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Hadn't originally planned to take this day off, but it's good I did. Far more organizing needed than I expected. If J hadn't taken up my Saturday -- I didn't need him to "help" me and would've accomplished more without his presence -- maybe today wouldn't have been needed.
Saw E last night. Things have changed since he blurted out his love. While it's not supposed to confer responsibility, something in me takes some responsibility. I genuinely care. He's a good guy, we have a good connection, and he's learning what I'm about so my earlier concerns about him are fading.
Slept in a bit. No hurries now. He'd come in, we'd have time together, do last minute running around. More important to sniff one another, cuddle, enjoy. Make up for, maybe, any feelings of disconnect from prior time together, maybe? I hadn't had any. Still, it was nice to simply relax.
We worked in same space, working on el wire and costumes and this was a pleasant time for me. I savor the cozy downtime almost as much as the time of doing stuff, and the time of heated passion.
I am so looking forward to our trip.
Dallied. I had planned some dallying time, but we took more. The old me would have fretted. This me didn't. We'd get there when we were there. F was running late too and had already frantically informed me he couldn't fix supper for us. He worried; I didn't. We'll just shift forward!
D's frets are different than F. Better: I don't own D's frettage. It seems easy. We've agreed on it ahead of time.
Drive was pleasant. Setup easy, in spite of the wind. Evening was low key for a Burner thing, but it was opening day.
The terrain and constant daytime winds make it more challenging than the playa, at least compared with 2011. Uneven ground, spiky plants, soil breaks into shifty stuff too easily. Walk like a drunk.
Dry! Wore sandals and feet turned to cracked porcelain.
Really grand, seeing people I've now come to know, only in this setting, they're different. No sign of Q. Interesting.
F fixed dinner for us. Our turn tomorrow.
Dancing. I opened up with D last summer. With his positive reinforcement, now have no worries. F was impressed and maybe chagrined when he saw. Who was this new woman?
They burned the "man" last night and we had snuggled and snoozed through it. They'll burn the other stuff tonight. Super moon and Cinco de Mayo at the regional! Festive air, but to me seemed more relaxed. Got my breath back -- high altitude had knocked me out on Fri. Ringing headache all day Friday was gone today.
Day was leisurely, relaxed. Live music at Barff. Some drinking. Meeting new people. Playing with others. Entertained at Eff Opolis.
Later, Q showed up, happy to see me. Made point of snuggling with D. Q'd been told, after all.
Breakdown day. Subdued but happy. Spent a few quiet moments hanging in Eff opolis during a break. Had a waffle; Q loaned us his plate and fork.
Drive home seemed longer than drive up. Probably tired. Nights had been cold and felt short.
Home felt good. Pounds of dirt sloughed off in hot shower. D sunburned -- has some worrisome spots on his back his doc should look at.
No rush unpacking. Just took out necessaries, did a little laundry.
Still have tomorrow together! This will be our longest time together yet and it feels right. Feels good. Feels happy.
We made no plans but discussed possibilities. Left it open. Whatever we felt like at any one moment, except we had to unload the car for certain.
We ended up spending time on computers. Can never catch up on FB, but at least looked in on it and our other venues.
Something stirred in me, so I made the effort to reconnect with the Belgian Scot. He accepted. Not surprised. He's a mean curmudgeon, but he has a decent streak in him.
Parting was not sad, but was filled with promise. I was smiling as I walked away. Good.
1982 - 2012. It would have been thirty years today. He hoped, he said, that I would wear our rings. I put them on a chain, and, the year we were divorced wore that on this day.
But not today. No, my time for holding on to that passed a few years ago.
He holds on to things of significance and wishes to honor them. I understand that. We had shared a significant part of our lives and that never goes away.
I honor it in my heart and memories, these days.
No icons are needed.
I don't miss him.
I write this on Sunday, back-dated for Wednesday. I fight gloom and depression. This is not a good day to write, because all that will emerge will be a vague gray mist. No words. Words are born of a level of rational thinking that is lacking.
What bubbles around in a murky soup within my soul is a soundless cry. From this, I understand, is born poetry, lyrics, the artwork of the mad. Even those comforts escape me.
I burrow into the tried-and-true, then. Work. Projects. The mechanics of just doing, waiting for the soul to clear.
In my mind, he frets most over her. She is local. She fascinates him. She torments him, although not intentionally. She is foremost in his mind and heart -- this is what my mind, my heart tell me when I get like this.
She becomes his universe and I fade from it. Whatever is in front of him, that is what he sees. It's how his mind is built. Or so says my mind. Such is what I see.
I see what isn't. I ought to see what is. I ought to reject what I do not know, until knowing is certain.
Last night's Tab was fun. Many came to the bar -- it was a mini-decomp after all. The mistress of the octopoda wasn't since her daughter was ill. The pretty young man was not there either; he helped the octopodan. F showed up, but was not in good spirits; he left early.
Q was there, choosing to hang about with me all evening. We even danced. I returned his utensils and we went to the car to get them when I was ready to leave. We made plans to get together for dinner later this week.
I met his son. I'd been nervous about the prospect. I'm shy around young people. This one has a specific disorder and I fretted about upsetting him. I don't know how to act!
The young man is much like his father. It felt natural to just start talking to him, taking an interest in his rings, telling him and his father stories. He seemed to like me. I sensed he was shy, nerdy, intelligent.
His disability seems to be related to knowing how to accomplish simple tasks. He responded well to me. I didn't upset him.
It's not his love for her that bothers me. No, never that. It's not his adventures with her that bothers me.
What plunged a knife into my heart was that he chose to schedule a trip to please her -- them -- on a day he forgot was special to me. He half-apologized, almost breezily, sure that I'd understand. He did not know how badly it would hurt.
All of that hurts. That he'd forget I wanted that time for me. That he'd think it was okay. That he'd not realize what it would do to me.
I feel secondary.
A hot blast of emotion. It's not uncharacteristic of me to feel, from time to time, a measure of irrational anguish. It is uncharacteristic of me to express it.
Good? Bad? I can't tell yet.
Over time I've seen people who easily, naturally give voice to their hurt and they seem to get results. I know that I respond quickly to someone's emotion, yet, over time, I grow weary of drama, and distance myself from the person. "Too angsty."
I push to stop myself from showing pain.
Why do I feel that expressing hurt is somehow wrong?
The baby dream! OMG.
My countdown says I have 269 and a half to go. My calendar says that if I were to break that record, today-ish would be a day it is likely to occur. The baby dream tells me it would be likely a few days hence. The extreme emotional reaction I had a few days ago suggests the same. The blubbery watery increase in girth -- same. Talking to imaginary people in my head -- same.
Please oh please let this be only symptoms! Let there be no actual flow -- no resetting the counter!
Was distracted on MDay.
I miss them. My girl was moody and trauma prone when she lived at home, but after she outgrew that and moved away, we ended up with a superb relationship. So mature, so humorous, so smart, so fun. Wish she lived close by!
My boy and I had had a special bond when he was young. But he grew into moody, angry young adult. I miss the closeness, the secret stories, the logic puzzles. On MDay he took me out to dinner and a glimpse of old personality came through.
Maybe he'll come back. <3
I love him. I love with a longstanding, deep, amazing, relaxed and comfortable passion. I love him with fondness. I love him with sweet happiness.
I love him. I love with an aching, fiery, yearning, hungering and rooted passion. I love him with tenderness. I love him with fierce joy.
I love him. I love with a fresh, affectionate, tender, easy, and quiet passion. I love him with friendliness. I love him with gentle warmth.
I love him still. I love with a historical, distant, mournful, wistful and nonexistent passion. I love him with remoteness. I love him with vague unease.
Music snakes through my head. My limbs move with it, unless I stop them.
I hear actual music. In the old days, I thought about the music, I thought about the situation. My limbs ceased to move, or would move awkwardly. Too much thought!
No more. With loving support, I let go of the thinking. The music flows into me, through me, and lifts me up. The earth no longer binds me. I let out the stoppers and, not just my limbs but my entire body engages the music as it twines about the universe.
He's a good, sweet man. He adores me, and lets me know it, and shows me. I care for him, genuinely.
And he doesn't fit well into certain parts of life. He knows that, and it vexes him. I think one thing he loves about me is that I can relate to him, and to his inability to fit well. His weirdness, as he puts it. I can relate to it, understand it, enjoy it.
But it was so apparent how uncomfortable he was in my other life, with my peeps.
I'm secretly glad.
Quiet day. Much needed. A little blue and hadn't heard from the man who holds my heart most since midday the prior day -- a couple of photos is all. Some words on the social network site showed me he was around some of the time, but not for me.
A quiet day. Very much needed. I've been marching onward in my life, but not far enough. Today, instead of marching, I stayed quiet and did little.
I know that's bad for me. It pushes the glumness further into my soul.
Tomorrow will carry more brightness with it, I'm sure.
I am glad I don't have that brain chemistry.
Minor drama again; pouting and passive-aggressiveness from the ex. He likes details about my experiences. He grills me and sometimes I put up with it and answer. Sometimes I don't. This weekend,I answered most of his questions. I good-naturedly groused about the quantity. Later, a series of emails with questions of a different sort. I forgot to answer one or two, so he pointedly asked again. I teased him about it.
It became a thing and now he's being a drama queen about it.
Men. So emotional!
This will be a meta post. That 100Words makes you write your 100 words before you can see the completed entries for that day via the Advent feature is a good one, except for one thing: it creates a temptation to just throw words out there, randomly, without art or form, simply to satisfy the requirement and thus have your way.
People like Dan Berkey doubtless do this, and there have been people who just list a word 100 times.
There's a secret though: nothing checks your work to see if you've written precisely 100 words. I'll bet one'll do.
Strange mood. A funk born in career ennui; I'm drifting. The feeling spreads from career to heart and soul.
I opened my veins and let words pour out in private. A current picked me up and took me in a slightly new direction. I am going to make some small changes, hoping to steer, take some control. In a small way, because with the drifting I see more new and possibly wonderful things.
But the drifting feeling empties me, makes me hollow, so I must take some small control.
Tiny changes. Meaningless changes. A thread tied to the tiller.
It smacked the pavement from a height of 4 feet and I said "fuck!"
It surprised me to see the spiderweb of cracked glass on the front. This thing had been hyped as being nearly indestructible, with its Gorilla glass and Kevlar.
Some of the shards are buckled slightly, as though considering falling out. I feel their edges when I drag my finger tip across the surface.
Some loss of sensitivity. Viewing isn't all that great. The threat of further damage hovers. Thankfully I had purchased a replacement policy. I'll get the replacement tomorrow, they say.
Having resolution in my heart, having embarked on a plan, my heart grows peaceful once again. I can now freely rejoice in the goodness that is my life, and make good on my secret promise to spread what goodness I can in appropriate ways.
Some fragments of guilt and sadness remain, haunting, perhaps forever. The nice one who works hard to boost the hearts of those he cares about has fallen mostly silent and I fear that my private, uncalled-for snarking about him has reached him somehow.
I'll work harder at being kind, even in my mind and heart.
Poison. Poison is the woman's weapon. Poison to kill the fat one!
She shall be a vile shade of green, and will not so much walk as she will slither, sinuous, serpentine.
Will she dance? The dance of veils as she approaches, lulling her intended, hypnotizing, yessss. He will be filled with lust, longing for what she offers, little knowing that she offers not satiation, but death!
She prepares the tincture, sealing it in a tiny crystal vial, secreting it in her breasts where it will wait for the moment, when she will offer herself, and strike.
Fascinating opportunity to observe people. These are people in whose social circles I would be extremely comfortable, having grown up among them. They are people who follow a different spiritual path than most, however. They take it quite seriously, but they do not use it to bash people who are of other faiths.
Q is a bit different in that regard. He has the liberal's bitter dislike for the way Man has oppressed other Men, and blames it on the cultures rather than on human nature. So he rants against Judeo-Christianity.
I wonder what to do with this.
When someone focuses more on something, the focus on other things must necessarily fall away. There is only so much space in the human mind, after all. And what is the heart, but an extension of the mind?
That is my fear: as focus on something else grows, what I had grown accustomed to, relied on, will grow less.
And that is why I must adjust. I cannot keep pinging the usual places, hoping to find something that, increasingly, is not there. Withdraw emotionally, just a bit. Protect myself.
This will be my last month participating in this venue.
You have chosen to focus on the one who is there all the time. She has given you a gift and this is a wondrous thing. I see no fault in any of that.
What I do not understand is why that requires you to pull away from me.
You shared this space with her, what we had enjoyed. That is good, because she is good and it was a privilege to share with her.
What I cannot handle is seeing it become all, ever all about her entirely, and I have disappeared.
I do not understand it. It hurts.
The building had changed, things added, some walls moved. The main hall was essentially the same.
In my mind's eye I saw a young me in my mother's gown, smiling at my groom, a few feet thither. I could see me seated at a table, family members scattered along it, just over to my right. And further back, a girl standing beside my father and his bride -- his second -- glittering and smiling, by that pillar. I peered down the fairway and saw the child me playing with my childhood friends, messing up the sand traps.
I wept, missing my dad.
THIS IS THE NATALITY OF THE AGE OF UNSETTLING KNOWLEDGE IN THE FACE OF INSIDIOUS IGNORANCE
AS A GRAIN OF SAND TRANSFORMS INTO A PEARL THROUGH BEING THE SOURCE OF IRRITATION SO SHALL YOUR MILD DISCOMFORT BE CALCIFIED BECOMING A LUMINESCENT SPHERE OF MISANTHROPIC JADE
GRIND YOUR TEETH, REND YOUR STRIPEY MIME BERETS IN SILENT ANGUISH AS STARK COGNITIVE DISSONANCE IS BIRTHED AND LAID BARE BEFORE YOUR HORRIFIED DARK-LIMNED EYES
IT IS SAID THAT ANGER IS INDEPENDENT OF TRUTH AND TRUTH REVEALED HOSTS THE BIRTH OF ANGER
PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR IT
I REALLY DON'T GIVE A FUCK.
Thank you, and have a lovely day.
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