. Could Rhett and Scarlett ever have reconciled?

neetrihT yadsruhT

2010-07-08T17:19:00.002-04:00

Thirteen Exclamations I never forget to include:

1. Seriously?
2. Whatever Ticks your Tock.
3. I am so PUMPED!
4. That's what she said...
5. You're a (_______________.)
6. (_____________) to the extreme.
7. No, I don't watch/ read Twilight.
8. Yuppers.
9. BEEEEEEBE!
10. Yes, she really is my mother.
11. Louise, not Felice, Alice, Elise, Eloise, Lisa, or Melissa.
12. Plant a seed, plant a flower, plant a rose. You can plant anyone of those.

Fleeting Dreamtime Made-up Memories.

2010-06-23T11:12:00.002-04:00

I saw you last night, or more likely this morning, at 4:16 am, just before I noticed it was too hot to sleep. You were slender and slight and owned an antique shop for fun.

Your hand was outstretched and from it, your daughter took $1,000 cash and a $1,000 prepaid credit card to buy herself new bras and to take me and her aunt out to dinner. You couldn't possibly come, you were too busy.

I gasped when you said how much money but what do I know, maybe it was her birthday. She was so pretty. She flipped her head, full of thick blonde hair and smiled as she put on her sunglasses and blew me a kiss. She was on her cellphone and giggling away while putting the credit card and money in her purse. Meet her at the restaurant at 9:30.

You asked was I surprised? What else would you give your only-- well, one of your daughters. I said a thousand dollars could alter my lifestyle greatly. You laughed and said so little, such a small lifestyle. Not to me. Books, tuition, uniforms, car, house, they all cost enough.

A thousand could pay the bills for a month, and what I work for could help me get ahead.

You said, again with a laugh, work for me, one day a week, a thousand a day.

A thousand a day? Why only one day a week?

As if any child of mine could focus on anything for more than an hour, let alone more than a day. We'll start with one day at one thousand and work from there, my little late bloomer.

Guarantee me $1,000 a day for as many days a week as I can work and you have a deal. A deal? is this a business transaction or my father? Or one with the other?

Ok, Ok, deal. Still, a small life.

Thursday Thirteen, Right On Time.

2010-06-19T11:58:00.004-04:00

Island time, that is. I am not missing the catamaran.

Thirteen things The Boy has bought me this year alone:

Our Big House.
A Wii.
Games for the Wii.
A digital camera.
Plane tickets for Hawaii.
New Shoes.
New Jeans.
Amazing Glaze Fun.
A million lovely dinners.
Ceiling Fans.
Air Conditioners.
Goliath Tomato Plants.
Oil Paints (for creative purposes only.)

Don't be jealous. Get a Boy!

Why did I ever leave the Shoe Store?

2010-06-17T15:12:00.003-04:00

marginalize
mahr-juh-nl-ahyz

–verb (used with object), -ized, -iz·ing.
to place in a position of marginal importance, influence, or power:

I feel as though my talents and time are marginalized when my assistant criticizes my work ethic, asks me to get up and find someone in the office for her, or asks me how I am coming along on a project I assigned to her.

Possessions are Possessive

2010-06-15T17:18:00.004-04:00

"I used to own a pair of them. I loved them. They were the sandy colored leather with a really thick, clear sole. They made me feel punk rock and comfy all at the same time."

I was dreaming again, in a mall I have been in hundreds of times. As I looked up at the Dr. Martin's Airwalk Collections lining the walls of a local shoe store, I had a smile on my face and a stupid longing. I started to miss my shoes. Shoes. Dumb, old, stinky shoes.

"Well... why did you get rid of them?"

"I lost them in the separation."

Shoes or offspring?

I lost so much stuff when I left The Ex, both during the first Exodus and the Second Fleeing. And then there were things he took from me. Thoughts he invaded, moments he muddled, feelings he confiscated.

Here's a small list of things I misplaced, he stole, or I gave up:

My Dr. Martin's
A Ring and two Necklace from Ex Boyfriends (Mr. Future Millionaire, Mr. Hamster and My Gay Ex Boyfriend, Respectively)
All of my personal journal entries circa 2001-2005. The only thing that remains is this blog and a few poems/ prose I wrote about Mr. Hamster
Tons of clothes
A good majority of my wedding presents- though few they were
My Lennox Hummingbird ( of course, the more beautiful one)
Most pictures of me and my Exes
Money. Lots of money. All the money I earned from January 2007- July 2007 and then some
My Jason Mraz Live CD
My Josh Turner CD
The Chevy. God, I loved that car. I know it wasn't working, but who knows, maybe Scott could fix it
My smiles and dreams from May 2006- July 2007
Time

I live everyday without these things. It's not like I can't function. It's also not like I would ever read my old journals, or wear the old jewelry, or listen to the cd's. It is the point. The point that we have items that carry meanings. That jewelry never belonged to him. It was a gift from someone who loved me for a girl I once was who pleased them. If I didn't own it, it should go to whomever gave it to me. It was ours and a symbol of us.

The cd's had songs that evoked feelings. I listened to that Jason Mraz cd tirelessly for about a year and lived through it. It was playing in the background when Mr. Future Millionaire broke my heart and told me about his feelings for someone other than me. I belted out You and I BOth and Doubling Back till I couldn't cry any more. I owned those notes, I knew those chords, I had that beat in my heart.

I drove back and forth to Pittsburgh in that Chevy. I wore a hole under the gas pedal with my heels. I was kissed in that passengers seat. I put that air freshner in the glove box. I kept those keys hidden in my jeans. That is, until he found and stole those, too. Another story. Another sad song.

I know. They are not me. I am not defined by what I possess, but by that which possesses me. I am defined by wonder and enlightenment. I am still essentially me, with or without props.

[Insert Applause Here]

2010-06-03T16:39:00.003-04:00

wiTty 13.

Thirteen things I am going to do this summer:

1. Get all of the vaccinations required for School. Including but not limited to measles, mumps, rubella, typhoid fever, chicken pox, scurvy (Only for children of pirates,) and Mad Cow.

2. The pre-reading and comprehending of 156 chapters for school (throughout eighteen varying volumes and indexes.)

3. Finish planting every gal- dern plant or seed I have thus far purchased including Goliath Tomato plants, a tomato tree, pepper plants, marigold seeds, caladium bulbs, sunflower seeds, allysum seeds, sage and rosemary plants, and a money tree.

3a. I will talk to all of my plants in a loving and considerate tone to improve morale.

4. Housework Project A: Decide when to rip up and replace the flooring in the lower level of our big house.

5. Housework project B: Clean out the area upstairs that will be empty once we throw away the left over stove, cabinetry, flooring, and sink.

6. Lose some pounds. Just a few, and no, I still don't use scales. i will know I have lost pounds when the other ones ask me where they went.

7. Clean my desk. Yeah, it is so bad it made it on the list. I didn't say they were all fun, geez.

8. Increase my iron levels to 13.6 ppu so I can give double reds again in July.

9. Go to Amazing Glaze and finish making pottery for Aunties Number 1-5, cousins on both sides, and people I generally like.

9a. Finish the five paintings I have started now to also provide for presents for the family and friends.

10. Go to Hawaii. If it kills me. Or bankrupts me.

11. Adopt my personal mission statement and think of it everyday:

" I pledge to live a life that promotes a sense of peace, simplicity, and order. I will learn to apply myself to my duties and commitments in order to nuture and serve those around me."

12. I will read one or more book(s) for fun. And I am not that fun; this may include or be a re-read.

13. JUICE. As a verb; Hot, I know.

Your Calendar is just Early.

2010-05-28T12:47:00.002-04:00

T 13, The Revival.

13 Things People say that can really get under your skin:

13. " Well, if you lost thirty pounds you would look great."
12. " It's not you, it's your perfume."
11. "I, for one, wouldn't drive that/ wear that/ go there."
10. "I have to see you all week at work, why would I come to your cocktail party?"
9. Nothing. Silence can be painful.
8. "Nice to see you finally showed up for work."
7. "You look tired."
6. "I think people who don't have children
Shouldn't say anything
Don't know anything
Can't know what it is like."
5. "Are you serious?"
4. "What is it that you do here again?"
3. "What is your name this week?"
2. "Must be nice."

And the Number One offensive piece of blabb I heard this week:

1. "Of course she wouldn't check her facts, she doesn't care about that."

To all of you lovely people who made this week so pleasant: Take a long walk off of a short, oil-covered pier.

Something so sweetly, so quietly me.

2010-05-19T17:15:00.004-04:00

...about the way everything has worked out.

Have you ever had a dream that you were the you, say, ten years ago? But that you knew everything you had learned in the past decade, and were ready for everything.

Lately I have been having these dreams. (I know, always a dreamer, never a star...)

I thought about what I would change if I had a chance; then I thought about how that outcome would change the Now. The now that is every second the increasing store of yesterdays and last weeks and decades ago. I thought about how I would face the Mr. Hamsters and Mr. Future Millionaires the Mr. L of ten years ago.

The bratty, the snarky, the moody, the weird faded and I thought I would face them with maturity and dignity. I thought I would tell them all that they did appreciate me and that I didn't appreciate that. I thought I would value myself more highly and carry my self with more grace and avoid the dis-. I planned to go back in the moment and remember it and savor the good while ending the bad miles short of what it was. And is.

I thought about the Misses and thought I would indulge them. Because we grew up and out too fast. Because weekends are hard to come by now. Because they always helped, even if what they did or said hurt. Misses are so oft' neglected.

Then, Scott told me all of my lofty dreams are impossible. He seems to think without everything, I would have never found him. Maybe he forgets that what is meant to be will be. Or maybe I forget that.

Maybe this is a stream and none of us can swim. Maybe we just float along, silently or noisily, with the current or drowning, with bumps and bruises or cleanly.

All that I am is the sum of all I have been. Every second, every dream I drop in my sleep, every memory I store in my mind, every song I keep and fact I forget, is a collage of an identity. I remember the things I have gone through, therefore I can prove my existence and secure my future. This thing I call me is just a total of one long equation, divisible by chapters, a multiple of smaller Me- like images, the addition of other influences, lovers, and moments, the subtraction of a few souls from the greater World Identity and there you have her.

Ladies and Gentlemen, there you have me. A definite identity, with an infinity of changes to come.

Healthcare Reform

2010-04-21T09:43:00.002-04:00

This is a small diversion from my usual posts, but I had to write this paper, I might as well share it with you. It is a quick run down on how I feel about Healthcare reform. I should have included more research and I could write five more papers about different issues under the main umbrella, but another time, another space. For now, here it is:

President Obama has called for the nation to begin reforming our current healthcare systems. In a nation built on free enterprise and fueled by American dollars, earned mostly in service- based industries, healthcare companies have been allowed free reign. Tax breaks are given to companies who insure their employs, huge, privately owned healthcare companies funnel their money into research aimed to cut costs and increase profit margins- money that is largely seen as charitable contributions to fund research grants.

The primary responsibility of insurance and insurance companies is to cover unexpected events and costs- we pay into escrow, the provider makes a profit directly from the premium and the rest is made in the form of interest from moderate investments. Americans payout for services we have yet to receive, and may never need, in order to protect us should we need procedures and medication we could not otherwise afford. Instead of following basic and sustainable business plans, insurance companies who provide baseline healthcare for premium prices have developed impossible scenarios to avoid paying fairly for the medicine and procedures their clients need. Catchphrases like “pre-existing condition” have been coined specifically to save companies money and leave citizens who consistently pay their share for healthcare to foot exorbitant medical bills- bills their insurer had guaranteed to cover when they signed up as healthy, often times young workers.

Healthcare companies attempted to gamble in an unstable market by placing their investments in risky endeavors- investments made in a market built on sub-prime mortgages and the ever-increasing debt-to-income ratio of an entire nation. The healthcare industry as a whole lost sight of the basic goals of providing viable and complete insurance to those who pay a fair price, and compromised the health of a nation of trusting policy holders for the sake of free enterprise and undeserved, inflated earnings.
In order to make up for their irresponsibility, companies have resorted to the most basic and primal survival instincts- stealing from the very customers they vowed to protect in sickness and in “un” health. Premiums have become as expensive as the care itself, doubling in the last decade (Singer.)

Peter Singer reintroduces the idea that healthcare should be rationed; suggesting that price already dictates who benefits from a ration system. According to Singer, rationing is based on the fact that healthcare is a limited resource and regulated by economic shifts and trends. Singer says this is not enough, that we must have a government implemented proactive agency that will volley for the rights of a nation of patients. Singer argues that we spend a third of what we earn as a nation on healthcare, while other industrialized nations spend far less for better care. It is difficult to see the justification in this view when our nation has the highest life expectancy, and arguable the highest overall quality of life. How can Singer justify the belief that nations with government run healthcare give their citizens better or even equal care without someone having to pay for it?

The question insurance providers, patients and politicians alike should be asking is not “How can we help the healthcare industry?” or “How can the government ration healthcare?” It is much bigger than digging the industry out of its own hole or changing the way people attain access to healthcare. The question is how do we review the system and require responsible business practices from those who promise a service and are more than adequately compensated? How do we regulate an entire industry that was for so long focused on making money, instead of serving their customers?

What is our answer from Washington? How does the government plan to make health insurance companies provide the healthcare they promise at rates that nearly every citizen can afford? We have been promised the public healthcare buy-in in order to answer the needs of the millions of uninsured Americans. Politicians are asking Americans to disregard the poor state the healthcare industry is in and to be willing to pay the same amount they are already paying for healthcare that would be regulated by the government. How can the answer possibly include adding a middleman, namely a government that owes more than 11 trillion dollars to other countries and it’s very own citizens?

Politicians who support the healthcare reforms being passed in Senate have publicized the benefits our society would garner from the changes they deem necessary. “Healthcare for all, run by Washington” is what we are being promised. Who really wants to trust their health to a bureaucratic government that is difficult if not impossible to navigate now? The government already offers subsidized healthcare in the form of Medicare and Medicaid, organizations that are notorious for their unwillingness to pay for adequate care for their patients.

Take a closer look at another well-known government run healthcare office- the Veteran’s Administrations hospitals across the country- hospitals that are notorious for their out-of-date equipment and procedures and their underpaid and under qualified staff. Ask any Veteran and they will tell you war stories from the local VA rather than the front line. In recent years, Walter Reed Army Medical Center has gained an infamous reputation for one of the worst medical facilities of its kind, stories about endless bureaucratic regimens in order to obtain basic healthcare, amputees waiting months or years for outpatient therapy, patients counseling each other when access to qualified medical personnel is denied or limited, and those recovering from illness and injury in dilapidated buildings with few necessities, let alone any comforts. (Priest & Hull, 2007) Brave men who have served this country are unable to attain healthcare adequate healthcare at a rate they can afford when the medical decisions are left up to Washington, what, then, is in store for a whole nation of patients?

The answer to the healthcare question does not lie in handing the reigns over to the government. The answer is not represented by using government funds to bail out the insurance companies so they can once again pillage the defenseless public. The answer is not in reform, it comes in the form or review.

The goals for Washington should be to review the healthcare system, find the flaws, and protect Americans. If the industry can remember what their primary goal is, to provide for the insured at the highest level of care available for their premium, and be less concerned with how much money their companies can make by mismanaging funds earned when customers pay into their policies and seeking tax breaks and loop holes in policies, then a balance can be restored, putting the patients needs before the needs of the insurance company.

Government agencies should be created in order to investigate insurance company’s investment practices. Insurance companies should only be allowed to make solid and protected investments for moderate returns. The liquid assets of an insurance company should always be at the value or higher than the value of the premium care available to their insured at any given time. Regulating the insurance companies in order to protect the customer’s benefits and assure Americans that insurance companies are operating at the best of their ability to provide those benefits is the job of our government. Politicians in Washington who earned political science degrees assuming the responsibility of rationing healthcare, forcing the consumer to buy insurance from a government- run agency that knows nothing or next to nothing about providing healthcare, is not an adequate solution.

Meant for Someone Else

2010-04-07T17:21:00.003-04:00

This is something I was writing to the Ex, and then my better judgement got ahold of me and I decided to give it to you. If I send it to him, it will just perpetuate communications. But I knew you would understand.

Ugh. Every time I get a bill I cringe. I keep thinking (like an idiot) that one day you will man up and pay off things that you owe. You know, like the apartment that you trashed and ditched, the Jeep, the cell phone etc... It's like you hurt me all over again every time I get a bill. But I guess that is your plan. I don't know why I am even writing this, I know you don't care.

I just keep having these nightmares of being buried alive by your negativity. I hate everything you are and were to me. And I hate the monthly reminders of you. I can't wait to be divorced, but I know even that won't erase all of the pain. And I know even if the court tells you to, you won't repay your debts. Even if they put you in jail, I know you won't care.

Heck, all you had to do to keep the Jeep was make the payments, and you couldn't even do that. I don't mean to heckle you, I just want this to be over, and I want you to recognize, at some point, your mistakes and (literally and figuratively) pay for them. But why should you? You don't care and everyone in your life allows you to behave in this reckless and unfeeling way.

I guess I just can't believe I fell for it all. For your lies and your deceit. For you pain and your hurt. What was I thinking?

DR, how much of this is my fault.

2010-04-07T10:12:00.003-04:00

"I can't believe you are shoving this down my throat like this, Benny," He huffed at her in disbelief. The one thing that always got Benny was the truth in his eyes when he was angry. She never saw truth any other way in him. Int his instance, his soul was laid bare. He was more than angry.

"I can't believe you think that saying that will change my mind. Shoving or not, this has to happen." She was cool. Calm. Collected. She thought. She thought she appeared so on the outside, though she couldn't be sure. Her feelings rose by the moment, the heat of her anger, distrust, and all the years of worry was quickly overpowering her.

"I don't want this-"

"I didn't want you to beat me, or steal my soul, or force your interest in prostitutes and drugs into my life, but you did. And so hear we are," He began, and she finished, for once changing the balance of power in a conversation, and maybe in the whole world.

There was much more said, but not much more heard.

The Short and Sweet of it.

2010-02-12T17:09:00.002-05:00

"Look at it Young."

"I know, Benny. She's a beaut."

"It's not a she, it's a He. Definatly. He is strong and hardy and big and manly."

"Well, if he makes you happy, Benny."

"He does."

She walked towards Him with a smile on her face and for the first time loved a man other than Young.

That "He" was the home she would build her life on, the foundation Benny and Young would cherish, the cornerstone of all that was good- every moment, every dream, every wish, every birth and every death centered here for the rest of their lives.

But all Benny and Young could see was now and the very near future. They sat on the porch and dreamt of the rest of truth and peace here, on Taylor Road.

The Adventures of Mr. Nice, Silliness, and The Never Ending Battle

2009-09-29T09:34:00.004-04:00

I promised someone I would write them a blog. Then I realized when someone requests creativity, my insides revolt against reason and refuse to produce anything worthwhile. Well, they do that anyways, it is just more agonizing when I know someone is waiting for some genius I don't posess.

The long and short of it is this: I want to write for you, but I have a hard time preparing for it. But I will write to you for as long as you would read it.

October fourth is coming. Just in case you were wondering. Have you marked it on your calendars? Good. Now would you like to know why this date is important? The Ex was (finally) served with the summons. October fourth marks the sixtieth day since his service. Which means he needs to have filed an answer with the courts by then. Do you think he will? From all that I have told you about him, do you believe that he will respect the deadlines for the US Judicial system?

You are a fool. Of course, he will not file an answer, or an extension. He probably hasn't even looked at the papers yet.

Would you like to know what that means? I shall tell you, in my most legal voice.

It means I will get my divorce by default and be ready to move on with my life.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Oh, silly me, how embarrassing...

The Boy has a fantastic new job, in case I forgot to tell you. It pays a billion dollars a year and it is the catalyst for our homesteading dreams. We have found a house, but I am hesitant to write about it, mostly out of superstition. I will tell you it is a five bedroom, two bathroom dream with a wrap around porch and more than a third of an acre. Go on, be jealous. We have amazing plans to change some of it into a lounge area and to have you all over for tea. I thought you would be excited.

When everything is finalized with the house, everything will fall in line with the divorce and then who knows what life will hold for me... What could be more exciting after everything I have waited for comes true?

We shall see. Well, you shall see and I shall write.

And then there was me.

2009-09-01T12:10:00.002-04:00

A little taste of what I really think, in no order of consequence or necessity.

I think people without respect for the feelings of others should be given a new papercut everyday and have lemon juice poured in them.

I think I will be very content in our new house, whichever that maybe.

I know I love The Boy. Very much. I know that he is the best thing that has ever happened to me. He makes the sunshine fall on my face evryday, he wakes me up to life and lulls me to sleep at night. He kisses me and my heart leaps to greet his. He pats my head gently while I let my dreams run forth out of my mouth to fall all around him.

I think I will always want to rush life and not regret it until the very end.

I know I can be... difficult. I have tendencies to manipulate, smirk, hold prejudices, and, above all, try way too hard. I also know that I can obsess about the oddest things.

I have noticed that I have a hard time letting go. Not out of a need to control other people, but out of a need to control my environment, a need to be comfortable in my own place and time.

I think we have two options: self-destruction or self- propultion. Sometimes one action can have both effects.

I think Waking Life is representative of how many people live their lives. I also think the statement: "Yeah, you should totally, like, wake up, you know. If you can. Just like shout 'wake up' at yourself and yeah... definatly before you can't wake up anymore," holds extreme and essential truths we often times overlook.

I think I was born for school.

I think I will end it here and go live some life, while I still can.

What!?

2009-07-29T18:05:00.002-04:00

Getting divorced can actually be bad for your mental health?

A stream on AOL news feed today posted an article about that very subject.

REALLY?

Yes, really.

And an anvil falling on your head still can kill you, Trix are still for kids, and Donnie Darko is still freaky as hell.

I have been wondering since the beginning of the end why this all has to be so hard. Why getting divorced has to be sooooo much more expensive than getting married. Why it has to hurt so much more, take so much longer, cause such a stir.

It's because we're supposed to be smarter than this.

We are supposed to take our time and think things through and not get wrapped up in people who are not wrapped up in us.

And I will.

Next Time.

But first, you must finish on chapter before beginning another, I suppose.

But I always did like to read ahead....

Love, life, and the pursuit of The White Picket Fence.

2009-07-08T17:52:00.000-04:00

The Boy and I have been imaginary house hunting.

We have been looking at houses in the 212## in the pursuit of the perfect pad. And we have become increasingly discouraged.

Oh the houses we've seen are very nice. We have made it a point to scout out places with three to five bedrooms, .20 of an acre or more, 1.5-2.5 bathrooms and all other good things. We have found a ton of houses that are in a reasonable price range and that offer both the freedom of stable home with the need for renovation and with it, personalization.

What, then, could be the problem? The hitch? We have no money. Irony or ironies, It is a buyers market and we aren't buyers. We aren't even in the same market. We are outside, looking in, thinking, "My what lovely peaches you have there."

It is difficult to think that we could, if we were making what we will be in 1-2 years buy any one of the houses we have looked at and start painting the walls and hanging the pictures immediately. But we can't. Because we're not making money. We are waiting to make money.

Boo, Economy. You tricky little scamp you.

There is no "Up” in appreciation, Women, and other fallacies.

2009-07-06T17:53:00.001-04:00

As the date draws near, I am more and more tense. I am overwhelmed by a sense that when all is said and done, life will be so perfect, so felicitous that the proverbs about being too good to be true will all manifest themselves in the worst possible way.

"When you're divorced,will that be the end of it?"

Oh Boy, one can only hope. But I have such horrible nightmares based on real live threats,accusations and insanities that I met with during my brief marriage to Beelzebub himself that I just do not know.

What if he does something crazy? I won't give you any ideas, just in case, but just think- what if?

In other troubling thoughts, I feel so grievous that I could not accomplish one of the only good things that could have possibly come out of my marriage. I didn't save anyone. I didn't convince anyone of their worth. I didn't show anyone how much more they could have out of life.

Watching people get beat daily by discouraging words from an uneducated, unfeeling dictator is hard. Walking away from that situation without having done the least bit of good is even more difficult.

I know that we can't expect everything to work out the way we want, that God works in mysterious ways, and that people chose their own destinies, etc.

But I still feel helpless.

I still feel like there was something I could have done, some encouragement I could have given, some protection I could have offered.

I know I should have called the police a dozen times or more. I know I should have pled with more than one person to free themselves of that wretched place. I know I should have been less tolerant of the dark and more shining myself.

All I can do now is live with the same of deserting the only shred of good that could have come out of my poor decisions. All I can do now is allow God to rebuild my life in a manner pleasing to Him and pray to be rid of the terrible memories- of the late nights, of the drug abuse, of the tyranny, of the dread.

And the rain, and the beating of feet upon the ground, and a finish line.

2009-07-01T17:17:00.003-04:00

She looks behind her with tired eyes and marks the distance with a sharp mind.

Two year, too long, too weak to remember.

Dear Super Footwear Girl, when will you rest and send up a surrendering flag?

But she won't and she can't and she will finish this to the last. You just wait and see. All you former loves, you high school flames, and flimsy kisses, and evening romps, and missing matrimonies- you watch and wait for a glorious final show.

The countdown comes closer to a crescendo.
The Girl sheds the last few tears and beads of sweat to shake you off.

Tomorrow I fill out papers, I get information, I get my final push.
Ninety days hence, Lord willing, this is all over.

And then what shall be your next finish line to race to, little one?

Perchance, a beautiful baptism of love.

In my mind, I hold a string of blessed beads. I am the holder. He is The Boy.
I nurse dreams of sweet peace, with you, My Brown Eyed King.

Finis, absolutmente

Racing Homeward

2009-06-14T13:32:00.003-04:00

Benny had to reason with herself.

Where should these thunderclouds come from?

Her tears fell for what seemed like the hundredth analogy of her life and she was sick with the poetry- sick of the words that were designed to cover up our truth. The truth of sadness. The truth that feeling is only what we make it because of our heart, our minds. Why wouldn't her heart die? Why couldn't Benny just be another faceless ape in a jungle of innocence and ignorance?

She should be- she could be- she would be.

Benny, like she had in so many more touching scenes before this one, which, in truth, only lasted five minutes and twenty- three seconds in a lifetime measured in years, folded her handkerchief one last time.

"The more we love, the more we hurt"

The words stung her acutely. It was a heavy truth.

Goodbye, sweet, young, Benny. Goodbye to the Benny who thought she had felt every pain the world had to offer her.

Hello to a new Benny. A sad Benny. A Benny who has failed her most dreaded test without the chance at another.

Goodbye, Ed. You have taken with you the last of what was a fleeting youth, at any rate.

I almost forgot already....

2009-06-04T17:58:00.002-04:00

but here is my one, lone, shining moment of intellect for the day:

Please turn your headlights on while driving in the rain. Unless of course you would prefer to die in a fiery crash.

Now that that is over I can give you a short list, like I always do when I am too busy for you.

I love The Boy. We are making plans and holding hands and kissing lips and... taking tips?
Soon, two years will have flown by. And You will be just a flutter of a memory in a waking nightmare
I know, I owe you Mr. Nice. Hold onto your breeches. That is, if you wear any.

A Weak Attempt

2009-06-03T11:05:00.002-04:00

I will attempt to write something- anything- everyday here for the next thirty days. Mark my words: I will fail, but success is not the goal.

Thoughts are the goal. Free flowwing, warm, glowing thoughts. An inventory of never ending thoughts being marked with simple symbols meant to represent everyhting we are.

We shall see. To begin, anyhow, these are the short words i have for you with one thought:

All light is true and all clarity is as yet unblemished.

Few Words, Many Loves.

2009-04-21T19:02:00.003-04:00

A list. Because I can.

Things I love, in no particular and non-comprehensive.

Google.
Sunny, hot days full of nothing but sleep and tanning.
The ocean.
Day dreaming.
The Boy.

His charms
His arms
His voice
His masculine desire to protect me
His quietness
His playfulness
Blushing.
New school supplies.
Literature in general.
Hand sanitizer.
Cafe Mochas.
Sleep.
Endless Summers.
Very hot, very long, very bubbly Baths.
Parties. Specifically tea parties.
Cheesy pop music.

A Big Change Happening in Small Steps.

2009-04-17T08:01:00.000-04:00

"Benny- Tomorrow is a big day for you, I suppose?" She leaned over her work, squinting in the dark light of the kitchen, afraid to get up and turn on the light should she risk forgetting how to read.

"What?" Dazzed, as usual.

"Tomorrow. The case. You go to settlement tomorrow, right?"

"Correct."

She shook her head at an imaginary question and then forgot to finish her work because she was thinking and obsessing and wondering. Will tomorrow be the answer Benny has waited two and a half years for, or will tomorrow just be another tomorrow in this string of endlessly dreamy days? Days when reality is replaced by what she has done, what she is running from, and what she is forgetting.

Oh Benny, what has this journey come to- an end, or simply a plot twist?

The Uncertain Adventures of a Certain Lady

2009-04-14T10:46:00.002-04:00

The Boy and I have been talking lately about love and life and things we want and need from eachother.

We have decided that things between us are amazing. The Boy and I don't agree on everything. We don't have every detail figured out. But, if things continue on in this quiet, blissful way, we will certainly be headed towards a finite decision. An end and a begining. An answer.

Is that why we date? Do we date to answer some cosmic question of loneliness and and vulnerablity? Are we just simply pack animals in need of others of our likeness to fend off the wolves?

I think we are here to be in love.
To find love.
To learn how to communicate in love.

But maybe we just need someone to make the cold nights warmer.
That is ok with me too.

The Earth is not entirely dry nor entirely pointy, My Prince.

2009-04-10T15:53:00.003-04:00

After an amazing week with you, I thought I would write you a little personal note about why I love you. I figured you could stand to read a few words, see a few thoughts, hear a few whispers. And here they are.

Thank you. Thank you for always making me comfortable. This vacation wasn't our speed- Vegas has far too many lights and sounds and sights and it is too dry. but with you, everything seemed more comfortable, more like home, more life like. You gave water to dry land, sun to artificial trees, and a voice to the howling wind.

I love the fact that you told me you love me over 100 times. It is so nice to hear it out loud. That isn't to say that you don't tell me often enough typically, it just made for a lot of special moments.

You look like someone I would be with. There was something in your smile, in the way your shirt fell on your shoulders, in you stature that made me thankful to be out with such a handsome fellow.

Waking up with you is always a special treat. Every time I have ever woken up near you, you have seemed to have been waiting for me with sweet anticipation. Laying there, propped up on your hand, smiling down at me while you wipe stray hairs from my face, I felt like I was in a bright, white washed scene from a movie.

And I am sorry. I am sorry you're not dating a single girl. I am sorry we could not just up and get married in Vegas. I am sorry The Ex called and ruined our quiet stillness. Our game of House. I am sorry for everything I cannot make better with just a click of my heels.

But it will all work out.

And Lord willin' the crick don't run dry....

This is not a dream.

2009-03-19T08:24:00.003-04:00

"Don't be shy, today may be your last chance"

That is a direct quote from my facebook status a few days ago. For some reason, I had been caught up in this overwhelming depression. I was being crushed under midterms and expectations and general fed-up-ness with my life when I realized this thought:

Today might just be my last chance.

Life is so unpredictable. God, if there is one thing I know for sure, life is unpredictable. Life is not simply unpredictable, it is fearfully and wonderfully unpredictable.

Yesterday was our last chance to gather near our dear friend- to wish him well, to kiss his cheek, to listen to his stories, to make him comfortable.

Yesterday the world lost a shining beacon of hope in a sea of general malaise.

Yesterday, TJ Roberts said "Goodnight world" one last sweet serene time.

If you didn't know TJ, I am sorry.
If you did know TJ, weren't we lucky?

TJ was a bright young man with a passion for just about everything. He loved his job and was very talented. He loved his friends and never left even one person behind. He loved his family and thought of them always.

Tj was the kind of man who was a dozen different people all rolled into one.

He was a professional mentor, always taking the time to teach and share his genius with those around him. In an extremely competative and dying industry, he reached out to everyone he knew and leant whatever help he could, even if that meant taking time out of his own schedule to do so.

He was the life of the party, always running, always laughing, always talking, always brightening the room before him. He had a way of making everyone in the room feel as though he was thankful they came, thankful that he was blessed with their presence, happy to have guests and friends all around.

He was an amazing brother. Both biologically and spiritually. Everyone was TJ's friend from the moment he met them and every friend was family. He had an answer for every problem, and antecdote for every situation, a shoulder for every tear. His love for everyone was not contrived. It didn't stem from anything remotely selfish. It was pure and genuine. TJ loved you with a passion and wanted to see you prosper.

TJ was a son to many mothers, making each one proud and warm in his way. My own mother loved him dearly as a son and a friend. they shared car rides togehter often and when they did, my mom's resounding thoughts were always,"That boy can talk, but I love him." When his brother had his beautiful baby boy Dominic, it felt like my mom was the first person TJ called. He was so desperate to send her a picture of the baby that he took one with his phone and sent it to mine so I could show her. Her first reaction? "God help us, he's a little TJ!"

God help us, we all needed a little TJ.

There are a dozen regrets- moments we did not spend with him, calls we didn't return, thank you's we never said. There is a lot of hurt and angry feelings that a man so young, so great, so influential in his way would be taken so unfairly and so suddenly.

But in the light of this tragedy, I offer you all this thought:

Don't be shy, this could be your last chance.

Your last chance to touch some one.
Your last chance to thank some one.
Your last chance to love some one.
Your last chance to apologize.

Return the phone calls, accept the dinner invitations, cry on their shoulder, lend them an ear, run that errand for them, answer those texts, friend them on facebook, send those emails- do whatever it takes because today, right here, this moment is the moment. Today is the day.

Mima once said, "You only go this way once, so find a way to go."

Thank you, TJ.

Please don't Breaka my Fingahs.

2009-03-09T12:32:00.003-04:00

I owe you all so many posts, I am afraid I have a hit out on me.

I'm not sure what is worse, having a hit out on me or worrying that it would be extremely low.

I promise I will resume your regularly scheduled postings after I stop losing my mind over everything seemingly all at once.

Here is what you have to look forward to:

The Boy's Sidekick in life, as yet unnamed
Money troubles. What do they call this thing, a recession?
Girlie problems. Damn being female.
Young John and Benny, of course.
The Boy, obviously
The Ex- which is never really fun but I just have a lot to say on that front. Mostly old news, but I feel it, so I must write it.
A million other thought, feelings, droolings, dreamings, schemings, and seemings.

For now, Back to you in the studio.

My Main Squeeze

2009-02-14T11:39:00.002-05:00

Happy Valentine's day!

I wanted to give you all a peice of me without making you all puke. If it is at all possible.

The Boy and I have been together for something like ten months, three weeks, one day and two hours. Not that I am counting of\r anything. More iportantly, here are just a few random things I know/love/think about him and his wonderfullness.

1. He smells wonderful. Like a man. If theat makes any sense. He smells like his manliness with a splash of axe. It's amazing. It might just be amazing to me, but amazing nontheless.

2. His voice is soft and low and completely pleasing.

3. When he touches me, I can feel his fingertips on my heart.

4. His kisses are like wine.

5. He never gets worked up. Not over anything. He's never been mean nor tried to be boss.

6. He's a nice boy. My mom likes him. My mom has only ever liked one boyfriend of mine- I'll give you one guess- yes indeed it was Mr. Future Millionaire. Lame. I know.

7. He hates typical love songs. Things like "God bless the broken road" and "When you say nothing at all." So does he hate all sappy love songs? Absolutely not. Some of his favorite late night delights include "All of me" and "Moonlight Serenade."

8. He loves me. Wholly and completely without question. I know this because he tells me. I also know this in the light in his eyes, in his preference for me over many others. In his smile when I kiss his nose, in his blush when I tell others how awesome he is.

9. He has never rushed anything. His kisses are slow and warm. He holds my hands as long as I like. He talks to me, or listens to me talk long past bed time.

10. He's just so tall!

All of this considered, I can't imagine that any one ever stopped loving him once they knew him. All of this considered I understand why he gets hit on everywhere we go. Why everyone wants to set him up with their daughter, granddaughter and bank teller. I understand wy people say that as they mention his name they could get a tan from the light of my face. What I don't understand is why he is so in love with me. Me, the lunatic. Ultra clingy never satisfied me. Me who sees ten sides to everything.

Silly boy....

Somewhere in the crowd there's You.

2009-02-12T20:35:00.003-05:00

You know there is no rest for the sorrowful.

Everytime I think I am over it, it haunts my doorstep yet again.

I you haven't guessed, I am watching Mamma Mia and fighting back tears through the whole thing.

If only true bastardom were this beautifully musical and wonderfully colorful.

But it's not. What it is is this long cold loneliness that numbs you from the deepest part of your essence out until you can't feel a thing. Not the hundred of tears you cry. Not the heartache. Not the anger. Not the utter desolation. Just a great big nothingness.

It is a question that holds you prisoner.
It is a bloody stump that never heals.
It is a never ending balancing act.

A struggle between not thinking about it ever and agonizing over the huge gaping hole in your heart.

No fun disco music. No beautiful island. No big white wedding.

Just a sadness.

Sweet Serenity's Bliss is in the Shining Eyes of His Love

2009-02-10T22:11:00.002-05:00

Young John Something

Young John is a five. He is average. I can't give you any specs- I will not bore you with a height or hair color, a build or symmetrical analysis. But I will tell you he is average. Neither here nor there. Not enough to stop and turn to, but just enough to be caught up in conversation with.

Benny is also a five. Over the years, her hair has fallen flat and deepened in color. She has excess weight that just won't go away around her waist, on her arms, and her breasts are a little too large for her frame. She is taller than she should be, her skin is whiter than that of her family, and her eyes a muttle concoction of hazel, green and brown.

Young John did not peacock out to attract her. And Benny did not sashay his way to seduce him. Young and Benny met, shook hands and began talking their way into love. Maybe they are just fives, but they are the most natural couple, their ease lending itself as a viewing aid.

With all of these average qualities, what would make people take a second look at either one? Why do men consistently try to convince Benny that they are indeed a better choice for her? Why do women continue to talk to Young, stroke his arm, and smile seductively his way? It is Young and Benny.

Together, they are irresistible. Young and Benny walk into a bar, a party, a function and suddenly the life changes. They seem to consume all of the energy in a room. To create a circuit within and around themselves, attracting every light, every atom, all of the heat built up around them. Together, they can stop conversations, turn head and make the most solid couple jealous. What is it? What is that magic? What do people look to Young and Benny for?

It is the definition of the unknown. It is the turn of a hip, the toss of her hair, the light on his face. It is the silence in their speech, the movement of their thought. They walk together in a rhythm that can be heard for miles. They talk to other people in a room, parallel to one another, separate, but going in the same divine direction. I have seen Young and Benny go to a party together, without saying so much as two words to one another and everyone can see they belong together.

They come as a pair. Young will think and Benny will speak. Benny will thirst and Young will drink. It's uncanny, really. Uncanny and impossible to put into words to either one. If you ask Young why he loves her so, he will just smile- or beam rather- and say "Well, you've met her." Ask Benny what she and Young have in common and equally as coy she smiles and simply says,"Each other."

Benny doesn't take Young too seriously and Young dotes over her in an embarrassing but intuition driven way. They keep the balance of all of the energy in the universe on the tips of their lips by drawing back and overextending in places no other typical relationship thinks of. What training is there for this type of love? Where is the manual- what is their secret?

I am not Young or Benny, just an observer. But I would say it is simply fate. Dumb luck that they should be so utterly compatible. A simple stacked deck of aces.

Yes. They are simply luck bastards. The rest of us will go on quite cold and alone in comparison, but not Young and Benny. The real question though is not why they love each other so much, but if they were to split, would they, individual, make two other people just as happy? Are they cosmically blessed individuals with the capacity for greatness as their own universe? Or is it the case that they together set the room a little brighter, make the wine a little sweeter and the nights a little warmer?

Who will ever know, except those who have lost their chance to love one of the worlds most content.

Tu lo sai, lo sai crudel

2009-02-06T13:34:00.002-05:00

We were talking in my Health 140 class about when to stop giving CPR or other first aid medical treatment.

My teacher's answer was "At the point of exhaustion- when it would endanger your life to continue"

And then I realized...

I was exhausted with you way back in the day. So why do I keep breathing for our relationship?

I took a true mental self portrait a few days ago. I am at a point where I had some time to re-assess my life, devise some new goals, and redefine my expectations. Here is what I realized:

I am carrying around toxic baggage from years past.
I still feel, soome where in my heart, like I need your love and approval to exist and be well- adjusted.
I need to either get past my emotions about certain people or remove them from my napsack of self doubt, self reproach, and other detriments.
I feel like I need to tell you, but I have to let that feeling go to.
That The Boy is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and he has exquisite timing to help me through the previous feelings.

Here are some things that I want to tell a few people, but will never get a chance to.

I miss you. I am sorry for every thank you note I never sent, every prayer I never said, every tear I never cried, every phone call I never made. I will see you eventually, but sometimes I don't feel worthy.
You are the reason I am a christian. That is the reason I will always love you in some way.
I never loved you. I loved the idea of you.
Maybe, some part of me got married as a rebound. Not a rebound to any one person, a rebound to an idea.
I want you to be happy, but I don't want any part of it.
I am very dissapointed that you would think me capable of malice. You know me. You know who I am.
The day you told me that you didn't like me when you first met me because I had all the answers in math class I realized you weren't my kind of people.
No, I will never like you. You creep me out and there is nothing you can do to un-do the weird eerie sort of pain you caused me in our tumultuous past.

I feel better knowing that life will go on just like it always has whether or not I address these people.

I also feel better knowing that these gripes, painful memories and old baggage will not hinder my life, my love or my soul from gorwing and flowing an developing.

But I know it's time. Time to get you out. Time to beat the rug and get all the dust out. Time to wipe the mirror and see me again. Time to relax in a hot bath and feel my frozen fingers. Time to stop the lame allusions and get to work!

Yes, it's true.

2009-01-14T22:51:00.003-05:00

"But Girl, are you sure?"

There are a million and one things to think about when saying yes to someone. For one, What are they really asking you to do? Is a simple lunch date to you really the best chance this person has to collect some of your hair for the alter in their closet?

By saying yes when someone asks you to babysit are you really signing your life away to an ungrateful mom who will call you every Friday night?

By telling someone you love them, does that mean that life is over? That you have made a choice between that person and every other passionate dream you may have ever had?

When I asked the guy that set The Boy and I up for an account of The Boy, I had no idea his answer would be "He's tall." But that was the perfect answer for the beginning of the most calming, delightful, and comfortable relationship I have ever been involved in.

Last night I was trying to figure out why we work so well together. Turns out, it is written in the stars. Taurus and Scorpio are destined to be a loyal, formidable, fantastically passionate couple. He is a strong, constant earth sign with a determined nature. His love of possession and my love of power make us a pair to be reckoned with in the job market. I will teach him to never settle and to always wonder at life and he will teach me that sometimes life is just a four letter word. In short, we have always been intended. If you believe all that mumbo-jumbo.

The question is, what does it mean to say yes to this boy? To say "Yes, I love you?" To say "Yes I will love you?"

To say "Yes" to The Boy is to whisper his name onto every doorstep. To wear his heart on my sleeve. To have people see his light on my face.

To say "Yes" is to take this man in front of me and see him for what he is- stripped of florid poetry, devoid of sparkling entreaties, silent and waiting for one word.

To say "Yes" is to hold him in my heart, to let him walk beside me, to be unafraid to show him all of my faults, to share with him every thought he begs and some he could never imagine.

To trust.
To want.
To share.
To see.

To say "Yes" is to turn to him and admit that I am unsure of what it means but I am willing to find the definition together.

A Laugh and a Moment of Pride

2009-01-13T17:47:00.002-05:00

"And then He walked right up to me and I started to melt-"

"Ooo, melting into a pool of desire, I knew this story would get good sometime," Young playfully twisted her long hair around his finger and laughed as she shoved his shoulder. If he were a marble, the force would have rolled him right out of bed. But he wasn't, and besides, his leg was intertwined with hers.

"No- no Young not at all. Melting like jello melts on a hot day. First I lost my edges, sort of blurred. Then my form shrank and shrank. Not into a puddle, but into a blob."

"Ooo, melting into a blob of Benny. I knew this story would get good sometime," Young knew that if he didn't pace his jokes, she might take him seriously and stop talking in fear of his review like she so often did. Young was no mind reader; Benny's words were precious, sparkling, vibrant love affairs with his mind one simple syllable at a time.

"ANYHOW-" her eyes turned a playful glance to Young. He knew he was in safe resounding territory if only she would keep her eyes beaming brightly on him.

"As I was saying, I just melted Young. I mean I had no control over what I said to him, how I reacted to what he said to me- oh, just everything fell apart." Tragic Benny was nearly one hundred times more adorable than Standard Issue Benny.

"Well what happened after you turned into a gellataneous mass?"

"Nothing. He said 'Goodbye,' and 'It was nice seeing you,' and I just shook my head in accord and walked back to my car."

"What? No dramatic kiss, no sweet reverie of oneness with your former love?"

"I hardly even know what he said Young let alone what I felt. And no- it wasn't like that anyhow..."

Young laughed to him self, "What you remembered your brilliant, handsome, loving boyfriend at home and you realized no matter what you and he had it couldn't even be called love when compared to-"

"Yes, of course, darling all of that... but Young?"

"Yes, Benny, ma cherie, my love, my sweet," At that he grabbed her decidedly until she nearly floated to him off of the bed and kissed her neck until her hair stood on end. She gently pressed her hand in protest against his arm, and gave in with a giggle.

"Well, Young, he was kind of..."

"What Benny? Fat? Married? Unemployed? Crippled for life?"

"Ha- Well, almost all of the above. Fat, Divorced, Unemployed and needy, to say the least."

"You must have gleaned something from the conversation then, to gather all of that."

She supposed she did. Or maybe Benny just knew all to well that downtrodden face of former loves.

Of Love and the Old and New

2009-01-01T20:00:00.001-05:00

Many strange, awkward, unnerving and delightful things can happen in a year left open and unrestricted. Let's take a look.

In January, I was cold and unfeeling. Numb by to much work and absolutely no sleep or reflection, I had not allowed myself to heal or dream or cry or think about what had happened to me- to my marriage, to my essence. I alienated everyone around me because I was exhausted, angry, hurt and worst of all, hopeless. Hopeless for a future without the previous pains. Hopeless for a future that would be bright enough to cast away the shadows of my sins and failures.

February was a turning point not only of the year but of my life. For once, I followed impulses in me that lead to something good. Something productive. Something Me. I started school for the spring semester and connected. New people. New thoughts. New hopes. I remembered my plans and dreams pre-ruination and picked up where I left off with more fervor and dedication than I thought possible.

March came in much the same. Work, school, life, coffee breaks, term papers, presentations, new friends- it all blended into one beautiful mosaic. Until he came along. Until I noticed the most beautiful brown eyes I have ever seen. Untill I marveled at someone so like me that his oneness reached out and playfully tapped me on the nose.

The Boy and I met on an off chance at a local bar when I randomly accepted an invitation for drinks and rousing conversation with new friends. So randomly, I surprised myself. And then there he was. All of his tallness, quiet observation and poliet conversation in one essence. I made a fool out of myself as usual over him and thought nothing of it until there we were, answering text messages. There he was, calling me back. Here we were, chatting it up, making friends, going on dates, drinking, laughing, singing, loving.

In April we drank our weight in Bourbon and traveled down the coast to the ocean side. In May we spent warming nights talking about nothing and learning everything. In June we saw DC and laughed at it. In July we enjoyed family functions and moments of calm love. August was the month of a million text messages, September through November were just the same measures of quiet, sure, strong love I had grown accustomed to. December was christmas and cheer and holly and carols and sparkling love. And January is a new love. A true love. A blue love. A love where we don't say "If," we say "When."

The love of a Boy isn't everything. It just made everything seem more important this year. More possible. More tangible. Getting an A on my report card was exciting because The Boy would be proud of me. Seeing Hawaii alone was sad but hopeful because he will see it and love it as I do one day. He made the sad moments bearable and the bright moments brighter. Like a good wine, the love of a Boy who has a love for this girl was an accent to a fine meal of a year. A fulfilling, warming, nourishing year that I just haven't had enough of yet.

Hearing The Music in the Tinkling of the Keyboard.

2008-12-16T18:16:00.002-05:00

When I think about you, I think about you in the sound of music. Sometimes I think you are a big band tapping out a rythm while ladies float by in dresses that go on for miles. Sometimes you are a rock band and we are in the crowd bobbing our heads and cheering for the radio hits. Sometimes you are a child, learning how to play the piano, hitting false notes but beaming at the triumph over the weight of the keys.

Sometimes I compare you to other poeple I've known or loved. Sometimes I smile at your beauty, your strength, your height. Sometimes I admire your social, literal and mechanical intelligence. Sometimes I love how you seem to just know my mind.

In comparision:

You love my thoughts. You hunger for and hang onto my words.
You have a respect for my wisedom, however small.
You know what is important to me.
Honor, trust, honesty, and love hang in your every atom.
You see my small attempts and grant them room to blossom into fruitful endeavors.
You are sincere in your recognition of my beneficial traits.
You help me change my undesirable faults and follies.
You introduce new thoughts that are tailored for my ability and understanding.
You encourage my being- my song, my writing, my life, my love.

Sometimes I look at you and see something of time and life and tomorrow.
Sometimes I look at you and I just see plain sunshine.

The Love of a Home.

2008-11-28T14:15:00.002-05:00

This morning I woke up with a familiar aching in my heart.

I took a shower, I brushed my teeth, I fumbled through my morning routine, but i couldn't shake it. I couldn't overcome it. I couldn't reconcile myself with it.

Sometimes I wrestle with my need like a warrior with a voracious lion. Sometimes I lay my will at it's feet, I curl up under it and admit defeat by one so much more commanding than I.

Sometimes, I soar on the wings of an eagle- or an Oriole to be more precise- because of my love for one so alive, it's heart pounding a beat in my soul.

Once, the Boy and I had a discussion about the Red Hot Chili Peppers- "Really," He said incredulously, "How many songs can you write about one city?"

About this city, My Friends, I could write a lifetime and never cease the flutter of my heart when I look out on it. Rain, Snow, Wind, or Sunshine, Baltimore glistens for me like newly dewed grass. She calls me out with familiar sounds, smells, tastes, loves. She wraps me warm and safe and promises, quietly, "Tomorrow, My Child, Tomorrow." And Tomorrow breaks upon my and deposits it's wave in my sand, washing away the old and giving to me the new, innervating the life that I have.

Tomorrow ebbs and flows and doesn't think or feel, but My City thinks and feels and breaths an grows with me. My Balitmore crashes against me, changing me, smoothing out my rough edges.

When I was in Fells point this weekend, I was dreaming a dream aloud I always nurse, a dream to own a piece of my city and to work it for It's benefit. To use this city as it uses me- carefully, and to benefit every tomorrow. My acute longing stung me bitterly. The timing isn't right for my desires and my hopes falling, my City whispered comfortingly, "Tomorrow, Child, Tomorrow..."

It may not be the right time, but I will wait, patiently- as patiently as a bridegroom waits for his Bride- for Baltimore to tell me when tomorrow is come.Then I can be glad a rejoice in it, a revel in our Gains and Graces.

Lips of an Impressionist

2008-11-11T13:40:00.002-05:00

"Young, have you ever been in love before?" Benny turned up her face to glare at the flickering light, as if willing it in her glance to turn out completely, or shine on brightly to illuminate her words that sat on the thick midnight air of the diner. Seeing no effect on the light, she turned her eyes to Young, impatiently waiting his thoughful response. Why did he always keep her waiting for him?

"I have... but I don't know how much it matters." Young thought back to the beauty, the pain, the love of long ago dreams and in an instant they were gone and his vision cleared. He watched Benny raise her coffee cup to her lips and noticed somethign that in all their friendship he had never seen before.

Benny's lips appeared to him, carressing the coffee cup with a pillowy soft fullness. Out of some far off corner in his mind, Young remembered a dream he had had- something about loving her. Something about taking her up in his arms and holding her close for a midnight kiss. As instantly as his mind removed the slide show of past loves, hurts and follies, Young was suddenly finding the smallest things about Benny to cherish.

The flush of her pink cheek stuck out in his mind. Had she been a painting in motion, a perfect pastel Renoir, floating before him all this time? Had her eyes always glittered back from her smooth complexion, sending a sparkling glimmer over the upper half of her face? Had her lips always seemed so perfectly tinted, turned just so as they were in a thoughtful smile?

"Yes Benny, I was very in love with a girl once who broke my heart." Could it be that in her soft natural beauty, Benny had tamed Young John? Was she holding reins that belonged to her all this time?

"You know, Young, I think that is the very first time you have ever told me what was on your heart."

I would tell you every thought I ever owned if you would just let me hold your plump sweet lips in a perfect kiss long enough for my soul to escape my body and capture the embrace on the canvas of my mind, in a carefree impressionistic way.

Woebegotten memories, paving the road behind me

2008-10-31T14:50:00.003-04:00

"You can't dwell on it Louise."

"I know, Boy. But I can't get rid of it either."

Sometimes I feel like I should affix a Vaccumm cleaner to my tail, and wiggle as I walk to be sure to leave no trace of where I've been. If I can't see it, maybe it doesn't exist. If I never had anything to look back on, maybe these nightmares would subside and I could have a clearer view of what I wanted to see ahead of me.

WARNING: The rest of this post is me. Just me. No Young John. No Benny. No lies. No vague, veiled or poetic musings. Just me.

I remember the night you threw your fist through the wall, and the day you blamed me for it. I was so frightened. Frightened of you, frightened of the mistakes I had made, frightened of what tomorrow meant. If I woke up tomorrow, it would only be worse. It would only make you more real and me more hateful of myself. What had I become?

Just a year before, I was a young, stupid, innocent girl. Struggling with my self-image, I was muddling through ok. Just ok. I worked hard and regretted not partying harder. I loved hard and regretted actualizing my dreams so early. Why hadn't I stayed Innocent? Why hadn't I pretended to understand adult relationships in that simple way we do before our youth is compromised?

Now, here I was, sitting in the bathroom, watching your face turn red and hearing the sounds of fury flying from your strong hands. It was easy to displace myself and forget the things you had said before and the wrongs you had already done, but now... Now you were busting up your own bathroom and swinging a piece of trim over my head like a banshee. Now you were smashing my watch, sending my rings flying into the sink.

Now, shit was real.

Not long after, I had packed my bags and set them at the door. You had left at eleven, quite literally howling at the moon. No answers. No reason. No one would explain to me what was wrong with my new husband. Why he preferred to disregard me. I had gone for a four a.m. run in the foggy river town in pitch blackness. I was so foolish to think I could find you in the dark. I was so foolish to think I wanted to find you. When I saw your car in the drive at the local bar, I was so foolish not to march right in and tell you to go to hell. To pack YOUR bags.

When you did come home that morning, you were furious at me. I don't even remember why. I do remembering imagining what it would feel like to jump in the river and float on down stream. Would it hurt to just stop breathing? Would it hurt to just keep running? In the dark? In my flip-flops? Without you? Why wouldn't you see why you hurt me?

All I had wanted was an explanation. A rational response for one god damned minute. Instead you went out with god knows who and did god knows what and then yelled at me for asking questions of you. For fearing you. For fearing myself, slipping fast down a slope headed in on direction: the death. The death of me, of my heart.

I will never know more truly than I did then what it is to lose your senses.Too consumed with the ever slowing and tired sounding thump of my heart, I forgot to pray. I forgot to listen. I forgot to see.

To pray for God's will and deliverance, even though I had sinned in marrying you in the first place.

To listen to His answers, answers that came pouring in from the Holy spirit, my friends and my family calling me to home and to safety.

To see the path before me straying from what I had wanted all along.

The goal quietly pushed aside, I lost all frame of reference. I married you because you said you loved Christ. Because you said you would protect me. Because you said you would love me. The moment I heard you say I do, I looked into your crystal blue eyes and realized I had married a dangerous, unfeeling serpent of Satan. I realized your grip on me would tighten and squeeze and pull at every nook and cranny, every crack and crevice of my heart until it burst, until I disappeared, until you won.

Why can't I get you out of my head?

Because you owned it in that brief fiery storm of my youth.

But I am a Phoenix.
Strong.
Proud.
Rebuilt.

Pummellos, Lilikoi, and Star fruit.

2008-10-20T17:19:00.003-04:00

She smiled over at him while she pushed the cart through the crowded grocery store.

"Young, I don't know."

"But Benny if you don't know who does?"

A quiet, mousy man leaned in over her shoulder and nearly inaudibly whispered, "Have you ever tried one?"

She didn't know if she answered aloud or if he read her mind that no, indeed she hadn't. Young noticed him, making his strange floating presence much more concrete than she had felt.

"I thought maybe you would know what they tasted like, " the man half repeated, half stammered a response.

"No, she's mostly useless. I tried asking her that when she insisted she had to have one and her answer was 'I don't know, they just look fun'" Young winked playfully at her and the man nodded in response, fondling the fruit Benny left behind.

Benny smiled, embarrassed as usual by Young's preference for her. His gaze always fell on her, bringing a flush to her cheek and, inevitably a twinkle to her eye, even while buying citrus at the grocery store.

She shook her head as he moved through the crowd toward the rainbow chard and thought, "I would rather be buying produce with Young John than be making love to Romeo, or sailing with Blackbeard, or flying with Peter Pan."

Benny, since when are you so fanciful?

A Life in Parts.

2008-10-12T20:30:00.004-04:00

There are a few things that I have left out.

Nay- that I have even lied to you about my faithful followers.

Please allow me to apologize. I didn't realize until just now that my omission or disguising of the truth may have hurt you. Or that my telling of the truth may have bought you some peace- an inward peace of knowing that I am ok, an outward peace in knowing that those of you out there who know my pain are not alone in your decisions or needful prayers.

I still do not possess the strength or the peace of heart to tell you everything, but I hope that, in a few installments, I may tell you as much of my heartache that you should care to read. I hope also that you will learn from me. That you will learn to comfort and deal with the lost ones. That you who are lost will feel less alone and maybe even invest some hope in my success. That you who have been where I am now may share your strength with me and help me further my progression. That maybe you too will share your story with bravery to someone who is in need.

I will begin by telling you who know and you who do not know that I lost my virginity before I was married. It broke my heart and my spirit and began my descent into one of the most bizarre and frightening times in my life. I no longer carry the same shame with me that I initially felt, nor do i bear the same irritation at my ignorance. I have seen why I made my choices and were the lead.

This was a trauma to me because my chastity was something I valued highly. When Mr. Hamster loved me as much as I loved him, we joked that our relationship would not be consummated until long after our wedding day because, well, in short, sex is a huge commitment. The breaking of blood in something no one should take lightly. Speaking frankly as a lady, it hurts like hell, too. And there is a reason for that. But, regardless of how I felt, I gave in to the serpent in my ear and gave up my only chance to start from the beginning.

I didn't know why I did it. And it was a horrible experience. It was with a man twelve years my senior at a time when my life was consumed in doubt. I wanted to be loved. I knew he would never love me. I wanted to be held. I knew he wasn't the type to hold. I came to the odd conclusion that it was time. That I should let go of my childhood fantasies of meeting the right man, falling in love, getting married and sharing that first moment together. Besides, no man is a virgin when he is married, so why should I have taken my purity any more seriously?

Something that made my decision even more difficult was that everyone thought I was unchaste to begin with. I suppose because I wear my shirts a little low cut, my skirts a little high cut, I laugh loud and long and I wink freely, I must be a whore. And besides, the only man I had ever loved truly to this point thought I was a whore, so why bother? Why save myself when you were the only one i wanted and you were never going to smile on me again? Your peace was never going to be in my heart? Your hand never upon my shoulder as you examined and corrected my work with loving assurance? You were no longer my truth, Mr. Hamster. And I was already broken.

I'm not blaming him. I made all of my own decisions. I am merely explaining them to you and myself.

So I gave it up. I died a tiny bit in my soul. I cautiously approached the funeral pyre, laid down my pride and my chastity upon it and with my own hands, lit a fire that could only be seen by it's charred mark on my heart and memory.

Looking back, it was a foolish misstep that I could have easily prevented. Had i stop and listened to the Peace of God whispering my ear, I could have found the strength to walk away.

More accurately, had I stopped listening to my foolish pride and envy, I could have resisted the temptation.

I made a choice to forge ahead. Against God's Will. Against my love for myself. Against the things I knew to be true about my friends who had made the same choice.

In the end, it hurt more than words can describe, he disrespected my gift and my body more than I thought possible, and I made a hundred more missteps that- had I abstained, had I resisted- would have never occurred.

Then maybe you would see an unbroken heart here before you.

This was only my first mistake. Allow me to revive my memory from it's weeping, and I shall give you more of my soul later.

What makes a girl do the dirty deed...

2008-10-06T13:43:00.003-04:00

I have recently caught myself thinking about sex more and more. It is no secret to you faithful reader that I have long since struggled with my id based, sinful, sexual desires and their balance in my life. I also struggle with the "right" kind of sex and sexual expression.

After reading this enlightening article from (of all places) AOL news, I realize that, as a nation, we struggle with sex daily as well. Sex sells and it sells easily. If we Americans have no way to sell, we have no economy. And we're all worried about that, even if those among us never give a second thought to sex.

But here's something new you have never known about me: I have considered how easy it must be to sell yourself. And I have often considered mine to be of a temperament that could sustain periodic detachment of the mind and soul from the body long enough to supply carnal favors to someone I barely knew to upwards of $200 an hour.

Terrible, you think? Disgusted with me, are you? Well I have a question for you.

Am I terrible, or is the man who made me feel like my sex was a commodity a monster?

Am I disgusting, or was the woman who set the price before me tempting me with her success and my failure?

I have given my love away for free for years. I have kissed without being kissed, I have loved without being loved, I have wasted my affections, flirtations, and desires on unwilling and uninterested men and, sometimes, at prostitution or the profession of "call girl," I think, wouldn't it be ideal to have men seek ME for companionship? Forget the fact that they would be paying me, they would seek me to satisfy them.

Many men who do use prostitutes don't do it just for the sex. Sometimes, it is simply about being with someone who will not judge you. Someone who, for an hour or two, feels obliged to indulge you.

I would never be a sex slave. But I see how those women who chose to be could.

But aren't I already a sex slave? Haven't I already chosen my clothes and perfume based on that which makes you look at me? Haven't I already learned to push out my chest sit up straight and catch your wandering glance? Don't I sigh in your ear and tell you my deepest darkest desires in order to get you to hold me and love me and stop judging me even for a moment? Isn't this what the media, you men, and the women before me told me is necessary for survival?

I know I may seem unconventional for admitting this out loud. But I just didn't see any point to making those of you out there feel like you're alone.

The weight of the sin of desire is one too heavy to bear alone, so for you I have given a piece of my soul. Judge me if you will, but know that I know your secrets for they are mine too.

Things that must be remembered, no matter how painful

2008-10-03T15:44:00.005-04:00

Propped along the side of her tiny house was a wobbly ladder she didn't even like to use to clean the pantry, let alone painting (something she'd never done) her own house (something she'd never had) all by her lonesome (something she never wanted.)

As she sured the feet of the ladder in the soft heather below, she prepared herself mentally for the ascension, breathed deeply and calmly, and thinking about Ponies, Rainbows and other paraphernalia of pleasantries.

Climbing slowly, with her wet paintbrush in her back pocket and her pail in her left hand, the white knuckles of her right hand gave her away. First step, then the next, all five mounted one by one until she was sure she couldn't look down. Then she tilted her body in the most awkward fashion, in order, she thought to steady herself, remove the paint brush and begin her task.

To her suprise, the time passed quickly and soon she had succeeded in painting a good portion of the upper half of her tiny rancher. When she thought she would faint for exhaustion and repressed fear, she decided to finish with the current paint in her small container and call it a morning, resigned to doing something she actually liked, such as tending the garden, feeding the animals, or folding the laundry. She, so absorbed in the task at hand, barely took notice to her changing surroundings. A noise starttled her out of a workful coma. Now, more alert than she wanted to be at such a great height, she surveyed the ground below. No movement or further noise answered her search, so she continued.

Then, she felt her rickety ladder rattle at a push. Dropping the paint brush and taking care not to throw the paint in a panic, she grasped the side of the house and hugged her body close to the ladder. Hearing a snicker, she dared to look down again.

"Steady Ben, I won't drop you," Laughing, he shook the ladder again, this time, much more violently.

"DR, please, you know how scared I am up here. Let me down, please..." Her voice trailed off. For a moment, she forgot who he was and almost felt relieved that a cougar or bear hadn't been shaking her post.

"Ben, trust me," another violent shake. Another maniacle laugh. Benny had nothing left to hold on to, her stability lost, she began to retract her step from the top of the ladder.

Missing the third step, she hit the ground with a brutal thud and felt her stomach leep, her heart sink and worst of all her ankle snap.

"Ben, I told you to trust me, now look what you've done..." DR motioned to the paint she dropped, and the smudge she left on the upper portion she had just finished painting, "Don't you know how much that paint cost me?"

Tears being worthless, she hobbled inside to lick her wounds, and sulk in her own secret misery. A secret, because no one can hear you cry if they don't believe you're human.

Wanted: Young John

2008-09-28T23:07:00.010-04:00

For the greater portion of the working population, our job descriptions typically match our personal description. Ex.:

WANTED: Organized, professionally minded individual

capable of assisting, full time, a busy Law Firm.

Job Req. include office management, shipping

and receiving of confidential information,

assisting in staff prep. for meeting and transactions

and proper direction of a voluminous call center.

The above want at represents a need for a highly organized, helpful, personal individual with experience in an office setting.

Typically, the person for this job is a grumpy, ornery, overweight older woman, unmarried for a reason, who never says anything rude (without a smile.)

So then, you ask, just who is this Young John caracter? Have you any guesses? You have seen him here for over a year, had a chance to learn his deepest desires, some secrets, and some gossip about our not-so-hero. Is he a construction worker? A doctor, a Pastor, or a Lawyer, a clerk, or a pizza delivery man? Just what is he?

Does Young's profession define him, or does Young John Define his profession?

I will remind you of what you already know and let you decide for yourself.

Young, well versed in all musical styles, impacts, and artists, movements and sources, does not indeed, play a piano, guitar, fife, or cello himself.

Young, with a great respect for the written word and a love of classical and modern literature, who is not without a conversational understanding of French, Spanich, Latin, Yiddish, Jive and Russian, does not spend his days writing or teaching nor in analysis of literature as a greater part of his general profession.

He does not conduct a train.

Or deliver flowers, confections, medications, or advertisements.

Young would never expect to be hired as an executive chef,

No matter how greatful one might be to eat at his table.

He has not wasted years of schooling stocking shelves at a local Wal-mart either.

Young doesn't NOT have a job.

Young simply happens to be on of the very few stand out men who forms his own description, who rises above his mere position to grant the world a view of an unencombered Young.

Young works diligently to support his new bride.

Young loves his career as if it were a tactile extension of his very being and nature.

But Young is so much more and often times viewed as less than the tasks he performs to pay the bills.

Can you say the same?

Freedom?

2008-09-23T17:51:00.002-04:00

I have been stewing about this for a few whole years now, and you get to see the result of all this pent up aggression. And yes, aggression is the correct term for it all.

If you know anything about me at all you know that while I am generally placid, I have my quirks. Some topics of which that are guaranteed to light my fire include:

Oogies in my Orange Juice
People who insist on asking stupid questions in lecture
Chemical birth control

I have finally decided that today is the day i resolve my feelings, forget my pain an move on. And I'm not talking about confronting a pulpy orange juice, that is just disgusting. And you stupid question askers, you will feel my wrath for at least another 6 months. It is time to let go of my hurt and anger and horrible associations with "The Pill," "The Ring," and "The Shot." Here goes a lot of stuff...

Yesterday I read this article in the Baltimore Sun which just added on more delightful reason to my ever growing list, "Why I hate Chemical Birth Control (And why you should too.)" It is a simple, mostly harmless article about birth control and how it deadens our logic as women and causes us to prefer the pheromones our first cousin gives off to that of a person with completely different genetic make-up. A mistake that can lead to a host of awkward conversations at family events as well as the increased potential for miscarriages and birth defect and diseases such as Tay-Sachs.

After ingesting this information, I, in my usual way, shook my head, crossed my arms and sucked my teeth.

You see, I hate birth control and everything it means. I think it is the most ridiculous answer man has ever given to a question no one should be allowed to ask : What to do about that pesky side effect of Nature, conception? Touted as the answer to Women's Lib, we have been told for nearly 50 years that birth control is a sign of our freedom.

"We finally have a choice! To be pregnant or not to be pregnant, that is your decision! Don't count on HIM."

HELLO? Did anyone go to health class? It was our decision from the beginning. Long before you heaved that sigh in his ear and kissed that french kiss, you had a choice. Regardless of the moral consequences that the freedom to terminate an enumerable amount of lives has caused (In case you didn't know, the pill and the ring and other estrogen based birth control methods allow for eggs to be fertilized and grow into tiny, thriving blastocysts-yes, little babies- and then flushes them from your body like nuclear waste at the end of each cycle.) look with me for one moment at the physical side effects women put themselves through:

Blood clots
Hormonal imbalances
Sterility
Heart failure
Low/ High blood pressure
Anxiety, Depression, and thoughts of Suicide
Extremely long/ short periods
Weight gain
Nausea
Vomiting
Headaches
Dizziness
Fatigue
Bone Density Loss.... ETC ETC ETC

Why you crazy women choose to do these things to yourselves, I will never understand, nor will I try to. And this isn't even about you. Go on. continue to feed you ovaries caustic materials, if you don't mind, how can I?

This is about me, and how I feel, and the fact that this keeps me awake at night, strains my relationships with some people and really just ends in me embittered towards them. i have to resort to the old model of communication for how this makes me feel:

When you... Tell me to keep my opinions to my self

It makes me feel... sad and worthless

Because... I have thoughts too.

The system in our culture is imbalanced and tilted AGAINST my favor. It is acceptable and even "responsible" to use hormonal birth control, but for those of us that prefer to wait until they are capable and secure enough to support a child to have sex, we are shooed to the kids table while the adults go on Sex and The City and parade themselves around us in a high and exalted fashion. Or (gasp) those of us that, while we see the allure in another's eye, and while we fall in sexual sin, choose not to alter our bodies natural chemistry and opt for barrier or spermicidal measures of safe sex.

Why is it ok for you to mock, shame and even make me feel left out of the cool club because of my choices? You truly don't know enough about me, nor do you care enough to have the right to treat me disdainfully.

And your answer to me is "Well, keep your opinions to yourself and no one will judge you"

Excuse me?

You can flaunt your choices left and right, throwing your judgement on me if i don't follow suit, telling me about your health issues while I sit, lips pursed unable to solve your problems for you? I don't judge you, I just tell you the truth and how I feel.

But you? You can judge me?

Sorry for caring.

Do you care? Have you ever once asked me why I feel the way I do?

Perhaps you said that I am an extreme conservative when I say that if you don't like condoms, maybe you shouldn't have sex, or you should be in a committed and stable relationship and place in your life.

Perhaps you tell me that I only adopt my views to threaten your manhood, and that I would gladly give into the next man that comes around.

Perhaps you don't listen to any of my outcries and you threaten to take away your approval of me if I don't comply. Maybe you're the one that holds my arm down on the table and forces me to make a decision I will regret for the rest of my life because you want to break my spirit into a million indeterminable pieces.

Maybe I am just an old-school, back woods, baby loving extremist.

Or maybe, I am a respectful, loving, calm, truthful heart with a story to tell that if you cared about for one moment-who knows- I might change your life.

Sleep Dreams, Sweet Well.

2008-09-14T23:10:00.004-04:00

After a series of terribly fitfully nights of sleep, I have come to a few conclusions:
I am too much in love.
I want things from you that scare, worry, and even embarrass me.
I need to go to bed earlier.

How can you be too much in love? Being too much in love is when your heart is ahead of you. Being too much in love is needing something from another person that you can't put into words. Being too much in love is representative of every challenge in my life.

I spend most of my day in a sort of half-reality, daydreaming about you. Which is useless, in my opinion. Daydreams serve no purpose other than distraction.They can't bring into being all the things I wish of you. They can't be representations of real truth in any way.

They are just the idle wishes of a girl very much in love who sees a great many things on the imaginary silver screen of her life with you.

Idle wishes and thoughts that take me more than a few miles ahead of you ad your patient heart that I love so much. Lofty ideas of grandeur.

My daydreams don't help you.
Or me.
Nor do they make you're life any better.
And is that not what this love is about?
Loving you positively, putting you first in all things, effecting you for successful change.
Is love only useful when is produces a positive change?

And what do I want from you, Boy? Everything. I even intimidate myself with that admission of need.

I don't think I can do this. I just don't think I have it in me to love you- well anyone- this much. I don't have the capacity to give you everything. I already tried this and he just ran with my everything. My dreams, my realities, my love, my heart, my future were wrapped up in him. What if you run too? What if you take this little bit I offer with you? My simple, sweet trusting soul? My time, my energy, my patience.

They always do go, you know, Boy. They never want me for a family. They never want to commit. They never can bear it for long.

But if you want it-
If you will truly take everything I have and stay right here with me-
I will flourish.

I will find more and more everyday to give you. I will shower you with gifts from my heart until you have no where else to hold them. I won't even beg much of you. Just be here. Just take what I give you with the understanding that ever breath I breathe on your neck, every kiss I bestow on your lips, every dream a whisper to you on a Sunday morning when getting out of bed is just a fruitless effort because we two are much happier there where we can hold eachother and hear every smile and sigh every sigh together, is precious.

I just want you.
And that is why I am too much in love with you. I want things from you that I can only assume are impossible because no one has ever attempted them before.

Love is...

2008-09-09T16:45:00.002-04:00

Warm.
Quiet.
Calm.
Sharing moments together.
Expressible in 160 characters or less.
Sunday Mornings.
Sunlight in your hair.
Long lonely drives down a rainy highway with rocking tunes blarring.
Trusting you from the moment I laid eyes on you.
Knowing what we are is right.
Feeling sad because someone hurt you a mllion moments before I ever knew you.
Not needing to argue. Ever. About anything.
Telling the truth, even if it means getting in trouble.
Unassuming.
Being unable to talk, think or write about anyone else.
Trusting me to party on my own.
A Rocking chair in the bedroom.
A kiss on the hand.
A lost moment.
A lingering eye.
Ticklish.
Being excited to be alone with you.
Young John.
A long beautiful song.
Tennis rackets.
NOT never having to say you're sorry, BUT knowing WHEN to say you're sorry.
Frosty beverages.
Open minds, open hearts and most importantly, open lips.
Simple.
Scrapple.
A smile that says as much as, "I love you and need you and can't wait for you."
Quietly admitting me into your life because it works.
You.

What We ARE Doing

2008-09-02T13:57:00.003-04:00

is simple, and clearly meaningful.

The Boy and I had a chat last night in the afterglow of my television on XM Lucy.

I am learning a lot about him and liking what I see more and more.

After a very delightful weekend of essential nothingness (hanging out in the mall, dinner with the family, lunch with the friends, a movie that we loved together etc.) we were in the midst of a very nice feeling and we began to just chat about everything. And I admitted something very candidly for the first time out loud.

It's something you and he probably knew, but I wasn't admitting just yet (just in case) In case of what, you ask? In case he didn't like it, I suppose.

"I just see a lot of potential in this relationship."

Because I do. I am very much looking forward to the forward motion we are achieving. The "I like hanging out with you" to the "I like you" to the "I love you" was such a smooth set of transitions, that the "I am so glad I found you" to the "I want you around for a very long time" to the "Look what we did with our love" phases are just a thrilling thought.

Very thrilling indeed. I feel like I am flying, but this time with a net and a parachute and tandem.

Dear Mrs. Anybody...

2008-08-29T09:23:00.002-04:00

A letter for Benny, but not to you.

Have you ever walked past someone and thought 'Well, at least I'm not as bad off as such-and such?'

I am more than sure that you have and that you know what I mean, For I am a woman and so are you and we two are not as different as you would make us out to be for that reason alone.

Say, perchance, you have an encounter at a grocery store. After you retrieve your bruised artichoke heart from the produce floor because some one was in such a rush they narrowly missed you in their search for the perfect beet, you think,

'At least I'm not as rude and inconsiderate as she is.'

You slam on the brake in the middle of a busy intersection while the rain beats out a rhythm on the hood of you civic because some jerk ran a red light and you think,

'At least I am a more cautious driver than that guy.'

You feel uncomfortable in your 'skinny jeans' after a weekend off the diet and you proceed to eye up Jennifer in your office that just can't seem to shake the baby weight and think,

'At least I'm more attractive than that.'

It's okay, I've done it too. Just today, as a matter of fact,

I saw a picture of your tentative wedding dress and read the invitation with the hearts and dove and flowers. I saw your registry for dishes and sheets and baby clothes. I skimmed a blog entry where you gush about the new adventure you are headed on with your never ending love in tote, and I thought,

'At least I'm not about to be Mrs. DR'

Good luck.

Really.

You'll need it.

Signed Mrs. Nobody Special, Who is in love with Mr. Young John, Esq.

My Cigarettes and This Old Dirt Road...

2008-08-25T15:30:00.004-04:00

Last night I was so tempted to buy a pack of cigarettes and drive out to the boondocks with The Wreckers blaring like I used to when I was... Well, when I used to get worked up.

When he used to come around.
When he used to treat me like I didn't matter.
When he used to scream and cry and fuss until I hurt inside and just wanted to drive until I could feel again.

The Boy and I got in an argument. No, that's not really true.

I got in an argument with The Boy.

Because he isn't perfect. And I forgot for one minute that I have no right to expect perfection.

I got home from a long weekend of crying. Aunt Maryann's memorial was this weekend and it was difficult to say the least. How do you say goodbye to someone so amazing? So perfect? So a part of you and what you are?

I remembered something about her that made me cry hot wet tears that were heavier than I expected. When he was here and a part of this whole thing, He actually accused me of being a witch. And my mother. And my Aunt Maryanne. His words? "What is she, 412 years old?"

I wish she would have lived that long. But no. She was just a woman. A tiny frail woman with a big heart and a great rhythm who could out-tap Fred Astaire with a smile as big as the sea. Just a woman who clung to Christ when everyone blamed her for everything. When everyone left her. When there was no other choice.

Any how, The Boy.

The point is, he isn't perfect. He didn't show up when I needed him, he didn't hold me like I wanted, He didn't ask me about here or how fantastic she was or how I got a picture from her bedside that I painted for her that she must have seen everyday she woke up, and what do I deserve to be so honored? He just didn't know.

And secretly, I hated him for that.

But I hate the sun for shining when there is no one important enough to shine for. And I hate the rain for raining when the world is already dark enough without her. And I hate just everything for moving on so smoothly when that is that last time for a very long time that she will ever impact change.

I just hate it.

But I also forgot that The Boy is not so tragic. And that he does try. And that he loves me, even in my moods.

Oh Boy, I am sorry I am so complex.

Don't you know I don't mean to be?

Young sets out to make her understand.

2008-08-18T18:48:00.004-04:00

"Am I mistaken? Did I just dream that or did you really just ask me that?"

He shook his head at her. "Oh Benny, you are beautifully mistaken."

His smile betrayed him as he held her even closer than he was wont to do and kissed her eyelids in the soft summer moon light.

"Young, I just don't understand you sometimes." She almost sounded harsh as she held his face away from hers.

"What is there to understand, Love?" Something as sweet and pure and Young Learning to Love was indeterminable at it's core, let alone for her.

"Well, for one thing, just last week, you scolded me for mentioning that we should plan a vacation together and now this?"

And he had. Maybe it was wrong of him, but last week he was scared of her and, all of a sudden, it became clear what he needed. He needed Benny, and there was no amount to pretending and no more waiting to be done. All he needed now was to ask her and have her say yes. So he waited, he held his breath, he pressed his strong hand around hers, holding it for fear that she might turn into an ephermeral mist and disapear as had been her tradition so many times before when things were too perfect as they were in this late night moment.

"Oh Benn-
"Yes Young, I mean, go on..."
"I only wanted to tell you that you don't have to answer me now. You can never answer me if you want, I only just-"
"I know what I want to answer."
"Oh, then, by all means, Yes, Miss. Benny?"
"I want to be Mrs. John."

And with that, the end of the middle of a beautiful song had found a climax while they lay together, tightly intertwined in a moment only lovers know. A moment that signifies the begining of something bigger than one person's love for another, A moment that begins all families in all ways, A moment of true love's passion coming to fruition.

A moment which Young had never felt more free, and Benny never knew more peace.

I am a selfish brat.

2008-08-18T13:59:00.002-04:00

I want her to be here.

This weekend, the world lost a great soul.

And I just don't think it is fair.

But seeing her, quite literally, wasting away, broke my heart from end to end. It definitely helped to know that after you die there is no more pain. I never want to see any one in that state again, but I am sure it won't be the last.

But are we not just souls with bodies, and is there nothing in this world so great that we should leave it for the next with a shred of regret?

I love you, Mima, and I will miss you until I come Home.

DR seeks the End.

2008-08-13T19:33:00.003-04:00

"DR, why would you do this?" Benny wiped a hot tear from her cheek as she lifted her eyes to meet his.

This scene is long before Young, the baby, and her happiness. What follows is about Benny, her formation, and one she loved with all her heart, despite what he had given her in return. Long before she thought of salvation, or freedom, or peace.

"Do what?" He smiled a cruel smile at her as the pile burned behind them. True, it wasn't a very large pile. But everything we love seldom amounts to much of anything.
He flicked his cigarette into the flames as he turned his back to her and swaggered towards the flames.

"Is this a joke?" She examined what little she could see of the base of the fire through the thick smoke and light of the fire. What he had done and why never would make sense, not to you, or me, or Young or anyone else that loved Benny. If it were a joke, no one but DR would have much to laugh at. And if you asked him today, I'm sure he would shrug and blame Benny.

"Is what a joke? You see it, it's all there. Every last piece. Burnt. Scorched. Finished." He spit into the flames and she swore she saw fire come from his mouth. Whatever the case, no matter how hard she prayed, the crackling heap kept on burning.

"Why did you do it, what did any of it ever mean to you?" I know you didn't want to assume what was in the fire, and truthfully, neither did I, but I will tell you here. I will tell you in this recount of her story, while she isn't around to remember everything she lost.

DR was burning everything Benny ever owned. Every prom picture. Every diary entry. Every handkerchief. Every memory. Everything.

"I don't want it." was all he ever said to her.

"But I- But DR, I just-" He never could let her finish a sentence. Oh, what brilliance did we miss from you Benny the years you were under his thumb? What thoughts must have stayed locked away in your fair head, thoughts that Young can never tire of, thoughts that do nothing but benefit everyone who they are for?

"You just want your things, I know. You are attached to it all. But not any more. Now everything is gone and we- you and me, Benny- we're going to start over. Isn't it all too thrilling?" She thought, if she stared long enough and hard enough, she could see herself in the fire, knocked out and tied to a chair, smoldering away.

"Thrilling? Start over?" She was stunned, dazed, and a little sun-drunk. She reached her hand out in a very dramatic fashion. She was very dramatic for a long time if only to attempt to impact him. I know, she isn't like that now. She is much more the Benny she was meant to be, but you will learn all of that about her some other time. This is just a mere retelling.

"You don't need any of it anyway. You're not Benny anymore. You are mine." And with that, he kissed her. A kiss she grew to fear. A kiss that meant she had lost.

A kiss that meant Benny had two choices:

Run

Or Die with him.

What is a girl, who is in love with a monster so much that it hurts her to sleep for fear he should eat out her heart while her eyes are closed, to do with her grief and pain?

Benny did run, but not before she lost everything she was.

Now, there is just a little matter of who to become.

Do you say "Thy will be done?"

2008-08-13T19:02:00.002-04:00

Or does God say, "All right then, have it your own way"?

For a long time, and maybe even a little still, my life resembled the latter statement. Oh, I prayed earnestly for God's guidance in my life. I prayed and waited for His response, for His word, for His command. When I received it, I turned away , on purpose, just to see what could possibly go wrong, and did just the opposite.

When I prayed in the face of sexual desires, I found myself giving way to all of my sexual instincts. My biological imperative took over.

I started being sexually active, then I prayed about a marriage. Because I never wanted sex without a marriage, or a marriage without sex.

I got married and had sex, a lot of it, and so did my husband. And not always with me, and certainly never with a prayer.

I prayed about my broken heart, and God rescued my life. I cried, a bawled, I never wanted to breath again. And God said, "Oh, yes you will breath. And live freely in my love. And love again."

Life, love, these things are far from easy. But they are glorious gifts.

Sure, my wrong doings haunt me with guilt.
Sure, I still cry about the things I did or didn't do with or without God.

But I would rather be humble and sad a wary then pompous and proud and indignant.
Atleast I realize the mistakes I made in ignoring God.

I am trying to change. Will you be there when I'm all better?

I don't typically fall in love,

2008-08-13T18:51:00.003-04:00

But you're no typical boy.

I don't want to write about how much I like him.
I want to cry and run away and forget about him.
I feel he deserves so much more than I can give.

I want to list some setbacks I have had this week.
And some triumphs.
And a few panics.

I shall label them, and here is your key:

SUBJECT:
T- Triumph
S- Setback
TP- Triumphant panic
SP- Unhappy panic

LIST:

T- You missed me while I was away.

TP- I missed you while I was away.

SP- I had a dream about not wanting to get a divorce. I woke up in a panic that you could read my dreams. Then I remembered that my dreams aren't listed on my forehead, and they are no shame, just an odd mash of life without order.

S- The divorce.

S- The Jeep.

T- Kissing you for the first time since I left made me very happy.

TP- You make me very happy.

S- I wish you could have met me in Paradise and I could have never had to come back to the Big Grey City.

TP- You really are a nice boy and you really do like me and I really want you.

I will organize these thoughts and talk in more complete sentences, this is more just an outline of what I wanted to tell you. And we all know how tongue tied you make me.

Young and a love song.

2008-08-03T22:17:00.003-04:00

"Young, you know, I don't know half the songs you sing to me, why do you suppose that is?" Benny smiled at him, looking across their tiny bedroom while he took off his shoes and hummed an old tune he loved so much it made his heart dance.

He watched her, six months pregnant folding the laundry and thought of a million songs to sing to her about how much he loved her. Instead, he answered her with his usual evenness "Oh, Benny, I'm not sure, perhaps you have heard them you just don't recognize when I sing them to you."

She stopped folding socks for a moment. I recognize your heart when you sing them. And without another moment, he scooped her up and hummed to her as he twirled her down the hall, a very un- Young moment. But a positively perfect thing to do.

Do I want to be with you as the years come and go?
Only forever if you care to know.
Would I grant all your wishes and be proud of the task,
Only forever if someone should ask.
How long would it take me to be near if you beckon,
Offhand I would figure, less than a second.
Do you think Ill remember how you looked when you smiled,
Only forever, thats putting it mild.

I love him, and that is the begining of everything.

2008-08-03T21:51:00.004-04:00

I am speaking, obviously, about the impact of dreams and wishes and fairy tales on one's perception of reality.

And I love it.

The Boy and I had what I would like to call an amazing weekend. I would like to call it that and I would like to write and speak a million facts about why, but I must limit myself. We musn't get too carried away, for sanity's sake.

Here are a few things I loved about this perfect set of days and a few things I hope never change:

1. Friday night was short and sweet and real. The Boy came to the dance hall where I work on Fridays and Fridays only while a live band strums out a hundred perfectly acceptable covers including things from Dino and Rob Thomas, the Four Seasons and Diamond Rio. He met some of his familia there to join in dinner and the festivities of the evening. They are real people. You know about real people, right? Messy people with great stories and knowing smiles who make mistakes and make you laugh and, in his case, cry a little in a good way.

He enjoyed his time from what little I saw of it and then he did something he has a million times told me he wouldn't. He took my hand and lead me out on the floor. While I was drenched in sweat and had a myriad of things to do, he twirled and whirled me with the best of 'em and I tell you I was smitten. He's a good sport to spoil me and not a half bad dancer at that.

1A. Saturday night we attended the wedding of a dear friend of mine and he was a fantastic date. He calmed me when we were late and lost, he let me fret over forgetting my battery for the camera (instead of telling me not to worry about it and hush up,he just let me be bummed. It's nice to have someone empathize with you and indulge in feelings once in a while-- real messy uncomfortable feelings) Then again, he was happy to dance with me. Sure he chose the song, but I can't blame him there. Sure, I tricked him to boogie-woogie, but he's good enough not to blame me.

2. He just held me. Saturday night we spent together after the wedding, just talking and dreaming and musing out loud and he just held me. In a few ways too. Sure, he wrapped his strong loving arms around me and pinned me to the bed with a leg here and his lips there, but it was more than that. It was nicer than that. He held my attention and my loving glances. He took what I said to heart and he made useful comments about me and life and where I fit in. This is what it means to be held, and to know what a promise is in real time

3. We had some cool, typical unforgettable moments together. Getting lost-ish, running around in the freezing rain, dancing, waking up next to someone you can't get enough of, lazy Sunday's, and an Ikea date. It's nice. Just plain nice to have someone to share those things with that you know doesn't take them any more or less serious than they are. They just are. They just spend time with you knowing that they are building toward the same calming rush that you are looking for, a peace in love. So say Whitman, "Peace is always beautiful."

4. I just like him. I just like the fact that he's real. And honest. And he lets me talk. And he wants me to be happy. I can see everything amazing about him that I like in the simplest things. In the way he lets me just turn around and kiss him whenever I want. And the way he lets me say things that sound like "future" love ideas. The way that he tells a story so that I understand it. The way he will answer me every time I ask him what he's thinking. The way he makes me want to be calm and sweet and always thinking about what is best for him.

Oh love. Oh peace. Oh Boy.

"Love does not cause suffering: what causes it is the sense of ownership, which is love's opposite”- Exupery

2008-07-29T09:56:00.003-04:00

"DR, I really wish you would-"

"You wish what? That you could have a say? Benny, that's not what you signed up for."

And here it was, Here they were. Right back there they always left off, the same old argument. He was readying his most condescending tone to tell her that she was to be quiet and trust his decision making skills and she was bracing herself for the cold hard truth all over again.

"Now Benny, we agreed, you will remember, that I will be the head of this household." And I will break you yet, he smiled and held her close so she couldn't see the storm in his eyes. The constant rolling clouds that darkened his face when he thought about the joy of owning her.

"But DR, I just want-"

"You want to feel important, I know. You want to rule the roost, I know. You want to wear the pants, I know. But we agreed." He kissed her on the head and thought how easy it was to convince her to submit.

Delighted, he held out her arm.

"Now this won't hurt-"

"But DR I don't want-"

"I know, you don't want to submit. But Benny, we agreed-"

"But DR we didn't agree-- not on this!"

"Benny, now listen, we agreed that I would be the head of this family and that you would respect me. If you can't do just this one simple little thing, there is no point to loving you."

"But DR, I just want-"

"You just want what? To be alone forever? To be with a push over? No, NO Benny, I will not relent. I will have you and you will stick to your promises."

And then the nurse came in. Teddy bears smiled back at Benny from her smock. The nurse took her by the arm and shook her

"Mrs. John! Mrs. John are you ready? The doctor will exam you now, if you're ready..."

Where had she been? In some clinic, five years back. Crying. Wishing to be free. Wanting to be loved. Feeling no way out. She wiped her eyes and realized that the nurse was holding her hand.

"Mrs. John, it's ok... You and the baby are going to be just fine."

And then she remembered she was free now. Free to love and be loved. Free to breath on her own. Free to want her own way.

Sweet Freedom.

How much are you worth?

2008-07-28T13:35:00.002-04:00

I have a new personal mantra which I like to share with everyone I meet, in hopes that they will benefit from my new found self assurance. It is simple:

You are worth it.

Whatever it is. That nap you never take, that vacation you've been planning, that alone time in the bath tub, the steak dinner you fix yourself.

But more importantly :Love.

You are worthy of love. You are worthy of respect. You are worth being treated as well as you treat others.

I have adopted this new saying to get myself through some really difficult recent events. But I am pawning it off on you so that you can make better personal decisions about how you use your time.

Is your time worth being beat? Is your time worth working for someone who doesn't appreciate your skills?

If you love someone and you want to spend the rest of your life with them, you are worth having the same devotion from them. If you don't, you need to ask yourself 'Am I worth it?' Am I worth love? The answer, of course, should be yes, yes I am.

I thought about this as I was reading a friends blog. The same young man has been flip flopping his feelings as frequently as I change my underwear on this girl for atleast 6 years now. And all I can think of is: You are worth it. You are worth love. You are worth marriage if that's what you want. You are worth the lifestyle you want.

Why can't this girl see it? Maybe because she has been lied to all these years. Maybe because she has been told to wait her turn. Maybe becuase he has convinced her that this is all she deserves. Or maybe because she never asked herself 'What am I worth?'

Hemingway's blank verse

2008-07-24T17:50:00.002-04:00

" "
! : , .
, , , .
, ; !
,

"I think you need desire"
Desire! For what is desire: To want, hoard and miss.
And I think you need it to make you feel whole, lovely, human, &c.
Desire, you say; But what you mean is lust!
And what of it, Sweet love

Conflicted.

2008-07-23T09:45:00.002-04:00

I had a minor panic attack last night.

It all started Saturday, when I got the baby look. You know the baby look. You've gotten it before. That look when a single woman is holding a baby that she gets from the mother of the baby, her SO, some other male of procreating age that says, simultaneously, "You look good with a baby" and "My, wouldn't I like to be held like that" It is a subtle, yet often times creepy look that freaked me out and sent me into a downward tailspin of conflicting desires.

I should be happy. I should be married and pregnant and baby full and happy. I am happy, but I am getting ready to get divorced from a man who promised me the world and gave me bills instead. He promised the world that I wanted, or thought I wanted.

A world where a woman could be just that: a woman. A world where I could work hard at child rearing and house hold duties including but not limited to pie baking, gardening, canning, quilting, and floor-mopping. A world where I would respect my husband and in return he would make the best decisions for our growing family, with me first in his mind always.

Instead, I am starting all over again, with a Boy who has never promissed me anything. A Boy who says simply "I love you" not "I will love you forever and you will be my queen and we will live forever in our children."

Can I really be in love after all this? Can I really forgo everything I wanted and live without the dreams I used to have? Can I really finish school, start a new profession and fall in love with someone who is totally different than anything I have ever wanted?

I am willing to try. But I honestly don't know. I am scared. I am hurt. I am in love.

Within a secret, without a cause.

2008-07-22T20:00:00.000-04:00

A noteworthy passage from Benny's diary about something she misses most of all.

"... but what of it? So what if I am never loved again? would that be the end of Benny? No, I would go on. I would continue to exist. I would continue to breath and live and write and have desires. So what if they were unfulfilled?

I don't miss DR. I miss the prospect of love that DR represented. DR and I had the same last name. DR and I said that we were in love. So what if he never meant it. I meant it. I loved him. I loved the idea of being with someone forever, even if he treated me abominably. Maybe I deserved it. But enough of that.

I miss the fact that we might have been a family, a real family. I miss the prospect of children. With each passing day I think 'what if i would have put up with it for another month, or year? Then maybe I would have something to show for it' But that is crazy. Are you a family just because you have a child? Are you worthy just because you have a child?

But I can't dream of children again. Or a family. Or a marriage. I just can't. A man like Young warrants atleast that. Atleast the love of an unwounded woman. Atleast a woman who could trust him enough to give him all of her dreams. As I am now, the experience with DR has me so fearful of falling for treachery and perfidiousness that I run from Young everytime he might love me. Young does loves me, I know it. But at what price and why?"

Oh Benny, will you ever relent?

A soft down pillow with your arm propping it up.

2008-07-20T13:13:00.002-04:00

The Boy and I talked for hours last night like we love to do and here are some of the more simple things we came up with:

1. Love is as easy as you make it.
2. Communication is key.
3. Count to ten before you assume they are late/annoying you/uncaring on purpose.
4. Forget what you think you know.
5. This is new territory. Love this person as if you have never been hurt before.
6. Not everyone is a psychopath hell bent on destruction.
7. Love is creationism.
8. If it is important to you, it is important for me to listen to you.
9. Love can mean swapping beers.
10.Babies are a product, but not an accessory.
11.Hard work is something to be revered.
12.Small doses of loving affection serve their purpose well.
13.Love is only as demonstrative as you are observant. (See number 9)

He's not the world. He's just a boy.

A boy who treats me well an listens to my fears and joys all the same and wants me to be happy and is pleased to tell me every thought he thinks because I want to hear it and know it and hold it in my mind, valued as a diamond in the rough landscape of the mind and a heart that has been beaten. I wear this diamond of thoughtfulness and sentimentality on the ring finger of desire, never taking for granted the simple love, the quiet love, the no nonsense love he has for me. Always remembering that to be loved is a gift to be cherished and to love a God-given right to those with a heart. He may not buy me flowers, or jewelry or name a boat after me but this Boy, this man of love says "Thank you" and touches my shoulder and asks me what i need to be happy and where I want to go for the night and kisses me as if he loves the privilege.

He looks at me and I can almost hear him say "I do love her."

And I fall asleep thinking, "He does love me."

Blurring the Barrier Between Benny and Being

2008-07-20T13:02:00.003-04:00

A continuance.

"So... You love me?" Benny tilted her head. Her brown hair fell flat over her shoulder. It had seemed to be the millionth sunny day they had spent together and like the hundreds of times before this, he fell in love again with the glitter that seemd to beam light from the tips of her soft, straight locks. That something so simple as hair could captivate him was something beyond expectation.

"Yes, I love you." And everything you are whether you like it or not, he thought.

"But what would you want with me, Young? After everything you've seen--"

I have seen love.

"What have I seen, Benny?"

"The things DR did to me, to everyone around me." Why would you want some one even he couldn't love, she thought.

"What has DR got to do with anything?" He has so much of her, he thought.

"I thought you would think I were crazy for loving him. For being sad when he left. For--For falling for it..." I think I am crazy, But I have no choice but to live with myself, she thought.

"Oh, I do think you're crazy. But I don't think you give yourself enough credit." Love me, he thought.

"Oh Young, you're crazier than I am." And I love you, she thought.

More night terrors...

2008-07-15T17:55:00.004-04:00

For the first time in a long time, I woke up out of a dead slumber last night to racing thoughts and a pounding heart. I didn't know where I was, who I was, or that I had been sleeping. I may have even screamed a little.

In the wake of my best friends engagement and my never ending legal entanglements with my own failed marriage, wedding thoughts, doubts, and anxieties have been lurking around in my brain. Mounting up to hellish night terrors of a particular sort: dreams about weddings.

Fine, say what you want. Tell me you love weddings, the cake the flowers the dresses, I don't care. I hate weddings and I always have. They make me nervous and frankly, I think they are tawdry and gawdy. Tell me I am just jaded, but I truly refute the fact that I only dislike wedding because mine was such a bust; oh no friend. I didn't like yours ten years ago, and I will not like the next 25 I attend in my lifetime.

What was so wrong with my wedding, you ask? Should we start with the groom and end with the dress?

Here's what I always wanted:

I wanted and off-white even champagne dress with a simple wrap design. I wanted my long brown-black hair to be in big sexy curls and a tiny tiara holding in a simple veil down the back. No train, no frill. Just simple. Red roses and candles everywhere. Ladies in Red for my processional. Men in red vests. My groom in a champagne vest with a single red rose in his pocket. Night time, quiet, reserved ceremony. Before pictures of my mom centering my tiara and fluffing my dress. After pictures of my groom holding me tight for a sweet kiss. An all white square simple cake with red roses trailing down the side. A champagne fountain.

Since I knew I would never ever ever in my wildest dreams have precisely what I wanted, I said nothing. I wanted nothing. I literally wanted to go to the court house, say thank you and be done with it. And then return to work.

Heres what I got:

I wore my prom dress to a church I had never attended but twice and was wed in front of people I barely knew. My dad wore a hawaiian shirt to give me away. My mom made the flowers, which were beautiful, no lie. One bridesmaid, my new sister in law. (Not the initial choice, she ran away a day before the ceremony) I made the carrot cake and iced it with blue icing (to match my prom dress) the day before. My groom cried like a baby and didnt understand a word the pastor was saying. Then he got so drunk, he didn't sober for four full days after the wedding.

My night terror was just that, only worse. I was facing marrying my now nearly ex husband again, but I was the me now. The me that is terrified of him. The me that gets sick everytime I hear his voice. I was preparing to knowingly marry the devil. And the dress wasn't much better. I actually, in my dream could not find an outfit to wear. I was busy trying on skirts and dresses I own now with the knowledge I now possess about him and us and this and the whole time I am thinking, "Can I survive a jump out of this window?"

What saved my phantom marriage? Rain. It started raining in my dream and the courtyard flooded. I swam out of the place, everyone looking for me, creaming my name, lamenting the ruin of my wedding day. While I am thinking, "God I hope they don't notice me..."

I know it's childish, but it is just another thing. It is just another sign that I made a huge mistake and it's not over yet. It is just another sign that I should still be sleeping alone. It is just another ulcer. Another headache. Another tear.

And when I say I'm never going to marry again and the Boy cringes inside, I just add it to the growing list of why I am so inadequate for... well, for anyone.

The more I like him, the more I want to run at him screaming, "Don't you know what they say about me? Haven't you heard the rumors?"

Doesn't he know my own family doesn't think me worthy of marriage?
Doesn't he know, before I was born, my father cast me off?
Hasn't anyone told him I am "certified pre-owned?"
Hasn't he guessed by now that I will never be right again?
I will never not have nightmares about crack and whores and weddings and the devil.
I will never love him with a full heart because I haven't a full heart.

I know I am jumping the gun, but just as you have an obligation to warn people that you have an STD or that you've been to jail, Am I not also obliged to mention that I am not whole?

That someone has made off with half of me?
That I have issues?
That I might, for the rest of my life, hate weddings?

Am I obliged to say, years before we're ever ready to be truly in love, years before we want eachother as permanent fixtures in eachothers lives and hearts, that I may not be as available as you want?

That I may change my mind, but as of right now I never want to get married or have babies or live with anyone else ever again?

And is that even true?

Can I overcome this? Can I love the Boy fully and rightly? Can I things stay this perfect, this warm, this free and easy? Can he always love me without expecting anything from me? Anything much greater than a hug and a kiss and "I love you" and "Have a nice day at work"?

Because that I have. I have love. Just not what I think he deserves. Not new love. Or completly devoted love. A quiet, second hand heart that wants him but knows too much to demand him.

Help. I love a boy but I am haunted.

Benny, The truth about her demise

2008-07-12T11:20:00.004-04:00

"So this is it then? You're just going to walk away from everything we have and forget about me? Forget about everything you said you wanted, every dream we built, ever kiss I ever gave you?" DR was an emotional man, set on a hair trigger for disaster. She backed away from him slowly, refusing to look him in the eyes as she had for months now.

If she did, what would she have seen? Would he have appeared less mad than he sounded? Would he have broken down, asked for forgiveness, and held her like she needed? Would she have believed it if he had?

"I just-" She rallied her senses and took a deep breath while he filled up the silence-

"You just what? You just don't love me, You just want your own way? You are just everything I ever thought you would be? You just want out?" He fired so quickly, she could barely see straight let alone think straight.

"I just want you to give me a moment." Another tear, then another, then she felt that feeling once again. That feeling that starts at the base of everything you are and comes out of your ears. That pressure. That moment when you are so emotionally distraught that you can feel your physical systems shutting down. All the blood races to you heart and mind and you are incapacitated from the inside out. That moment when you can feel your intestines kneading themselves and your stomach falling.

That same feeling she felt every time he hit her, every time he left her, every time he told her what she was worth and what she owed him and what he knew of her and what he wanted from her and what he knew she would never be.

That same feeling crept up from the pit of her stomach every time she looked in his eyes and saw a half crazed demon. Every time she realized that she had made a mistake. Every time she thought about all she had seen and heard from him that had made her realize he was the devil or at least possessed by one.

It didn't matter. Breathing didn't matter. Loving didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Like so many times before, her sobs overtook her and all she wanted was to lay down and to die. To lay down and to compost into the ground and never live again. To stop hurting and stop living and stop loving him.

But DR relented and left her to cry alone. Which hurt most of all.

Words for thought.

2008-07-12T11:07:00.002-04:00

I just read my first blog ever and giggled slightly.

What was I thinking?

It was crap.

But I suppose I have to write crap to get to where I am today. Where am I though? Am I any more of a skilled writer? Does what I say now have any more weight than what I said then? Do I care?

I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday about what qualifications a freelance writer would need to have in order to make money off of their pieces. I secretly decided that they would need to be a phenomenal writer, but lets face it, you need to have more than just literary skills. Persistence and a college degree in journalism to say the least are the necessary tools for a skilled linguist.

Which basically means I write crap. Unskilled, uneducated, unadulterated crap. But do I care?

Why do I write if I know in ten years no one will read it?

Because I must.

I just must. I must or I'll bust. I must because I lust for words that fill a need.

That. That right there was crap. But I had to. Something inside me said, "Go for it, Super Footwear Girl. Just do it, because it is what you do."

I wonder how many other things I do in my life that are comperable crap but that I just must do?

Do I love as poorly as I write and with as much importance on humanity?

Everytime I say "No thank you" when a cashier asks me if I need a bag, is my conservation of plastic a useless as my words?

Is my speeking as ill used as my writing?

Or do you care? Do you read this every time I make a new post and without an exception leave with something new? A new perspective, a new thought, a new view of me or the world through me?

Do I care? Should I care?

Should it matter to me that when you read it you think "Well thats four and a half minutes of my life I'll never get back?"

Or should I write because this is my life and no one else will put words to it if I don't?

Hold your own, know your name, go your own way...

2008-07-08T15:58:00.002-04:00

Thursday Thirteen... on a Tuesday because I rule the world of Louise.

Thirteen things I have randomly thought of lately that I don't care whether or not you apreciate.

1. My Last name. If everything goes well, the end of next month will find me divorced... and yet again nameless. You probably don't take your last name very seriously, but I do. Your last name identifies you. It tells people whether your Welsh or Italian. How often you introduce yourself using your full given name denotes how proud you are of your heritage and family. Your last name is your first introduction to a big bright world. Before they've named you, it is more likely than not that one thing is for sure: Your Last Name. Who are you? Mr. Smith. Or Mrs. Smith. Who am I? Who knows, without a last name? Don't get me wrong, the divorce will be a huge relief. But seriously? Four name changes in four year- I'm worn out. And don't even ask to see my signature. Half the time I forget how it begins.

2. Le Divorce. I'm anxious. And happy. Relieved. And scared. I have had about a hundred dreams and ten times as many daydreams about it and everyone is the same. Judge Lamdin asks me to describe our marriage. I excuse my mom from court, because even in my dreams I can't put her through everything that truely happened. Then I cry. And there is no one there but Judge Lamdin to comfort me. (Yes call me obsessed, but I like the guy. He is fair and dad-like.) In every case, Mr.Not-such a great hubby drops and anvil on my head. Or holds me at knife point. So much for dreams...

3. The Boy. Who is amazing and awesome and scary in his own right. I just... love him. In a weird way, a weird natural way that makes me never feel anxious. He is just there. Which is kind of intimidating. It's strange to think that when he takes me out he is thinking of my hapiness. It's strange to think that when he asks me if I like something, he is filing my answer away for the next time. It's strange to think that when I am silent and content, he is thinking that maybe I need something or want something or what would make me happiest next. It's strange to think that he wants me to sing not to glorify him but to insure my hapiness... All very peculiar.

4. Writing. In general. I want to do it. I want to commit to it. But I never can seem to. I can never seem to think that what I write is important or skilled enough to compose a full novel. But I see it when I close my eyes.

5. The Boys friends. I almost don't want to like them. They are supremely awesome and different and just all around nice. He knows a lot of real people. You know, people who really smile at you when they shake your hand and who really say "Wow, what a nice girl" when you walk away. People who really like you just because The Boy likes you and smiles when he talks about you, so you must be a good person. So what if I love this whole network of people and what if he takes it all away one day? What if he doesn't love me and then I have to forget those people? Those real, vibrant, different, fun, weird, inquisitive people?

6. Music. And my song. I really love it. I just love singing. I love even more the thought of enjoying what comes out of my mouth. I don't so much care what you think, I like it.

7. I love College. I can't believe it took me this long, I feel like a dolt for having waited. But everything I needed to get here I have remembered and everything is falling together perfectly and I love it. It is perfect for me. I can't stop thinking about lab and language and math homework. And, best of all, I am succeeding.

8. I miss getting dirty. With paint that is. I need to get a good set of oil paints and go to town. Any donations, call me :)

9. Living at home. I moved out for a reason and that reason punches me in the face atleast once a day. They drive me crazy. But I don't have a choice so I shouldn't whine...

10. Baby Marshmallows. If you know what this means, you are entirely too close to my shoulder when I write in my journal. Or you're "Anne," In which case, pray for me.

11. I want to live inside you where ideas grow and start and flourish and grace the lips that I love from the inside out. I want to touch you close and tight where you like it most. I want to spend a day with you and here you and see you and know you like you were me and we were one. And then, to retreat, having known you, having had you, having felt you that close to me and in my heart so far that I can't hardly mistake you, I want love.

12. Scholarships, deadlines, bills, loans, credit cards and much much more.

13. In case you never knew, Sex.

Sex is an emotion in motion.

2008-07-03T17:55:00.002-04:00

Here's something that crossed my mind over the past few years.

Why am I so afraid of Sex?

Why am I so scared to talk about it, even here where i am free from identity?

I can even us the fictional building blocks i have constructed to carry out my thoughts and dreams and malingering thoughts about sexuality and sensuality, but I always avoid it. Why?

Why am I often times veiled, incomplete, half represented half admonishing my own flesh?

Perhaps because when you read this you often times judge me.

Perhaps because I am just naturally shy about Sex and all things relative to the most inner parts of my soul.

Perhaps because when I do, you always think too much or too little of it.

Sex is important.
I do think about it.

I am not a drone, programmed to ignore my own instincts. Yes, for sure I am a woman. Yes, my life is extremely complicated and therefore not conducive to the time needed to think about, discuss and theorize sex and sexual appetite.

So there you have it. I want to talk. About Sex. About the dirt and grit and sweat that goes with it. About missing it. About wanting it. About getting it.

I want the freedom to talk about these things while knowing you won't hate me. Or leave me because of it. I want to know you will still love me and stay tuned to my show even though I am being honest to a fault. I want you to express how you really feel too though. i don't want you to hurt me while doing it, but i care about you and I want your feedback. Just not your judgement.

If anything, this thing, this journal de vie, is mine. It's about my life. And my life is not loveless. It is not exanimated. It is not colorless. It is not flatline.

I am vibrant and demanding and loud and happy and when I cry it is real pain and when I laugh you can hear it in the stars and when I kiss you lightly in the dusk because my heart tells me I have no choice you can feel my soul brimming beneath my soft lips. And I want you. And I want to sing to you, and write to you, and love you.

So just take me. Take me for what I am, sex and all. Please?

Now that I am done being real, I can be Young.

A lot of complete sentences to finish and incomplete thought that may have hurt or surprised you.

2008-06-30T18:20:00.002-04:00

I have said all of these things to you in a half a dozen incomplete thoughts, but when I am alone, when it is just me and the monitor and keyboard, I can tell you everything, even the things I know you don't want to hear.

Like the fact that I really like you. And I knew I would. I also knew that this time would be different. This time I wouldn't cry. Or want you. Or make you into something you're not. This time, I took you for what you are worth. A decent guy with a quiet way who just likes me.

But now you don't "just like me." Now you don't just want to hang out with me sometimes when the mood strikes you and delight in my company or get bored of it and drop me off when you're done. Now you don't just want to chat every now and again and introduce me as just me and talk to other girls at bars with me a a security blanket.

Now you really think I'm something. Now you really say meaningful things to me. And you compliment me. And you are proud to take me out and talk me up and share me. Now you love me. And you are making propositions to love me for more than just today. For more than just the great quiet times.

But what if you don't?

What if I lose my luster?

What if I lose my mind?

What if when I am no longer this cool unfeeling quiet controlled woman you realize you never really even liked me?

So what?

So I really like you, that's what. You are so different than what i expect from life and love. You aren't a tiger, ready to pounce with passion and grief. You aren't a bear, cuddly looking with a fierce hunger. You certainly are not a fish, flaky and dry. I don't know what you are. You're a Boy.

A Boy I really like. A boy who I want to see happy. And well off.

What if you being happy means you not being with me?

I know, I've said that before to you. I have told you and cried my one tear and moved on. But you don't know the me before you. I me that was scared to be alone. And needed to cling to the idea of someone greater than I thought I was. Someone who would carry me and protect me.

You know the new me. The timid but awakened me. The me that can read people and who knows what she sees, even the most evil, is true. The me who has learned the difference between KNOWING a person is truly worthy and good at heart and BELIEVING that the best of a person.

With this new found self worth and agenda, I no longer need someone like you. I can now truly just want someone like you. Someone who isn't afraid to just be with me. Someone who doesn't own me. Or restrain me. Or need me.

The new me is also much more realistic. So what if we're not in a love to write home about? So what if we don't spend every waking moment together or wanting to be together?We are still a valuable asset to each other whether we have to be sitting close enough to touch or not. Whether you say at every moment "I love you more than soggy peaches."

Realism is sometimes disappointing and messy though ,isn't it? Being realistic is saying to yourself "There are things about me that this person hates. And there are things about them I'm not too fond of." Realism is compromise. It's realizing that no, you can't always have every quality in a person you like.

Life is the often times never ending search for that one other person for which you provide the necessary means for homeostasis.

That one other person whom you don't excite into a fluster, or sedate into a stupor. The person who you don't wait up for, because they are always home when they say they will be. Not the person you trust with your life but the person you trust to take you out next week and kiss you softly and say "I'm glad to see you. Let's go get a drink"

Real life is knowing that you are free to go. And i am free tog o. If things get too messy or too hard or just plain uncomfortable or boring or if you want something more or less out of life, you are free. You are free to love me as much and for as long as you would like.

I am free to see the insanity in holding someone forever. The utter silliness in the idea that there is that one person to whom you should shack your piece of life to and become one with for all eternity. Call it jaded, call it dismal, call in unchristian. But I don't expect you to love me and only me forever. I'm no longer blinded by my need for validation through another.

I am me and you are you and as long as we work out, we will keep this train going.

And, by having said all of this, I hope with all my tiny can-do heart, I hope you know how much I do esteem and value you. How much I want for your happiness. How much I see in you. How much I love you.

But I love you with a grown up heart. A battered, war-torn, sometimes sad heart. A heart that needs nothing but itself to evolve, but wants your heart near to compare notes, see the same pictures from different points, to hold.

I do love you. And I am excited to be in love with you. But I should hope I would never want to own you.

Good Timing.

2008-06-27T11:51:00.002-04:00

"Are you sure?"

"Benny what do you mean 'am I sure'?" Who says that? Who thinks that? Why did I say that?

"I just mean are you sure you really feel that way? I would hate for you to say it and not mean it about 800 miles more than I would hate it if you never said it. Please, YOung I just... I just don't..."

Oh God. What had he done? Had he ruined it? Had he changed everything? Had he ruined that sweet soft moment with something he could never take back? Had he damaged that easy free way Benny looked at him and thought about him and drove in the car aimlessly with him while listening to music he knew she didn't love just to make him happy. He was sure of what he said, but he should have been more sure of how she would have reacted.

"It's umm.. wow. No, sorry I didn't mean... I only meant- I just feel a lot for you Benny, you know that."

"Of course I do. I know it so well, and i feel the same, it's just... When people put it like that, Young, it aways goes wrong. Just plain wrong."

How could loving her be wrong, ever? He just kissed her forehead and made a move for the door, pushing back a secret tear and wanting to run.

"I would just rather say that you make me feel like summertime and lemonade and babies running through a sprinkler and the sunlight kissing our bare skin. Or like the moment just before the first snow fall when the whole world is holding their breath and waiting for the silence that follows waking up to a white morning in the middle of December. Or like the first welcoming hug after returning from a trip you didn't want to take in the first place. Please Young, I just don't ever want you to change your mind."

How could anyone stop loving her, ever? He just kissed her forehead and understood in the same moment what he was always feeling when she was in his arms. That she was sad and lonely and just wanted what he wanted to give her.

I want to write you a book.

2008-06-25T18:02:00.002-04:00

About everything. Which would you prefer?

A coming of age story chronicling a girls navigation to adulthood while dealing with an oppressive father, stories of incest, all while supposing her mother of money laundering and other mafia-esque escapades.

An exhausting narrative of a kidnapped woman. Following her wedding day, she breaks down on the side of the road and is knocked unconscious and delivered to a labyrinth of evil by the man that stops to change her tire.

A love story about a man who waits patiently for the love of his life to find a happy medium between her split personalities. He's not looking for her to make a choice, he loves all of her. He just doesn't like it when Madison, her hard core porn personality forgets to untie him from the bed. Or when Toby, her tobacco chewing chauvinist smacks him and forces him to make her dinner.

You tell me. I probably won't listen, but i will try.

In closing your eyes; of things forgotten; Vulnerability.

2008-06-23T17:16:00.002-04:00

"Benny," There was a sweet smile with nothing behind it. Nothing but a sweet afternoon kiss in the twilight after a sweet nothing day ended in a sweet nap.

"Yes Young?" She peered at him, eyes barely open, unfocused. Only able to detect his sweet nothing smile with his perfect teeth, she smiled back, rememebering that he'd just given her a sweet kiss, soft and light on her pillowy and delighted lips.

She, for once did not smile to make him smile. She smiled for Benny. She smiled from the inside out. She smiled to herself and thought, what beauty, what delight there is in falling comfortably asleep in someones arms and not fearing waking up with them. Be awoken with a soft sweet kiss in the orange glow of a perfect day.

*******************************

They chased lightening bugs and watched a storm roll over the far reaching plains as the daylight faded. She rocked in a swing as she looked at him, standing and picking at a piece of cornstalk.

She thought, how nice to frame him, just as he is now. Vulnerable. Watching. Seeking. Content in knowing whatever it is he is certain of. Deep in thought about a great deal of nothing so important.

She saw the turn of his hips under his khaki's. She noted to tweak of his muscle under his plaid shirt. She remembered how it felt just a few minutes ago to be so consumed in his arms but to be so herself, so free, so unowned. She noted this all and remembered it when things were unperfect. Not so sweet. Undone.

Because now things were just right. In the setting sun, inspite of the gloomy clouds and mosquitos, with ice cream running down her hands, while he smiled at interior dreams, yes- just right indeed.

Thank you Young, for sweet vulnerability.

"You could get me to agree to anything when I am just like this now..."
And your smile says, "But would you love me?"

We should leave our mark on peoples mirrors with lipstick.

2008-06-17T17:10:00.002-04:00

And rearrange their furniture.

Ten thoughts about the Boy:

10. The boy and I had a delightful weekend doing Boy and Chick stuff.

9. I saw a paper on the floor of my car. It was a receipt. I picked it up. It said "Boy's Chick" in the Invoice area. I smiled.

8. He hates ice cream but indulges me.

7. He wants me to smile all the time. Not to make him happy, but to insure that I am happy.

6. I like when I reach over and run into him.

5. Maybe he's gay. Or maybe he just let's me annoy him and laugh with him and touch him and sing to him.

4. And I will sing to him, each spring to him, and worship the trousers that cling to him.

3. I want him to be happy. Thats why I smile at his corny jokes and wink when he looks at me, and send him bits of things I think he needs.

2. He doesn't love me. And I like that. Too often, to be loved is to be possessed.

1. He just is. And he lets me be.

Minding my own business, of which there is not much to mind

2008-06-16T14:51:00.003-04:00

I had a strange moment full of eerie feelings this weekend.

On a delightful trip to Nowhere Virginia with the Boy who is slowly becoming someone, I got a simple text meesage that both hurt, shocked, offended and made me think.

It truly wasn't anything important or meaningful or surprising. It had nothing to do with gas prices or natural disasters or politics.

It was a hurtful thing said by an artful person with malice in their hearts who never says anything without a smile on their face or without following their insults with a giggle.

I won't tell you what they said because it should have never been said. It was an insult to my new found hapiness and an attempt to shame and mock me.

I am so sensitive to this that I cried. I bawled my little eyes out while the helpless Boy just shrugged and pet my arm and looked at me with big brown eyes telling me it wasn't that serious. Which maybe it wasn't. Maybe to you. Or her. Or him.

But to me, this person might as well have said,

"You are a sham. Everything you do is obnoxious and over the top. You do not deserve even a shred of peace. I hope that by saying this, I rob you of not only that which makes you smile, but your pride in yourself as well... I'm just kidding, of course, you should lighten up and learn how to take a joke."

The really horrible thing is that they didn't even say it to me. They said it to a friend. Who was visiting with someone I hardly know. Who knows nothing about me. This friend barely knows my situation.

The worst part? I wasn't there to defend myself. I wasn't there to refute the rumor. Or to support it. Or to cry and ask this person why would you embarass me in front of people I barely know, people you surely have nothing to do with?

Now I am just hurt. With no recourse. No avenue to say "Hey please don't treate me like this. It is unnacceptable and if you choose to do this, I will have nothing to do with you."

No way to let them know that their actions and words are often just plain hurtful, malicious, mean spirited and unnesessary.

And now maybe The Boy who is nothing if not tolerant and quiet and sweet and calming very well might think I am a little on the looney side. Maybe a little jilted. And I am. I am a little hurt. And slow to mend. And still picking myself up from the past few years.

So maybe this was a good thing.

Maybe him seeing me breakdown will show him that I am not impenetrable. That I am a real live girl full of songs and sweets and sentimentality.

Or maybe he'll just run the other way.

And maybe that's all I get.

When you think of her smiling, does it make you smile?

2008-06-11T14:50:00.002-04:00

"What do you mean, Young?" She tilted her head and squinted against the bright sunlight that was invading his bedroom. From the corner or his pillow, he peeked out at her and saw a world enraptured in light.

"I mean, what do you want Benny?" It was always better to allow her to form her own opinion, especially about tender matters of the heart.

"What do I want? I want... I want..."

"Do you want to be happy?" It was always better to lead her heart to form the right opinion, especially about matters concerning her hapiness.

"Of course."

"Does he make you happy?" This was before he knew how utterly sad she truly was, and how it hurt her heart to lie to him.

"Yeah, of course."

"Well then be with him, but if he doesn't make you happy, if thinking of him doesn't make you smile, if kissing him doesn't make your heart fly, then I think it is time for you to reconsider..."

"Reconsider... what?"

It wasn't worth making her cry.

This was an opinion she would have to form her own.

A Chapter in Which Young John Lets Her Down.

2008-06-05T15:18:00.003-04:00

I knew this was coming. I could feel it. Things can't be perfect forever.

Everyday, we make small sacrifices for eachother. We let die in our selves small desires the other doesn't share and fan flames of attraction that we share. She started wearing her hair down and reading modern literature for me, I shaved and watching romantic comedies for her. No, no they're not life. They're not moving across country or buying a house with a white picket fence, but they are the humble beginings to fruitful relationships.

These small allowances are the solid beginings to respect and dedication that two poeple need to communicate their deepest secrets and desires to one another. They are the starting line. The first stone to a long road of hapiness and simple attachment.

And then I let her down. And then I saw a small tear fall out of her eye and heard her sigh and I couldn't undo what I had done wrong. I couldn't make her feel that i never meant it. i couldn't show her how terrible i felt to have made her so.... so...so despondant. So untrusting of this thing we have. This "like" thing we are nursing. This relationship we are building on respect and comfort.

There she was, leaning on the edge of the bed, holding back a deluge of discontent and all I could do was sit in silence and wonder.

Why couldn't it be a simple fix?

I suppose if it were simple then she wouldn't be sad and I wouldn't feel as though everything I did and wanted for her were feeble attempts at making myself the man I thoght she wanted.

Maybe that's all we do. We just all of us pretend to love what the other loves and want what they want until neither one of us exist.

Or maybe we work together to become on flesh that wants one future and one life.

I wish I knew...

2008-06-02T16:14:00.002-04:00

There is something that I do on occassion that gives me a great amount of comfort and healing.

Something that reminds me that things are not as bad as they once were, nor as good as they will be.

Sometimes, when I have a moment or two to remember, I like to stop and read my blog from this date last year, and the recorded years before.

One year on this day I was in love with Mr. Hamster and wanting nothing more than to be his everything and pack his lunches and iron his shirts and make his children.

Another year it was Mr. Future Millionaire who I will never stop loving, but whose love has changed a great deal over the last 7 years.

I can't even express how melancholy some of it makes me. The stupid fights i picked, the lame retreats I made into myself. The parties i threw or wanted to throw. Loves I lived and shouldn't have written about so that now i wouldn't regret their passing when I read about how well or unwell they really were.

I have loved a lost and written everything down...

These are the things that make people drink.

The nothing that was something to someone who wants nothing out of everything.

2008-05-29T13:42:00.002-04:00

The Boy and I had a "Nothing" argument the other night.

A "Nothing" argument can look like one of two things:
- One party (usually the one in the worng) asks "What's wrong?" only to be snipped at,--"Nothing"

-Or, a "Nothing" argument can be much more subversive. It can be a dissagreement that ruminates for days and grows and billows and then you're unhappy about their shoe choice, the way they hold the door for you, the fact that they are 3 minutes late for everything- the nothing things that are covering up the something that you're really mad about.

Thankfully, it was the former type of "nothing" argument. He said something, then said nothing, then I secretly was annoyed and, for the first time ever, practically tied his shoes for him to get him out the door faster.

What was wrong? Nothing. I was tired and grumpy and didn't want him to leave and felt icky from walking 18 miles around DC. He said something that annoyed me and instead of saying "Excuse me, Boy, would you mind explaining yourself in a manner that will not frustrate and annoy me?" I said- Nothing-.

So why am I sharing this with you?

Well, A.) Sharing is caring. In addition to that, I thought about somehting very profound after all of this.

If someone is just a someone to whom you relate and enjoy and talk with and stay out late with, if they are not YOUR someone, in addition to not being anyone ELSE's someone, but they are just who they are around you and you delight in them, can you fight with them?

Can you truly call a "Nothing" argument between two people who essentially represent a great calm nothingness to one another a disagreement? Likewise, can you feel anger towards this No one for Nothing?

More importantly, is The Boy a "Nothing" person?

How much longer can I lose sleep driving around town in a sport red metallic beauty of an automobile while discussing Frank Sinatra and other life changing things with the windows half down and the night turning into morning, not wanting to ever be kicked out and continue the charade of "nothing?" And does it matter? Does the Boy want to be a someone- a someone very attached to this someone, who really isn't anyone important?

Do I really want him to be a nothing? The more I think and talk and experience and want and find with him and about him and around him, the more I really think I feel something for him. A nice something. A quiet something. An important something.

But I want to call it nothing just in case he doesn't want it. Or in case he thinks it's nothing important or nice or safe or fun or warm.

I think I will hold out a little longer and settle to just be a Lady in like with a Boy who is nothing and everything in this moment and a few others.

And then she just kept Yammering

2008-05-22T18:22:00.002-04:00

I feel like all we ever do is talk. I mean really when was the last time I sat down and wrote to you and you read the words I said and felt something indescribable form in the pit of your stomach or the crown of your head that was a stronger indication of how you really felt or what I really said?

Do you even remember? Do you remember that poem I wrote you in June of '97 when the rain wouldn't stop and the sun wouldn't come and no one knew anything but sadness?

Or that sonnet I sent you Christmass of 2002 about what I most loved in all the world. As I recall, that made you sigh and lift your handkercheif and dab your eyes and say, "My wasn't that lovely."

And those long drabbling prose pieces that you secretly despised but openly praised me for, can you recollect ever having anything in your heart for them, good or bad?

Of course you can't, because it has been such a very long time.

A Share Of Laughter And Regret.

2008-05-22T18:04:00.003-04:00

You and I,
I Don't Know What We Are.
You, I Know
Are Quiet
And Like Words
Like Me.
You, I Know
Are Soft
And Like To Be
Like Me.
You, I Know
Are Smart
And Quick With Wit
Like Me.
So We Are
Indubitably
Similar.
But
I Don't Know
If We Are
What We Are
Or Are We Not
Want We Want
Together.

Leftovers...

2008-05-19T15:44:00.002-04:00

This is just snippets from my end of the struggle of what is left of my now two-year marriage/ordeal with this man, this thing, this creeperson.

And I am just sad. Before I wanted him to change. I still do, just not for me or with me or near me. For himself, by himself, without me. If he would have been what he said he were, would he have ever tricked me into all this?

Here is what I said, but read after for a thought I can't stop my brain from thinking:

"I think it's, I don't know, ironic, that you would choose to criticize my priorities right now. Yes, school means more to me than you. Boo- hoo, cry me a river. Seeing as you were obviously not "working" when you left those messages, I will take you critiques with more than a grain of salt.

Please don't call me while intoxicated.

And please, don't trouble yourself to show up here with divorce papers, because I won't see you any how. Just have your lawyer mail them.

Please advise about the apartment. You owe just as much debt as I do and as far as I know you are not making any payments towards it. It will ruin both of our credit and renter's history if I refuse to pay.

The time for ignorance and indignance is over. Chill out and deal with this like an adult. Stop insulting me and everyone in my camp. Stop with the nonsense, please.

The man I thought I married wouldn't belittle me or my mother, leave nasty messages while intoxicated, critisize me for what I think is most important, or treat me as though I owe him more than he owes me.

Just think about it."

THOUGHT:

Your Parental figure: " are a different kind of man. If he told me he were going to quit smoking, I would expect to se ehim behind every corner in every shed, smoking. But If said you were going to stop, I would never doubt you."

The truth?
You said you would stop smoking the day we were married.
Not for me but for you.
Not only did you lie to me, but you lied to yourself.

And you couldn't get out of the church fast enough to go smoke in the shed.

PRAYER:

That you atleast stop lying, if not truly change.

Black and white

2008-05-10T11:05:00.002-04:00

OTHELLO AND DESDEMONA: OPPOSITES ATTRACT

Othello and Desdemona, as represented in Shakespeare’s Othello, embody the quintessential example of the phrase “opposites attract.” Beginning with their most basic physical characteristics, the two lovers are contrary in every way. Desdemona is described as beautiful and fair with Othello is referred to by his lineage, often being called “the moor.” Othello is “thick lipped” and a Barbary horse, while Desdemona is a “most exquisite lady” and “most fresh and delicate creature.” Shakespeare further defined their differences by creating separate dialogue for each of the lovers. Desdemona’s speech often flows from her seemingly without thought, a natural progression of her feelings in spoken word. Othello’s speech, in contrary, is much more precise, more pointed and with more impact on the characters around him. In Othello, careful thought proceeds speech while Desdemona’s speech flows without thought from her heart. With two such opposing characters, Shakespeare heightens the drama of a typical love story, making a memorable and lasting impression, and setting the stage for the ultimate drama.

THURSDAY THIRTEENNNNNNNNNNN

2008-05-08T17:16:00.003-04:00

Yeah. Love songs. Fun

1. When I Fall in Love

I specifically prefer the Celine Dion version, but I learned (just now, actually) that Doris Day made the first recording in 1952. It's just such a powerful song with classic lyrics that makes me cry EVERYTIME.

"In a restless world like this is
Love is ended before its begun
And too many moonlight kisses
Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun."

2. More Than Words

I just like the message. Because words are just what you make of them- but a kiss, a hug, a long night spent under the stars- mean so much more now than just a simple "I love you"

"What would you say if I took those words away
Then you couldnt make things new
Just by saying I love you"

3. I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)

I think if I ever get married agin this will be my wedding song. Listen to it next chance you get, really listen to it.

"When I come home yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you
And if I grow old well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you"

4. Nothing Compares 2 U

The best way to describe this song is haunting, and it is. It appears in most of my dreams. Who doesn't love this love classic?

"It's been so lonely without you here
Like a bird without a song
Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling
Tell me baby where did I go wrong"

5. Carrying Your Love With Me

This song is just the perfect representation of true love. It's 500 miles gone country. And who doesn't love George Straits sincerity and calm vocals?

"Its my strength for holding on
Every minute that I have to be gone
Ill have everything Ill ever need
Im carrying your love with me"

6. Must Be Doing Something Right

It's country hour here at Thursday Thirteen and at number 6 on your home town love town countdown is Billy Currington's Must be doing something right. With it's smooth hook and Billy's gravely crooner voice (a throw back to classical Gary Allen- gush) I melt into the nearest Manly Man undubitably. (Plus, here's bonus, it's all about S-E-X.... shhh)

"Sometimes all it takes to please her
Is the touch of your hand
And other times you gotta take it slow
And hold her all night long
Heaven knows there's so many ways
A man can go wrong"

7. Nothing On But the Radio

Could i mention Gary Allan smooth sultry gravely drawl without including him on my list of all time love making tracks? You must be kidding.

"We'll fall asleep here in the moonlight
In tangled sheets, we'll be here all night
And when we wake up in the morning
We might stay like this all day
Two people meant to be together
Two lovers dreaming of forever
And it just keeps on getting better
With every tender little kiss"

8. Every (Du)Rose has It's Thorn

Thank you, Tormey. Thats all I have to say about this one.

"I know I could have saved a love that night
If Id known what to say
Instead of makin love
We both made our separate ways"

9. Signed, Sealed Delivered I'm Yours.

This song is actually what inspired this list. It just always makes me smile and sing and wish for things.

"You set my soul on fire
That's why I know you're my heart's only desire

Here I am baby
Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm yours"

10. Fever

I don't know why. I think I am frightened everytime the artists sings the title word... I was intimidated into putting this one on here. Forceable song.

But seriously it is a monster good love song, by jove.

"Sun lights up the day time
moon lights up the night
I light up when you call my name
and you know i'm gonna treat you right

You give me fever"

11. Unchained Melody

I, lik 98% of women and gay men am a sucker for this song. I can't even make an excuse for it. It just is.

"Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea
To the open arms of the sea
Lonely rivers sigh, 'Wait for me, wait for me'
'I'll be coming home, wait for me!'"

12. Time of my Life

You are probably not familiar with this Mark Shultz number, but I wouldn't stear you wrong. It's a doll. It goes without saying that I hope I find a man who is this true one day. Just check it out. I couldn't find it on Youtube, so I just gave you the whole song:

"He packed his bags when he was just 18
To see a world he thought he'd never seen
But he knew when he met her
That she was the girl
He'd been waiting for

And each night they spent talking on the front porch swing
And like it came straight out of a movie scene
But one night she stepped out as the sun began to set
When she got to the porch she found a letter that read

You're the only girl I'll ever love
And I'd do anything not to give you up
If I could only stop the world
When you're standing by my side
See I'm having the time of my life
Yes, I'm having the time of my life

The months went by it was their wedding day
A church on a hill wedding bells rang away
She looked like a princess
All dressed up in pearls
It was her proudest day

And he stood all alone in a darkened church hallway
He got down on his knees and he started to pray
He thanked the Lord for his family and the perfect bride
But he couldn't hold back what he was feelin' inside
And he said

She's the only girl I'll ever love
And I'd do anything not to give her up
If I could only stop the world
When she's standing by my side
See, I'm having the time of my life
Yes, I'm having the time of my life

Forty years went by and she lived most of God's plan
She stood alone in an attic, wedding dress in her hand
And she held an old letter written so long ago
But she'd never forget it
No matter how old

And as she turned to put the dress away
And pack up the years
He was standing in the doorway
With his eyes full of tears
And he held her

'Cause you're the only girl I'll ever love
And I'd do anything not to give you up
If I could only stop the world
When you're standing by my side
See I'm having the time of my life
Yes, I'm having the time of my life"

13. Gentle On My Mind
Dean Martin brought this Glen Campbell staple to life for me, and it makes me think of The Boy now that his gentle way has found me.

"And it's knowin' I'm not shackled
By forgotten words and bonds
And the ink stains that have dried upon some line"

The Importance of Things Written

2008-05-08T17:05:00.002-04:00

Today we talked about the importance of poetry in English 101. (aka, Mornings with Khamis, seeing as you can't have a class without anyone else. So English 101 has become me and my professor extracting teeth from our fellow learners)

And this is what I think.

I like you
In the dark
With Ice Cream
On some Tuesday
With many stars
In your eyes
Without taking pictures
And without dreaming
about Scrapbook Queens.

I very much like you...

2008-05-03T08:37:00.003-04:00

Who Indeed

Went to DC.
For Eddie Izzard to see.
Enjoyed my time.
A feast for the mind.

I have been pretty down in the pots for a few days for a number of reasons. Would you care to shar with me some sad thoughts?

1. May 13th will be my two year anniversary. This is sad for two reasons.
A. I don't want to be married anymore
B. I haven't been happily married since... well, I never really was I suppose, but what I would call domestic peace ended in June ish of last year.

2. Liking boys sometimes gets me down. I don't know if it because I am still married, but I have all these strange feelings in relation to hapiness and love. I am happy. The Boy and I get along tolerable well. But there is just those lurking feelings that
A. He too will turn out to ba a psychopath
B. He will realize that I am a psychopath
C. It just won't work and I will just add it to the list of things I can't do properly.

3. I just. Don't. Know. There is a seed of doubt and frustration and anticipation and anxiety growing right here in my mid section and i can't get rid of it. Something might be/ could be/ is/ will be coming and I feel it and I don't know how to stop it or change it or accept it. Help...

4. Money... That's what I want.

It's all there. All this strange pseudo-negativity floating around in my brain and making my head spin. I just don't understand it. I don't know if I mind feeling a bit down either.

Or if it just adds to my poetic credibility.

A glimpse of Past Injuries

2008-04-29T16:54:00.002-04:00

"I can't believe it, Young"

"What is that, my love?" The Young we know never coos, nor even seems to understand the art of making love, but this is the old Young, this is the way that he used to be in all of his naive splendor.

"Young I can't be it"

"What is that, my love?" What he heard in her voice- a measure of displeasure, disbelief and a helping of dishonor- he'll never forget.

"Young, I won't be it..."

"What is that, my love?" And at that, at her first step towards decisiveness, Young was Undone. Unloved. Un- John.

She had a choice.

His very life was gone.

Oh, Young.

What sentementalities you and I share for life and love and things undone.

I think I made a huge mistake...

2008-04-28T12:09:00.003-04:00

While Roasting Marshmallows.

I just think I want to cry for about thirteen days straight.

But what I really need is some heavenly assurance.
And Health Insurance.
And a day off.
And a million dollars.

Regardless, I am an idiot.
And I am not afraid to admit it.

Atleast, I won't be when I don't have a choice. And all the world will know that I make silly choices when I am left to my own devices on warm summer nights with you by my side and a silly notion of affection.

Not everything that happens while roasting marshmallows stays in the fire.

Simple Pleasures

2008-04-24T11:17:00.001-04:00

Gnarls Barkley.

Being Ghetto Fabulous.

Not having a single care in the world when I am driving in my car with the windows rolled down and my hair blowing and my bass thumping and you on my mind.

Unwritten.

2008-04-23T13:21:00.002-04:00

You tease me with a prospect. You tease me with the chance to fill a tablet with my favorite medium.

You speak, and you say, "I am unfulfilled"

I offer, and "What do I do?"

*************
"My mind is currently a blank sheet of loose leaf waiting to be written upon."

Beauty is such as I had never imagined in a mind that dilates beyond my perception.

Should I, with an unsteady and failing hand and heart fill that empty page, disorganized with scraps of pictures, tender words, witty things and soft remeberances, it would last you as long as you'd like.

You might like to fill it in as we go, though with your own thoughts. Precious, quiet, genius.

Yes, I shall ignore my desires and propel your creativity to fill your own empty space and maybe a few of mine as well.

Living my life in Text message currency.

2008-04-23T13:11:00.002-04:00

"What do you mean, Young?"

"Huh-- about what?"

"You said something and i just think I misunderstaood you."

He wasn't really being fair. He knew what she was asking. He knew she wanted to be reassured. He knew she was looking for him to validate he feelings. Her thoughts. Her kisses. But he wanted to be coy. He wanted her to wonder. To probe. To question.

This was all that Young had said to her to make her heart flutter and her palms to sweat and her eyes to twinkle:

"You know, Young, you are a free man. You can do whatever you want."

"Free, huh?" Young winked at her and thought so strongly that he was sure she knew his thought as her own that "Were I too consider myself free, I would be a fool not to belong to you"

And that was all.

And Young thought, "Maybe I did speak aloud to her."

And April is the cruelest month...

2008-04-21T12:00:00.003-04:00

I just wanted to jot something down that was worthy and genius, but typically when I set out without a clear plan my brain plays tricks on me.

I start thinking about everything except brilliant literaray accomplishments. Things like tennis and mountain biking and pizza flipping and bread baking and dinosaurs and piano playing. Real life things that mean nothing to posterity or other people of elevated intelligence and distinct taste.

They just mean things to me.

And how un-genius is that.

Something I should have realized, one thing I know for sure, and some extra words I wanted you to hear straight from me.

2008-04-15T17:24:00.004-04:00

I thought about you today. I thought about how you don't hold me tight and about how when I sit next to you so oft' in the car or at dinner or on the porch in the soft yellow porch light that i have to ask to be touched. I thought about how you always make me make the first move in everything. I thought about how you have no interest in promising me forever or in owning me or even in owning your own feelings for me.

I thought about you today and I smiled. There was joy in my heart and a lightness in my step and a twinkling in my eye.

What a joy to be on the same simple page. To be at the beginning of the same simple story, or the end of the same great tragedy. And to be there with you.

To turn to someone at the same time with the same sentiment and the same heart as they are turning to you and speak "Where are we going?" And to answer with your heart or head quietly "Who knows, but isn't it nice here?"

Who Knows.

I thought about you and how quiet you are. And how nothing makes you nervous. How nothing changes your constitution. nothing- except the state of my tires, or when I laugh to hard and start coughing like a stage three TB patient- Nothing worries you or makes you fret or wring your hands. You calmly assess situations and move through with a clear head and Lord only knows what you think when you're silent and alone n your head.

I can't do that. i can't be that. I have to talk. I have to talk so much that i do it (poorly) in four different languages. I have to talk so much that i do it with my hands. On my food. When i sing. In my sleep. With a million pieces of scrap paper and on a thousand wasted web pages. i have to worry and fret and wring my hands gnash my teeth so much so that i wake up in cold sweats always feeling that I have forgotten something. Anything. Lunch. Money. Mom's Birthday. To Clean my Shoes.

I change so much I wear myself out. I change more than I like. Most days I wake up unsure of where my day will begin much less where it will end or who i will be when I make it there. Will I be laughing so hard I can't breathe or crying so hard and so pathetically alone that i can't bear to force my chest up once more. Or sleeping. Or dreaming. Or drawing. Or dancing. or driving. Or walking. Will my day end too late or my night begin to early? Will my glass be half full or will I have it all wasted?

How can you possible stand it? How do you torture yourself by asking me to speak? (which you do, telling me i shouldn't be so quiet what's wrong do I need anything and what am I thinking?) Why? Why do you demand my inconsistencies and incongruities?

Or do you? Maybe somewhere in the vast expanse of your great mind that devours books and find delights in simple jokes and puppy kisses- just maybe you think I'm a babbling idiot. A dolt. A loser with an unsettling upper respiratory issue. Maybe you think i'm a baboon. A joke of a woman with an unnecessarily large vocabulary.

Perchance you view me as a fun project. Someone to talk and take up your time until something better comes along. Some better offer. I'm okay with that.

I'm no longer fostering dreams of marriage and children and family dogs on little leashes and edible gardens in front of my brick false front with a deck made for parties and a Baltimore-ese stoop for which to sit on and talk to passing neighbors and sometimes get a little rowdy all in good fun. I'm no longer looking for a love to shake the very root of me and change me and own me and put me above all other things in the universe. I'm no longer willing or needing to pledge my life's blood and devotion to the love of another.

I want someone to sit with. And drink with. And drive around town. And drag out to silly excursions. And make to buy me ice cream. I want someone who appreciates me, not someone who flatters me. Not someone who tells me what i want to hear, just what they want to say.

I'm not going to thank God for the occasion of meeting you. I would not be devastated tomorrow if you told me you and I were nothing more than pals. I don't miss you when I sleep nor dread the days alone. When I see you my heart doesn't roll with elation. My heart doesn't bob inconsistantly up and down in my chest.

I just simply like you.

I just simply like you as much as you like me.

And isn't that the point anyhow?