Participating as Requested

My friend over at God Is Patient, I am not has started an interesting conversation on her blog and asked me to participate, even though we come at our spirituality from very different directions. Therefore, at her request, I am posting my responses to her thought provoking questions. If you are not comfortable with alternative spiritualities, or not open to a little humor with your god discussions... this might not be the post for you.

Nor are my answers meant to be any sort of red flag that send the "convert you for your own good" bull into a rage. The Writer already knows this, so that warning is not for her. It is for any random passer-by who after reading this feels compelled to 'save the poor pagan girl'.

That said-- Here we go...

Last time I went to church:

Church? Eeek…um… Christmas Eve, whenever it was that I last went home to FL for Christmas. (I watch my mother sing in her choir at Midnight Mass) Ritual? Last Monday.

This many of my friends that I went to college with go to church :

Don’t know. When I was in college, I did a performance of “Godspell” with a church group. (the Director was my acting partner in my upper level class, and he needed a strong alto for “Sonia”) They were an eclectic church group, and they had a very understanding and open way of “being in the presence” and “praying” that made me feel very comfortable, even though our beliefs were not identical. I enjoyed my time (couple of months) that I spent with them. However, when the show was over, I didn’t attend further services. Currently in my life here, I can think of two people in my social structure who attend church with any sort of regularity. One is the person who created this questionnaire.

When I hear the phrase “Jesus”, I think:

I think he was a nice guy. I think he existed. I think he is a child of the creator and the universe, like we all are. I believe he was a powerful prophet and a very good soul. Do I think he “died for my sins”?.... Mmmmm, No. I like how Unity Church puts it about seeking “The Christ Consciousness” in each of us. To me that speaks about being at your highest and most loving self. My term for that is being “yummy”. Thus "YummyTeece" speaks to my spiritual quest to be my highest self.

When I hear the phrase “organized religion”, I think:

RUN! RUN!! Grab your bags, do not pass Go… Do not collect $200. Just sprint for your f**king life.

Three things I think organized religion (for lack of a better word) gets right:

-- Providing a space for a community of like minded individuals to come together to discuss what they need to discuss in a place of love.
-- Like communisim, the theory is good on paper.
-- Really? 3?…. I have to come up with 3?


Three things I think organized religion (for lack of a better word) gets wrong:

-- The Mob mentality, i.e. the more of us who band together, the more we can say that you are wrong and therefore going to hell.
-- Thou shalt not kill (Unless of course you are doing in the name of your god, in which case, it’s all good).
-- Everyone coming together, so focused on good intentions that they are blind to the long-term ramifications of their short-sighted actions. They are so busy curing or fixing the now, that they are not looking at the bigger picture. They focus on “WHAT” is “Wrong” and not “WHY” the situation occurred.


If I were God, I’d change these three things about the world, because I don’t understand why these things happen:

-- I would like to expand global awareness to recognize animals, plants and all creatures of this planet as fellow members in our large community (as opposed to secondary citizens whose rights are forfeit just because we feel like taking over their space or hunting them for fun.)

-- I would somehow design a genetic imperative in people that would not allow us to litter or further pollute the resources of our planet.

-- Hmmm.. and I'd make Tigers & Silverback Gorillas bigger and more deadly, so that they would be able to better defend themselves against poachers. If you poach wildlife, I think you totally and utterly deserve to be ripped limb from limb or eaten while still alive. Eeek. Did I really type that? Hmmmm… probably a good thing I’m not an all powerful deity.

If I were God, I’d change these three things about this one person (who shall remain nameless.)

Slight variation on this answer… I’m doing 1 thing for three people.

I would have Person#1 release his very rigid idea of what is “proper & appropriate” and instead, allow himself to really experience and enjoy passion as it occurs in the moment.

I would have Person#2 find peace around his grief and anger.

I would have Person#3 release his hold on this life and pass into the next, without further pain or illness.


If I were God I’d change these three things about me:

-- Greater Capacity to love and understand without “being attached to the way it looks” (to swipe a Landmark phrase)
-- Ease around Anger, finding expression for it that is not based in fear or jealousy… allowing myself to experience it without judgment or vindictive action.
-- Eternally Perky/gravity defying breasts and no cellulite my thighs or butt. *grin*


Worst thing I ever heard in church or from a religious person:

I had a friend who was gang raped when she was 13. Her family was extremely religions, and therefore, didn’t call the cops…they called Clergy. Her Clergyman came over and asked her to repent for whatever evil she had done that “made those boys sin like that.” I find that vile to the point of being physically nauseated the first time I heard this story.

Best thing I ever heard in church or from a religious person:

I can’t think of an exact phrase or story, but Reverend Brent at the West Valley Unity Church ALWAYS made me feel at home, at peace, and part of a loving community. He made me laugh, he helped me feel accepted, and even though I’m not “Christian”, his words, his teaching, and his personality are a large part of the reason that I was a semi-regular at that church the first several years that I lived in LA.

Sunday Scribblings: "The Books I would write..."

OH... the books I would write... would be full of romance and adventure. They would capture the sensuality of dance, in such a way you could reach out and touch it like a freshly-picked rose petal. They would have mysterious places, full of fascinating creatures and mythical monsters.

The books I would write would capitvate the reader's soul, ignite their passions and invigorate their imaginations.

The books I would write would have a soundtrack of deeply beating drums, and haunting bagpipes.

There would be misty lakes in long forgotten forests, and intense and powerful women with hidden pasts full of intrigue. The animals would talk, the trees would listen, and the very Mother Earth herself would open up her caves and let you descend down into the depths of her core, where she would nuture and teach you and hold you safe when all other things seemed uncertain.

The books i would write would always believe in true love, always champion the honest and faithful, always hold aloft the hard-working, well meaning hero who acts from integrity, even when he's spent his last nickel, drunk his last bit of water, and lost his last lucky marble.

The books I would write would come from my highest self, and exist in such a place, that even if No one else ever read them.... I would be able to take them off the shelf, and leaf through their pages on my darkest days, and remind myself that deep down inside, I am a courageous warrior for hope and a staunch believer in happy endings.

The books I would write would inspire, reach, rejuvinate and embrace the very best parts of me, and by doing so.... renew the spirit that allows me to share that piece of me with all the rest of the world.

For more Sunday Scribblings, go here!!

Light fare: The A - Z of Me

Hello lovies. Don't want to feel like I'm neglecting this blog, but the desk has beome a busy place these days. So here is something light and informative to entertain you, while I continue to process a few things before expressing them to you. May your week bring you joy.

Accent: Don't really have one, unless I'm way drunk or way tired.... and they you'll hear that Southern upbringing creep in.
Booze: I'll always love a good Cabernet or a quality Tequilla.
Chore I Hate: Filing
Dogs/Cats: Love Love Love the fluffies! (although as they said in "The Truth about Cats & Dogs.... "it's ok to love your pets. Just don't LOVE your pets."
Essential Electronics: Cell phone!
Favorite Perfume/Cologne: I wear oils mostly. A good amber, or a spicy vanilla
Gold/Silver: Sliver, possible white gold, Platnium is best!
Hometown: Brandon, FL (just outside of Tampa)
Insomnia: Ugh... last night, from 4am - 6am
Job Title: Several.... Exec assistant, Studio Tour Guide, Dance teacher in training
Kids: 3- all are small, furry and wake me to tiny kisses and meows
Living Arrangements: 2 bedroom near the park
Most Admired Trait: Public poll seems to agree, it's my ass.
Number of Sexual Partners: currently.... just the one
(but oh the days of the "Haitian Boat" are legendary.)
Overnight Hospital Stays: no.... actually. Out patienct surgery only
Phobia: Ich Nasty.... Spiders.... Ew!
Quote: "One runs the risk of weeping a little when one lets oneself be tamed." (translated from Antoine de Saint Exupery)
Religion: Spiritual practice, but no organized religion for me, thanks.
Siblings: nope
Time I usually wake up: after the snooze alarm has been hit at least 3 times
Unusual Talent: The abillity to end up in bizarre conversations at the most unlikely times, with complete strangers.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Tomatos (are those fruits?) and Mushrooms... ICK
Worst Habit: Tardiness
X-Rays: A few... a while ago tho..... back in college, i believe
Yummy Foods I Make: Stuffed Grape Leaves
Zodiac Sign: Sun: Sagittarius Rising:Cancer Moon: Scorpio

Swamped, Scattered yet Smiling

but also bouncing down the road... Things have taken an up. I spent one day last week finally rewarding myself (as i have planned to do since I moved to LA nearly 10 years ago) with a day at the San Diego zoo.

and I spent one evening talking to someone who it felt like I've known all my life.

Between the two enriching moments, I am renewed, and hoping to get things shifting back into forward motion.

Knotted Shoelaces

she said:

Here is to untangling. Here is to making different choices. Here is to forgiving ourselves when we forget to do the work or simply don't know how to do it differently.


And those words reverberate through my soul. Untangling. Oh god, how I need to untangle. I've been so wrapped up, thought upon thought, always in motion, going, going, going, and when my body drops into sickness because it's exhausted from constant commotion, I pop a couple of Vitamin C's and continue to go some more.

Ever get a knot in your shoelaces when you were in a hurry to be somewhere? You tug and you struggle and you fight and you get very very frustrated. You might huff angrily. You might give up. You might throw that shoe against the wall in a fit of pique, choosing instead something that slips on.... but the simple fact is that the next time you want to wear those shoes (and you'll probably be in a hurry then TOO), they will still have that damn knot in them. And they will continue to have that knot, until you slow down long enough to untangle it.

I"ve had a knot in my shoelaces (and a twist in my knickers) since... well.. probably 2004. When I walked away from a partner, when I attempted to go back to school, when I sold my soul to the evil Mouse theatre people. And even though I see it, this mad obsessive urge to run full tilt, and I get the costs of those actions..... I still keep going. I'm running as if my life depended on it. And the irony is, I seem to be running FROM my life.

If the first step to healing the problem is really ADMITTING the problem, then let me be here to say.... I have a problem. I can't slow down. I'm ... I don't know... afraid. If I look really closely, the disappointment, the resignation, the anger, the lack of hope.... it will swallow me. No... not swallow. Consume, with a violent gnashing of teeth.

So I keep going, keep running. Can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man, in the best sprinting shoes Adidas or Nike can make. You know the ones, with the velcro strapps.... so i don't have to slow down and unknot those damn laces.

But in my pocket, there's a tiny piece of paper, which my fingers fiddle with, like the smooth surfaces of an over-used worry stone. And on that paper are the magic words.... "Here is to untangling. Here is to making different choices."

Sometimes My Tries are Outside the Lines

Picture me in a house with no lights on, soaking in salts blessed in ritual, doing what my friends call "the bathtub cry." A safe place when tears can sink into suds and no one knows the wiser. Looking at my life and wondering just how many mistakes one can cram in to 34 years of living.

Makes it a little hard to just get up and keep going the next morning, I tell ya.

And then on the ride in, I hear a song. Oh, I've heard it before....dozens of times. It's LA radio, they play the same 25 songs in constant rotation. However, today, I caught it right at the beginning, and it spoke to me, silly as it is....and as I pulled into the garage at work, I was singing along, rejuvinated (and just a little bit hopeful) once more.

"Unwritten"

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined

I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten

I break tradition,

sometimes my tries are outside the lines

We've been conditioned to not make mistakes,

but I can't live that way

(chorus)

The Falling of the Axe

So remember how I've referenced those anger issues? Specifically how there is one particular person in my life that I'm angry at, but had not yet figured out how to properly express it? Well, damn if that little problem hasn't been solved for me.

Sent at 2:39am today, is one of the most scathing hate-mails I have ever received in my life. Nearly unreadable in its rambling (not to mention large number of typos, lack of punctuation, capitalization or even an ATTEMPT at grammar), it accuses me of being ragingly immature and petty in my jealousies. It uses statements (told to him in confidence) as weapons, aimed back at me. It dredges up issues from last year that haven't been on the table since then, and tells me that clearly I am not over them yet. In short, it batters me with abusive language, slanders our friendship and then drops the executioner's blade without allowing me a moment's say in the decision.

Considering that I had already been tentatively contemplating ending the friendship due to the disrespect and mistreatment.... one might call this a moment of Ferocious Serendipity

All day I have vacillated between responding kindly ("I understand that you are going through a difficult time. I will be your friend should you wish to resume that at some point"), responding cruelly ("Clearly your observations of human nature are as vacuous as your grasp on literacy") and not responding at all. To return the serve is to swing my racket at yet another time-bomb, and I'm wounded already.

My anger stands in an awkward place, torn between defending my right to be treated well, and my compassion to reach out to some one so obviously in pain. However, the lesson that seems to be reoccurring at this time in my life is about caring and nurturing myself first and foremost. And as challenging as that is right now, it is what I have decided to do.

Good Bye Pup. I wish you healing on your journey. But I can't go another step along that path. No.... not "I can't".... I won't. I have healthier things to do with my time, my intentions and my affections.

Taking my Lumps

“The more time I spend in my body, the more difficult it is to lie.”

That’s the first line of a hand written journal entry I started last week. I only got down that first line before being distracted, so it is all that exists of that entry. However, last night, as I lay awake with wicked insomnia, it occurred to me again.

I am in the middle of a shift. A shift of body and mind and soul. A shift that is taking frustratingly long. I had a healing sometime last year, because I’d been feeling that “my skin doesn’t fit” itch. The healer spoke of angels and spirit guides, and said that they wanted to let me know that I was preparing for a shift (it was nice to have this verified, without asking about it or bringing it up at all). However, they wanted to let me know that said shift would occur in 3 – 6 years.

Now I know it’s not polite, but I believe I responded with “What the f’k?”

Throughout the healing, he would talk of all the work I’d done and how I was molding into this new soul form and each time, he would begin to hint that perhaps the shift would occur sooner, and then he’d stop mid sentence and say “3 – 6 years”. Eventually, he stopped mid-sentence and laughed and said “NO… they appreciate all the work you’re doing, and you need to keep doing it, but they want to make it very clear…. It’s 3 – 6 years. Stop pushing!”

Ever had your hand slapped by a spirit guide? I had to laugh.

That was a year ago, and the ever-crawling snail's pace of this shift is driving me bonkers. I’m doing some work, and I think the dancing is a large part of that. Dancing has always been a joy for me, but now it’s like life’s blood. I can’t do well without it. My sanity is becoming directly tied to my ability to be in my body and work it as a form of expression. However, this new level of personal intimacy has brought with it greater awareness and less tolerance for bullshit.

The last two weeks, I’ve had a series of health issues. Nothing drastic. A migraine, on top of food poisoning, last night’s insomnia, and now this morning, my throat is swollen so much I’m having trouble swallowing. Throat issues often relate to “not speaking one’s truth”. And that’s certainly the case here, as I am dealing with a great deal of anger towards someone very dear to me. Someone who needed a friend once and I was there, but now… they prefer a fan club, and when I don’t wish to be relegated to just another of the adoring masses, I get shut out.

Insomnia makes sense, as my soul is restless indeed. The anger has also stirred up my ideas on love, friendship, relationships, what it means to be self-sufficient versus self-involved.

...

And here the writing flow just dams up. Grrr. I guess that is to say, I don’t have words of resolution for this issues I am facing. And thus my body is turning on itself and growling and consuming itself. As much as I would like to run, avoid, or pretend that these ugly questions are not staring me in the face, my newly ‘tuned in’ body will not let that deception pass.

I find it fascinating and challenging that I cannot lie to myself- that the shift of living in what is real and what is now is REALLY beginning to manifest physically. Additionally, I would be VERY excited about it… if it weren’t kicking my ass up and down the block.

Two weeks pass

...and I feel there is nothing to show for it. A flurry of activity, always moving in this seemingly endless swirl. Like a dust cloud, all stirred up, but only shuffling around the discarded bits of trash and worry.

Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. *sigh*

There's a lot of unresolved issues and angers floating around. Bubbling under the surface, not close enough to break like a wave, but certainly causing an undertow that is deceptively strong, pulling me under,when I thought I was having a lovely swim.

Meeting people's expectations. Having my own remain unmet (or sometimes worse, undefined). Even the articulation of a blog entry is just beyond my grasp.

And thus... you get left with a poem, cause that's all I have to give today.

Our love is like a dead squirrel

fallen too young from its nest

decaying beneath the tree that was once home.

There is no one to bury him

But as the seasons come,

the leaves will gently fall,

obscuring his corpse from sight.

Grandmother Oak, laying him to rest

Tree Dryads giving him a 21 acorn salute.

Through the turning of the wheel,

he will breakdown, feed bugs, disappear

under a foliage drop cloth.

Come spring, perhaps

some haphazard garderner

will rake clear the spot,

showing that he is gone.

Consumed by his Earthly Mother,

leaving a memory for no one,

and a fertile spot for something new to grow.

copyright yummyteece 02/19/06

Punk Stripes & a Pearl Necklace

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror today and stopped.

Over the weekend, I put black stripes in my red hair. I'm enjoying the vitality of my little rebellion. It's increasing my 'sass' factor, and allowing me to have a little more swagger in my step. When I cross the road and feel the breeze, I notice I drop deeper into my hips, let my steps grow heavier, exuding from my skin some low-resonant hum that gives energy to the spaces around me, and tickles me into chuckling, even when there's no one around. I'm having an unexplained feeling of "freedom", and I'm not sure why.

Partnered with my punk hair and arrogant strut, I'm wearing the most girly pearl & crystal necklace. I've never owned jewelry like this before. However, it was created by a friend, and its sparkly lusciousness won me over (to the point of tears) the first time I put it on. It seemed to validate and compliment all that was feminine about me. It said it was ok to be pretty, or delicate, or vulnerable. It was an offering to the goddess within, and it was a glorious present to myself. And this morning, it sparkled from the dresser and asked to be put on.

However, the whole ensemble is dichotomous at best. It's like those teen movies where the cheerleader and the town bad boy show up for prom together, all dressed to the unusual nines, and then ride off into the night on his motorcycle. It's a conflict of interests embodied. It's odd, but not unpleasant.

It's rare that I can put together a look that totally feels like me... but today, I somehow managed it without trying at all.

Not a bad way to begin the week.

At the End of a Long Week

And so Friday has come to a close, with more of a whimper than a bang. Ahead of me is a weekend full of ‘to do’ lists, things that have been on hold while I played the game. And now that THAT chapter has come to a close, I can return to my regularly scheduled manic life.

So why do I feel a bit lost? Cast adrift with nothing to hold on to? I’m torn between taking a 3 day nap, and disappearing into the woods for a 3 day hike. Mardougrrl spoke of “Givens” and that is definitely what I’m feeling the weight of now. A barrage of “musts” and “needs to be dones” that stand between where I am now, and a true sense of “me”.

Instead, I would love take myself on a vacation alone. I need to meet me in a quiet bar and have a lovely long conversation with me. I need to read aloud passages from my favorite books, so I can hear what really pleases me. I need to discover the ticklish places on me, and touch them gently. I need to subtly find out my favorite flowers and buy them for me, as a surprise. I need to woo me.

It’s a delicious thought. And for a few brief moments, I'm going to close my eyes and imagine this joy. Because when I open them again, I will still be at the desk, will still have the day planner open in front of me, the taxes in an envelope labled "ORGANIZE!", and a friend to take to the airport ASS-EARLY tomorrow morning.

In pursuit of the game

One of the reasons that i have been oddly quiet is that i have filled my time with a new adventure.

Since March 13th, i have been an active participant in "Street Wars", an assassination game taking over the streets of Los Angeles. Played with waterguns, various active 'killers' pursue each other through the moments of our daily lives.

What started as only a game has been transformative and thought provoking.

See, my father and I often talked about playing a game like this. So when the opportunity finally appeared, i leapt at the chance to prove myself. However, the challenge has been more than i ever conceived.

It's all more time consuming than i ever imagined. Waking up at 5am to stalk before work. Keeping a change of clothes in the car at all times, in case you come across an evening when you can't go home. Hunting way past midnight on a school night. James Bond never had to report in to another day job. Assassins cannot give 40 hours to "the Man" AND still have 100% to give to the pursuit. These are all bits of 'intell' that have become readily apparent to me.

But more than that, I'm tormented by unresolved issues about being "good enough", and this frivolity has brought that home in spades.

My 'target' has been elusive, and my pursuits limited due to my other obligations (i.e. the job that pays my bills). Additionally, in my head is ever the thought... "How would my father behave in this situation? How would he handle this? would he wait in the rain? Would he have found another way to find and pursue this man?"

How did some 'extra-cirricular' activity become another way to fail my family? Why did an 'entertainment' become a tool for judgement and self-flagulation?

Look, I write this with some humor and the ability to see what it is I'm doing to myself. And in truth, this week, I am much better, much kinder than I was the first week of play. However, i still am amazed.... i took something that was supposed to be fun and frivolous, and i turned it into a metaphor for all i find i lack.

I always wanted to be 'killer'. A Femme-fatale. The pinnacle of sexy and dangerous. Mysterious and deadly. Instead, what i found myself to be is... ordinary. Not bad. Not hopeless or lousy or wretched.... Just boring. Just... normal. And that has disturbed me greatly.

Did you ever want to be a superhero, and find yourself merely human? Is this a common thing amongst people? Do we always hope for greatness? Are we always disappointed to find ourselves just "ok"?

She Makes Me Laugh

Quotable from a fabu girl chat last night:

"My pussy is like a Manhattan apartment.... and by that, I don't mean filthy and full of bugs. I mean tiny, exclusive and hard to get into."

Amen sister!

To Stir the Pot

So much of what I read on the blogs is about being true to oneself, being an artist, being alive. And as of late, I've found that I just haven't had much to put out there along these lines. I'm feeling stuck... Sold to a destiny that may not fit once I get there.

There is a general sense of this in the lives of those around me (both RL and online). Each one, in her own way, has tried to uncork the genie and get things moving once again. For many, the path to this release is writing. For some it's painting, or photography. For others it's cooking delectable foods, gardening with glorious floral audiences, or reading well written literature. All brilliant in their detail and their soul searching, I have soaked up these words and thoughts in hopes that they would dislodge the dammed up stream of things that want to be expressed. Rest assured.... you all do inspire me, enlighten me, and most importantly console me that I am not alone in this journey.

However, I realized that this communion of communication is just one of the paths to soul-speak... and for me, it's not always the most direct or most invigorating. Thus I was reminded of what does work best...

I'm off to dance class, folks. Stretch the body, stir the blood, awaken the goddess within. She hasn't come out to play in a while, and she's aching to shimmy.

"I don’t know what inspiration is, but if and when it comes, I hope it finds me working…”

-- Pablo Picasso

Simple inspiration

I like

my best friend's unfailing honesty

I wish

that I could achieve more; that I could accept better who I actually am; that the RCB would call me this week. *wink*

I play

"Big Kahuna Reef" on a nearly daily basis

I am

a little lost right now... but not out for the count.

what about you?
(thanks Jennifer for today's inspiration!!)

Violated

Last night, somewhere between 2pm – 6pm, someone broke into my car. Some minor damage was done to the door as well as the locking mechanism. 2 bags were stolen (full of clothes, make-up and dance shoes).

The bags were later recovered by security, abandoned and ransacked, but with the bulk of the contents accounted for. The door repairs will probably come out of pocket, because I doubt they’ll exceed my deductible. But long after the material goods are replaced or repaired, there will still be damage.

It’s going to take a bit more to get back that peace of mind.

It started with an eerie silence when I first approached my car, broken only by the quiet “What the fu…” that began to emerge from my mouth. Then came a wave of righteous indignation. First, at the people who would do this, and then again at the police who said that they “really don’t have the time to investigate this sort of thing every time it happens.” (my report was filed over the phone only, with an operator who had all the compassion of dry toast).

I’m not about to insinuate that my minor shake-up is anything like experiencing an illness or death of a loved one… however, I find myself going thru Kubler-Ross’s 5 stages.

In the 24 hours since my ugly discovery, I have worried, fretted, mourned, raged, hoped it wasn’t true, and wished I could turn back time (park a different place, not keep so much in the car). I even reached a point where I told the Universe “OK… I think I can be willing to let the material possessions go, if only Really Cute Boy will call me soon.” (At least my "bargining phase" still has a sense of humor.)

In the end, when all other things have been said and done, acceptance lingers in the empty space. Whether the police care or not, whether RCB calls or not, the simple fact is... my car, my safe space, that tiny piece of the world where I felt I had control...has broken edges, missing parts, and some one else’s smeary fingerprints on my mistreated window. And I have a lesson to learn, and the uncomfortable urge to not be alone.

Return of the Cute Boy

OK some of you may remember the cute boy at my work. *SighGiggleGrin* I missed him that day when i went to introduce myself,and I've pined (just a little) since then.

Sadly, he wasn’t new as I once speculated, but instead, had been around over a year. Why do I say “sadly”? Because I found all this out last Friday, just prior to his “exit interview” (or that thing you do at the end of the day on your last day at the job! Grrrr)

Friday afternoon, 5pm and I was frantically working on something, when who should appear at my desk? Really Cute Boy, looking for office number here in HR. Even though said office was some 8 feet away from my desk, I stood up and escorted him there.

He went in to say his last goodbye and I went into crisis flirt mode. His time here was limited. If I wanted even the slightest chance of crushing, giggling or snogging, I had to act fast.

Thankfully, I am a Sagittarius. “Bold” is my middle name (and “Tact” is right out the window), so with my acting business card in hand (ok, in my back pocket), I went about discovering where his last moments would be in the building, and how I could get back in his sights.

To achieve this, I carefully manipulated the “you must turn in your security badge before leaving” rule. Sure, at the time, he felt the militant crack of the HR whip, but once he got here, slightly dumfounded look on his face, wondering why he would be hunted so…. I charmingly explained that it was a “Drive-by flirting” , a mere ruse to see him one last time, so that I could pass on my number and let him know I was available for drinks and conversation should he be inclined.

20 min later…. I met him at the bar. Go Me!

Fuzzy Walking in Two Different Worlds

Sorry my dears. More than a week gone by without writing. The urge occurs to me first thing in the morning, sometimes even before the alarm has gone off, when my mind is awake but the body hasn’t gotten there yet. I rolled over the other morning, put pen to paper and came out with the first draft of a new poem. It’s called ‘Our love is like a dead squirrel’. *giggle* no…I’m serious. My point here is that not everything my brain spews out upon waking is worthy of electronic publishing.

Speaking of odd brain spew, last night's dreams were frought with strange. I was traveling somewhere, and on my way, I stopped by A's house. Only it wasn't the beautiful Long Beach condo that I know from reality. It was a strange house in a subdivision still being built.

You had to pass through one person's house, and into the back yard, where you then entered a white metal door, that led to a steel ladder down to what should have been a basement area, but after a short tunnel, opened up to the outside lower 'lot' of the subdivision.

The house that I passed through had several odd characters in it. An African woman who was dancing to 70's music, while making a 'hot cherry pie'. Additionally, there was an attractive younger man dressed like Elvis who would dance with her. He would stop and make eye contact with me each time I passed through.

There were many multi-colored bead curtins, which clicked when I would walk through. In fact between the music, the click of the beads, the multi colored posters, the odd outfits on the people, and the smell of cherry pie, the whole house was a sensory experience. One that should have been pleasant, only I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Once outside in the back yard, I could see the Statue of Liberty. I mean, REALLY close up, so that I could only see about the top 3/4 of her, and as I looked I thought to myself "I didn't know she wore a mask" (as she clearly had a mardi-gras-esqu 1/2 mask over her eyes). There were many powerlines and a tangible electronic buzz that added to my sense of un-ease.

The steel ladder down was un-nerving as well, and there was black spray-painted graffitti on the white walls. Even though the subdivision was just being built, there was an old abandoned feel about so much of it. Dirty and dingey and unsafe.

I tried to cut through the lower section of the subdivision, in an attempt to get back to my car, which I'd parked on the street in front of A's house. But one street would wind around and become another, and I wasn't so much lost as I realized that I was in some sort of capture loop, and the only way to get out would be to backtrack my steps, go back up the ladder, and return the way I came. At this point, it would be a very long walk, and I was running late for my next appointment.... but it was more assured to be successful than my endless wandering was.

So back I went. Through the abandoned streets, up the scary ladder, past the buzzing wires, and into the house. Somehow (as happens in dreams) this house with the dancing strangers and A's house had merged, and thus when I passed through, they asked me to stay for pie. I don't like pie (well, not fruit pies). But i wanted to be polite, and it gave me more time to play with the new kitten A had. He was pale grey tabby, with some peach colored patches, and very beady tiny eyes. His name was "Hilton" and I called him "Beady-eyed Hilton" (No relation to Paris), as I picked him up (smaller than one hand) and nuzzled his confused head.

I realized that between waiting for pie and cuddling the kitten, I was very late, and I still didn't feel safe or happy where i was, so I made my excuses and headed towards the door. That's when the Elvis gentleman stopped me. He held my hand, and asked where I lived (presumably to see if it was nearby, and to find out if we could see each other again). I explained that I live in Los Angeles, and his face fell as he realized that I was leaving never to return. He sadly repeated "Los Angeles?" and I said yes. Heartbroken, he sat stunned for a moment, until I, in an attempt to comfort him, kissed his forehead before saying good bye.

Then I woke up.

I have no idea what this means. I apologize that i have no underlying theme for this post. But i figure getting something out there.... just expressing the oddities of my brain... is better than keeping it all stuffed inside.

Happy weekend to you, my dears. May all your (good) dreams come true.

Self Portrait Tuesday

The last Tuesday of February, "All of Me" month. Well, no portrait of myself would be complete without my soul partner.

Isn't she beautiful?

For nearly 13 years, she's added to my life. NO... not just added to, she's absolutely kept me alive. In the ugliest darkest moments, as I sat in a room alone, implement of death in my hand, wondering how long it would take for them to find the body, she's appeared out of the shadows where she was napping to sit in my lap and quietly meow. She appears in my dreams and tells me secrets of where we've come from, and how strong I can be. She is my empress, my mentor, my child, my friend. When I feel most alone, she is there, keeping despair at bay just long enough for me to get back on my feet and remember why I came back again.

Friends, family and therapists have made me swear that before I decide to go willingly into that dark night, I will call and ask for help.... but honestly, it is my promise to her, to care for her all her days, that keeps me on the planet when all else is black and hopeless.

And this picture is so symbolic for while it captures our favorite mundane pasttime, napping in sunbeams, it actually shows how time and time again, she draws me into the light, for renewal of body and spirit.

She is my heart, walking around outside my body. She is my Muse. She is my Laughter. She is my Gaurdian, and she is my Ward. She is the one whom I truly can believe will be there till death does us part. She is magic.

She is "Nicnevin", and she is the best part of me.

Hard to do

I've not been jounalling really, here or anywhere these past few days. I've had a few abortive attempts, but nothing that produced any real release (or even made much sense for that matter.)

It's because I'm angry. Processing disappointment and betrayal. Trying not to turn it on myself, such that it become suicidal thoughts or self abuse. But that's hard, because it's been a pattern for me for so long.

Anger was never my jurisdiction. Emotions were regulated in my house. We each had one that specialized in. My Mother was "Happy".... ala "Nothing wrong here, don't look over here, nope, there's nothing wrong ... we're HAPPY." My Father was (is) a Vietnam Vet, so he was the "Angry" young man, deserted by his country, with a lot of dead friends to show for it. Angry with reason, no doubt, so he had the corner market on that part of the household

And me... I specialized in sad. Grief. Despair. Morose self-indulgent sadness. I still do it pretty well too. Not that I want to, but old habits die hard.

So trying to be angry is challenging for me. When I feel anger rising up in me, my body starts to quiver. I get hives across my chest. My heart hurts, and my breathing is labored, and then I have the uncontrollable urge to vomit. After which I begin to cry, and suddenly the anger is not anger, but morose self-indulgent sadness, disabilitating in its conuming grief.

I want to find some way for it just to be anger. Just angry. I'm looking for some places, classes, physical moments in which to let it out, as anger. Last night at dance class, I kicked some dancing ASS to a very hard rock song. When i finished, i lay bruised on the floor, breathing heavily but feeling so much lighter in spirit. The teacher asked "Wow... when did you last dance?" I said "Yesterday", and then laughed... because i got, she was asking "How long has that been in there, eating at you, needing release?" and the answer is that its been in there so long, it's like an imaginary friend I grew up with. I could dance every day and not run out, I've got such a collection of rages.

Anyway... I'm looking into things. Things that both distract me and provide me safe outlet. But until I manage to untie this knot of fury that's been sitting in my belly.... I might be intermittant with this blogging thing.