I keep editing myself. Posting, deleting, Posting, deleting. This tells me I've made this space something I never intended, least I've not allowed myself to admit it to myself. It seems now I want a response, and if I don't get a response, I edit myself.

Talking to self-- fuck that, this is where you figure things out, you write it out, your talk circles around it until you can finally see what it is your dealing with.

The posts I've deleted deal with issues that need a work out.

I crave attention, flattery, some sign, some something that makes me feel OK. I'm always on the defensive, certain that I'm the last person on any one's mind in any positive light.

I posted and deleted something that was about what I'm rehashing now, Sorry Jonas, the whole conversation is a jumble now, I'm just writing the gist of the memory now, you can just skip to the end.

My Mother called yesterday, her voice full of concern, she rattled off a list of the things that should have me knocked flat and a mess;

"Honey, are you alright? I was afraid that this would happen...do you think he'll try to come again?"


"I heard the Dr. is still contacting you. What do you think is wrong with him...?

"what about the man from the other night, the one who took your number...don't be too judgemental, just because he uses double negatives...didn't you say he goes to church...?"

"I talked to your aunt about this, she told me it would be tough when M (the ex) starts seeing someone. You know he's going to present himself as an innocent victim in your divorce...isn't she a good friend of your circle of friends? I hope she doesn't try to turn them to his side..."

"how many classes are the boys flunking?"

"I'm so sorry honey, I just wish there was something I could do...I think that sometimes the strongest people are given the hardest lives to live. I always thought you would be the one daughter who would be strong enough to live the life she wants, I still believe that , you just have to get over all the awfulness."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So this weekend I'm snowed in, Plans disrupted, expectations did what they are supposed to do; disappoint.

I'm living in the moment.
I lived in the moment yesterday
the day before
and right now.

my moments haven't been so great.
so, I"m going to live for the next moment.
when I walk out the door, go snow blind and drive my ass to the gym.
Then I'm going to get myself a nice cup of coffee.
I might call the Dr. see if he wants to meet me, or
maybe the guy from the bar.

Most likely I'll go through the drive through to avoid the Barista who said,
"wow, those mousy guys are always into you." after a mousy guy asked me where he might find a decent meal.

Yes, my moments are priceless.

(I'm in awe of this title was taken for a book that's going to be released by Cheryl Wagner next month---Plenty Enough Suck to Go Around)

I'm looking back over my history with men, just trying to suss somethings out and I've no clue what I'm looking at.

Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we? Don't worry, this will be relatively short and all the names have been changed to be silly, since this is not a venue of note, who would know?

Little Stevie Wonder was not an attractive boy, as a matter of fact I thought he was ugly. He wasn't, but he was very blond and fair with really Rosy cheeks and a bit of a lisp. His dad looked like Burl Ives, complete with goatee, cardigan sweater and pipe. His parents were old high school chums of my mother's and they dragged their three boys to our house for an annual Christmas holiday dinner in our home. One year when I was about six years old he latched on to me instead of my older sister. All the boys were ga ga over her long golden locks and her tiny frame. In contrast, I wore something like a dish water blond helmet that was usually tangled in a knot where a cow licked my head at the base of my scull. Compared to today's idea of chubby I was of average build, but I was the "fattest" of the sisters. When he started talking nonsense to me in the basement about how we should be boyfriend and girlfriend and then get married when we grew up he became the most handsome boy in the world, and I was certain I was beautiful. It was Cinderella's slipper and I rode that high for at least an hour. As it turns out he's grown into a drop dead gorgeous man; a world traveler and as I understand, quite the cad. He's been sweet talking women for years; he was just cutting his teeth with me.

Flack Jacket Stu was my first kiss, I think... It perhaps it was only a "slow dance" in Captain Morgan's basement. During the fifth grade everyone was learning how to french kiss. I was petrified and hopeful that his expectation was for expert tongue action. Stu was not a catch; He was trouble, already smoking and stealing. Oh, yeah I'd been taking hits off of the neighborhood girls cigs for years, and then there's the whole halter hoisting sorority thing, but he was serious about his thugness, he wore rock and roll t-shirts and an old olive army coat. Everyone knew about his badness, after all he was from a "broken home." My badassedness was strictly secreted away with the shame of the neighborhood girls. The day after the party I was supposed to meet him at the tether ball pole after school where he was going to ask me to "go steady." In the light of day it seemed like a bad idea; I decided he would probably be the gateway boyfriend straight into hell, my feet turned to ice and I ran home without so much as looking to see if he waited for me at the poles. Funny how that has me thinking of Napoleon Dynamite.

Middle School...Black hole in the boy department. I was the under-developed over-wieght, best friend of the pretty popular girls, all of whom were always in the middle of boy trouble.

I spent the summer of between middle school and high school trying to get one of the Catholic boys to take notice and haul me off to make out in the back of one of their daddies pick ups. But you know, "Boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses." Dorothy Parker was such a righteous bitch.

My Sophomore year Larry the Cable Guy held my hand during a Ted Nuggent Concert. After that he never looked me in the eye again. I don't think we said more than two words that entire night, all that cat scratch fever noise.

A boy, little lord Fauntleroy kissed me at a party and then walked me to class one day in an effort to make his girlfriend jealous. It must have worked. They got back together and I never talked to him after he dropped me off in front of Ms. What color is your aura's Psychology class.

Big but Not Quite Thor spoke fluent Klingon, and he sent me a pink carnation through the school fundraiser one valentines day. Not Quite Thor bore a striking resemblance to Chewbacca, and not in a good way. I still feel badly for my over-wrought snotty teen girl "oh, my, Gawd..." reaction as I read the card.

I "made out" with a few boys; necking in cars. There was the older guy at the campground with the mustache. Before we started drinking beer with him and some of his friends who were camping next to us, the neighborhood girls and I fought over who would sit next to him. I'll tell you, he was a bad choice; his idea of a french kiss, or maybe it was mine was all teeth and thin lips. As it turns out years later he became quiet infamous for killing his wife and trying to cremate her in the mortuary where he worked. Yeah, I still have occasional urges to wash my mouth with peroxide.

My sister's boyfriend's, best friend, Blondie was interested. He took me to see David Gates and Bread. He was cute, funny, but he was so awkward in trying to hold my hand. He kept yanking my fold down seat around instead of just grabbing my hand. Later,after making out with him in the back seat while my sister's boyfriend taught her how to spin doughnuts in the snow, I felt a bit nauseated;it was all too incestuous to continue. I told my sister to let him down easy. I don't think that was a problem.

One late summer night while driving home from an exhausting day of working back stage at Music Theater, Tiny Tim, asked me if I needed a boyfriend. He said he really needed a girlfriend. All the gay dancers were fawning over him and he wasn't ready to come out of the closet. I told him no, but he was just the first of a rash of gay boys who professed affections for me. There was Carl, Charlie, Steve, Franklin... Good god, Franklin was in love with me...and he looked so good in my purple chinos (I was rocking in his camo dungarees and white embroidered ascot.)

I ended up going to my senior prom with Tiny Tim. While I was sorta dating not so big Mac. A big group of us went en masse after drinking our way through a cooler full of purple passion. Cad the Imaginary was there with his girl Rose. When I drank I turned into a wicked tease and I lured Cad under one of the tables where we made out. As I remember it it was an incredibly sexy moment. Later Tim caught us going at against the lockers in one of the dark hallways. This is the same cad who reemerged after my divorce and showed up in town a drunken ship wreak; the same cad who left in tears begging for me to take him in only to marry some one he met online four months after I broke his heart. But back to prom night, Big Mac and I spent a good part of the same evening necking in the back seat of his Monte Carlo. Being that Cad was his best friend, I wasn't surprised when neither talked to me for some time after that.

JT Stoner had those sleepy bedroom eyes. I let him touch my breasts and grind his pelvis into mine with our pants on until we were both bruised. I left his house with my shirt on inside out feeling like I must certainly be a woman after this. His mother said goodnight, waving from behind the bong that sat in front of her on the kitchen table. I heard her asking his brother who I was and then some odd bubbling as I walked out the door. I think JT was the first boy who really liked me, but I went off to college and he stayed home getting stoned with his mother. I still have a letter that he sent to me my first time in summer stock theatre. We were all going to become Writers and Actors and Filmmakers... He always looked at me with his sweet soulful eyes as if I had some cure to heal a deep wound that he couldn't talk about. I liked him very much, I liked how he frightened me with his recklessness.

There were a few Fraternity Boys and Dorm Dwellers. One of whom when asked if he was going to call me after a night of heated dancing said I was way too sophisticated for him. I think I admitted that I really had a distaste for Styx and Journey. I think it might have had more to do with the fact that I was not as promiscuous as my best Friends.

Prefontain thought I was wild, he had a Timothy Hutton fedora, and he was a beautiful track star. I was his secret, the wild actress punk rocker girl who wouldn't fuck him, but he was certain he could fix that. He did, later after I came back from California. He was aloof until I married, then told my friends his biggest mistake was letting me go without a fight.

I am still in love with Jon Jon, but he never loved me. We were roommates and acting school classmates. We were the darlings of the class. I let him touch me, I touched him, but that's where it ended; randy teens over a couple of drunken nights . I don't know if he ever wanted me the way I wanted him. Our friendship is intact. He's married with two beautiful boys and a young beautiful wife. I will always love Jon Jon.

Danny Boy was a Greek god. He wanted me, I was flattered. He turned all the girls heads with his sandy blond hair and blue eyes. I've written about him before, he's related to Robert Redford and it was obvious. He was a downhill ski racer and Tennis pro to boot. Jon Jonwouldn't tell me he loved me, so when Danny walked up to me at our first LA party and told me he thought I was someone he needed to know. I gave up my virginity to the lad without a thought as Jon lay sleeping in the next room. I loved flaunting my sex and my boyfriend in front of Jon Jon, I kept looking for jealousy, but the most I could get from him was a big brother lecture on the dangers of spending a weekend with a stranger in the desert. I didn't go and I am certain I was a horrible lay. I had no idea what to do. Dan liked me too. He was a free spirit, hard to pin down, but he looked me up a time or two after I ran out of money and went back to the Midwest. He's become a stunt coordinator for the film industry. I see his name everywhere, but I've never followed up on anything.

The next man was my ex-husband and he fell over himself trying to spend time with me. He asked me to marry him less than two weeks into dating. He had no money,
he had no education, but he was crazy wild for me. I felt safe with him, certain for over twenty years. He was an asshole, he is an asshole, but who isn't some sort of asshole. I gave myself willingly, he didn't ask, I just turned myself over to him and his wants. I could never go back to that, he is so many kinds of fool. Still, I miss the certainty that came with being married. I miss believing that if all else failed, someone loved me more than life. It wasn't real, but the believing was, and I miss it.

For the past 3 post divorce years I spend most of my time alone. I rarely let people in, I've listed and told stories of my undating fiascoes. I seem to attract odd old men with money, or odd young men without. I am definitely attracted to eccentricity.

There is a man of interest who defies all categories above, someone who makes me weak in the knees, someone who makes me see possibilities for myself more than for an us. Distance in miles, lifestyle, tendencies and habits keep him farther away than he should be. I find in him Beauty, kindness, inadvertent cruelty, attention, inattention, mystery, adventure, and danger, danger, Will Robinsonesque danger...

Is it cognitive dissonance when one has two opposing views of themselves?
The frightened, sad me thinks I'm too weird, too unattractive, too fucked up from hording baggage for anyone to ever find something worth loving in me.

On the other hand I'm totally taken aback when an a man's interest in me wanes. A fairly strong voice shouts out from the darkness, "WTF man, do you know what you're about to lose? Do you have any idea how much you will regret..."

So there it is, a case history... now stepping back looking with fresh eyes, do I learn anything about myself? Do you learn anything about me?
Do I have tendencies, bad habits, behaviors, Hidden clues that might let loose that tightly wound worry that I will die alone and unloved?

Shoot, I don't think this was helpful. In all of these relationships I always wanted to talk. I wanted to talk about "us", I wanted to talk about art, I wanted to talk about dreams and fears, and the history of our scars. I wanted to be inside their heads, to know what they were thinking, what they thought of me. I wanted words, caresses, a look. These things were rare,and time was usually spent without real connections. I'm still a talker. I still want words, I want to feel certain in a moment that something honest, real and sincere is at hand. On the one hand I say I don't want commitment, I don't' want to be tied down, but how do you have certainty of affection without some promise, or ...

it's all so ...

hard to...

The Thing with Feathers

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up.
-- Anne Lamott.

In an hour what is sweet may turn sour.
In the next minute a mist of melancholy dampen the mood,
The next second could pull my feet from underneath me,
knock me gut first to the floor, leave me gasping.

Right now, I'm grabbing this very instant
It is apple pie in the oven,
a vase of sunflowers on my table
This minute,
watching the sunrise play capture the flag;
piggy back, on budding trees,
throwing laughter and streams of heat on the porch swing with the cat
who is stretched out, belly up, like a happy buddha.

This doesn't feel like waiting,
as much as working

I'm certain in the knowing that this too will play out,
the old doubt will come looking to lash out at me with it's thorny branch,
he'll linger,
warp and weave
come and go,
rise and fall
in and out
of dark
and light
wax
then wane
every
single
day.

Spring Breakage

"Patience. n "A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue."
~Ambrose Bierce~

Ms. Congeneality of an Indie Bookstore

Voted most likely
to crack open
like a geode,
most likely
to be side swiped,
to allow it stolen from under her nose
while pointing to the girl
she left on the top shelf
of the last bookcase
of out of print books.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I picked up the advance read for a book titled, "How to Meet a Man After Forty and Other Midlife Dilemmas Solved." by Shane Watson
I picked this up to give a friend as a joke, but of course I looked. It's full of lists of do's and don'ts.

I hate do's and don'ts

Watson says women at forty should stop...
wearing braids, hair bands and ankle bracelets and rock band t-shirts.
Don't move to the country, Don't talk about serious subjects, don't worry.

Old bags like me "must get into..."
Big sunglasses, serious make up,bright colors, a shawl scarf, a pair of four-hundred dollar jeans, a white and tan or red bag, a chunky watch, gold jackets and shoes.

I love all the don't.
I hate all the do's.

hmm.

That's fucked up.

Oh, I'm certain using the word fuck is never acceptable for a dignified woman of my age.

But... it's so versital and... satisfying.

"we can endure a lot of pain and pleasure for the sake of finding out who we are and what this world is, how we tick and how our world ticks, how the whole thing just is."

I'm ready for the pleasure part. I've had a taste, and I like that kind of learning better.

So, kick my ass when I start whining again, oh, and I will, you should see what I've started and deleted. I'm such a sad sap. But the good news is, I've reached the rock bottom, the final frontier of fatalism so, no where to go...

Let me show you how dedicated I am to this idea. Here is a list of all the positives of yesterday:

E is off on a school DECCA trip where he gets to play business man. He is in his element and his cousin is on the same trip and she sends me pictures of him being sweet and happy. He called me last night, clearly missing me.

I've been having some great one on one time with A. We went out for breakfast then shopping where I bought him a yo gabba gabba T-shirt that made him crazy happy. We went to visit Grammy and PaPa where he ate Apple Pie and Ice Cream, after which I wisked him off for a hair cut that he proudly declared makes him look like one of the Beatles. I was able to convince him to get outside and away from all things with screens and ride his bike around the neighborhood. When he came home we made peanut butter brownies. He even showed me his play list that includes everything from The Beatles, Flogging Molly, Devotchka, Beasty Boys, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Johnny Cash... We ate Guacamole and chips, shared a chicken burrito bowl and watched the Science of Sleep. We even worked on his homework. A is a very cool kid, very laid back. His brother is equally cool, much less laid back.

I've been enjoying the attention of long time book store customer who finds me "a bright spot." I don't know what his intentions are, I'm not going to even go there- he's much a much older, highly respected surgeon and he's funny as hell. It's rare to find people who are not steeped in Midwestern muck and in an effort to make major changes and remove bad mojo I've become rather isolated of late. It seems silly to mention, but when you're staring out from the bottom of a well, anything positive is everything.

I'm thinking more and more of getting out of this town. I've no idea where, but I know I can.

I learned that I try to hold on too tightly and it's another opportunity for change. I'm working on letting lose without letting it all go. Being aware of the trait is not enough. I think I've identified the problem, I think I've allowed myself to be programed with a fear of falling out of favor, so I grab on a bit too tightly. I don't need to do that. If someone wants me they know were to find me, if not, that's ok, alone doesn't hurt. I'm lucky to know the people I know, and though it's hard to say, and even harder to believe all the time, people are lucky to know me. So if i like people however the relationship can exist is ok. Every relationship will not be absolutely this or absolutely that. There is peace in letting things alone.

ok, so this is not a good read, nothing but me blowing hard into one of those skinny long balloons.

wow, my cheeks hurt.

no, really, my cheeks feel like I've been doing just that.

“There's a common misunderstanding among all the human beings who have ever been born on the earth that the best way to live is to try to avoid pain and just try to get comfortable. You can see this even in insects and animals and birds. All of us are the same.

A much more interesting, kind, adventurous, and joyful approach to life is to begin to develop our curiosity, not caring whether the object of our inquisitiveness is bitter or sweet. To lead a life that goes beyond pettiness and prejudice and always wanting to make sure that everything turns out on our own terms, to lead a more passionate, full, and delightful life than that, we must realize that we can endure a lot of pain and pleasure for the sake of finding out who we are and what this world is, how we tick and how our world ticks, how the whole thing just is.”

~Pema Chodron~

I opened my window this morning

I needed the sun to shine yesterday, and it did.
I ran, ,walked the dog, managed a night without fussing with the boys.

The bank approved the refinance; now I can do it on my own.
He still has a responsibility; he should pay what he owes,
but I don't need him.

Nothing is as dire as it seems at the time.

I'm trying to let loose, relax and kay sera sera...

Whatever..

My days are really pretty sweet, if I can just look past the obstacles.

I get to write, read, and create all day If I want, I get to choose.

yeah, I get to choose,...

This made me cry today, this and the blemish on my cheek.

Hidden Water
Frank Stanford

A girl was in a wheelchair on her porch
And wasps were swarming in the cornice

She had just washed her hair
When she took it down she combed it

She could see
Just like I could

The one star under the rafter
Quivering like a knife in the creek

She was thin
And she made me think

Of music singing to itself
Like someone putting a dulcimer in a case

And walking off with a stranger
To lie down and drink in the dark

I'm not a hypochondriac by nature, but I do fall prey to bouts of health related worries and uncertain certainties that my my body harbors some dreaded disease. These bouts usually fall in line with reproductive cycles; when my body feels as if it's trying to turn it'self inside out and blow up.

Lately I'm starting to worry about my mental state and my overall brain function.

Symptoms:

I can't remember anything.
I have difficulty planning.
It takes and inordinate amount of energy to focus on tasks.
my sleep patterns are off whack
I cry at the drop of a hat
I can stop ruminating and worrying over everything that I have no control over.
I'm tired all the time.
I don't want to see people, only a select few with whom I feel safe and I'm going to lose them if I don't stop with the ruminating and like me please like me shit.
I'm having panic attacks
eating anxieties,
dreading workouts,
feeling good and sorry for myself.
did I mention I cry at the drop of a hat?

I do have a few stressers in my life -Possible triggers:

~ The boys aren't doing well in school and we are at odds most of the time.
~ I've not received support payments from their father in over 3 months.
~ I've filed for assistance in collection with SRS.
~ I'm in the process of refinancing the house for an additional 15 years.
~ I can't unlock my driver side car door from the outside and it's time to do maintenance...
~ I'm teaching many unteachable children (don't even wax every child can learn
bullshit on me, I've been at this for a very long time)
~ My father is suffering and it's hard for me to find time to be with him.
~ I've been working more hours and have only Sundays off.
~ I'm having trouble knowing how to be in a new relationship.

Self Diagnosis

I'm wonder if I've suffered a stroke.
I worry that I'm suffering from early onset Alzheimer's.
Am I going mad?
Did I lose my marbles?
Have I always been crazy?
Am I spiralling into deeper depression.

I'm feeling like I'm fighting currents all the time and unable to relax.

I've increased the dosage of Lexapro and it doesn't seem to make any difference.

Send Mojo, the good stuff.

Dear Fearful Lovers; Past, Present and Future,

It would not be honest to deny what has always been true,
what I can not, perhaps choose not to change.
I am powered by a rich and not so rare blend of melancholia and desire.
Much as I would love to claim rights to a rare breed,
I'm certain I fall flat into a type;
most likely a diagnosis.

I refuse to let a sleeping dog do his thing.
I only pretend to see silver linings,
while I brace myself for the worst,
hope for the best;
duck and cover.

I will always let you in, that is easy,
But be forewarned, I refuse to cover mirrors if you come round.
of course they are my beveled mirrors,
reflecting my world through my lens,
which is accurate as hell
if you want to know the truth of it.
I refuse to don rose colored glasses,
but do not be afraid, I will not judge what's exposed,
unless I am looking at the nakedness of myself.

I love me as I am
I hate me as I am
I see the truth
I see the lies
I see under the skin
the blue of the blood
the sinew and bone.

I see the horrible beauty
feel the sticky web
smell the musky earth
taste the bitter sweet
hear the thump and wail

I see you, when you let me
naked under bright lights
the deep lines that remain of the stories,
the sorrows,
the searching,
the seeking,
smiling through all of it.
making wrong right,
making right wrong.
I see all the stray hairs that have snuck up on you,
wild and gray
The ones you don't see,
The ones I trace with my fingers.

The truth is endearing,
human
fragile
achingly beautiful
imperfect, impeccable truth.

I could live without all the waxing sweet and light,
the positive spinning;
pretending all is well,
it is OK
it is not OK
it is what it is
it is life

When shit happens it smells
badly,
and if it isn't private
it's unpleasant for others
but, it goes away
others forget
add their own stench
Everyone does it most every day.

So, all the disgusting, the dreary cynicism,
it is not so wrong,
I am not all wrong
no need to judge,
to label lost,
to shake ones head,
to throw up ones hands and give me up
give me away.

just let me be me,
you be you
as we are
be true
use words
share what's real
let what's not come to be what need be.

i fuck things up with a need of knowing.
With a need to be seen and recognized.
You fuck things up when you turn your deaf ear to me.

See me and do not ignore me.
Hear me and don't tell me "no, you are wrong."
accept what truth I offer as yours,
allow my voice to sink in.
let me teach you as you teach me.

Wait,


this is the telling,
this is seeing?
this is me ignoring what I'm seeing
that you are telling me without words,
what I need to know
What you will regret
what I don't want to be
because truth presses
dead weight
and my heart
your heart
our hearts
will
bleed
until they break.