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I don't seem to even look for the opportunities to change my life, to reach out and socialize, to do stuff. I find excuses, instead.
And off you went, doing something you find fun and possibly exciting. Sure, you grumbled a bit about having to pack for it, ready for it. But you set the goal, and you prioritized, and you did it.
And you'll return filled with stories of how good it was for you, and I will be so glad. I know how important this is.
I'm envious, though. I sit here, lumping. Wishing. Yearning.
I had the baby dream.
It's a regular thing, although it is always a different dream, a different story. The only constant is that a baby, or a small child, is featured prominently in the dream and I end up caring for it, or rescuing it and looking for someone else to care for it.
Every month I have this dream. Just one time. Every month.
It usually signals the onset of menses. Isn't that funny?
But now as my cycles are getting out of whack, my cycle came a week early, sans dream. This week is when I dreamed.
The days keep rolling past, one into the next. I tell myself I'll do something different on this day. But the day starts, I find excuses or other things to do. The day passes, and I am too tired, or too busy. And the day ends, I look back at the moment that had comprised the entire day and wonder why I could not do what I said I would do.
But there'll be tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll do it, surely.
Each one, leaves on a daily calendar ripping free and blowing away. Mid year gone already. Christmas will be tomorrow.
I trusted. It was misplaced. Won't happen again.
I don't know what will happen. Maybe he'll do what he failed to do 5 years ago. Maybe not. I hope not.
He says he's going to sell all and move to Costa Rica. I hope that happens, and I hope he finds whatever it is he is missing.
Regardless, I want him out of my life. I want the debt, his debt, the debt he long ago pulled me into and failed in his promise to extricate me from, I want it gone. I want those ties severed.
No more. No.
He didn't, although he says he would have, but that I heard his cry and reached out, giving him a little of what he needed.
I'm fine with this. I fear still what will happen to our son, who is sensitive to his father's insanity, fearing he is his father. We all do.
Guess I'm his buddy now. Stopped being a wife. Stopped being a girlfriend or pseudo-wife, or whatever. Now I'm a buddy. I guess that's cool, for now, as long as boundaries are maintained.
I am not connected to his thoughts. He needs to remember that.
Even 20 pounds would satisfy me, although I really wish to lose 30. I look at myself and think, "Not bad, really. Just lose that there, and this here, and you'd be tasty."
They both think I'm damned tasty just as I am.
I won't argue with them. They're right, because tasty is as tasty does. I'm happy that I satisfy their hunger and am a delight for their tastebuds.
I look in the mirror. I see it several times a day. I wouldn't do me.
Okay, I would do me, but I'd wish I weighed 20-30 pounds less.
The news showed a monstrous wave, like something from a thriller movie, eating its way across the city. I almost expected the camera to dive down to the city, to home in on the terrified faces of people running in advance of the wave of dust while building toppled behind them and the sounds of greedy chomping filled the air.
What we see, though, those who live with these desert monsoon storms, is just an advancing brown wall that is upon us before we know it, then it's just brown air, debris swirling about. No chomping monsters. No panic.
I get a little frantic because I don't yet know what to expect. The control freak in me hates that. I want to know, to understand. I feel a loss of control when I don't know.
How much food? What sort? How much water? What if I bring too little? No guns allowed, but should I bring some sort of weapon? What would be the use; I don't know how to defend myself with or without a weapon. I don't know if I can count on my group to help.
I don't fear the event. I fear not knowing.
Ah, more of that heat, deep inside. A little more than five days before he's here and she doesn't know if she can stand the wait.
How to describe? It's an itch, a pulse, a wave, a beat of hotness, a blade of liquid sunshine coursing through her. Nothing brings satisfaction. She rocks forward, pressing against the edge of the car's seat, rocking forward, then back and bolts course through her. She swerves the wheel without realizing; car horn shrieks and she swerves back, moaning because the motion cannot do it for her.
A week, less, before he's here.
He finds it droll.
I just happen to enjoy certain foods. Yogurt, for example. I also like trying to be healthy. I look for things that are lower in fat, or don't have extra sugar in them. He asks what I'm fixing for my breakfast, so I tell him. Then he critiques it as though hating what I'm eating is a superior position to adopt.
Even blogs about how awful it is -- never tried it. No, he just knows it's crap. Don't care that he won't eat it. Just wish he'd not shit all over my meal, you know?
"Without you," she said, "lord knows where I would be."
I tend to compartmentalize. Can't really deal with trauma well. Don't know what to do. So I compartmentalize, break it down, analyze, and try to resolve the problem. I try to stay calm. Rational.
She used to accuse me of not caring. Of being cold.
Now she relies on my being calm. Because she learned she can turn to me when things get crazy. When her dad gets all whackadoo and she's ready to scream.
So when she said that to me, I cried. This is when emotion is good.
The kids were still small when it began, although she was unaware of its birth. A fight, bigger than any in the past. Deeply emotional, it caused him to break up with his best friend and he blamed her. He blamed her, although it was all him.
He withdrew from her. Her defense was to withdraw from him. Stem the pain. When she missed him she thought about his cruelty. Made it easier.
Years went by. He got over it, but it was too late. She was gone to him. When the youngest left for college, her bags were packed.
I see your face when one of your photos comes into rotation on the picture frame on my desk. Immediately my eyes are drawn to it, random snapshots of you and me come unbidden to my mind and my body flushes with heat, my heart fills with yearning.
In my mind I reach toward the photo, wanting to touch, caress. Feel the roughness of your day's growth of beard, the softness of your lips. From there a need to taste you, feel your body pressed against mine.
Would this yearning fill me were we together more frequently?
I'm going through a phase, she thought. That's what mom always said about me, right? "She's going through a phase." Like when she dyed her hair. It was really supposed to be a few streaks of blue, but she messed up and the whole head ended up bright blue.
This phase is all about finding her zen. Finding peace. Finding a balance in life, a yin for her yang. She did anger. She's tired of that.
Now I want to be happy, she thought. This is my new phase. Not just a few streaks, either. The whole damned head.
The coughing pseudo-ranger guy said we could have a fire. The ground around was wet from heavy rains. The trees were wet. There was a high-walled fire ring. So why not?
D got a really good fire roaring in no time. Plan was to let it die to embers to heat our food. Dude from the next site over, though, came stomping up. He was respectful, but insistent. "Do you see any other campfires here? It's Extreme Danger!" He didn't want to hear about Ranger Jerry's permission.
Not wanting to piss anybody off, we let the fire die.
Surprised that the feeling of being grubby didn't bother me although it had in the past. Vain as I am, unstyled hair didn't bother me too too much. The effort in packing, setting up, tearing down, repacking, unpacking, putting away is too mundane and not really an issue. The challenge of the unknown -- would I find a campsite, would I measure up, would it be unbearable -- was endurable. In fact, it was rather the point, or one of them.
Still not a fan of roughing it. It's not my environment.
Hoping the challenges in BMan minimize the stresses of camping.
He's right; it does keep getting better. I see it in him, in his responses. I feel it within, and grow ever more comfortable with who I am in his life.
At first it was uncertain. I knew I wanted very much to be a significant part of his life. He clearly had the interest, but was clear about his own uncertainty. Would he find loving me too challenging? It would sadden me beyond measure if he did.
My heart feels so full now, though. No unmeasurable sadness, only unmeasurable happiness, pleasure, a feeling of being alive.
I need more.
Feast and famine. Can't say I like this model, although I'm reasonably capable. My preference is for a job that is relatively steady, unchanging at its root, but with sufficient day to day challenges to keep me engaged. Learning new things along the way is a must. Uncertainty, periods of boredom interspersed with periods of heightened activity and steep learning curves are stress inducing. Just don't really like that.
In my personal life I'm introducing a good amount of change and newness, challenges for my own growth, etc. Don't really want it in my work life.
But it pays bills.
She's this user. For her, the contract is, "you give to me, and I, in turn, expect you to continue giving to me."
Thing is, he's a knight, and he's all heart and giving and while he chastises himself for this, knows that when it comes down to it, he'll find a reason to keep on giving.
Today is her birthday. Uncharacteristically, he had already made plans, so didn't take her out. She pouted. Even sent him a wistful e-mail expressing her disappointment. What she "wished" had transpired on "her" day.
He may be learning. He didn't feel bad.
Dunno why I had anxiety, then. Guess I don't like uncertainty. I deal, but I do fret when I don't know how I fit, exactly. What is expected of me. That's normal, right? Everyone's a little nervous about the unknown.
It's no longer unknown. Little by little, as our relationship has grown, as our love has deepened, as our communication has continued and opened, as you have grown more comfortable with expressing yourself, I have learned just where I fit within your heart.
I understand and cherish this fit. I can grow within it, happily.
I really do love you.
This is going to be meta, which is to say it's about 100Words. It's fun, a little bit challenging, to write daily, to come up with a topic or something creative daily, and to limit it to precisely 100 words. The challenge these days is to remember to come here, and to find a topic that isn't terribly boring.
If it's a boring topic, then my goal is to find a way to spice it up. An interesting presentation. I might try song lyrics, or a bit of flash-fiction.
I'm afraid, however, that for today you're stuck with boring.
After the divorce, I was still tied to him. Not just the kids, but the emotion, and the guilt. Sure, I love him. The stuff between us did not kill that, at least not yet. I cannot live with him, but I will always care for him. But it isn't that which binds me to him.
It's two-layered. He may still kill himself. I should not give a fuck but for one really big thing, which is the second layer: that would really fuck up our son.
Maybe I should have a sit-down with the boy about that.
She would start in a sandy desert, scattered weeds her companions. Her only goal was to survive. She would start walking, each time in a different direction, looking for a highway, for water, for shelter: anything.
Without warning it would shift, as they do, and instead of the desert she would be beneath a mountain of soil and rock, sucking air from tiny cracks between stones, clawing her fingers bloody as she tried to dig her way up and free.
Then she would awaken, go to work, and wonder if today would be the desert day or the mountain day.
"I know." She paused. "But he's hot."
She agreed. Thing was, he started talking to her. Like, going out of his way to talk to her. Stopping to wave at her, or smile at her in the hallway.
He really was hot.
She shook it off. He's married. She doesn't do married men any more, not since she caused all that trouble before. She also doesn't do co-workers. Pure trouble, that. I mean, look at whatsername and that guy. They had a baby, and can't even look at one another.
Yeah. But he's really hot.
It's good if it's plain old "American" cheese melted atop bread to the point where it browns slightly, forming a crust but if it's cheddar! On a slab of sourdough?
Oh, and if instead of bread it's shredded and layered atop a big old casserole brimming with soft macaroni noodles that have been enrobed in hearty creamy cheese goo, baked so that the cheese nearly infuses the pasta itself. The cheddar is a toasty golden brown and slightly crunchy, maybe mixed with some herbed bread crumbs. Add a hint of pepper, touch of nutmeg and NOM!
Wow, horribly busy day! I was bored and looking for work a week or so ago. Now it's heaped on me. Never pray for rain when you live in a flood plain.
I start my work day around 6:30, and try to leave for home by 4PM. I was able to leave today, but had to get on-line and log back in to work and give another solid two hours of effort. All this while I had a pretty painful sinus headache.
I am really glad the day's over; I'm going to bed now.
I wrote before about not really liking birthdays. Dunno what happened, but this year people who've been ignoring mine for years are amassing, wishing me happy birthday, treating me to meals, bringing cakes and flowers.
Another cow-orker had a birthday last week. She's been withdrawing from people increasingly over the past year, becoming angry with them, snubbing them. This year, no one recognized her birthday or feted her.
She noticed them flocking to me. She's unhappy.
Makes me think of highschool, and cliques. I've never been into cliques, and I'm not sure why I am now the popular girl.
Yesterday it was dinner with the ex. I thought for a while I could rediscover what had been whittled away. He's still a decent, loving, caring person. He has a big generous heart. But he's high energy, intense, and tends to whack out every once in a while and I just can't take any more of that.
I tried. Didn't work out.
He's accepting that as much as he can, but he still feels like he needs me, so he's always calling me, like I'm his best friend.
I'm not. But in lieu of an actual friend, I'll do.
One of my sweeties is on a date tonight. I'm happy about that. I'll probably meet his new friend, if not in a coupla weeks, then in a month for sure. Looking forward to that.
My other sweetie is "batching it," since his wife is off for the weekend with her friends. They do that a lot. He goes to his house at one end of the country while she stays at the other. When they're in the same house, she'll go off for weekends away, a lot. They're married, but they're not friends. I'm sad about that.
Lunch with a coworker on Wednesday, dinner with the ex on Thursday, lunch with other coworkers on Friday, and dinner tonight with my son. Birthday week continues.
Someone else wrote about connecting with women and being lonely. I was lonely, too, during a lot of my marriage, and I also don't connect well with people, aside from a select few. I try to relate to them, but what they have to say doesn't resonate with me. Nor me with them. Weird.
When I drink just a little, though, I loosen up enough that I can at least fake it.
He typed the word, then considered. That wasn't a very evocative beginning. He backed the cursor over it.
"Yolanda wished the day could begin again."
He cursed. His writing teacher told them to come up with a "hook", to grab people's attention. He thought of novels he'd read that drew him, futilely. Mind was a blank.
He erased the sentence and stared at the display. He closed his eyes. He drew a breath and placed his fingers on the keyboard.
"It wasn't the blood so much as the fact that the body was completely enshrouded in its own intestines."
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