Hallelujah

lately, moreso than ever in my life, I find myself embracing things that cause me pain or worry. i feel so completely detached and bored with everything, that "fixing" something seems good, even when it's bad. this goes in almost every case, of course there are some things that i'd rather be without regardless, but all the stupid minutiae that pops up...it's good. i feel like a fox news reporter, waiting for the next catastrophe. Only in my personal life.

Ouch!

It's that old familiar feeling. Do you know it?

Your chest is getting tighter and your throat feels like it is closing up. You start breathing faster without even noticing and your hands tingle and start to sweat. You might even start to get sick to your stomach.

Yeah.... that's it. High anxiety... your old friend. Back and ready to do business.

It's all over me. I feel like I am about to die, like something bad is about to happen, like someone is about to hurt me and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

It's not a good feeling. "It's bad, bad, very bad," to quote a friend.

In this case, I've done it to myself.

I've only had.... let's see now... a year to produce some paperwork for my lawyer. That should've been done about 9 months ago.

Yet my state of anxiety and upset over not knowing what I'm doing and the emotional trauma of it all and what has happened in my life as a result of my own initiation of a new path in my life has immobilized me. I did some work on it last August. I worked on it again in May.

But not since.

Now I'm in trouble. Why did I do this to myself? I just need to sit down and do it. Even if it is hard, it must be done.

There's just no nice way to say, "Yes. We do have to get divorced. Yes. I do miss you but we have to get divorced because I have moved on. Yes. I realize that you realize that you made mistakes. Yes. I realize that I made mistakes. Yes. I think I'm smarter now and I believe that you believe that you're smarter now. But no... we aren't getting back together."

I always want a happy ending. But I'm part of two other people's stories. And what's the real happy ending for me?

I thought I knew the answer to that question more than once in my life, yet here I am asking the question again.

And then there's the anxiety. The sense of panic.

Sigh. I need to get out of the muck I've created and move on where ever that moving takes me. I am not sure it is going to take me to a happy place.

"All I wanna do is have some fun before I die." Sheryl Crow

Yeah. Righ back atcha, Sistah.

Megan Cosby

I don't remember where Portia and I saw her. Or perhaps Portia didn't, although I remember talk of the technique. Notwithstanding, I stumbled across her work recently on the interweb and love it all over again. See my favourite for yourself here.  

In other news, I've been hammering pellets into wood for what seems like an eternity, building something that belongs in a funeral home. And it lives in my living room. I really should leave this sort of thing to the professionals. 

Missing a Tater Tot

It is one of those days I miss my tater tot. I hear now that I am to blame for some heinous wrong done to my offspring. That, somehow, in trying to be the parent I should be, in trying to do what I thought was the right thing, I got it all wrong.

So wrong.

How do I pay for this transgression? By being held at arm's length and not being given the priviledge of the one thing I always wanted- just to know who he is. Not to tell him what to be, or act disappointed if he chose to be a This over a That, or for him to agree with all I believe... just to get the opportunity to know who he really is.

Maybe this is it.

Maybe this is what really is.

Just emptiness and space and a great quantity of silence.

I miss the pillow fights and tickle time and quiet time. I miss playing tag and going to school plays and playdays and watching him run and smile and laugh.

I miss how he was a self-chosen vegetarian until he was 7.

I miss how he liked tiny red grapes.

I miss how we got frozen yogurt after vaccinations and it seemed to make getting the shot a little less horrible for us both.

I miss seeing a new playground and just stopping spontaneously to try it out.

I miss Toys R Us.

I miss soccer and roller hockey and basketball and t-ball games.

I miss his snaggle-toothed smile.

I miss Halloween and making costumes by hand.

I miss video games and knowing he preferred mustard over ketchup.

The list goes on and on...

I miss a Tater Tot.
My Tater Tot.
I'd like to have that with a side of hugs one day. And a big helping of, "I forgive you."

But it appears that will have to wait.

Class

He said it again last night.

We were talking about feeling separate from others. He said he'd always felt separate. I, too, have always had a feeling of being "an outsider" but, I said, I find other so-called "outsiders" that I bond with; other odd people.

He said he didn't bond with odd people, present company excluded (meaning me). He said he tended to bond with people with who are goal-oriented. People who are educated. People with class.

I said I appreciated people based upon how genuine and authentic they are.

He said people can be genuine and authentic and still not be worth knowing.

I thought about that and realized, he did have a point. If a person's values are genuinely in opposition to mine and are, in my mind, stupid... I really don't care how authentic they are. A white supremecist is still a white supremecist and I can't deal with that. Those values are so wrong, I can't even wrap my brain around it.

But what about this whole "class" deal?

I remember he said something about how he was most comfortable around people with class that October before we "broke up".

Not that he actually broke up with me.
But he did.
He just never said it.
I felt it.
I knew it.

But he couldn't bring himself to say it, probably in part because he wasn't quite ready to let me off the hook.

You know... that thing where you don't quite want something, but you aren't ready to let it go...just....yet. And, if that behavior is something one thinks about, and intentionally drags a person on, then it definitely isn't a classy move.

But, if the behavior is unrecognized and is just someone trying to be honest and figure stuff out, then I don't know. It might be different.

Class is not about money.
Class is not about social status.
Class is not about what clothes you wear.

Some of the classiest people I have known have just been down-to-earth people with kind hearts, gentle manners, who invite you in and treat you like you're one of the family. They are people who would defend you with their last breath.

They are people who stop talking on their cell phone when they go to purchase a pack of cigarettes.

In fact, Class is an very understated characteristic. To have it, you have to just emanate it.

If you say anything about it, chances are, you don't got it.
If you think someone else doesn't have it and you say it out loud, chances are you don't got it.
If you look down on good people because they don't look or act like you, chances are you don't got it.

People with Class are never looking for other People with Class.

They hang out with people whose values are in sync with their own.

Class is about what we value and how we show it.
Class is about who we are as individuals.

Who has class?

Complimenting Guy has Class.

He was a street person who never asked for money. He wasn't threatening. He always had a smile and just seemed to want to interact with people. The way he did it was by offering a sincere compliment to you as you passed by.

Complimenting Guy has Class.

And as a result, he attracted abundace and now he has a job. Why? Because he stood out as a person. He wasn't defined by his lack. He was defined by his abundance. He gave freely of what he had. That could be seen as Class.

So, what does that mean to my discussion with the boyfriend?

Well, I got to say it turns me off. First of all, I am not sure that I would define him as a person of class. I love him for who he is, but classy? I don't know.

Then I wonder if he thinks of me as a person of class. I like to belch. I like to curse for effect. Does he find that a lack of class?

I don't really care. I am not going to stop being who I am... classy or classless.
It took me a long time to get where I am and know who I am. I don't like everything about me, but for the most part I am comfortable with who I am.

I suppose, if pressed, I would like to think I have some class...
but I don't really think about it.

Afterall, that's not a very classy thing to do.

Question Today

Where do I want to be in 5 years? Geodesic incompleteness might lead an uninitiated individual to ponder the intrinsic validity of this question. Speculation aside, one might question if a true answer would offset any already-dictated and directed path. However, when we stir in modern philosophical theorems and generally excepted notions that space-time is an arrow, pointing in whatever direction our psyche produces it, we are able to more soundly justify the existence of the question and our abilities to answer it. Whether or not a true and just answer to the question offsets and detriments the possibilities of its forthcoming can only be ascertained in practice, not conjecture.

Nonetheless, I’m willing to push forward and risk any personal quantum consequences attempting to answer this query with forthrightness and insight might catalyze. So, again I start. Where do I want to be in five years?  I’m prepared to outline my projection in two discrete aspects. The first being the absolute evolution of my personal id and the point at which it can be defined in this earthly time period. The second, slightly more tangible reactant, is the impact I foresee imposing on others during and up until this timeframe negates itself.   

Firstly, in regards to the state of my id. I see it in good standing. Perhaps more physically dissolved and diluted by everyday simulacrum, but nonetheless strong and less-awkward. Overall, I assume and anticipate fully, more action coupled with more questions. Questioning being key to any evolution, assuming it is to continue beyond the window given.. Otherwise, I’d hope to see a dramatic drop in angst and metaphor. Any psychic malnutrition will be met with the protein of reason.

On the second front, we look at my outward impacts-where they will lead and resolve to. I expect and will make adjustments to ensure that I have followers. Not just fans, but in fact, mobilized groups of individuals who believe in what I say and emulate my actions. The impact, of course, will be more far-reaching than direct connection. I expect to dissolve any transparent guides pushing apart logic from action. I also hope to have coined the term laction to refer to this natural evolution. A new divide will form naturally between the “lactive” and the “inlactive.” Those pursuing laction and the illactionites that only further their own domains. This kind of friendly imbalance will lead to a natural balance and pasteurization of overwhelming principles.

In conclusion. Five years, not such a long time from now. 

father's day

swimming in gene pools

bacteria in your eyes

bubbling to the top

the power to leave

when things are going alright-

so empowering.

wretched little kids

spinning and spurring me on

glad to be v-safe

did you hear the news?

yes, the vagrants are coming.

not literally.