It was something like that. To this day, I still see his too skinny figure sitting on a bar stool, looking at me in a too bright room.
2/29/2012
My favorite thing I wrote in that journal about him....
".....You walked through all the rooms inside me, and turned on every light as you went."
It was something like that. To this day, I still see his too skinny figure sitting on a bar stool, looking at me in a too bright room.
It was something like that. To this day, I still see his too skinny figure sitting on a bar stool, looking at me in a too bright room.
2/24/2012
Flour Tortillas
Where do my morals begin and my sanity, importance and social standing end? Why are my morals important? Are they important to me? Are they more important in the eyes of a stranger that sees me do the right things? Are they important to my family? Are they important to my self identity as a person trying to remain in a semblance of reality here? Who are my morals really important to, really? Because the beginning and end of my morals seems to be mixed up in many different things, when, in the beginning, when I set forth on this journey called whatever it is today, it was God. It was my quest for spirituality. It was the quest to find myself and simply do the right thing. When lately, doing the right thing can be amended and comprised by the whim of someone else's idea of right and wrong to avoid a conflict. I am who I am or is it that 'am' can be whomever you want her to be to survive another second unscathed? Because, you know, I thought that 'am' was meant for something more.
Expectations and Realities of a Second Childhood:
Expectations: I'm going to have a romping romance with the very first man I meet!
Reality: The first man you meet, post divorce or any other time in your life, is going to be a highly flawed individual such as yourself. He'll have good qualities and bad, but mostly he'll be human and it may not be so harlequin romance but more national geographic mixed with a bit of Nancy drew and Dr. Phil. Sorry.
Expectations: I'm going to come out of my skin and do lots of crazy things!!!! Like finally sky dive! Surfing! Skiing maybe!
Reality:
I'm going jay walk! I'm going to wear deodorant made for men! I'm going to eat all his girl scout cookies! I'm going sleep on the bus to work! I'm going to make my music slightly loud at twelve o'clock at night but then feel really guilty and read a book on cognitive behavior therapy, the one on the book shelf next to how to free yourself of co dependency. Yeah. That book. Pathetic excuse for a second childhood, really.
Expectation: Every man I look at seems to want me, oh la la! I'm finally going to have that emotional and passionate relationship, come easily! And the kissing will be awesome, too!
Reality: Many men you date had that one thing in mind with little to no emotional connection to you. Though many men wanted both. Many deeply wanted both. But, no, the emotional and physical connection often does not balance out easily at all.
In the end, it's all called life and we try to deal as best we possible can with or without that nice big, shiny, cool, neat, gigantic, floppy, motorized without batteries, cereal box toy we were all expecting to be there in the bottom of the box in the end of the day.
Reality: The first man you meet, post divorce or any other time in your life, is going to be a highly flawed individual such as yourself. He'll have good qualities and bad, but mostly he'll be human and it may not be so harlequin romance but more national geographic mixed with a bit of Nancy drew and Dr. Phil. Sorry.
Expectations: I'm going to come out of my skin and do lots of crazy things!!!! Like finally sky dive! Surfing! Skiing maybe!
Reality:
I'm going jay walk! I'm going to wear deodorant made for men! I'm going to eat all his girl scout cookies! I'm going sleep on the bus to work! I'm going to make my music slightly loud at twelve o'clock at night but then feel really guilty and read a book on cognitive behavior therapy, the one on the book shelf next to how to free yourself of co dependency. Yeah. That book. Pathetic excuse for a second childhood, really.
Expectation: Every man I look at seems to want me, oh la la! I'm finally going to have that emotional and passionate relationship, come easily! And the kissing will be awesome, too!
Reality: Many men you date had that one thing in mind with little to no emotional connection to you. Though many men wanted both. Many deeply wanted both. But, no, the emotional and physical connection often does not balance out easily at all.
In the end, it's all called life and we try to deal as best we possible can with or without that nice big, shiny, cool, neat, gigantic, floppy, motorized without batteries, cereal box toy we were all expecting to be there in the bottom of the box in the end of the day.
2/17/2012
Word up
Cognitive dissonance: A discomfort caused by holding conflicting cognition (e.g., ideas, beliefs, values, emotional reactions) simultaneously.
Unadulterated: Not mixed or diluted with any different or extra elements; complete and absolute.
Should I add disillusionment? I should add disillusionment.
Disillusionment: The condition or fact of being disenchanted.
Unadulterated: Not mixed or diluted with any different or extra elements; complete and absolute.
Should I add disillusionment? I should add disillusionment.
Disillusionment: The condition or fact of being disenchanted.
Duplication theory.
Very likely you'll be able to find another 'me' out there. In so much you'll be able to find yourself, your beliefs, your values, your personality in another. But think about it this way, are you the you you want to duplicate? Are you the kind of person now that you want to be able to find in someone else? Because I know this--there is another me out there--right now--but God help their soul.
Girl at the pool
Her eyes were too much like my older sisters. Full of questions, but mostly bitterness and blame for a life I had no part in creating and of pain I had no part in giving. But she blames me just the same for being there and not being there at the same time and furthermore trying to get out of my our station in life.
2/14/2012
Swallow me, now
You know, I sewed up that bottom on the green flannel shirt, the one I'd been meaning to sew up forever, minutes before leaving to meet you. I was two hours early. I was just eager to meet someone new. Someone intellectually stimulating. Someone handsome. Someone you were. The you of possibilities that you'd held, as I held the Gelato I ate a few seats down from a mother and child thirty minutes before you called and showed. You were late. I wasn't disappointed. I was used to it. I answered the phone in a bar. You couldn't hear me. I walked out. We talked about how whether or not you knew where the bar was. You didn't quite grasp. I gave away a few nearby restaurant names. You caught on to the joint next door. You suggested sake. You raved about the warmth and flavor of the drinks. We agreed on sushi two doors down from the original bar we were going to go to.
The waitress was a bitch. You mentioned it. Twice, I'm not sure. You mentioned roman history. I'd never been captivated by a man's explicit soliloquy of intelligence. Until then. I couldn't stop listening, and only lightly intrigued by the subject. I wanted you to go on. The time came to leave. The waitress came in a huff. You mentioned her tattoos were nice. I mentioned her tattoos were nice. I mentioned she probable got that a lot. I mentioned I wanted to go into tattooing maybe. We left. You took me in front of a bar across the way. We didn't go in at all. Told me that was the place to go on the weekends, for good up and coming music, not well known, but always packed. We hummed and hawed at where to go next. You rested on an old reliable. Things got intimate. Alcohol poured more frequently. Topics became more explicit. Eye contact deeper. Bodies closer.
"I have a blender, a drink mix at my apartment, you have to try"
I thought of an ugly green couch for some reason, an open spaced apartment living room and a bay window overlooking the busy street below for some reason.
You thought about the check.
We left.
The apartment was dark.
The surroundings numerous.
Books lined both walls.
You said you would not admit to the percentage you had read. I thought to myself, that meant, like my own percentage, that it was small. But no it wasn't.
I asked where you bought the shelves. you said you had made them yourself. I was impressed. You said it came from working hard in the mountains of Oregon. I was looking deeper into your eyes by that time. Becoming unsettled for some reason. We sat in two adjacent chairs, terribly uncomfortable, camping chairs!
I fumbled.
I let go.
I let you in.
I warmed you up with my cold exterior of the realities I had lived in, was living in, not a lie lay between us for a span of five minutes.
I looked darkly, intensely into your eyes and said what didn't need to be said "I don't think lightly of life"
You said your attraction by moving to the bedroom, soon after that.
I swear you picked up they most boring video game in the world, on purpose, an old detective game.
I thumbed the video game over in my hands, laying face down on your bed, you on the floor in front of the second TV in the house. Silver. I, we, things grew silent. Too silent. Too silent and you said "Do you just want to hold?" and I slid off the bed and into your arms without a word. It had been the first time in over four to five years I'd been held by a man, like that, four to five years!
You, I, we, took each other to the bed. We kissed. When it was "Do you want to just hold" when it was kissing and everything up to that point but not past. For hours. Until the next morning. I saw things light before my eyes I had not felt in... I saw life. I saw streets. I saw seats at restaurants. I saw birds. I saw sunrise at three am in the morning. I saw things I never knew touch could bring.
When things went too far I said "_____ what are you doing?" and you said "_________, what do you think I'm doing?" I'd like to say I moved off you at that point, but I don't know if it was that point that I did. I did at some point and we did not cross the line everyone would think we did.
The waitress was a bitch. You mentioned it. Twice, I'm not sure. You mentioned roman history. I'd never been captivated by a man's explicit soliloquy of intelligence. Until then. I couldn't stop listening, and only lightly intrigued by the subject. I wanted you to go on. The time came to leave. The waitress came in a huff. You mentioned her tattoos were nice. I mentioned her tattoos were nice. I mentioned she probable got that a lot. I mentioned I wanted to go into tattooing maybe. We left. You took me in front of a bar across the way. We didn't go in at all. Told me that was the place to go on the weekends, for good up and coming music, not well known, but always packed. We hummed and hawed at where to go next. You rested on an old reliable. Things got intimate. Alcohol poured more frequently. Topics became more explicit. Eye contact deeper. Bodies closer.
"I have a blender, a drink mix at my apartment, you have to try"
I thought of an ugly green couch for some reason, an open spaced apartment living room and a bay window overlooking the busy street below for some reason.
You thought about the check.
We left.
The apartment was dark.
The surroundings numerous.
Books lined both walls.
You said you would not admit to the percentage you had read. I thought to myself, that meant, like my own percentage, that it was small. But no it wasn't.
I asked where you bought the shelves. you said you had made them yourself. I was impressed. You said it came from working hard in the mountains of Oregon. I was looking deeper into your eyes by that time. Becoming unsettled for some reason. We sat in two adjacent chairs, terribly uncomfortable, camping chairs!
I fumbled.
I let go.
I let you in.
I warmed you up with my cold exterior of the realities I had lived in, was living in, not a lie lay between us for a span of five minutes.
I looked darkly, intensely into your eyes and said what didn't need to be said "I don't think lightly of life"
You said your attraction by moving to the bedroom, soon after that.
I swear you picked up they most boring video game in the world, on purpose, an old detective game.
I thumbed the video game over in my hands, laying face down on your bed, you on the floor in front of the second TV in the house. Silver. I, we, things grew silent. Too silent. Too silent and you said "Do you just want to hold?" and I slid off the bed and into your arms without a word. It had been the first time in over four to five years I'd been held by a man, like that, four to five years!
You, I, we, took each other to the bed. We kissed. When it was "Do you want to just hold" when it was kissing and everything up to that point but not past. For hours. Until the next morning. I saw things light before my eyes I had not felt in... I saw life. I saw streets. I saw seats at restaurants. I saw birds. I saw sunrise at three am in the morning. I saw things I never knew touch could bring.
When things went too far I said "_____ what are you doing?" and you said "_________, what do you think I'm doing?" I'd like to say I moved off you at that point, but I don't know if it was that point that I did. I did at some point and we did not cross the line everyone would think we did.
2/07/2012
Oh, yes, this is called regret
Insert nervous breakdown
Walk down memory lane
Build up depleted self confidence
Execute highly sophisticated emotional reaction with the social ability of a two year old
Lay down side by side with ambiguity and partial acceptance
Let down your morals and take in sewage.
But yes, as well as everything beautiful that which was meant to be had, had not the last words here been committed
Show off a second childhood while ceaselessly accepting the realities of harsh... reality
Half bake a semblance of reality
Construct stamina from tears, pain, gluttony, alcohol, lust, anger, rage and regret
Leave him behind
Leave him behind too
Let yourself in
And do what is right, whole, sweet and go to help everyone else, including yourself, please
(If I ever have to think this hard about anything again, remind me of the possibility of that thing called a heart attack, stroke and cancer that are REAL things in life and could happen to me.)
Walk down memory lane
Build up depleted self confidence
Execute highly sophisticated emotional reaction with the social ability of a two year old
Lay down side by side with ambiguity and partial acceptance
Let down your morals and take in sewage.
But yes, as well as everything beautiful that which was meant to be had, had not the last words here been committed
Show off a second childhood while ceaselessly accepting the realities of harsh... reality
Half bake a semblance of reality
Construct stamina from tears, pain, gluttony, alcohol, lust, anger, rage and regret
Leave him behind
Leave him behind too
Let yourself in
And do what is right, whole, sweet and go to help everyone else, including yourself, please
(If I ever have to think this hard about anything again, remind me of the possibility of that thing called a heart attack, stroke and cancer that are REAL things in life and could happen to me.)
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