When I first started playing my guitar I struggled with tuning. My tendency to be easily confused by the mechanics of simple things is a source of frustration and shame. Once I became confused and I kept tightening the string until it broke. Sometimes I make things that are easy, overly complicated. I'm especially skilled at this with relationships. I over-think, replay, rewind and do it again until I'm spinning wild like Nora practicing the Tarantella in hopes of keeping her husband Helmer from discovering her secret. If he learns how she was imperfect in trying to keep everything afloat she knows he will reject her. I cry every time I read Ibsen's A Doll's House.I know that little twit Nora so well.

Someone I respect and love dearly told me that keeping in touch makes him unhappy because he dreads the anger that follows; because of my habit of lashing out.

I do. Damn it!

I lash out or go underground, which is a passive form of lashing out.

Damn it!

So I've been looking into the root causes of this tendency, and it's pretty simple.

Anger, Rumination, fear, lashing out, regret, and losing what you really wanted so badly to hang onto.

This is why people "turn it over to Jesus" or give life savings away to Krishnah or run away and avoid...

I'm working on distracting myself when I feel myself tightening the loops.

I'm now accepting ideas.

What do you do to distract yourself from yourself?

I'm told that these Christmas tree worms bore into the coral and pop away inside when they feel threatened.

Me too, once upon time, but not so much anymore.

I let things go. People, ideas, mistakes...

I've always made things happen. Not always dramatic and exotic things, but I take risks, I step out on my own, I stand my ground, create, learn, build strength.

I make it possible for others to do, I provide, encourage, fund...

I do, I don't wait, never have.

This took me a long time to see, to believe.

I push through and I've plenty to show for it.

Sometimes it takes a long time to relax and come out of the coral, to step out and face up to my ability to make it happen.

There are a few people who don't see it in me, but they don't know me, they only thought they did.

I might bore my way into hole, but I pop out again.

Pissy

Last night I sat at a table full of bitterness. At first I thought it was the woman sitting across the table from me. After all I was all smiles, cracking wise, shifting conversation away from work and gossip to the guest of honor and what she was doing with her life. I excused myself early without excuse, when I'd exhausted my diversions and patience.

I took the bitterness home, poured it into a bottle of wine, shared it with the Brute. The bitterness blooms with drink and we rinsed washed and repeated an our ugly pattern of push me pull me.

Anger boils and brings all the heat to the surface in rolling pockets of heat.

I'm sick and I'm i tired of defending my heart against my head.

Overheard

Tony: This Grandma, she be speaking the truth in this book Ms. B. She Don't be sugar coating nothing. They be cussin..., I like this.

Jack: No, he didn't, "Tony, did you finish the book?" Naw, shit man, he didn't do that.

Marquis: um hm... he sho did.

Zack: Can we read all hour Miss?

Booked It

I am going to go to there.

In one month!

Nana was not liberal with affection. I have no memory of a tight squeeze or a warm embrace. When I kissed her cheeks she held held my hands like a genteel Victorian lady bidding adue. Ever the Matriarch; respected, revered, loved at a chilly distance. I read her austere veneer as judgment. In the blissful innocent days of childhood, before the voice in my heart registered self-doubt, I knew not to wait for invitation to climb into her lap and lay my heads against her shouder. I buried my face into her neck, sweet and soft as powder, her skin translucent. I traced the rivers and tributaries of her blue veins from forearm to the back of her hands. Her voice softened and she cooed a story of a loving turtle formed in the curl of her hand, She pinched me softly, so softly, like a kiss. " Pinch, Pinch Pinch."

Near the end of her life she spent her days in a chair watching television. I brought her coffee and toast, she held my hands a little longer when I kissed her soft cheeks. The image on the screen revealed hands holding hands, she sighed, talked of how this moved her to tears. She longed for the warmth of a hand touching hers. All the years I waited for an invitation to crawl back into her arms, the years of distance and reserve melted away. I combed her hair, washed her hands and feet with warm cloths. She was the velvet soft powder, translucent, white shoulders.