"DR, I really wish you would-"
"You wish what? That you could have a say? Benny, that's not what you signed up for."
And here it was, Here they were. Right back there they always left off, the same old argument. He was readying his most condescending tone to tell her that she was to be quiet and trust his decision making skills and she was bracing herself for the cold hard truth all over again.
"Now Benny, we agreed, you will remember, that I will be the head of this household." And I will break you yet, he smiled and held her close so she couldn't see the storm in his eyes. The constant rolling clouds that darkened his face when he thought about the joy of owning her.
"But DR, I just want-"
"You want to feel important, I know. You want to rule the roost, I know. You want to wear the pants, I know. But we agreed." He kissed her on the head and thought how easy it was to convince her to submit.
Delighted, he held out her arm.
"Now this won't hurt-"
"But DR I don't want-"
"I know, you don't want to submit. But Benny, we agreed-"
"But DR we didn't agree-- not on this!"
"Benny, now listen, we agreed that I would be the head of this family and that you would respect me. If you can't do just this one simple little thing, there is no point to loving you."
"But DR, I just want-"
"You just want what? To be alone forever? To be with a push over? No, NO Benny, I will not relent. I will have you and you will stick to your promises."
And then the nurse came in. Teddy bears smiled back at Benny from her smock. The nurse took her by the arm and shook her
"Mrs. John! Mrs. John are you ready? The doctor will exam you now, if you're ready..."
Where had she been? In some clinic, five years back. Crying. Wishing to be free. Wanting to be loved. Feeling no way out. She wiped her eyes and realized that the nurse was holding her hand.
"Mrs. John, it's ok... You and the baby are going to be just fine."
And then she remembered she was free now. Free to love and be loved. Free to breath on her own. Free to want her own way.
Sweet Freedom.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
How much are you worth?
I have a new personal mantra which I like to share with everyone I meet, in hopes that they will benefit from my new found self assurance. It is simple:
You are worth it.
Whatever it is. That nap you never take, that vacation you've been planning, that alone time in the bath tub, the steak dinner you fix yourself.
But more importantly :Love.
You are worthy of love. You are worthy of respect. You are worth being treated as well as you treat others.
I have adopted this new saying to get myself through some really difficult recent events. But I am pawning it off on you so that you can make better personal decisions about how you use your time.
Is your time worth being beat? Is your time worth working for someone who doesn't appreciate your skills?
If you love someone and you want to spend the rest of your life with them, you are worth having the same devotion from them. If you don't, you need to ask yourself 'Am I worth it?' Am I worth love? The answer, of course, should be yes, yes I am.
I thought about this as I was reading a friends blog. The same young man has been flip flopping his feelings as frequently as I change my underwear on this girl for atleast 6 years now. And all I can think of is: You are worth it. You are worth love. You are worth marriage if that's what you want. You are worth the lifestyle you want.
Why can't this girl see it? Maybe because she has been lied to all these years. Maybe because she has been told to wait her turn. Maybe becuase he has convinced her that this is all she deserves. Or maybe because she never asked herself 'What am I worth?'
You are worth it.
Whatever it is. That nap you never take, that vacation you've been planning, that alone time in the bath tub, the steak dinner you fix yourself.
But more importantly :Love.
You are worthy of love. You are worthy of respect. You are worth being treated as well as you treat others.
I have adopted this new saying to get myself through some really difficult recent events. But I am pawning it off on you so that you can make better personal decisions about how you use your time.
Is your time worth being beat? Is your time worth working for someone who doesn't appreciate your skills?
If you love someone and you want to spend the rest of your life with them, you are worth having the same devotion from them. If you don't, you need to ask yourself 'Am I worth it?' Am I worth love? The answer, of course, should be yes, yes I am.
I thought about this as I was reading a friends blog. The same young man has been flip flopping his feelings as frequently as I change my underwear on this girl for atleast 6 years now. And all I can think of is: You are worth it. You are worth love. You are worth marriage if that's what you want. You are worth the lifestyle you want.
Why can't this girl see it? Maybe because she has been lied to all these years. Maybe because she has been told to wait her turn. Maybe becuase he has convinced her that this is all she deserves. Or maybe because she never asked herself 'What am I worth?'
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Hemingway's blank verse
" "
! : , .
, , , .
, ; !
,
"I think you need desire"
Desire! For what is desire: To want, hoard and miss.
And I think you need it to make you feel whole, lovely, human, &c.
Desire, you say; But what you mean is lust!
And what of it, Sweet love
! : , .
, , , .
, ; !
,
"I think you need desire"
Desire! For what is desire: To want, hoard and miss.
And I think you need it to make you feel whole, lovely, human, &c.
Desire, you say; But what you mean is lust!
And what of it, Sweet love
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Conflicted.
I had a minor panic attack last night.
It all started Saturday, when I got the baby look. You know the baby look. You've gotten it before. That look when a single woman is holding a baby that she gets from the mother of the baby, her SO, some other male of procreating age that says, simultaneously, "You look good with a baby" and "My, wouldn't I like to be held like that" It is a subtle, yet often times creepy look that freaked me out and sent me into a downward tailspin of conflicting desires.
I should be happy. I should be married and pregnant and baby full and happy. I am happy, but I am getting ready to get divorced from a man who promised me the world and gave me bills instead. He promised the world that I wanted, or thought I wanted.
A world where a woman could be just that: a woman. A world where I could work hard at child rearing and house hold duties including but not limited to pie baking, gardening, canning, quilting, and floor-mopping. A world where I would respect my husband and in return he would make the best decisions for our growing family, with me first in his mind always.
Instead, I am starting all over again, with a Boy who has never promissed me anything. A Boy who says simply "I love you" not "I will love you forever and you will be my queen and we will live forever in our children."
Can I really be in love after all this? Can I really forgo everything I wanted and live without the dreams I used to have? Can I really finish school, start a new profession and fall in love with someone who is totally different than anything I have ever wanted?
I am willing to try. But I honestly don't know. I am scared. I am hurt. I am in love.
It all started Saturday, when I got the baby look. You know the baby look. You've gotten it before. That look when a single woman is holding a baby that she gets from the mother of the baby, her SO, some other male of procreating age that says, simultaneously, "You look good with a baby" and "My, wouldn't I like to be held like that" It is a subtle, yet often times creepy look that freaked me out and sent me into a downward tailspin of conflicting desires.
I should be happy. I should be married and pregnant and baby full and happy. I am happy, but I am getting ready to get divorced from a man who promised me the world and gave me bills instead. He promised the world that I wanted, or thought I wanted.
A world where a woman could be just that: a woman. A world where I could work hard at child rearing and house hold duties including but not limited to pie baking, gardening, canning, quilting, and floor-mopping. A world where I would respect my husband and in return he would make the best decisions for our growing family, with me first in his mind always.
Instead, I am starting all over again, with a Boy who has never promissed me anything. A Boy who says simply "I love you" not "I will love you forever and you will be my queen and we will live forever in our children."
Can I really be in love after all this? Can I really forgo everything I wanted and live without the dreams I used to have? Can I really finish school, start a new profession and fall in love with someone who is totally different than anything I have ever wanted?
I am willing to try. But I honestly don't know. I am scared. I am hurt. I am in love.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Within a secret, without a cause.
A noteworthy passage from Benny's diary about something she misses most of all.
"... but what of it? So what if I am never loved again? would that be the end of Benny? No, I would go on. I would continue to exist. I would continue to breath and live and write and have desires. So what if they were unfulfilled?
I don't miss DR. I miss the prospect of love that DR represented. DR and I had the same last name. DR and I said that we were in love. So what if he never meant it. I meant it. I loved him. I loved the idea of being with someone forever, even if he treated me abominably. Maybe I deserved it. But enough of that.
I miss the fact that we might have been a family, a real family. I miss the prospect of children. With each passing day I think 'what if i would have put up with it for another month, or year? Then maybe I would have something to show for it' But that is crazy. Are you a family just because you have a child? Are you worthy just because you have a child?
But I can't dream of children again. Or a family. Or a marriage. I just can't. A man like Young warrants atleast that. Atleast the love of an unwounded woman. Atleast a woman who could trust him enough to give him all of her dreams. As I am now, the experience with DR has me so fearful of falling for treachery and perfidiousness that I run from Young everytime he might love me. Young does loves me, I know it. But at what price and why?"
Oh Benny, will you ever relent?
"... but what of it? So what if I am never loved again? would that be the end of Benny? No, I would go on. I would continue to exist. I would continue to breath and live and write and have desires. So what if they were unfulfilled?
I don't miss DR. I miss the prospect of love that DR represented. DR and I had the same last name. DR and I said that we were in love. So what if he never meant it. I meant it. I loved him. I loved the idea of being with someone forever, even if he treated me abominably. Maybe I deserved it. But enough of that.
I miss the fact that we might have been a family, a real family. I miss the prospect of children. With each passing day I think 'what if i would have put up with it for another month, or year? Then maybe I would have something to show for it' But that is crazy. Are you a family just because you have a child? Are you worthy just because you have a child?
But I can't dream of children again. Or a family. Or a marriage. I just can't. A man like Young warrants atleast that. Atleast the love of an unwounded woman. Atleast a woman who could trust him enough to give him all of her dreams. As I am now, the experience with DR has me so fearful of falling for treachery and perfidiousness that I run from Young everytime he might love me. Young does loves me, I know it. But at what price and why?"
Oh Benny, will you ever relent?
Sunday, July 20, 2008
A soft down pillow with your arm propping it up.
The Boy and I talked for hours last night like we love to do and here are some of the more simple things we came up with:
1. Love is as easy as you make it.
2. Communication is key.
3. Count to ten before you assume they are late/annoying you/uncaring on purpose.
4. Forget what you think you know.
5. This is new territory. Love this person as if you have never been hurt before.
6. Not everyone is a psychopath hell bent on destruction.
7. Love is creationism.
8. If it is important to you, it is important for me to listen to you.
9. Love can mean swapping beers.
10.Babies are a product, but not an accessory.
11.Hard work is something to be revered.
12.Small doses of loving affection serve their purpose well.
13.Love is only as demonstrative as you are observant. (See number 9)
He's not the world. He's just a boy.
A boy who treats me well an listens to my fears and joys all the same and wants me to be happy and is pleased to tell me every thought he thinks because I want to hear it and know it and hold it in my mind, valued as a diamond in the rough landscape of the mind and a heart that has been beaten. I wear this diamond of thoughtfulness and sentimentality on the ring finger of desire, never taking for granted the simple love, the quiet love, the no nonsense love he has for me. Always remembering that to be loved is a gift to be cherished and to love a God-given right to those with a heart. He may not buy me flowers, or jewelry or name a boat after me but this Boy, this man of love says "Thank you" and touches my shoulder and asks me what i need to be happy and where I want to go for the night and kisses me as if he loves the privilege.
He looks at me and I can almost hear him say "I do love her."
And I fall asleep thinking, "He does love me."
1. Love is as easy as you make it.
2. Communication is key.
3. Count to ten before you assume they are late/annoying you/uncaring on purpose.
4. Forget what you think you know.
5. This is new territory. Love this person as if you have never been hurt before.
6. Not everyone is a psychopath hell bent on destruction.
7. Love is creationism.
8. If it is important to you, it is important for me to listen to you.
9. Love can mean swapping beers.
10.Babies are a product, but not an accessory.
11.Hard work is something to be revered.
12.Small doses of loving affection serve their purpose well.
13.Love is only as demonstrative as you are observant. (See number 9)
He's not the world. He's just a boy.
A boy who treats me well an listens to my fears and joys all the same and wants me to be happy and is pleased to tell me every thought he thinks because I want to hear it and know it and hold it in my mind, valued as a diamond in the rough landscape of the mind and a heart that has been beaten. I wear this diamond of thoughtfulness and sentimentality on the ring finger of desire, never taking for granted the simple love, the quiet love, the no nonsense love he has for me. Always remembering that to be loved is a gift to be cherished and to love a God-given right to those with a heart. He may not buy me flowers, or jewelry or name a boat after me but this Boy, this man of love says "Thank you" and touches my shoulder and asks me what i need to be happy and where I want to go for the night and kisses me as if he loves the privilege.
He looks at me and I can almost hear him say "I do love her."
And I fall asleep thinking, "He does love me."
Blurring the Barrier Between Benny and Being
A continuance.
"So... You love me?" Benny tilted her head. Her brown hair fell flat over her shoulder. It had seemed to be the millionth sunny day they had spent together and like the hundreds of times before this, he fell in love again with the glitter that seemd to beam light from the tips of her soft, straight locks. That something so simple as hair could captivate him was something beyond expectation.
"Yes, I love you." And everything you are whether you like it or not, he thought.
"But what would you want with me, Young? After everything you've seen--"
I have seen love.
"What have I seen, Benny?"
"The things DR did to me, to everyone around me." Why would you want some one even he couldn't love, she thought.
"What has DR got to do with anything?" He has so much of her, he thought.
"I thought you would think I were crazy for loving him. For being sad when he left. For--For falling for it..." I think I am crazy, But I have no choice but to live with myself, she thought.
"Oh, I do think you're crazy. But I don't think you give yourself enough credit." Love me, he thought.
"Oh Young, you're crazier than I am." And I love you, she thought.
"So... You love me?" Benny tilted her head. Her brown hair fell flat over her shoulder. It had seemed to be the millionth sunny day they had spent together and like the hundreds of times before this, he fell in love again with the glitter that seemd to beam light from the tips of her soft, straight locks. That something so simple as hair could captivate him was something beyond expectation.
"Yes, I love you." And everything you are whether you like it or not, he thought.
"But what would you want with me, Young? After everything you've seen--"
I have seen love.
"What have I seen, Benny?"
"The things DR did to me, to everyone around me." Why would you want some one even he couldn't love, she thought.
"What has DR got to do with anything?" He has so much of her, he thought.
"I thought you would think I were crazy for loving him. For being sad when he left. For--For falling for it..." I think I am crazy, But I have no choice but to live with myself, she thought.
"Oh, I do think you're crazy. But I don't think you give yourself enough credit." Love me, he thought.
"Oh Young, you're crazier than I am." And I love you, she thought.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
More night terrors...
For the first time in a long time, I woke up out of a dead slumber last night to racing thoughts and a pounding heart. I didn't know where I was, who I was, or that I had been sleeping. I may have even screamed a little.
In the wake of my best friends engagement and my never ending legal entanglements with my own failed marriage, wedding thoughts, doubts, and anxieties have been lurking around in my brain. Mounting up to hellish night terrors of a particular sort: dreams about weddings.
Fine, say what you want. Tell me you love weddings, the cake the flowers the dresses, I don't care. I hate weddings and I always have. They make me nervous and frankly, I think they are tawdry and gawdy. Tell me I am just jaded, but I truly refute the fact that I only dislike wedding because mine was such a bust; oh no friend. I didn't like yours ten years ago, and I will not like the next 25 I attend in my lifetime.
What was so wrong with my wedding, you ask? Should we start with the groom and end with the dress?
Here's what I always wanted:
I wanted and off-white even champagne dress with a simple wrap design. I wanted my long brown-black hair to be in big sexy curls and a tiny tiara holding in a simple veil down the back. No train, no frill. Just simple. Red roses and candles everywhere. Ladies in Red for my processional. Men in red vests. My groom in a champagne vest with a single red rose in his pocket. Night time, quiet, reserved ceremony. Before pictures of my mom centering my tiara and fluffing my dress. After pictures of my groom holding me tight for a sweet kiss. An all white square simple cake with red roses trailing down the side. A champagne fountain.
Since I knew I would never ever ever in my wildest dreams have precisely what I wanted, I said nothing. I wanted nothing. I literally wanted to go to the court house, say thank you and be done with it. And then return to work.
Heres what I got:
I wore my prom dress to a church I had never attended but twice and was wed in front of people I barely knew. My dad wore a hawaiian shirt to give me away. My mom made the flowers, which were beautiful, no lie. One bridesmaid, my new sister in law. (Not the initial choice, she ran away a day before the ceremony) I made the carrot cake and iced it with blue icing (to match my prom dress) the day before. My groom cried like a baby and didnt understand a word the pastor was saying. Then he got so drunk, he didn't sober for four full days after the wedding.
My night terror was just that, only worse. I was facing marrying my now nearly ex husband again, but I was the me now. The me that is terrified of him. The me that gets sick everytime I hear his voice. I was preparing to knowingly marry the devil. And the dress wasn't much better. I actually, in my dream could not find an outfit to wear. I was busy trying on skirts and dresses I own now with the knowledge I now possess about him and us and this and the whole time I am thinking, "Can I survive a jump out of this window?"
What saved my phantom marriage? Rain. It started raining in my dream and the courtyard flooded. I swam out of the place, everyone looking for me, creaming my name, lamenting the ruin of my wedding day. While I am thinking, "God I hope they don't notice me..."
I know it's childish, but it is just another thing. It is just another sign that I made a huge mistake and it's not over yet. It is just another sign that I should still be sleeping alone. It is just another ulcer. Another headache. Another tear.
And when I say I'm never going to marry again and the Boy cringes inside, I just add it to the growing list of why I am so inadequate for... well, for anyone.
The more I like him, the more I want to run at him screaming, "Don't you know what they say about me? Haven't you heard the rumors?"
Doesn't he know my own family doesn't think me worthy of marriage?
Doesn't he know, before I was born, my father cast me off?
Hasn't anyone told him I am "certified pre-owned?"
Hasn't he guessed by now that I will never be right again?
I will never not have nightmares about crack and whores and weddings and the devil.
I will never love him with a full heart because I haven't a full heart.
I know I am jumping the gun, but just as you have an obligation to warn people that you have an STD or that you've been to jail, Am I not also obliged to mention that I am not whole?
That someone has made off with half of me?
That I have issues?
That I might, for the rest of my life, hate weddings?
Am I obliged to say, years before we're ever ready to be truly in love, years before we want eachother as permanent fixtures in eachothers lives and hearts, that I may not be as available as you want?
That I may change my mind, but as of right now I never want to get married or have babies or live with anyone else ever again?
And is that even true?
Can I overcome this? Can I love the Boy fully and rightly? Can I things stay this perfect, this warm, this free and easy? Can he always love me without expecting anything from me? Anything much greater than a hug and a kiss and "I love you" and "Have a nice day at work"?
Because that I have. I have love. Just not what I think he deserves. Not new love. Or completly devoted love. A quiet, second hand heart that wants him but knows too much to demand him.
Help. I love a boy but I am haunted.
In the wake of my best friends engagement and my never ending legal entanglements with my own failed marriage, wedding thoughts, doubts, and anxieties have been lurking around in my brain. Mounting up to hellish night terrors of a particular sort: dreams about weddings.
Fine, say what you want. Tell me you love weddings, the cake the flowers the dresses, I don't care. I hate weddings and I always have. They make me nervous and frankly, I think they are tawdry and gawdy. Tell me I am just jaded, but I truly refute the fact that I only dislike wedding because mine was such a bust; oh no friend. I didn't like yours ten years ago, and I will not like the next 25 I attend in my lifetime.
What was so wrong with my wedding, you ask? Should we start with the groom and end with the dress?
Here's what I always wanted:
I wanted and off-white even champagne dress with a simple wrap design. I wanted my long brown-black hair to be in big sexy curls and a tiny tiara holding in a simple veil down the back. No train, no frill. Just simple. Red roses and candles everywhere. Ladies in Red for my processional. Men in red vests. My groom in a champagne vest with a single red rose in his pocket. Night time, quiet, reserved ceremony. Before pictures of my mom centering my tiara and fluffing my dress. After pictures of my groom holding me tight for a sweet kiss. An all white square simple cake with red roses trailing down the side. A champagne fountain.
Since I knew I would never ever ever in my wildest dreams have precisely what I wanted, I said nothing. I wanted nothing. I literally wanted to go to the court house, say thank you and be done with it. And then return to work.
Heres what I got:
I wore my prom dress to a church I had never attended but twice and was wed in front of people I barely knew. My dad wore a hawaiian shirt to give me away. My mom made the flowers, which were beautiful, no lie. One bridesmaid, my new sister in law. (Not the initial choice, she ran away a day before the ceremony) I made the carrot cake and iced it with blue icing (to match my prom dress) the day before. My groom cried like a baby and didnt understand a word the pastor was saying. Then he got so drunk, he didn't sober for four full days after the wedding.
My night terror was just that, only worse. I was facing marrying my now nearly ex husband again, but I was the me now. The me that is terrified of him. The me that gets sick everytime I hear his voice. I was preparing to knowingly marry the devil. And the dress wasn't much better. I actually, in my dream could not find an outfit to wear. I was busy trying on skirts and dresses I own now with the knowledge I now possess about him and us and this and the whole time I am thinking, "Can I survive a jump out of this window?"
What saved my phantom marriage? Rain. It started raining in my dream and the courtyard flooded. I swam out of the place, everyone looking for me, creaming my name, lamenting the ruin of my wedding day. While I am thinking, "God I hope they don't notice me..."
I know it's childish, but it is just another thing. It is just another sign that I made a huge mistake and it's not over yet. It is just another sign that I should still be sleeping alone. It is just another ulcer. Another headache. Another tear.
And when I say I'm never going to marry again and the Boy cringes inside, I just add it to the growing list of why I am so inadequate for... well, for anyone.
The more I like him, the more I want to run at him screaming, "Don't you know what they say about me? Haven't you heard the rumors?"
Doesn't he know my own family doesn't think me worthy of marriage?
Doesn't he know, before I was born, my father cast me off?
Hasn't anyone told him I am "certified pre-owned?"
Hasn't he guessed by now that I will never be right again?
I will never not have nightmares about crack and whores and weddings and the devil.
I will never love him with a full heart because I haven't a full heart.
I know I am jumping the gun, but just as you have an obligation to warn people that you have an STD or that you've been to jail, Am I not also obliged to mention that I am not whole?
That someone has made off with half of me?
That I have issues?
That I might, for the rest of my life, hate weddings?
Am I obliged to say, years before we're ever ready to be truly in love, years before we want eachother as permanent fixtures in eachothers lives and hearts, that I may not be as available as you want?
That I may change my mind, but as of right now I never want to get married or have babies or live with anyone else ever again?
And is that even true?
Can I overcome this? Can I love the Boy fully and rightly? Can I things stay this perfect, this warm, this free and easy? Can he always love me without expecting anything from me? Anything much greater than a hug and a kiss and "I love you" and "Have a nice day at work"?
Because that I have. I have love. Just not what I think he deserves. Not new love. Or completly devoted love. A quiet, second hand heart that wants him but knows too much to demand him.
Help. I love a boy but I am haunted.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Benny, The truth about her demise
"So this is it then? You're just going to walk away from everything we have and forget about me? Forget about everything you said you wanted, every dream we built, ever kiss I ever gave you?" DR was an emotional man, set on a hair trigger for disaster. She backed away from him slowly, refusing to look him in the eyes as she had for months now.
If she did, what would she have seen? Would he have appeared less mad than he sounded? Would he have broken down, asked for forgiveness, and held her like she needed? Would she have believed it if he had?
"I just-" She rallied her senses and took a deep breath while he filled up the silence-
"You just what? You just don't love me, You just want your own way? You are just everything I ever thought you would be? You just want out?" He fired so quickly, she could barely see straight let alone think straight.
"I just want you to give me a moment." Another tear, then another, then she felt that feeling once again. That feeling that starts at the base of everything you are and comes out of your ears. That pressure. That moment when you are so emotionally distraught that you can feel your physical systems shutting down. All the blood races to you heart and mind and you are incapacitated from the inside out. That moment when you can feel your intestines kneading themselves and your stomach falling.
That same feeling she felt every time he hit her, every time he left her, every time he told her what she was worth and what she owed him and what he knew of her and what he wanted from her and what he knew she would never be.
That same feeling crept up from the pit of her stomach every time she looked in his eyes and saw a half crazed demon. Every time she realized that she had made a mistake. Every time she thought about all she had seen and heard from him that had made her realize he was the devil or at least possessed by one.
It didn't matter. Breathing didn't matter. Loving didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Like so many times before, her sobs overtook her and all she wanted was to lay down and to die. To lay down and to compost into the ground and never live again. To stop hurting and stop living and stop loving him.
But DR relented and left her to cry alone. Which hurt most of all.
If she did, what would she have seen? Would he have appeared less mad than he sounded? Would he have broken down, asked for forgiveness, and held her like she needed? Would she have believed it if he had?
"I just-" She rallied her senses and took a deep breath while he filled up the silence-
"You just what? You just don't love me, You just want your own way? You are just everything I ever thought you would be? You just want out?" He fired so quickly, she could barely see straight let alone think straight.
"I just want you to give me a moment." Another tear, then another, then she felt that feeling once again. That feeling that starts at the base of everything you are and comes out of your ears. That pressure. That moment when you are so emotionally distraught that you can feel your physical systems shutting down. All the blood races to you heart and mind and you are incapacitated from the inside out. That moment when you can feel your intestines kneading themselves and your stomach falling.
That same feeling she felt every time he hit her, every time he left her, every time he told her what she was worth and what she owed him and what he knew of her and what he wanted from her and what he knew she would never be.
That same feeling crept up from the pit of her stomach every time she looked in his eyes and saw a half crazed demon. Every time she realized that she had made a mistake. Every time she thought about all she had seen and heard from him that had made her realize he was the devil or at least possessed by one.
It didn't matter. Breathing didn't matter. Loving didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Like so many times before, her sobs overtook her and all she wanted was to lay down and to die. To lay down and to compost into the ground and never live again. To stop hurting and stop living and stop loving him.
But DR relented and left her to cry alone. Which hurt most of all.
Words for thought.
I just read my first blog ever and giggled slightly.
What was I thinking?
It was crap.
But I suppose I have to write crap to get to where I am today. Where am I though? Am I any more of a skilled writer? Does what I say now have any more weight than what I said then? Do I care?
I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday about what qualifications a freelance writer would need to have in order to make money off of their pieces. I secretly decided that they would need to be a phenomenal writer, but lets face it, you need to have more than just literary skills. Persistence and a college degree in journalism to say the least are the necessary tools for a skilled linguist.
Which basically means I write crap. Unskilled, uneducated, unadulterated crap. But do I care?
Why do I write if I know in ten years no one will read it?
Because I must.
I just must. I must or I'll bust. I must because I lust for words that fill a need.
That. That right there was crap. But I had to. Something inside me said, "Go for it, Super Footwear Girl. Just do it, because it is what you do."
I wonder how many other things I do in my life that are comperable crap but that I just must do?
Do I love as poorly as I write and with as much importance on humanity?
Everytime I say "No thank you" when a cashier asks me if I need a bag, is my conservation of plastic a useless as my words?
Is my speeking as ill used as my writing?
Or do you care? Do you read this every time I make a new post and without an exception leave with something new? A new perspective, a new thought, a new view of me or the world through me?
Do I care? Should I care?
Should it matter to me that when you read it you think "Well thats four and a half minutes of my life I'll never get back?"
Or should I write because this is my life and no one else will put words to it if I don't?
What was I thinking?
It was crap.
But I suppose I have to write crap to get to where I am today. Where am I though? Am I any more of a skilled writer? Does what I say now have any more weight than what I said then? Do I care?
I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday about what qualifications a freelance writer would need to have in order to make money off of their pieces. I secretly decided that they would need to be a phenomenal writer, but lets face it, you need to have more than just literary skills. Persistence and a college degree in journalism to say the least are the necessary tools for a skilled linguist.
Which basically means I write crap. Unskilled, uneducated, unadulterated crap. But do I care?
Why do I write if I know in ten years no one will read it?
Because I must.
I just must. I must or I'll bust. I must because I lust for words that fill a need.
That. That right there was crap. But I had to. Something inside me said, "Go for it, Super Footwear Girl. Just do it, because it is what you do."
I wonder how many other things I do in my life that are comperable crap but that I just must do?
Do I love as poorly as I write and with as much importance on humanity?
Everytime I say "No thank you" when a cashier asks me if I need a bag, is my conservation of plastic a useless as my words?
Is my speeking as ill used as my writing?
Or do you care? Do you read this every time I make a new post and without an exception leave with something new? A new perspective, a new thought, a new view of me or the world through me?
Do I care? Should I care?
Should it matter to me that when you read it you think "Well thats four and a half minutes of my life I'll never get back?"
Or should I write because this is my life and no one else will put words to it if I don't?
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Hold your own, know your name, go your own way...
Thursday Thirteen... on a Tuesday because I rule the world of Louise.
Thirteen things I have randomly thought of lately that I don't care whether or not you apreciate.
1. My Last name. If everything goes well, the end of next month will find me divorced... and yet again nameless. You probably don't take your last name very seriously, but I do. Your last name identifies you. It tells people whether your Welsh or Italian. How often you introduce yourself using your full given name denotes how proud you are of your heritage and family. Your last name is your first introduction to a big bright world. Before they've named you, it is more likely than not that one thing is for sure: Your Last Name. Who are you? Mr. Smith. Or Mrs. Smith. Who am I? Who knows, without a last name? Don't get me wrong, the divorce will be a huge relief. But seriously? Four name changes in four year- I'm worn out. And don't even ask to see my signature. Half the time I forget how it begins.
2. Le Divorce. I'm anxious. And happy. Relieved. And scared. I have had about a hundred dreams and ten times as many daydreams about it and everyone is the same. Judge Lamdin asks me to describe our marriage. I excuse my mom from court, because even in my dreams I can't put her through everything that truely happened. Then I cry. And there is no one there but Judge Lamdin to comfort me. (Yes call me obsessed, but I like the guy. He is fair and dad-like.) In every case, Mr.Not-such a great hubby drops and anvil on my head. Or holds me at knife point. So much for dreams...
3. The Boy. Who is amazing and awesome and scary in his own right. I just... love him. In a weird way, a weird natural way that makes me never feel anxious. He is just there. Which is kind of intimidating. It's strange to think that when he takes me out he is thinking of my hapiness. It's strange to think that when he asks me if I like something, he is filing my answer away for the next time. It's strange to think that when I am silent and content, he is thinking that maybe I need something or want something or what would make me happiest next. It's strange to think that he wants me to sing not to glorify him but to insure my hapiness... All very peculiar.
4. Writing. In general. I want to do it. I want to commit to it. But I never can seem to. I can never seem to think that what I write is important or skilled enough to compose a full novel. But I see it when I close my eyes.
5. The Boys friends. I almost don't want to like them. They are supremely awesome and different and just all around nice. He knows a lot of real people. You know, people who really smile at you when they shake your hand and who really say "Wow, what a nice girl" when you walk away. People who really like you just because The Boy likes you and smiles when he talks about you, so you must be a good person. So what if I love this whole network of people and what if he takes it all away one day? What if he doesn't love me and then I have to forget those people? Those real, vibrant, different, fun, weird, inquisitive people?
6. Music. And my song. I really love it. I just love singing. I love even more the thought of enjoying what comes out of my mouth. I don't so much care what you think, I like it.
7. I love College. I can't believe it took me this long, I feel like a dolt for having waited. But everything I needed to get here I have remembered and everything is falling together perfectly and I love it. It is perfect for me. I can't stop thinking about lab and language and math homework. And, best of all, I am succeeding.
8. I miss getting dirty. With paint that is. I need to get a good set of oil paints and go to town. Any donations, call me :)
9. Living at home. I moved out for a reason and that reason punches me in the face atleast once a day. They drive me crazy. But I don't have a choice so I shouldn't whine...
10. Baby Marshmallows. If you know what this means, you are entirely too close to my shoulder when I write in my journal. Or you're "Anne," In which case, pray for me.
11. I want to live inside you where ideas grow and start and flourish and grace the lips that I love from the inside out. I want to touch you close and tight where you like it most. I want to spend a day with you and here you and see you and know you like you were me and we were one. And then, to retreat, having known you, having had you, having felt you that close to me and in my heart so far that I can't hardly mistake you, I want love.
12. Scholarships, deadlines, bills, loans, credit cards and much much more.
13. In case you never knew, Sex.
Thirteen things I have randomly thought of lately that I don't care whether or not you apreciate.
1. My Last name. If everything goes well, the end of next month will find me divorced... and yet again nameless. You probably don't take your last name very seriously, but I do. Your last name identifies you. It tells people whether your Welsh or Italian. How often you introduce yourself using your full given name denotes how proud you are of your heritage and family. Your last name is your first introduction to a big bright world. Before they've named you, it is more likely than not that one thing is for sure: Your Last Name. Who are you? Mr. Smith. Or Mrs. Smith. Who am I? Who knows, without a last name? Don't get me wrong, the divorce will be a huge relief. But seriously? Four name changes in four year- I'm worn out. And don't even ask to see my signature. Half the time I forget how it begins.
2. Le Divorce. I'm anxious. And happy. Relieved. And scared. I have had about a hundred dreams and ten times as many daydreams about it and everyone is the same. Judge Lamdin asks me to describe our marriage. I excuse my mom from court, because even in my dreams I can't put her through everything that truely happened. Then I cry. And there is no one there but Judge Lamdin to comfort me. (Yes call me obsessed, but I like the guy. He is fair and dad-like.) In every case, Mr.Not-such a great hubby drops and anvil on my head. Or holds me at knife point. So much for dreams...
3. The Boy. Who is amazing and awesome and scary in his own right. I just... love him. In a weird way, a weird natural way that makes me never feel anxious. He is just there. Which is kind of intimidating. It's strange to think that when he takes me out he is thinking of my hapiness. It's strange to think that when he asks me if I like something, he is filing my answer away for the next time. It's strange to think that when I am silent and content, he is thinking that maybe I need something or want something or what would make me happiest next. It's strange to think that he wants me to sing not to glorify him but to insure my hapiness... All very peculiar.
4. Writing. In general. I want to do it. I want to commit to it. But I never can seem to. I can never seem to think that what I write is important or skilled enough to compose a full novel. But I see it when I close my eyes.
5. The Boys friends. I almost don't want to like them. They are supremely awesome and different and just all around nice. He knows a lot of real people. You know, people who really smile at you when they shake your hand and who really say "Wow, what a nice girl" when you walk away. People who really like you just because The Boy likes you and smiles when he talks about you, so you must be a good person. So what if I love this whole network of people and what if he takes it all away one day? What if he doesn't love me and then I have to forget those people? Those real, vibrant, different, fun, weird, inquisitive people?
6. Music. And my song. I really love it. I just love singing. I love even more the thought of enjoying what comes out of my mouth. I don't so much care what you think, I like it.
7. I love College. I can't believe it took me this long, I feel like a dolt for having waited. But everything I needed to get here I have remembered and everything is falling together perfectly and I love it. It is perfect for me. I can't stop thinking about lab and language and math homework. And, best of all, I am succeeding.
8. I miss getting dirty. With paint that is. I need to get a good set of oil paints and go to town. Any donations, call me :)
9. Living at home. I moved out for a reason and that reason punches me in the face atleast once a day. They drive me crazy. But I don't have a choice so I shouldn't whine...
10. Baby Marshmallows. If you know what this means, you are entirely too close to my shoulder when I write in my journal. Or you're "Anne," In which case, pray for me.
11. I want to live inside you where ideas grow and start and flourish and grace the lips that I love from the inside out. I want to touch you close and tight where you like it most. I want to spend a day with you and here you and see you and know you like you were me and we were one. And then, to retreat, having known you, having had you, having felt you that close to me and in my heart so far that I can't hardly mistake you, I want love.
12. Scholarships, deadlines, bills, loans, credit cards and much much more.
13. In case you never knew, Sex.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Sex is an emotion in motion.
Here's something that crossed my mind over the past few years.
Why am I so afraid of Sex?
Why am I so scared to talk about it, even here where i am free from identity?
I can even us the fictional building blocks i have constructed to carry out my thoughts and dreams and malingering thoughts about sexuality and sensuality, but I always avoid it. Why?
Why am I often times veiled, incomplete, half represented half admonishing my own flesh?
Perhaps because when you read this you often times judge me.
Perhaps because I am just naturally shy about Sex and all things relative to the most inner parts of my soul.
Perhaps because when I do, you always think too much or too little of it.
Sex is important.
I do think about it.
I am not a drone, programmed to ignore my own instincts. Yes, for sure I am a woman. Yes, my life is extremely complicated and therefore not conducive to the time needed to think about, discuss and theorize sex and sexual appetite.
So there you have it. I want to talk. About Sex. About the dirt and grit and sweat that goes with it. About missing it. About wanting it. About getting it.
I want the freedom to talk about these things while knowing you won't hate me. Or leave me because of it. I want to know you will still love me and stay tuned to my show even though I am being honest to a fault. I want you to express how you really feel too though. i don't want you to hurt me while doing it, but i care about you and I want your feedback. Just not your judgement.
If anything, this thing, this journal de vie, is mine. It's about my life. And my life is not loveless. It is not exanimated. It is not colorless. It is not flatline.
I am vibrant and demanding and loud and happy and when I cry it is real pain and when I laugh you can hear it in the stars and when I kiss you lightly in the dusk because my heart tells me I have no choice you can feel my soul brimming beneath my soft lips. And I want you. And I want to sing to you, and write to you, and love you.
So just take me. Take me for what I am, sex and all. Please?
Now that I am done being real, I can be Young.
Why am I so afraid of Sex?
Why am I so scared to talk about it, even here where i am free from identity?
I can even us the fictional building blocks i have constructed to carry out my thoughts and dreams and malingering thoughts about sexuality and sensuality, but I always avoid it. Why?
Why am I often times veiled, incomplete, half represented half admonishing my own flesh?
Perhaps because when you read this you often times judge me.
Perhaps because I am just naturally shy about Sex and all things relative to the most inner parts of my soul.
Perhaps because when I do, you always think too much or too little of it.
Sex is important.
I do think about it.
I am not a drone, programmed to ignore my own instincts. Yes, for sure I am a woman. Yes, my life is extremely complicated and therefore not conducive to the time needed to think about, discuss and theorize sex and sexual appetite.
So there you have it. I want to talk. About Sex. About the dirt and grit and sweat that goes with it. About missing it. About wanting it. About getting it.
I want the freedom to talk about these things while knowing you won't hate me. Or leave me because of it. I want to know you will still love me and stay tuned to my show even though I am being honest to a fault. I want you to express how you really feel too though. i don't want you to hurt me while doing it, but i care about you and I want your feedback. Just not your judgement.
If anything, this thing, this journal de vie, is mine. It's about my life. And my life is not loveless. It is not exanimated. It is not colorless. It is not flatline.
I am vibrant and demanding and loud and happy and when I cry it is real pain and when I laugh you can hear it in the stars and when I kiss you lightly in the dusk because my heart tells me I have no choice you can feel my soul brimming beneath my soft lips. And I want you. And I want to sing to you, and write to you, and love you.
So just take me. Take me for what I am, sex and all. Please?
Now that I am done being real, I can be Young.
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