Wanted: Young John

For the greater portion of the working population, our job descriptions typically match our personal description. Ex.:

WANTED: Organized, professionally minded individual

capable of assisting, full time, a busy Law Firm.

Job Req. include office management, shipping

and receiving of confidential information,

assisting in staff prep. for meeting and transactions

and proper direction of a voluminous call center.

.

The above want at represents a need for a highly organized, helpful, personal individual with experience in an office setting.

Typically, the person for this job is a grumpy, ornery, overweight older woman, unmarried for a reason, who never says anything rude (without a smile.)

So then, you ask, just who is this Young John caracter? Have you any guesses? You have seen him here for over a year, had a chance to learn his deepest desires, some secrets, and some gossip about our not-so-hero. Is he a construction worker? A doctor, a Pastor, or a Lawyer, a clerk, or a pizza delivery man? Just what is he?

Does Young's profession define him, or does Young John Define his profession?

I will remind you of what you already know and let you decide for yourself.

Young, well versed in all musical styles, impacts, and artists, movements and sources, does not indeed, play a piano, guitar, fife, or cello himself.

Young, with a great respect for the written word and a love of classical and modern literature, who is not without a conversational understanding of French, Spanich, Latin, Yiddish, Jive and Russian, does not spend his days writing or teaching nor in analysis of literature as a greater part of his general profession.

He does not conduct a train.

Or deliver flowers, confections, medications, or advertisements.

Young would never expect to be hired as an executive chef,

No matter how greatful one might be to eat at his table.

He has not wasted years of schooling stocking shelves at a local Wal-mart either.

Young doesn't NOT have a job.

Young simply happens to be on of the very few stand out men who forms his own description, who rises above his mere position to grant the world a view of an unencombered Young.

Young works diligently to support his new bride.

Young loves his career as if it were a tactile extension of his very being and nature.

But Young is so much more and often times viewed as less than the tasks he performs to pay the bills.

Can you say the same?

Freedom?

I have been stewing about this for a few whole years now, and you get to see the result of all this pent up aggression. And yes, aggression is the correct term for it all.

If you know anything about me at all you know that while I am generally placid, I have my quirks. Some topics of which that are guaranteed to light my fire include:

• Oogies in my Orange Juice
• People who insist on asking stupid questions in lecture
• Chemical birth control

I have finally decided that today is the day i resolve my feelings, forget my pain an move on. And I'm not talking about confronting a pulpy orange juice, that is just disgusting. And you stupid question askers, you will feel my wrath for at least another 6 months. It is time to let go of my hurt and anger and horrible associations with "The Pill," "The Ring," and "The Shot." Here goes a lot of stuff...

Yesterday I read this article in the Baltimore Sun which just added on more delightful reason to my ever growing list, "Why I hate Chemical Birth Control (And why you should too.)" It is a simple, mostly harmless article about birth control and how it deadens our logic as women and causes us to prefer the pheromones our first cousin gives off to that of a person with completely different genetic make-up. A mistake that can lead to a host of awkward conversations at family events as well as the increased potential for miscarriages and birth defect and diseases such as Tay-Sachs.

After ingesting this information, I, in my usual way, shook my head, crossed my arms and sucked my teeth.

You see, I hate birth control and everything it means. I think it is the most ridiculous answer man has ever given to a question no one should be allowed to ask : What to do about that pesky side effect of Nature, conception? Touted as the answer to Women's Lib, we have been told for nearly 50 years that birth control is a sign of our freedom.

"We finally have a choice! To be pregnant or not to be pregnant, that is your decision! Don't count on HIM."

HELLO? Did anyone go to health class? It was our decision from the beginning. Long before you heaved that sigh in his ear and kissed that french kiss, you had a choice. Regardless of the moral consequences that the freedom to terminate an enumerable amount of lives has caused (In case you didn't know, the pill and the ring and other estrogen based birth control methods allow for eggs to be fertilized and grow into tiny, thriving blastocysts-yes, little babies- and then flushes them from your body like nuclear waste at the end of each cycle.) look with me for one moment at the physical side effects women put themselves through:

• Blood clots
• Hormonal imbalances
• Sterility
• Heart failure
• Low/ High blood pressure
• Anxiety, Depression, and thoughts of Suicide
• Extremely long/ short periods
• Weight gain
• Nausea
• Vomiting
• Headaches
• Dizziness
• Fatigue
• Bone Density Loss.... ETC ETC ETC

Why you crazy women choose to do these things to yourselves, I will never understand, nor will I try to. And this isn't even about you. Go on. continue to feed you ovaries caustic materials, if you don't mind, how can I?

This is about me, and how I feel, and the fact that this keeps me awake at night, strains my relationships with some people and really just ends in me embittered towards them. i have to resort to the old model of communication for how this makes me feel:

When you... Tell me to keep my opinions to my self

It makes me feel... sad and worthless

Because... I have thoughts too.

The system in our culture is imbalanced and tilted AGAINST my favor. It is acceptable and even "responsible" to use hormonal birth control, but for those of us that prefer to wait until they are capable and secure enough to support a child to have sex, we are shooed to the kids table while the adults go on Sex and The City and parade themselves around us in a high and exalted fashion. Or (gasp) those of us that, while we see the allure in another's eye, and while we fall in sexual sin, choose not to alter our bodies natural chemistry and opt for barrier or spermicidal measures of safe sex.

Why is it ok for you to mock, shame and even make me feel left out of the cool club because of my choices? You truly don't know enough about me, nor do you care enough to have the right to treat me disdainfully.

And your answer to me is "Well, keep your opinions to yourself and no one will judge you"

Excuse me?

You can flaunt your choices left and right, throwing your judgement on me if i don't follow suit, telling me about your health issues while I sit, lips pursed unable to solve your problems for you? I don't judge you, I just tell you the truth and how I feel.

But you? You can judge me?

Sorry for caring.

Do you care? Have you ever once asked me why I feel the way I do?

Perhaps you said that I am an extreme conservative when I say that if you don't like condoms, maybe you shouldn't have sex, or you should be in a committed and stable relationship and place in your life.

Perhaps you tell me that I only adopt my views to threaten your manhood, and that I would gladly give into the next man that comes around.

Perhaps you don't listen to any of my outcries and you threaten to take away your approval of me if I don't comply. Maybe you're the one that holds my arm down on the table and forces me to make a decision I will regret for the rest of my life because you want to break my spirit into a million indeterminable pieces.

Maybe I am just an old-school, back woods, baby loving extremist.

Or maybe, I am a respectful, loving, calm, truthful heart with a story to tell that if you cared about for one moment-who knows- I might change your life.

Sleep Dreams, Sweet Well.

After a series of terribly fitfully nights of sleep, I have come to a few conclusions:
I am too much in love.
I want things from you that scare, worry, and even embarrass me.
I need to go to bed earlier.

How can you be too much in love? Being too much in love is when your heart is ahead of you. Being too much in love is needing something from another person that you can't put into words. Being too much in love is representative of every challenge in my life.

I spend most of my day in a sort of half-reality, daydreaming about you. Which is useless, in my opinion. Daydreams serve no purpose other than distraction.They can't bring into being all the things I wish of you. They can't be representations of real truth in any way.

They are just the idle wishes of a girl very much in love who sees a great many things on the imaginary silver screen of her life with you.

Idle wishes and thoughts that take me more than a few miles ahead of you ad your patient heart that I love so much. Lofty ideas of grandeur.

My daydreams don't help you.
Or me.
Nor do they make you're life any better.
And is that not what this love is about?
Loving you positively, putting you first in all things, effecting you for successful change.
Is love only useful when is produces a positive change?

And what do I want from you, Boy? Everything. I even intimidate myself with that admission of need.

I don't think I can do this. I just don't think I have it in me to love you- well anyone- this much. I don't have the capacity to give you everything. I already tried this and he just ran with my everything. My dreams, my realities, my love, my heart, my future were wrapped up in him. What if you run too? What if you take this little bit I offer with you? My simple, sweet trusting soul? My time, my energy, my patience.

They always do go, you know, Boy. They never want me for a family. They never want to commit. They never can bear it for long.

But if you want it-
If you will truly take everything I have and stay right here with me-
I will flourish.

I will find more and more everyday to give you. I will shower you with gifts from my heart until you have no where else to hold them. I won't even beg much of you. Just be here. Just take what I give you with the understanding that ever breath I breathe on your neck, every kiss I bestow on your lips, every dream a whisper to you on a Sunday morning when getting out of bed is just a fruitless effort because we two are much happier there where we can hold eachother and hear every smile and sigh every sigh together, is precious.

I just want you.
And that is why I am too much in love with you. I want things from you that I can only assume are impossible because no one has ever attempted them before.

Love is...

Warm.
Quiet.
Calm.
Sharing moments together.
Expressible in 160 characters or less.
Sunday Mornings.
Sunlight in your hair.
Long lonely drives down a rainy highway with rocking tunes blarring.
Trusting you from the moment I laid eyes on you.
Knowing what we are is right.
Feeling sad because someone hurt you a mllion moments before I ever knew you.
Not needing to argue. Ever. About anything.
Telling the truth, even if it means getting in trouble.
Unassuming.
Being unable to talk, think or write about anyone else.
Trusting me to party on my own.
A Rocking chair in the bedroom.
A kiss on the hand.
A lost moment.
A lingering eye.
Ticklish.
Being excited to be alone with you.
Young John.
A long beautiful song.
Tennis rackets.
NOT never having to say you're sorry, BUT knowing WHEN to say you're sorry.
Frosty beverages.
Open minds, open hearts and most importantly, open lips.
Simple.
Scrapple.
A smile that says as much as, "I love you and need you and can't wait for you."
Quietly admitting me into your life because it works.
You.

What We ARE Doing

is simple, and clearly meaningful.

The Boy and I had a chat last night in the afterglow of my television on XM Lucy.

I am learning a lot about him and liking what I see more and more.

After a very delightful weekend of essential nothingness (hanging out in the mall, dinner with the family, lunch with the friends, a movie that we loved together etc.) we were in the midst of a very nice feeling and we began to just chat about everything. And I admitted something very candidly for the first time out loud.

It's something you and he probably knew, but I wasn't admitting just yet (just in case) In case of what, you ask? In case he didn't like it, I suppose.

"I just see a lot of potential in this relationship."

Because I do. I am very much looking forward to the forward motion we are achieving. The "I like hanging out with you" to the "I like you" to the "I love you" was such a smooth set of transitions, that the "I am so glad I found you" to the "I want you around for a very long time" to the "Look what we did with our love" phases are just a thrilling thought.

Very thrilling indeed. I feel like I am flying, but this time with a net and a parachute and tandem.

Dear Mrs. Anybody...

A letter for Benny, but not to you.

Have you ever walked past someone and thought 'Well, at least I'm not as bad off as such-and such?'

I am more than sure that you have and that you know what I mean, For I am a woman and so are you and we two are not as different as you would make us out to be for that reason alone.

Say, perchance, you have an encounter at a grocery store. After you retrieve your bruised artichoke heart from the produce floor because some one was in such a rush they narrowly missed you in their search for the perfect beet, you think,

'At least I'm not as rude and inconsiderate as she is.'

You slam on the brake in the middle of a busy intersection while the rain beats out a rhythm on the hood of you civic because some jerk ran a red light and you think,

'At least I am a more cautious driver than that guy.'

You feel uncomfortable in your 'skinny jeans' after a weekend off the diet and you proceed to eye up Jennifer in your office that just can't seem to shake the baby weight and think,

'At least I'm more attractive than that.'

It's okay, I've done it too. Just today, as a matter of fact,

I saw a picture of your tentative wedding dress and read the invitation with the hearts and dove and flowers. I saw your registry for dishes and sheets and baby clothes. I skimmed a blog entry where you gush about the new adventure you are headed on with your never ending love in tote, and I thought,

'At least I'm not about to be Mrs. DR'

Good luck.

Really.

You'll need it.

Signed Mrs. Nobody Special, Who is in love with Mr. Young John, Esq.

My Cigarettes and This Old Dirt Road...

Last night I was so tempted to buy a pack of cigarettes and drive out to the boondocks with The Wreckers blaring like I used to when I was... Well, when I used to get worked up.

When he used to come around.
When he used to treat me like I didn't matter.
When he used to scream and cry and fuss until I hurt inside and just wanted to drive until I could feel again.

The Boy and I got in an argument. No, that's not really true.

I got in an argument with The Boy.

Because he isn't perfect. And I forgot for one minute that I have no right to expect perfection.

I got home from a long weekend of crying. Aunt Maryann's memorial was this weekend and it was difficult to say the least. How do you say goodbye to someone so amazing? So perfect? So a part of you and what you are?

I remembered something about her that made me cry hot wet tears that were heavier than I expected. When he was here and a part of this whole thing, He actually accused me of being a witch. And my mother. And my Aunt Maryanne. His words? "What is she, 412 years old?"

I wish she would have lived that long. But no. She was just a woman. A tiny frail woman with a big heart and a great rhythm who could out-tap Fred Astaire with a smile as big as the sea. Just a woman who clung to Christ when everyone blamed her for everything. When everyone left her. When there was no other choice.

Any how, The Boy.

The point is, he isn't perfect. He didn't show up when I needed him, he didn't hold me like I wanted, He didn't ask me about here or how fantastic she was or how I got a picture from her bedside that I painted for her that she must have seen everyday she woke up, and what do I deserve to be so honored? He just didn't know.

And secretly, I hated him for that.

But I hate the sun for shining when there is no one important enough to shine for. And I hate the rain for raining when the world is already dark enough without her. And I hate just everything for moving on so smoothly when that is that last time for a very long time that she will ever impact change.

I just hate it.

But I also forgot that The Boy is not so tragic. And that he does try. And that he loves me, even in my moods.

Oh Boy, I am sorry I am so complex.

Don't you know I don't mean to be?

Young sets out to make her understand.

"Am I mistaken? Did I just dream that or did you really just ask me that?"

He shook his head at her. "Oh Benny, you are beautifully mistaken."

His smile betrayed him as he held her even closer than he was wont to do and kissed her eyelids in the soft summer moon light.

"Young, I just don't understand you sometimes." She almost sounded harsh as she held his face away from hers.

"What is there to understand, Love?" Something as sweet and pure and Young Learning to Love was indeterminable at it's core, let alone for her.

"Well, for one thing, just last week, you scolded me for mentioning that we should plan a vacation together and now this?"

And he had. Maybe it was wrong of him, but last week he was scared of her and, all of a sudden, it became clear what he needed. He needed Benny, and there was no amount to pretending and no more waiting to be done. All he needed now was to ask her and have her say yes. So he waited, he held his breath, he pressed his strong hand around hers, holding it for fear that she might turn into an ephermeral mist and disapear as had been her tradition so many times before when things were too perfect as they were in this late night moment.

"Oh Benn-
"Yes Young, I mean, go on..."
"I only wanted to tell you that you don't have to answer me now. You can never answer me if you want, I only just-"
"I know what I want to answer."
"Oh, then, by all means, Yes, Miss. Benny?"
"I want to be Mrs. John."

And with that, the end of the middle of a beautiful song had found a climax while they lay together, tightly intertwined in a moment only lovers know. A moment that signifies the begining of something bigger than one person's love for another, A moment that begins all families in all ways, A moment of true love's passion coming to fruition.

A moment which Young had never felt more free, and Benny never knew more peace.

I am a selfish brat.

I want her to be here.

This weekend, the world lost a great soul.

And I just don't think it is fair.

But seeing her, quite literally, wasting away, broke my heart from end to end. It definitely helped to know that after you die there is no more pain. I never want to see any one in that state again, but I am sure it won't be the last.

But are we not just souls with bodies, and is there nothing in this world so great that we should leave it for the next with a shred of regret?

I love you, Mima, and I will miss you until I come Home.

DR seeks the End.

"DR, why would you do this?" Benny wiped a hot tear from her cheek as she lifted her eyes to meet his.

This scene is long before Young, the baby, and her happiness. What follows is about Benny, her formation, and one she loved with all her heart, despite what he had given her in return. Long before she thought of salvation, or freedom, or peace.

"Do what?" He smiled a cruel smile at her as the pile burned behind them. True, it wasn't a very large pile. But everything we love seldom amounts to much of anything.
He flicked his cigarette into the flames as he turned his back to her and swaggered towards the flames.

"Is this a joke?" She examined what little she could see of the base of the fire through the thick smoke and light of the fire. What he had done and why never would make sense, not to you, or me, or Young or anyone else that loved Benny. If it were a joke, no one but DR would have much to laugh at. And if you asked him today, I'm sure he would shrug and blame Benny.

"Is what a joke? You see it, it's all there. Every last piece. Burnt. Scorched. Finished." He spit into the flames and she swore she saw fire come from his mouth. Whatever the case, no matter how hard she prayed, the crackling heap kept on burning.

"Why did you do it, what did any of it ever mean to you?" I know you didn't want to assume what was in the fire, and truthfully, neither did I, but I will tell you here. I will tell you in this recount of her story, while she isn't around to remember everything she lost.

DR was burning everything Benny ever owned. Every prom picture. Every diary entry. Every handkerchief. Every memory. Everything.

"I don't want it." was all he ever said to her.

"But I- But DR, I just-" He never could let her finish a sentence. Oh, what brilliance did we miss from you Benny the years you were under his thumb? What thoughts must have stayed locked away in your fair head, thoughts that Young can never tire of, thoughts that do nothing but benefit everyone who they are for?

"You just want your things, I know. You are attached to it all. But not any more. Now everything is gone and we- you and me, Benny- we're going to start over. Isn't it all too thrilling?" She thought, if she stared long enough and hard enough, she could see herself in the fire, knocked out and tied to a chair, smoldering away.

"Thrilling? Start over?" She was stunned, dazed, and a little sun-drunk. She reached her hand out in a very dramatic fashion. She was very dramatic for a long time if only to attempt to impact him. I know, she isn't like that now. She is much more the Benny she was meant to be, but you will learn all of that about her some other time. This is just a mere retelling.

"You don't need any of it anyway. You're not Benny anymore. You are mine." And with that, he kissed her. A kiss she grew to fear. A kiss that meant she had lost.

A kiss that meant Benny had two choices:

Run

Or Die with him.

What is a girl, who is in love with a monster so much that it hurts her to sleep for fear he should eat out her heart while her eyes are closed, to do with her grief and pain?

Benny did run, but not before she lost everything she was.

Now, there is just a little matter of who to become.

Do you say "Thy will be done?"

Or does God say, "All right then, have it your own way"?

For a long time, and maybe even a little still, my life resembled the latter statement. Oh, I prayed earnestly for God's guidance in my life. I prayed and waited for His response, for His word, for His command. When I received it, I turned away , on purpose, just to see what could possibly go wrong, and did just the opposite.

When I prayed in the face of sexual desires, I found myself giving way to all of my sexual instincts. My biological imperative took over.

I started being sexually active, then I prayed about a marriage. Because I never wanted sex without a marriage, or a marriage without sex.

I got married and had sex, a lot of it, and so did my husband. And not always with me, and certainly never with a prayer.

I prayed about my broken heart, and God rescued my life. I cried, a bawled, I never wanted to breath again. And God said, "Oh, yes you will breath. And live freely in my love. And love again."

Life, love, these things are far from easy. But they are glorious gifts.

Sure, my wrong doings haunt me with guilt.
Sure, I still cry about the things I did or didn't do with or without God.

But I would rather be humble and sad a wary then pompous and proud and indignant.
Atleast I realize the mistakes I made in ignoring God.

I am trying to change. Will you be there when I'm all better?

I don't typically fall in love,

But you're no typical boy.

I don't want to write about how much I like him.
I want to cry and run away and forget about him.
I feel he deserves so much more than I can give.

I want to list some setbacks I have had this week.
And some triumphs.
And a few panics.

I shall label them, and here is your key:

SUBJECT:
T- Triumph
S- Setback
TP- Triumphant panic
SP- Unhappy panic

LIST:

T- You missed me while I was away.

TP- I missed you while I was away.

SP- I had a dream about not wanting to get a divorce. I woke up in a panic that you could read my dreams. Then I remembered that my dreams aren't listed on my forehead, and they are no shame, just an odd mash of life without order.

S- The divorce.

S- The Jeep.

T- Kissing you for the first time since I left made me very happy.

TP- You make me very happy.

S- I wish you could have met me in Paradise and I could have never had to come back to the Big Grey City.

TP- You really are a nice boy and you really do like me and I really want you.

I will organize these thoughts and talk in more complete sentences, this is more just an outline of what I wanted to tell you. And we all know how tongue tied you make me.

Young and a love song.

"Young, you know, I don't know half the songs you sing to me, why do you suppose that is?" Benny smiled at him, looking across their tiny bedroom while he took off his shoes and hummed an old tune he loved so much it made his heart dance.

He watched her, six months pregnant folding the laundry and thought of a million songs to sing to her about how much he loved her. Instead, he answered her with his usual evenness "Oh, Benny, I'm not sure, perhaps you have heard them you just don't recognize when I sing them to you."

She stopped folding socks for a moment. I recognize your heart when you sing them. And without another moment, he scooped her up and hummed to her as he twirled her down the hall, a very un- Young moment. But a positively perfect thing to do.

Do I want to be with you as the years come and go?
Only forever if you care to know.
Would I grant all your wishes and be proud of the task,
Only forever if someone should ask.
How long would it take me to be near if you beckon,
Offhand I would figure, less than a second.
Do you think Ill remember how you looked when you smiled,
Only forever, thats putting it mild.

I love him, and that is the begining of everything.

I am speaking, obviously, about the impact of dreams and wishes and fairy tales on one's perception of reality.

And I love it.

The Boy and I had what I would like to call an amazing weekend. I would like to call it that and I would like to write and speak a million facts about why, but I must limit myself. We musn't get too carried away, for sanity's sake.

Here are a few things I loved about this perfect set of days and a few things I hope never change:

1. Friday night was short and sweet and real. The Boy came to the dance hall where I work on Fridays and Fridays only while a live band strums out a hundred perfectly acceptable covers including things from Dino and Rob Thomas, the Four Seasons and Diamond Rio. He met some of his familia there to join in dinner and the festivities of the evening. They are real people. You know about real people, right? Messy people with great stories and knowing smiles who make mistakes and make you laugh and, in his case, cry a little in a good way.

He enjoyed his time from what little I saw of it and then he did something he has a million times told me he wouldn't. He took my hand and lead me out on the floor. While I was drenched in sweat and had a myriad of things to do, he twirled and whirled me with the best of 'em and I tell you I was smitten. He's a good sport to spoil me and not a half bad dancer at that.

1A. Saturday night we attended the wedding of a dear friend of mine and he was a fantastic date. He calmed me when we were late and lost, he let me fret over forgetting my battery for the camera (instead of telling me not to worry about it and hush up,he just let me be bummed. It's nice to have someone empathize with you and indulge in feelings once in a while-- real messy uncomfortable feelings) Then again, he was happy to dance with me. Sure he chose the song, but I can't blame him there. Sure, I tricked him to boogie-woogie, but he's good enough not to blame me.

2. He just held me. Saturday night we spent together after the wedding, just talking and dreaming and musing out loud and he just held me. In a few ways too. Sure, he wrapped his strong loving arms around me and pinned me to the bed with a leg here and his lips there, but it was more than that. It was nicer than that. He held my attention and my loving glances. He took what I said to heart and he made useful comments about me and life and where I fit in. This is what it means to be held, and to know what a promise is in real time

3. We had some cool, typical unforgettable moments together. Getting lost-ish, running around in the freezing rain, dancing, waking up next to someone you can't get enough of, lazy Sunday's, and an Ikea date. It's nice. Just plain nice to have someone to share those things with that you know doesn't take them any more or less serious than they are. They just are. They just spend time with you knowing that they are building toward the same calming rush that you are looking for, a peace in love. So say Whitman, "Peace is always beautiful."

4. I just like him. I just like the fact that he's real. And honest. And he lets me talk. And he wants me to be happy. I can see everything amazing about him that I like in the simplest things. In the way he lets me just turn around and kiss him whenever I want. And the way he lets me say things that sound like "future" love ideas. The way that he tells a story so that I understand it. The way he will answer me every time I ask him what he's thinking. The way he makes me want to be calm and sweet and always thinking about what is best for him.

Oh love. Oh peace. Oh Boy.

"Love does not cause suffering: what causes it is the sense of ownership, which is love's opposite”- Exupery

"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.

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?'

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

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.

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?

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."