a few moments

you know, i’d promised my poor readers more this year. my personal blogging has been limited by school demands and family demands and just… where is the time? there never seem to be any extra moments. i have a few because if i try to cram any more human development in my head right now i’ll probably burst. and i have no interest in reading about the american political culture and it’s regional and ethnic variants right now, so… a few moments.
to answer your question, i’m well thanks, how are you?
no seriously though, i’m managing. quite well. i have moments. but mostly, i’m … would it be bad to say jubilant? it’s crazy. it’s right. it feels full and progressive even though it isn’t what i thought and it is lonely at moments. that loneliness is just not seeing what is there, which is a shocking revelation because i’m not echoing around in myself anymore. that has been an unexpected development and it will be some getting used to. i hope i can do it justice, do it right. there are imprints on me, magnets in me, that i can’t seem to realign. smudging, erasing, they just are. blaring, they’re there. i am a person who longs. i’m intense. that’s me. no point in denying that. i’d like to scoop that out of me, but ha! writing just doesn’t do it like i thought it would.
i have had to private journal recently. there’s more going on in me than i’d hoped, than i thought i could tolerate and still focus on school. it has to be out so i can go on. and on. and on. forward. i’m probably gonna use it in a novel one day. if i don’t decide it’s disgustingly weak.
it’s funny. in spite of being, ok. forward motion. mostly smiling every day.  the nature of my writing, what i have time to write, express, press, it’s very… dark, whiny, self involved. i still sound like a teenage girl. which i think i’ve been saying that for years about my writing. i’d hoped it would have progressed by now… i guess i still am to some degree, stunted there, fixed, set point, because i’ve never overgrown those scars and they were just sliced back open. presumably i’ll have a chance to heal them properly this time… but i can’t afford to worry much about that now. and i don’t. i write it out, feel the hole, curl around it, and move forward. i focus, throw myself in to everything i can, 100% – which means i’m spead about 600% thin. standard first child over achiever perfectionist with unrealistic self expectations. yup. sounds about right.

this week will be the first real test of can i do this… is any of this realistic? am i as capable as my hubris purports? i’d like to relay that i’ve already misjudged my physical capabilities this week – massively threw out my back attempting to carry about 40 lbs of wet laundry in each hand while corralling children into the laundrymat the other day. everyone who knows me knows i’m stubborn, never ask for help, and frequently assume i can do more than i can. ouch, my spine hates me now. the cold the kids had is wrangling with my immune system over the rights to my mucous membranes and so forth, so i’m seriously out of equilibrium… and of course, the crunch of first exams/major speech happens… now. hey though, all the more self satisfaction when i’ve still “so got this” while hobbling and sneezing and threatening my mind with sanctions if it doesn’t open up the door to the knowledge i swear is in there somewhere…
well, my few moments is over. which is best b.c i’m just droning on. yawn… boring.
nothing new revelatory. i have some things i’ll share eventually from the private sector sometime when i have a few more moments.
take care reader.

observations

the shiny metal, red and white, wheels, dinks, clinks, plinks, tenderizing the clothes as the machine agitates. as the blades of the overhead fan cut the downstretching light, strobe, and the lines that define us waiver, we wash clean our lives under the flourscent lights. a night we wish we could forget, a night we hope we always remember, the dirt of a hard earned life, the smell of humanity, softened and fading from the material we wrap our nakedness with. you can tell alot by the laundry spinning in the machine. a young mother, tired and worn, is discussing her ordeal with a vicious ex, or perhaps not ex enough. the small children around her stare glassy eyes at the television, unable to hear to cartoon sounds over the machine spin thunder and the wave crashing roar of their mothers’ pain in their ears. i’m guilty – i people watch. i cry over the ones lost – the sadness, pain, desolation. they are dominated by their struggles, with little ones in their wake, rocking to the time tune of the afterwaves. how can they stand a chance when their example refuses to see, to be an example? when they can’t win because they lost before they were born? the youngest is containing his lament over the agitating toy car while the oldest boy, standing tall for his 9 or so years attends to the needs of his little siblings. as the shiny metal beats the clothes soft, he wraps his family in the cushioned, worn fabric of deceit, a veil of decency to comfort those inside and out of his family from the truth he lives – neglect, loss… so many things i take for granted. i meet his eye, see the sparkle of determination and the glint of understanding beyond even my years, 20 his senior. he will rise above because of the life he sees playing before his eyes, that which the other player are oblivious that they are writing, or worse, accepting as their own. i can see he knows he can write his own…

where will he be in 20 years, as he reaches for his third decade? i wish i could see – so many feet and footfalls can stumble, crumble his path and erode or even devour his resolve. it’s there in him, as it is in us all – the ability, the capacity to achieve great things. will there be enough to nurture his drive? will he fail to thrive, queen bee abandoned her hive? will he listen to society’s jive? will he president, prisoner, or just another person in the middle of it all? i hope he can take the kind caring feelings i radiate to him, to boost him in moments resolve desolves…

it’s wake up time

throw me a line.
i’m watching for the road signs
carrying my load size
heavy and no compromise

proud moments

dear loyal reader.

i’ve been lame. you faithfully check, and i faithfully let you down. while i’ve been unable to find that isp that will change the chip on the shoulder for internet service, i have found a way to finally pay for the internet. chip on the shoulder is going away anyway… starting next month i will (maybe) post more. woo hoo! lucky you.

for now, i am enjoying the holiday at the kids’ grandparents’ house. and thus enjoying the use of the internet. i’m going through my old posts, trying to pin down exactly who i am. i know i am at fault for so much. right now, i am trying to reclaim the pieces of me that i want to define me, and discard the pieces of me that i want to forget. there are so many things i want to forget… and so many pieces of me i’ve neglected, saplings left to struggle in my soul, nourished by the scaps of attention i’ve given over the years. each day, i awake, remembering a way i wish to be, a thing i wish to do. i have changed so much – fundamentally – over the past 10 years. to better explain, it feels like i’ve been asleep for almost 10 years, with a few moments of lucidity along the way. i’ve made so many mistakes trying to get people to see me. to understand me, when i now know i can never be understood. i don’t even know me fully. i am the heisenberg uncertainty principle, macro. just when i know one thing about myself, i lose some other essential knowledge. i’m teaching myself to release. to be ok with the uncertainty, with waking in the morning and allowing the lines to smudge and let myself smear out of my boundaries. today i want to go sky diving. yesterday i was afraid of heights. and the discrepancy is…? i feel a blossoming inside. i am welling up within myself, and i feel more alive than i ever have. my heart is overfull, and i want to share love with everyone. honestly, that’s always been a fault of mine – loving too much. it frightens people, that i can care so much when i barely know them. i am eager, and intense. it overwhelms. but it is who i am, and it is what i seek out of others… eagerness. overfull hearts. intensity. why do i seek myself in others? man i must be more narcissistic than i’d like to admit… i don’t seek perfection. i don’t seek a mirror soul. i can be trusted with anything. and i want to trust others with anything, but i don’t.

in about one month, i will be 28. it’s dizzily close to 30. given the family history of cancer, it’s dangerously close to half my expected life span. that no longer bothers me. because i am overfull and i want to share. i want to spill. i don’t want to be contained and limited and defined. i want to LIVE. i am waking up. so fast. in the past 2 months, i feel like a switch was flipped in me, and there’s no going back. there are pieces i still am, and pieces i wish to be – the rest is history. the fluid me that is will incorporate it all. there are no words that can contain the feeling. i wish you all could feel it.

thank you for being loyal, loyal reader. when you meet me again, i may be unrecognizable… just look for those little sparks that were the undercurrent of me. i’m still here, in the cloud spinning, and there is a probability that you can pin down one or two aspects of me. the rest is up in the air. know though that i love.

-me

back in the saddle again?

it’s been a long while. i am sitting at the ASU computer lab, pretending i belong here. exasperated because it just might be a close call to get the classes i want. apparently, registration has already taken place… needless to say, i’m confused. i keep looking at the calender, making sure i didn’t sleep through november 16. nope. it’s friday the 13th. maybe it’s all a trick they are playing on me. haha. ha. i feel old. very very old. and very very strange, with my absolute lack of style and inability to look put together. they are kids… sitting next to me. mere babes. this is real, this isn’t. so sure of their opinions, while i’m left wondering if anything is really there to believe in. i keep chanting to myself, i can do this. i can do this. i see this in my head, i will do this. and it’s starting to sound like echoes down a long hall, with a closer voice whispering right in my ear, you’re fooling yourself.

the job market is no better. i’m inept at everything, not having that all important degree… or equivalent experience. what have i been doing the past 9 years?! i’m just not sure… something to do with enjoying the shit out of every second i can be given, then falling into the grind, then falling back out, but achieving nothing. i guess really i just raised my kid, then kids, for the past 6 years…

i’ve started to feel like my life is in a centerfuge and it’s spinning apart, and i know this is necessary for the good to rise. it makes good sense, in my head. but i want to throttle myself for not waking up to this all sooner… for not seeing this point on my journey before i smacked into it. i knew it was there – i always felt like i’d wake up and everything would be more clear, crystallized and set, which means fragile and prepared to shatter. i just kept handling with care, refusing to let the fault lines show. and now the pieces have to come apart. i am through with the limbo. let the pieces shatter, and i’ll let the good take over.

the good will rise. i will move forward. step by baby step. baby, step by step. step by step, baby. let’s do this.

 

my loyal reader

dear loyal reader:
i’m not sure who you are, but i imagine you know all about what is going on in my life recently, i.e., you don’t need to be reading this to know about my life because you know it already. let’s just sum it all up with big life lesson learned, hopefully not much cynicism obtained. oh wait, you know me already. so, well, no crippling cynicism added to my current account of cynicism. “welcome valued customer, would you like to make a withdrawal today?” “why yes, this guy told me i was attractive today. i’d you to debit some cynicism from my account so i can actually BELIEVE him!!”
lame.
anyway, to my loyal reader, i apologize for not adding any fascinating new content, any deep, enlightening visions to the depth of my soul, extrapolations to all souls. i’m working through – i’m not pausing long among the feelings, not even the empowering ones. it’s functional – it’s coping. it’s day to day. i am keeping a journal, but unfortunately my cynicism balance will not pay for home internet. damn those internet service providers – can’t make change for a chip on the shoulder!! most of the journal entries are truly drivel. i read through beginning ones, thinking what a wimpey hormonal romantic girl i was. ugh, yuk. then i realized one of the most recent ones discussed how i managed a sleepless night by pretending mr. man of my dreams was snoring, i mean, sleeping, solid, warm and real, in the cold vacuosity beside me in the giant king size bed. giant king side bed made even giant-er by the fact that i’ve lost 35 lbs since june. well, i guess i should say 250 lbs, to include the husband who used to be there. (yes, all you eligible bachelor readers out there… i am selling my soul if only you’ll find this body attractive. HAHAHAHHHAHAHAHA. and yes, jealous female readers out there, that 35 lbs is the size of your 3 year old toddler. and to help you be not so jealous, i’m probably still fatter than you are. oh boy, i’m so cynical… btw, i’m just kidding. frankly, at this point, i can’t give a rat’s ass. yet more cynicism underlying that statement, i’m sure.) point being, i’m still a wimpey hormonal romantic girl. ugh. yuk.
oh loyal reader, i imagine you revel in my parenthetical expressions. oh loyal reader, i imagine my whipping wit and, well, cynicism, are so very … enjoyable. and honestly, i adopt it right now because i’m trying to just manage each day. it is the fuel i need to keep me from feeling rotten in sheets made in denmark. deep underneath, protected, is the me who still longs, feels, revels. less deep, right beneath the surface is the hopeful, the grateful, the sweet and caring person i will always always be, no matter how hard i try not to be, no matter how many times i’m thwarted. my dad told me yesterday that i needed to grow a set, that i was grown and i needed to just tell people my mind, that i needed to follow my path to where it would lead me, or something rather close to that. i am, i am, i am. if he knew me better, he could see i am. i am no one’s victim. i am part of my own problem. i am ok with that. i am moving on.
dear loyal reader, thank you for taking the time to bookmark me.
this is the diary of a divorcing woman.
i will try to keep you better apprised of this all as moments i’m proud of pass.
love
~me

this is my 100th post

her avatar is salome. the seductress who will weave a dance of perverse, dangerous pleasure to get her wish. that is probably beyond him, but she wove her dance and had him begging, would have had him wrapped around her finger, at least that’s what he keeps saying. she wished him to want her, to trade in a marriage for her. she got her wish, then coyly batted her eyes at her own power, at his interest, at the impropriety of the situation. she had him writhing in the pain of her distance, her “decency.” somehow oblivious to the game she was playing, he had crawled in after she sent him lusty pictures. her prey, that she would devour whole. her game backfired, and he has run away. as he licks his wounds and begs me to draw out their poison, i can’t help but think: poor man. if only he’d known the lesson in the name of her avatar. when you play with illicit lust, you gamble until your hands become tied, and someone’s head has to end up on a platter…

redraw

i’m sitting in the same place, and remembering how broken i felt. it’s been almost a month. my train made an unexpected stop, booted me off, and everything disappeared in a blink. until i got away. and realized, what really matters, deep within, and without, did not disappear. something broke, certainly, and i was forced off the path of least resistance. i knew the path of least resistance wouldn’t help me grow. without adversity, i would never have a chance to prove who i have become, and continue to become more. i think back on my inability to sleep, on the rock of sorrow in my stomach, the fear creeping up my limbs. i thought that would be forever. the pain of loss would chase me. and it did. but it got quieter. it backed away. as my body began to realize i would wake each morning, and care for my children, and continue on my path, whatever it may be, the loss seemed further away. i started to feel calm. peace. release. i’ve held on to anxiety too long, blaming every one of his faults on me. now, they aren’t mine. no tension. i am. pretty close to ohm.

back in these same 4 walls, what was once home, i’ve been busily packing up the sundries of the old life, preparing for the new. the superfluous is culled, the useful and necessary catalogued in my head and packed safely. i thought that as i slowed down, i would feel the brokenness, the pain. my plan to keep myself forever busy and never face any emotion contained herein was thwarted by a sick toddler and a sickening child. i sit, holding a half comatose infant unable to rest outside my arms, and i’m still. i’m facing it all now, and feeling the expected twinge of pain, but nothing i can’t move beyond. i’m not riding the roller coaster anymore… i’m sitting aside, watching him ride, waiting for him to decide if he really wants to get off. i don’t think he really does. i’ve been waiting for so long, and i’m not a fan of the waiting place. i’m taking steps away, still within his calling range, still within his sight. still with love i can’t understand radiating to him, wanting him to be happy and safe. wanting him to become who he is, instead of stalling himself. i have to become who i am to become. i can’t allow the waiting place to hold me any longer.

what is ahead is beyond my sight, but ahead i must move. i can never have back what was, and that no longer hurts. i’m focusing on becoming. it is time.

i don’t think i’d posted this before…

i love you

i’m a witch, i’m a bitch, i nag and i snag
tearing apart the time you have free to be
or not. to be empty, to escape. to enter a haven.
i’d make a terrible 50’s housewife, and i’m nothing to be cravin’.

i’m self involved – i think most about what i want, what i “need,” what i think is right.
like why can’t you wake up earlier, and why can’t you spend more time with us, and why you can’t eat the leftover food
and why you can’t let go of anger, and why you have outbursts, and why it’s ok to act like you do when you are in a bad mood
and why i’m not your haven. why you don’t need me. why love isn’t what i thought it was. why romance is dead. why you and me?
and why… why… why.

i try to be different. i try to have compassion.
i try. try. try.
then that evil in me awakens, attacking what seems like a lack of passion,
saying that you aren’t trying.
that you are just existing, subsisting. on someone else?
i need to be spying.
you must be hiding something, or why wouldn’t you want to be with me more.
why should i try, it says, when you don’t? what is it for?

for it forgets how hard you work. and how much you need you time. even if i don’t get much me time,
or we get much we time. is it a memory we did before?
you deserve you more.
i know you don’t cheat, and you hide only from my judgment.
b.c i’m an evil bitch. a perfectionist, idealist, evil
female who has to have it her way no matter what is spent…

i don’t know how you put up with me. i am crazy. i am sane. i’m evenly contradictory. i’m perfectly imperfect. i’m easily difficult.
i’m unassumingly demanding. i am darkness. i am light. i breed peace. i pick a fight.
i’m emotional. i’m hormonal. i’m calmly intense. i think only i’m right. because of course, only i’m right.

sometimes i don’t know why i love you. all the time, i don’t know why you love me.
sometimes i think we must be confused, and only destined to destroy each other.
sometimes i’m scared, i thrash at the loss that has come, that chiseling of myself to fit with you.
but always, always, always, even in those sometimes, i love you.

i love you.

1/20/09 = 8 yrs

sleepless again

i can’t sleep. i think some part of me knows that once i’ve slept, the day is done, it won’t snap back to something like before, it can’t be before today. time will always be measured by this day. if i never sleep, this day never ends… i have a chance to fix it, to beg it back, to undo what’s done.
to know that it’s hopeless, whether i sleep or not, keeps me from sleeping too. blaming myself, and i still can’t fix it. i want to scream out like a child, “it’s not fair. i want this – i don’t want anything else.” the adult in me knows that not only will that do no good, but that it isn’t entirely true. i do want this, i don’t want anything else, but it is fair. i’ve brought it down on myself by being who i am. by being who i am. by being who i am. by being who i am. it’s not a nursery rhyme. it’s what i keep going over and over in my head, the anthem of my loneliness. i think of how he’ll never be with me during a storm, how i won’t be able to roll over when i’m scared and find him there, to sooth my mind back to sleep. to calm my fears by his gravity, to pull me back out of nightmares into reality. how my smile i broken, and i feel empty and full. all at once. i know it’s been gone for so long, what we once had. i just thought it had changed, was changing, into something longer, something lifetime. i complained, and griped. and i brought it all tumbling down, self fulfilling prophecy.
my love is vibrating, broken string no longer tethered. it wasn’t perfect, but it was mine, i thought it was ours, and i thought it would always be there, for both of us.
it’s 4:30 and he’s in the other room, and i can’t even be with him in my fear, in my hurt, to calm me, lull to sleep. it is over, and all i have is my forever loneliness.