september 20th....quick sand

quick sand
Current mood:swallowed 

 

I imagine this is how it feels to be caught in quick sand. I have heard it described and understand its physical properties as a sort of vacuum. In essence, it uses your body’s energy to propel itself. Your energy literally charges the quick sand to become a deadly assassin. Fight hard and it fights harder and it wins. It will win.

My anger has become my very own quick sand and I’m scared of its power over me. I am angry. I am being eaten from the inside out. I have been carrying around all of this hate and anger. And it’s not just about fucktard and this ridiculous circus that has become my divorce. Nope. That’s just the icing on the quick sand cake.

I am angry. Very angry. Filled with a rage and a fire that I didn’t realize was so alive. A part I have long denied because it makes my skin uncomfortable, tight, itchy, ugly. I hate the anger. I hate the hate. I hate the part of me that woke up along with all the other parts of me that I like. I want to erase it and make it go away forever. Childish? Yes, very much so but that’s what I want. I want the quicksand to go away! I want it to eat itself. I don’t want to propel it and let it devour me. But that’s how it feels. I feel like I’m being devoured by this rage.

Unfortunately it is a very real part of me. We all carry around some anger or hate or rage about something or someone or perhaps about ourselves. For me it unfolds itself and reveals places and things and people and events. All of them add up to this enormous rage that makes me feel dirty and ugly. I hate some of my choices, I hate the choices of others that have affected me, I hate the injustice that surrounds the rape, I hate the man that I trusted to care for me, I hate myself for not caring, I hate that hate, I hate that I let those choices become something other than choices. They feel concrete and heavy and unshakable. And the harder I fight, the harder they fight back. I am literally being swallowed by this fire and I’m just not sure how to put it out.

What I really want to do is hit something or someone or myself for that matter. For some reason it manifests itself in my need for physical release. I want to hit them, I want to hit it, with all my force, with all my rage and power and hate. I want to take it apart and rip it from end to end until all the rage is released and I feel comfortable again. I have to make peace with myself and with the parts of me that are good and bad. I need to make peace with the unjust nature of myself and others. With the monsters that are under the bed and in the closets and now apparently are no longer comfortable being hidden. I don’t want to embrace them or give them the time or energy and yet they take it anyway so why not do it on my terms, right? I long for some great strategy to fight the beast that is a part of me. I know better than to try and put it back in the deep dark corner. This whole fucking outpouring of emotion is really starting to piss me off. Denial is so much easier.

I imagine this is what it feels like to be caught in the quick, to be caught in the rage, to be caught and unable to break free. My energy feeds the beast that is the quick sand and only my energy can calm it. Fuck.

september 12th...my fictionary

my fictionary
Current mood: tongue tied 

I was on the phone with my brother tonight when he brought up something I hadn’t really noticed about myself. I like to make shit up. I like to make up words that better express the way I feel about life.

I like to take a few words and smoosh them all together to come up with my own expression of how it really feels, not just how part of it feels. I mean really. If you feel sad then just say you’re sad. If you feel pathetic, then just say pathetic. But what about when you feel sad that you are pathetic…well that’s just Pathetisad. See, much more expressive and to the point.

The conversation with my brother had me laughing as he used “craptastic” when he was talking to me and said it’s his favorite one of my terms. My terms? My fictionary? I didn’t realize I had created this whole counter culture language among my friends and family. Granted, Urban Dictionary has set the bar incredible high with some favorites such as “Batshit Signal: like the bat signal but used to summon someone crazy” and a recent addition that made me giggle “Vatican Roulette: another term for the rhythm method of birth control”.

So I decided to turn to friends and family and see if anyone else felt that I had my own language. The response was a resounding YES. Holee shitballs, these people think I have my own language. I think it’s funny but I make shit up because I just can’t find the words. Sometimes I find our language is just too vapid and stagnant for what goes on in my brain. Why not bring some life to your typical terms and spice it up. Besides, it makes your tongue feel all tingly and silly.

Here are some of the highlights that were either brought to my attention, some of which I had forgotten using, and others which are simply stuck in my head and rarely come out to play. Some are adopted from movie terms or are things I’ve heard along the way but they are definitely a part of my lingual routine. I’m also apt to put “tastic”, “rific” or “ism” onto just about any term and take them from zero to hero in no time! But rest assured that my fictionary is far from being finished. I think I’ll be coming up with and playing with my own words well into my old age.  

Fucktard: pretty self explanatory at this point in the game. And yes, the ex really is a “fucking retarded” piece of work. Hence, fucktard!

Sharted: when you fart but instead a little shit comes out. This term has been used in a few movies but I remember saying it before hearing it on the big screen

Holee Shnikes: a term similar to Holee Shit but adopted from the genius that is “Tommy Boy”

Badassedness: term describing me kicking some serious ass in this life. Booyah!

Iris: if you don't know at this point then just don't read the fucking blog. 

Fan-damn-tastic: everything’s better with damn thrown in the middle

Craptastic, Craptasticism and general terms involving the term crap: so crappy that it’s simply fantastic with a major dose of sarchasm

1800rentastud: a term of endearment for the love of my life who just happens to be a stud in bed too.

Man Buffet (I even entered this into Urban Dictionary): look the fucking thing up. It’s a good one. Also in the running was Cornucopia of Cock but I went the Buffet route instead.

Snappytastic or Snaptastic:  hate it when people say “oh snap” in that lovely ghetto tone but come on, from a cracker ass like me? Nope. I can’t pull it off so snappytastic is the next best thing.

The Tuesday Curse: for some reason Tuesdays are notoriously bad for me. Fucktard almost always makes an appearance or stirs up trouble on Tuesdays. No one knows why but I designed Kevlar pants for fighting with him on those given days. Unfortunately they rarely work but my ass does look fan-damn-tastic in them.

Kevlar pants: imaginary pants made of fire proof material to fight the “dragon” that is “fucktard”. Generally should be worn on Monway’s (aka Tuesday’s) which just happen to be cursed. Did I mention my ass looks fan-damn-tastic in them? yeah, i thought so.

Monway: I no longer consider Tuesday’s a day (see sa­id curse). Therefore I have decided that they will be called Monday and Wednesday sandwiched to make a Monway. See, it works.

Fraynch Toast Fridays: started roughly a year ago as a way to see Switch while still married to fucktard. We would meet up on a Friday morning, take care of some “things” and then go eat the hell out of some fucking fraynch toast while laughing about our naughty morning. I have come to treasure having Fraynch toast with my sweetie any time, any day.

Switch!!!: the anonymous name I use for the wonderful man in my life. He would scream it in the halls of our high school and scare the shit out of me. He would just randomly sneak up behind me or walk right up to my face and yell “SWITCH!”. No idea why but it was yet another endearing quality…if you can call that a quality.

Nutter McButter, Nutty Butty, Nutt Fucking Butt, or variations of said “Nutter Butter”: a term I use with my very best friend to simply say “I’m having a crazy fucking day. Help!”. Just text “Nutter Butter” and we know that it’s gonna be that kind of day.

Fresh Pots: see Dave Grohl and TCV discussing his caffeine addiction on YouTube. It’s a fucking riot. I’ve been known to just call up my friends and yell “fresh pots” and hang up. Yeah, I have serious issues with caffeine and His Grohliness.

His Grohliness, Grohltastic, Grohli-smokes, and all terms of endearment for the godlike Mr. Dave Grohl: I’m infatuated with His Grohliness and all things Grohl-o-rific. See. It’s Grohltastic!

And last but certainly not least….

The Westley to my Buttercup: Princess Bride reference used in conjunction with my love affair. He is my Westley, a man with unrequited love for a beautiful princess...okay I’m not a beautiful princess but a girl can dream. When he said “as you wish” he meant “I love you”. Come to find out Buttercup actually loves him in return. I compared Switch to Westley back when we were teenagers. I always thought he was a good guy who went unrecognized, sort of like Westley. He remembered it for all these years and carried a flame for me along with that memory. Little did I know he would turn out to be my Westley and that I would love him like no other. I love being Buttercup.

x marks the spot

x marks the spot
Current mood:  amused

When you grow up, grow out and eventually grow back into the same city there are a few strings attached that perhaps don’t exist in other relationships. For example, my kids go to an elementary school where their classmates are the children of people that I went to elementary school. Swirl that one around for a while. It’s insane. I’m a pretty social person too so as they say round these parts – we are a large city with a small city vibe. And it’s the truth.

Your past comes back to haunt you, good and bad, romantic or otherwise, and so do some of those very ghosts that made those memories. I have one particular ghost that is anything but a ghost and instead more like a shadow. He’s everywhere and into everything. He is literally a part of my life again. For the sake of anonymity we are gonna call him D.

I met D when I was 13. We were both at a holiday party thrown by his father and his law partner. It just so happens that D’s dad was partners in a law practice with a guy who is best friends with my parents. See. Big city, small town….there is no anonymity here. D and his family lived about 3 blocks away from me so we knew each other through the neighborhood as well. My only thought of D was that of a very bright, driven, smart, Jewish, athletic guy who could make me laugh. But that was where it stopped. He was a homey from the hood and I was a strawberry blonde ballerina who went to private school. Polar opposites.

A few years later we became close friends during high school. It was our senior year and for some reason we were drawn to each other as friends, nothing more. We were on the yearbook staff together, drove to school together. Hell, I even asked him to be my platonic date at the Prom that year but he declined since he wasn’t going. Instead he showed up with another girl and there was part of me that was really crushed. I still bust his chops about it to this day and he says he still remembers seeing me across the room go from a glowing beauty to a red hot firecracker in seconds.

We both left town and went exploring. I went to Savannah, among other places, and D went to North Carolina. A few years later on a long Thanksgiving weekend, I was going to be stopping overnight in his neck of the woods. I looked him up, we went to a coffee shop, we talked, we laughed, we made googley eyes at each other and for the first time I saw him as something more than the boy down the street. This was a man. A smart man. A good man. A driven man. A kind man.

Needless to say, that’s where it started and it continued on in what I can only call a true romance. He swept me off my feet, I swept him off of his and we were young and in love. This lasted for nearly 3 years. In that time D had graduated with honors from UNC and was now in law school at UF. I had moved back to our little big city to be closer to Gainesville. We saw each other every weekend. Um, yeah, it was long distance. As a matter of fact, we were growing apart and wanted different things in our lives. At one time or another I thought this guy was the “one”. I thought, damn, I’m gonna be Mrs. D. one day and I liked that idea at the time. I don’t regret ending it though. It never would have worked for us. Never.

I ended it and immediately rebounded with none other than fucktard. D was devastated. I was devastated too but I just knew it wasn’t going to work in the long run. At the time, that’s all I wanted was the long run. The white picket fence, the 2.5 kids, the dog, the minivan. Yep. I could taste suburban bliss and somehow thought that was the life for me. Boy was I wrong.

So we both moved on with our lives. I married sperm donor, few years later bought a house and a few years later had a baby. I would hear through the grapevine about D’s life but we didn’t stay in close contact. Then one day I was taking a bike ride in my hood and saw him. Going into a house. That he had just bought. Right down the street from me. Are you fucking serious? My ex now officially lived in my neighborhood. Turns out he was about to get married and it also turns out that we were about to make amends. We became friends again. No hard feelings. No worries. No tension. Just like the good old days when I would roller-skate with my friends and he would be in the yard hitting baseballs with his friends. Yeah. It was all surreal and fucktard never could swallow the fact that we were friends.

But you want to know something. D is one of the first people I called when my marriage finally fell apart last year. He’s the one that I called when I knew there was no turning back. I told him about what had happened before I even told my family. Why? Because there was no criticism, he had nothing to gain and I knew that if I wanted an honest opinion of the situation, he was the one. I always trusted him to protect me and love me and honor me. He sat with me for hours talking about the ins and outs of what being divorced would mean and how the hell I could do it. He sat with me and talked and reminisced and made me feel the way he always made me feel. I felt validated. I felt like a real person again. He saw me for who I was and what I was going through, not as an ex-girlfriend that he’d gladly help stab in the back. I still talk to him every week whether it's email or IM or on the phone. Sometimes he just gives me a ring to check up on me, see how I'm doing, see what's happening and to give legal advice if I need it. And sometimes I call him, doubting myself and what I'm doing and he's always there to lend an ear as a friend. He also thinks it's funny that I ask him things like "when we dated, was I high maintenance?" or "when we dated was I.....". Yeah, it gets pretty silly sometimes.

I know it’s an unusual relationship. A complicated one if there is a jealous spouse or partner but for us it’s just so simple. It’s different for us and it makes perfect sense. We respect one another. We love one another. We enjoy one another. Does that mean I have romantic feelings for this guy anymore? Hell no. But it never really was about that. The reason we worked well as a couple was because of that admiration. We are loyal to each other and to our friendship and honestly I can’t imagine it any other way. It always was about the respect and the kindness. And as a friend, I couldn’t ask for anything better.

On an end note though, it was a little peculiar being at my 20 year high school reunion on the arm of my sweet man, switch, all the while talking to my sweet ex-boyfriend D. Yeah, we all graduated from high school together. Big fucking city, ridiculously small town! In case I failed to mention, D is also handling some legal matters for switch so it’s a real incestuous thing. D even went so far as to give switch advice for when he meets my family. All the while I’m thinking about how “intimately” each of them knows me and how I really hoped to god that they didn’t start comparing notes. I needed another drink stat! Honestly, it’s so uncomfortable that it’s comfortable. I’m especially thankful that switch isn’t jealous or suspicious or insecure about my love for him. He knows he has my heart and no one else could take his place. But still, can you saw awkward? I love my crazy quirky life and all the crazy quirky people in it…even the ex.

september 5th...only light remains

only light remains
Current mood:  artistic 

 

this blog has turned into more than a playground for my life. it's a vessel. i can pour into it what i like. drink from it and fill it again and again and again.

yeah, so i'm going through some sort of introspective, artistic, expressive feelings lately. good ones and bad ones but mostly good. and most of it is based feeling lucky to be where i am and have what i have at this very moment. one step, one day, one minute, one movement at a time. so yeah, whatever i write during this period should be taken with a grain of "grateful salt" and i certainly hope i don't look back at this and think delusional rainbows and puppies and sunshine and instead see it for the stream of consciousness instead.

life is giving me plenty to fill it with, both sweet and sour, but not enough time to give it proper attention. i had no idea it could be so cathartic and such an enormous part of me. then again it is "me" just putting it out there. in writing. i don't live with regret often but i do regret not giving myself the credit or time i deserved long ago. i think it's the one thing i will always regret. not embracing this freedom earlier. 

all because of a day, a night, a love, a moment, a man, a darkness and a spill. a flood, washing over and washing out everything in it's way. the ebbs and tides, the relation of my life to water is nothing like i would have imagined. it really is a fluid life.

i'm happy, i'm content, my insecurities run deep but the love i have for myself and the love of my family and the love of this incredible man, this incredible spirit overwhelms me. there's a big difference between needing someone in your life and wanting them in your life. i want these people. i want their love and their attention and their company. the fools have been cut away and what remains is brilliant and alive and worthy of my attention and love. how on earth did i get so lucky?

the deepest darkest corners of myself have been removed. flushed away only to be replaced by light. a long time ago switch told me that i had a light, a fire that was dangerous but that he found intriguing, irresistible. he compared it to understanding now why a moth is drawn to a flame even if it means certain danger. i see it now. i see that flame. it's the light that fills the space. no darkness in sight!

september 1st...and again it opens

and again it opens

mood: fearless

it's the moment when you begin to believe that nothing is possible. that's when the flood begins. in that very second when hope is replaced with fear. not today, she said. not today.

the bloom only closes when you choose to close it. otherwise it's natural state of grace is to remain open, free, fragrant and accepting of it's fate to one day fade. if i were a flower i would rather prefer if not demand that my foliage be on display for the world to see, enjoy, become enchanted with me, even if i knew it meant that someone might pick me from the vine and discard me. 

this photo was just a fun, what the fuck, nothing to lose image that was anything but powerful. and yet i was drawn to it and found it intriguing and moving. maybe it was just my playful creative mojo kicking in but i felt connected and had to disect it. play with it. open it up and see what i was missing with my naked eye. what it brought out in me was a profound understanding of how we relate in our lives to fear, madness, playful and mischievous urges. it's the moment. there's always one and it's up to you to figure out how to live it. will you remain tight in that bud any longer?

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. -Anais Nin