Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Friday, February 2, 2007
Just a quick thought for now.
Imagine a day without all of the things which you've now started taking for granted. Live one day without what we share, and tell me that you really still believe that you have a choice and that you can walk away and I'll buy it. I'll let go. That's all I need to hear to never darken your door again or trouble your placid, painful and predictable world. Tell me that you can live without me, can spend a day without connecting to me, wake up, go to bed and breathe without a thought of me in your mind and I'll let go. Just that simple. A to B.
Simply put? I can't. Or rather, I can, but it creates such a gravity well in my stomach that it makes me difficult to stand. So. I guess asking you to leave me be is out of the question.
I'm not unhappy about that.
Simply put? I can't. Or rather, I can, but it creates such a gravity well in my stomach that it makes me difficult to stand. So. I guess asking you to leave me be is out of the question.
I'm not unhappy about that.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Letting You Go
There's nothing more I can say. Nothing more I can do, show you or give you. You have it all. You may not have seen it all, but you've seen the pieces that will make the whole. You, in other words, know what's inside the box. I've done everything that's within my power to do. Now it's your turn. Now you have to open the box.
You probably could have guessed this (and I may have even told you) but I used to have a Method by which I made difficult decisions. Still do, in a way. But when I was younger and more ... flexible, for lack of a better word, things were much, much simpler. When faced with a decision between two possible alternatives, I would always choose the path least traveled. I would look into the possible futures, and if there was one path down which I could see further, which felt more secure and predictable, I'd choose the other. Without fail. This, naturally, led to many hardships, but I always at least had an interesting story to tell afterward.
It surprises me very little to hear that we are polar opposites in this regard. But we are both older, wiser and better than we once were. The choice isn't as black or white as it once was, love. It's not a choice between right and wrong. It's not nearly as clear as all that. Not by a mile. We aren't making this choice. It's making us. Somehow, for some reason some thing has decided to put you and I in close proximity and I feel as if there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. Except decide to let you go.
And I'm not letting you go.
I say that a lot. It's even inscribed on a piece of jewelry you're wearing. It's written, as they say, in stone. I keep saying this because I believe it. Because it's true. I am not letting you go. I never will. I'm holding you now, only you don't know it - don't see it or feel it or believe it. But I am. And if you look closely enough, you'll see that it's true. See that you're holding me, too. Otherwise, why would you be here? Do you think that you really haven't walked through that door yet? Do you really feel as if the page can be unturned?
Imagine a day without all of the things which you've now started taking for granted. Live one day without what we share, and tell me that you really still believe that you have a choice and that you can walk away and I'll buy it. I'll let go. That's all I need to hear to never darken your door again or trouble your placid, painful and predictable world. Tell me that you can live without me, can spend a day without connecting to me, wake up, go to bed and breathe without a thought of me in your mind and I'll let go. Just that simple. A to B.
I realize that I've been spending a great deal of time opening doors for you, showing you the truth of things, exposing my every crevice to your inspection and waiting, breath baited, for you to choose. I realize that I've been hanging on every word, written or spoken, hoping for some clue from you as to whether or not you'll ever take my hand and fly with me. I realize that I've been living my life for these past few weeks as certain of my own feelings for you and the beautiful, wonderful possible life before us as I am of the sun rising in the East, but completely uncertain as to where you stand and what you'll do. I doubt you because you doubt yourself, and I sometimes wonder if you'll ever give me permission to stop doubting. I wonder if your need for doubt and confusion is so strong that you feel threatened by my lack of it and feel better when I join you in that darkness. I wonder if, in your fear of walking through that door, you've not instead been trying to pull me through the other way.
I'm not letting you go. You know this. I can't make it any more true. I can't make my love for you any more real, any more perfect to enjoy in your presence or any less painful to endure without you in my life. I will tell you every day because it's true every day. And I will love you every day, show you that I love you every day and prove that love to you every day because it is there every day waiting to be given to you. But I can't force you to fly with me. I can't walk you through that door. That's up to you. I won't let you fall. I'm not letting you go. That's a promise I've pledged, but what good is that promise if I'm not holding you? How can I let you go when you won't let me hold you? I can't make promises to someone who's not there. I can't love a shadow.
Do you really think this is easy? I'm asking you to walk off a cliff and promising that I'll catch you, not let you go. What's easy is stepping in and back out again. What's easy is always knowing that the door is still open, either way, and you need only dart back through when the first pangs of doubts cross your mind. It's easy living in our world, your future world, because you haven't yet let go. That's what we got a glimpse of this past week. You took a few further steps inside and we looked at the demons, and although parts of that was painful, it was all good. It was as good as good can get, and I love you more today that I ever have. More and more every day, in fact. And I still won't let you go. But it's not all that easy. Not really. Easy to look at maybe, but not easy to take. Not easy to grab and make your own. Otherwise, why wouldn't you be doing it right now?
You think you're running away by coming to me, but I don't believe that's true. I think you're running away by not taking my hand and flying with me. Running away fro the really scary thing - being happy. I think you've been running away for a very long time, and now the thought of running _to_ something is as terrifying as death. As terrifying as jumping off a cliff, maybe.
You probably could have guessed this (and I may have even told you) but I used to have a Method by which I made difficult decisions. Still do, in a way. But when I was younger and more ... flexible, for lack of a better word, things were much, much simpler. When faced with a decision between two possible alternatives, I would always choose the path least traveled. I would look into the possible futures, and if there was one path down which I could see further, which felt more secure and predictable, I'd choose the other. Without fail. This, naturally, led to many hardships, but I always at least had an interesting story to tell afterward.
It surprises me very little to hear that we are polar opposites in this regard. But we are both older, wiser and better than we once were. The choice isn't as black or white as it once was, love. It's not a choice between right and wrong. It's not nearly as clear as all that. Not by a mile. We aren't making this choice. It's making us. Somehow, for some reason some thing has decided to put you and I in close proximity and I feel as if there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. Except decide to let you go.
And I'm not letting you go.
I say that a lot. It's even inscribed on a piece of jewelry you're wearing. It's written, as they say, in stone. I keep saying this because I believe it. Because it's true. I am not letting you go. I never will. I'm holding you now, only you don't know it - don't see it or feel it or believe it. But I am. And if you look closely enough, you'll see that it's true. See that you're holding me, too. Otherwise, why would you be here? Do you think that you really haven't walked through that door yet? Do you really feel as if the page can be unturned?
Imagine a day without all of the things which you've now started taking for granted. Live one day without what we share, and tell me that you really still believe that you have a choice and that you can walk away and I'll buy it. I'll let go. That's all I need to hear to never darken your door again or trouble your placid, painful and predictable world. Tell me that you can live without me, can spend a day without connecting to me, wake up, go to bed and breathe without a thought of me in your mind and I'll let go. Just that simple. A to B.
I realize that I've been spending a great deal of time opening doors for you, showing you the truth of things, exposing my every crevice to your inspection and waiting, breath baited, for you to choose. I realize that I've been hanging on every word, written or spoken, hoping for some clue from you as to whether or not you'll ever take my hand and fly with me. I realize that I've been living my life for these past few weeks as certain of my own feelings for you and the beautiful, wonderful possible life before us as I am of the sun rising in the East, but completely uncertain as to where you stand and what you'll do. I doubt you because you doubt yourself, and I sometimes wonder if you'll ever give me permission to stop doubting. I wonder if your need for doubt and confusion is so strong that you feel threatened by my lack of it and feel better when I join you in that darkness. I wonder if, in your fear of walking through that door, you've not instead been trying to pull me through the other way.
I'm not letting you go. You know this. I can't make it any more true. I can't make my love for you any more real, any more perfect to enjoy in your presence or any less painful to endure without you in my life. I will tell you every day because it's true every day. And I will love you every day, show you that I love you every day and prove that love to you every day because it is there every day waiting to be given to you. But I can't force you to fly with me. I can't walk you through that door. That's up to you. I won't let you fall. I'm not letting you go. That's a promise I've pledged, but what good is that promise if I'm not holding you? How can I let you go when you won't let me hold you? I can't make promises to someone who's not there. I can't love a shadow.
Do you really think this is easy? I'm asking you to walk off a cliff and promising that I'll catch you, not let you go. What's easy is stepping in and back out again. What's easy is always knowing that the door is still open, either way, and you need only dart back through when the first pangs of doubts cross your mind. It's easy living in our world, your future world, because you haven't yet let go. That's what we got a glimpse of this past week. You took a few further steps inside and we looked at the demons, and although parts of that was painful, it was all good. It was as good as good can get, and I love you more today that I ever have. More and more every day, in fact. And I still won't let you go. But it's not all that easy. Not really. Easy to look at maybe, but not easy to take. Not easy to grab and make your own. Otherwise, why wouldn't you be doing it right now?
You think you're running away by coming to me, but I don't believe that's true. I think you're running away by not taking my hand and flying with me. Running away fro the really scary thing - being happy. I think you've been running away for a very long time, and now the thought of running _to_ something is as terrifying as death. As terrifying as jumping off a cliff, maybe.
Throwing, catching, hitting
You said something very interesting last night. You suggested that I might be doubting, having second and third thoughts not because anything was actually wrong, but simply because it's in my nature to question everything good that comes my way. I hadn't considered it from that angle before, but I think that's dead-on accurate. What's troubling me about this, all of this, this new life that is layed out before me is that it's all just too goddamn easy. And my brain simply can't accept that something so effortless doesn't have a great big catch, a huge "Gotcha!" waiting in the wings, ready to pounce once I accept my good fortune.
Falling in love with you? Took a matter of days. Getting you to love me back? Just had to be myself. The new job? Pfft...from first hearing about it to actually getting it was simplicity itself. I've been busting my ass for years to get exactly what was just handed to me, all wrapped up with a velvety bow, and all I had to do to get it was ask. Wow, really? Is it all that simple? Have I been working so hard for so long simply because I'd never thought to say "please?"
It can't possibly be that easy.
About twenty years ago, a new highway opened up near my house. It had been in the works for what seemed like forever, and when it was finally finished, you could practically hear the sigh of relief emanating from the local populace. Getting from Point A to Point B instantly became massively easier, countless hours of travel time were saved, and yet my mother refused to set foot (or tire) upon it. I asked her once why she wouldn't use it, since it was so much faster and easier than her preferred routes, which were harder, more dangerous, and took longer. "It's what I know," was her reply, and that was the end of that.
I find myself looking towards my life, my previous life, the one I had before meeting you and I'm drawn to it not because it's particularly attractive, but simply because it's what I know. It's hard, and it's dreary, and it makes me feel ordinary and pointless, but it's what I know. It's a certainty, all of it. I know exactly what to expect from it at any given moment. The same cannot be said of my future life, the one that makes me feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, like I could fuckingwell fly if I had half a mind to. And it can't be known, of course, until it's lived, but I'm so terrified that it's some sort of cosmic joke. That I'm somehow blinding myself to the man behind the curtain because I want it all to be true, because, dear god, why wouldn't I? In short, I don't trust my judgment because...because it's all just too damn easy. And real life, as I know it anyway, is hard. So anything this easy must therefore be fantasy, no?
I wrote a story recently about some students who used the Unreal Engine to create a simulation for patients who suffered from various ailments like vertigo or agoraphobia. By running through the sim, the patients, over time, could rewire their brains so that they would no longer suffer from the irrational fears that kept them from living normal lives. I think that's what I need. I hope that, with prolonged exposure, I'll finally be able to get my brain to accept that not everything good is a trap or a trick.
Unless, of course, it is.
Falling in love with you? Took a matter of days. Getting you to love me back? Just had to be myself. The new job? Pfft...from first hearing about it to actually getting it was simplicity itself. I've been busting my ass for years to get exactly what was just handed to me, all wrapped up with a velvety bow, and all I had to do to get it was ask. Wow, really? Is it all that simple? Have I been working so hard for so long simply because I'd never thought to say "please?"
It can't possibly be that easy.
About twenty years ago, a new highway opened up near my house. It had been in the works for what seemed like forever, and when it was finally finished, you could practically hear the sigh of relief emanating from the local populace. Getting from Point A to Point B instantly became massively easier, countless hours of travel time were saved, and yet my mother refused to set foot (or tire) upon it. I asked her once why she wouldn't use it, since it was so much faster and easier than her preferred routes, which were harder, more dangerous, and took longer. "It's what I know," was her reply, and that was the end of that.
I find myself looking towards my life, my previous life, the one I had before meeting you and I'm drawn to it not because it's particularly attractive, but simply because it's what I know. It's hard, and it's dreary, and it makes me feel ordinary and pointless, but it's what I know. It's a certainty, all of it. I know exactly what to expect from it at any given moment. The same cannot be said of my future life, the one that makes me feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, like I could fuckingwell fly if I had half a mind to. And it can't be known, of course, until it's lived, but I'm so terrified that it's some sort of cosmic joke. That I'm somehow blinding myself to the man behind the curtain because I want it all to be true, because, dear god, why wouldn't I? In short, I don't trust my judgment because...because it's all just too damn easy. And real life, as I know it anyway, is hard. So anything this easy must therefore be fantasy, no?
I wrote a story recently about some students who used the Unreal Engine to create a simulation for patients who suffered from various ailments like vertigo or agoraphobia. By running through the sim, the patients, over time, could rewire their brains so that they would no longer suffer from the irrational fears that kept them from living normal lives. I think that's what I need. I hope that, with prolonged exposure, I'll finally be able to get my brain to accept that not everything good is a trap or a trick.
Unless, of course, it is.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Y'all Still Be Here When I Wake Up?
It's interesting to me how we focus on the different aspects of things.
But first, I have to make a confession: I'm having a much harder time being objective about you and your life and what you should do than I was a week ago. I know you feel torn. Tugged at and manipulated. I know you feel as if there are too many hands needing holding and too little of you to go around. I know I contribute to that, and I hope that you know I don't want to. I want you in my life, but I want you to be in my life willingly, because you want to be, not because you feel obligated.
But I, too, feel torn. I feel torn between, on the one hand, wanting to offer you an out; wanting to allow you the freedom to explore what feels right and not feel obligated to uphold silly promises sworn in the throes of passion. On the other hand, I feel that I'm betraying myself, my soul, my heart and you by not being honest and admitting that I feel deeply hurt by your constant questioning and self doubt. I feel empty enough, not having you here and knowing (when you are here) that you'll have to leave, but to know that you are, on some level, questioning every word you say to me, every promise you make and every oath of love, days, hours, maybe minutes after they leave your lips makes me feel beyond empty. It makes me feel as if I'm pouring love into a bottomless pit, two and a half miles straight down.
And then I look into your eyes, and see my love shining back at me in those moments when you put all that away and allow yourself to look at what I'm giving you. Not look away and question, actually look at it, feel it, embrace it and open yourself to it, I feel my love returned. I feel my own love for you radiating back at me, see my look in your eyes and feel like there's nothing on this earth that can come between us. Except maybe ourselves, for when you look away again, all too often, the feeling fades. I keep fearing that you'll leave the room and disappear. I'm afraid that I'll wake up and you'll be gone. Not because this isn't real, but because you can't believe in it, even when it's staring you in the face.
I've said this too many times, but it's the best way I know how to tell you I love you now, aside from holding you in my arms, brushing my rough hands against your soft, beautiful face and promising with a whisper in your ear that I'll love you, hold you, keep you and protect you forever, or as long as humanly possible (whichever comes first). I love you. You. Not the you-shaped hole in my life when you're gone, and not the general idea of a you-type person to fuck and laugh with. I love you. Every bit of you. Even the cranky, mean bits. Even the fighting you. Even the you that hates, fights and questions me. Even the you that doubts.
Anyway, as I said, it's interesting to me what we remember - or interpret - differently. I feel like we had a handful of wonderful, but tempestuous days, although we only fought about a few things, and those were things over which we were going to have to come to an understanding at some point anyway. Things we'd never dared speak about to another living soul, much less open ourselves to a debate over. I feel like we threw open all the doors to our lives, invited each other in to look around, didn't like some of the things we found and then spat at each other, mad that we'd each broken some unspoken covenant to not address real things. It feels as if the dream died this week; our storybook romance, in which I give up saving people from drowning and walk into your classroom to rescue you from a life of schoolmarmish loneliness. It feels like that movie wrapped up the day you stepped off the plane and after that we were on our own to figure out how to love each other without the numbing hum of adrenaline in our ears. I think this week we moved beyond the theoretical of living a perfect life, loving a perfect love with our perfect partners. We were faced with the possibility of actually having to do it and that thought terrified us and we fumbled a bit, forgetting that it wasn't something we dreamed up out of nothing, but something that found us, picked us out of a random life because it was perfect for us; something that drew us together, in spite of all odds, not because we desperately wanted it (although we did) but because we are the two halves of a perfect person.
We fell in love a long time ago. That's not what this week was about. This week was about trying to decide if we trusted our hearts, trusted that invisible thing which pointed us the way to each other and said "Dude, check it." This week was about testing the limits of the dream. We did good in some parts, bad in others, but in the end, after the credits rolled and the last audience member filed out, shoes sticking slightly to the floor, we remained, looking into each other's hearts, loving each other for who we really are and what we bring to each others' lives and not wanting to make that stupid, sad trip to the airport one more time. I fucked you tonight and afterward I wanted ot go make you tacos, and settle in for a long evening of just being myself with you, just being yourself. We fought today and worked through things today and lived life today, and at the end of this day I just wanted to exist in your presence. Nothing more, nothing less. But that wasn't to be. Not tonight. Maybe not for many nights. And if you can honestly tell me that your doubts overshadow the pain ion your heart at the knowing of that, then you may just convince me of that thing I need to know in order to let you go. If you can, that is. If you can.
So ponder away, my love. Think long and hard. As long and as hard as you like. Leave me, even, if that's what you have to do. Forget what we've had, decide it's not for you, doubt its very existence if that makes something inside of you feel more right than resting in my arms and feeling my love for you. If you have to go that road, then do it. If you have to explore every possible negative alternative to the fact that I'm here, I love you and this is real, then do so. But please hurry home when you're done. And if you can skip the whole doubting, questioning bit, all the better. We both know how this ends. Stop fucking around and come home. Your husband misses you terribly and your life awaits.
The fact that you dreamed about it doesn't make it any less true.
But first, I have to make a confession: I'm having a much harder time being objective about you and your life and what you should do than I was a week ago. I know you feel torn. Tugged at and manipulated. I know you feel as if there are too many hands needing holding and too little of you to go around. I know I contribute to that, and I hope that you know I don't want to. I want you in my life, but I want you to be in my life willingly, because you want to be, not because you feel obligated.
But I, too, feel torn. I feel torn between, on the one hand, wanting to offer you an out; wanting to allow you the freedom to explore what feels right and not feel obligated to uphold silly promises sworn in the throes of passion. On the other hand, I feel that I'm betraying myself, my soul, my heart and you by not being honest and admitting that I feel deeply hurt by your constant questioning and self doubt. I feel empty enough, not having you here and knowing (when you are here) that you'll have to leave, but to know that you are, on some level, questioning every word you say to me, every promise you make and every oath of love, days, hours, maybe minutes after they leave your lips makes me feel beyond empty. It makes me feel as if I'm pouring love into a bottomless pit, two and a half miles straight down.
And then I look into your eyes, and see my love shining back at me in those moments when you put all that away and allow yourself to look at what I'm giving you. Not look away and question, actually look at it, feel it, embrace it and open yourself to it, I feel my love returned. I feel my own love for you radiating back at me, see my look in your eyes and feel like there's nothing on this earth that can come between us. Except maybe ourselves, for when you look away again, all too often, the feeling fades. I keep fearing that you'll leave the room and disappear. I'm afraid that I'll wake up and you'll be gone. Not because this isn't real, but because you can't believe in it, even when it's staring you in the face.
I've said this too many times, but it's the best way I know how to tell you I love you now, aside from holding you in my arms, brushing my rough hands against your soft, beautiful face and promising with a whisper in your ear that I'll love you, hold you, keep you and protect you forever, or as long as humanly possible (whichever comes first). I love you. You. Not the you-shaped hole in my life when you're gone, and not the general idea of a you-type person to fuck and laugh with. I love you. Every bit of you. Even the cranky, mean bits. Even the fighting you. Even the you that hates, fights and questions me. Even the you that doubts.
Anyway, as I said, it's interesting to me what we remember - or interpret - differently. I feel like we had a handful of wonderful, but tempestuous days, although we only fought about a few things, and those were things over which we were going to have to come to an understanding at some point anyway. Things we'd never dared speak about to another living soul, much less open ourselves to a debate over. I feel like we threw open all the doors to our lives, invited each other in to look around, didn't like some of the things we found and then spat at each other, mad that we'd each broken some unspoken covenant to not address real things. It feels as if the dream died this week; our storybook romance, in which I give up saving people from drowning and walk into your classroom to rescue you from a life of schoolmarmish loneliness. It feels like that movie wrapped up the day you stepped off the plane and after that we were on our own to figure out how to love each other without the numbing hum of adrenaline in our ears. I think this week we moved beyond the theoretical of living a perfect life, loving a perfect love with our perfect partners. We were faced with the possibility of actually having to do it and that thought terrified us and we fumbled a bit, forgetting that it wasn't something we dreamed up out of nothing, but something that found us, picked us out of a random life because it was perfect for us; something that drew us together, in spite of all odds, not because we desperately wanted it (although we did) but because we are the two halves of a perfect person.
We fell in love a long time ago. That's not what this week was about. This week was about trying to decide if we trusted our hearts, trusted that invisible thing which pointed us the way to each other and said "Dude, check it." This week was about testing the limits of the dream. We did good in some parts, bad in others, but in the end, after the credits rolled and the last audience member filed out, shoes sticking slightly to the floor, we remained, looking into each other's hearts, loving each other for who we really are and what we bring to each others' lives and not wanting to make that stupid, sad trip to the airport one more time. I fucked you tonight and afterward I wanted ot go make you tacos, and settle in for a long evening of just being myself with you, just being yourself. We fought today and worked through things today and lived life today, and at the end of this day I just wanted to exist in your presence. Nothing more, nothing less. But that wasn't to be. Not tonight. Maybe not for many nights. And if you can honestly tell me that your doubts overshadow the pain ion your heart at the knowing of that, then you may just convince me of that thing I need to know in order to let you go. If you can, that is. If you can.
So ponder away, my love. Think long and hard. As long and as hard as you like. Leave me, even, if that's what you have to do. Forget what we've had, decide it's not for you, doubt its very existence if that makes something inside of you feel more right than resting in my arms and feeling my love for you. If you have to go that road, then do it. If you have to explore every possible negative alternative to the fact that I'm here, I love you and this is real, then do so. But please hurry home when you're done. And if you can skip the whole doubting, questioning bit, all the better. We both know how this ends. Stop fucking around and come home. Your husband misses you terribly and your life awaits.
The fact that you dreamed about it doesn't make it any less true.
Out of Gas
I'm spent. Exhausted. Tired not just on a physical level, but on an emotional one as well. Like a sponge that's been squeezed of every last drop of water, then tossed in a kiln for good measure. There's just plain nothing left in the tank. And yet so many more miles to go.
This latest trip was...not what I'd hoped. I wanted a safe haven in which to hide, recharge, be at peace, but that's not what I found at all. I found more conflict, more turmoil, and more negativity. Part of it is my own stupid pre-formed expectations, this childish vision I had of "this will make everything all better." I keep running to you because that means I'm running away from reality. From the real world. At some point, however, reality was going to catch up and that's what happened this week.
We fought. Over and over and over again, we fought. Over important things and stupid things and everything in between. Inevitable, I suppose. You can't share so many emotions so deeply and not expect the bad ones to come out, too. Still, all experiences have value, even the negative ones. I learned a lot this week, about you, about me, and about us. Some of it was good, some of it was not. Two items are of particular interest to me.
The first is that this morning I woke up after several straight days of conflict with you and I was genuinely sorry that I would be leaving. We won't work on the garden together tonight. I won't see egg dog do the happy dance. I won't be able to sneak glances at your hand, hoping to catch a glimpse of your ring of protection. All of this, that has become so normal to me, so How It Is will once again be gone. You were right, you know. I already find myself taking far too much for granted.
The second thing that interested me was this very day. I am upset for a variety of reasons, including something you said. You know this, we discussed it. However, as soon as a problem came up at your job, I was quite content to shove all of that which had been so important mere moments before to the side to focus on the task at hand and give you the best counsel that I could. Not because it let me avoid my own issues--I'm extremely good at avoiding things--but because helping you was far more important. And because I'm your partner, and that's what partners do.
So. I have much to ponder as I head for that goddamn airport once again. I don't want to leave. I really, really don't.
This latest trip was...not what I'd hoped. I wanted a safe haven in which to hide, recharge, be at peace, but that's not what I found at all. I found more conflict, more turmoil, and more negativity. Part of it is my own stupid pre-formed expectations, this childish vision I had of "this will make everything all better." I keep running to you because that means I'm running away from reality. From the real world. At some point, however, reality was going to catch up and that's what happened this week.
We fought. Over and over and over again, we fought. Over important things and stupid things and everything in between. Inevitable, I suppose. You can't share so many emotions so deeply and not expect the bad ones to come out, too. Still, all experiences have value, even the negative ones. I learned a lot this week, about you, about me, and about us. Some of it was good, some of it was not. Two items are of particular interest to me.
The first is that this morning I woke up after several straight days of conflict with you and I was genuinely sorry that I would be leaving. We won't work on the garden together tonight. I won't see egg dog do the happy dance. I won't be able to sneak glances at your hand, hoping to catch a glimpse of your ring of protection. All of this, that has become so normal to me, so How It Is will once again be gone. You were right, you know. I already find myself taking far too much for granted.
The second thing that interested me was this very day. I am upset for a variety of reasons, including something you said. You know this, we discussed it. However, as soon as a problem came up at your job, I was quite content to shove all of that which had been so important mere moments before to the side to focus on the task at hand and give you the best counsel that I could. Not because it let me avoid my own issues--I'm extremely good at avoiding things--but because helping you was far more important. And because I'm your partner, and that's what partners do.
So. I have much to ponder as I head for that goddamn airport once again. I don't want to leave. I really, really don't.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
When You Can't Run
There's really no describing it. None of it. I will, of course, try, but I know I'll come far short of making it seem real, making it make sense to anyone not living it. Just like, before this day, I myself didn't fully understand the nature of love, the meaning of companionship and the definition of happiness. I suppose these definitions came along with my understanding of you. I would imagine, were I to make a dictionary of the contents of my mind, there'd be a (see: Europa) appended to each of these terms.
I can't go back to the painful day we spent apart, between our brief visit and the longer one, the one which recently ended. I can't go there because it's past and feels too painful still. I had no idea when (or if) I'd see you again, and did not dare to hope it'd be as soon as it was. I know I smothered you with puppy dog enthusiasm when you got here, but you can't blame me. I thought I'd lost you and to have you back so soon felt like a gift. Still does, in fact. Every day. I feel blessed, there's no other way of putting it. By whom and for what reason, I don't know. Don't care, really. To me, you're the vindication of a lifelong belief in a true, perfect love.
And that's how I feel now. With the addition of helplessness, because I can't be with you to hold your hand, look in your eyes and reassure you that everything will be OK. Hold you when it's all too much, and bring you down when you need it. You say I'm helping by … I don't know. But I believe you. Still, I need to be with you because I know you need me. And I just plain need to be with you for myself. The days aren't short enough when we're apart, and when we're together, they fly by in minutes. Time is my enemy.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Into the Abyss
Well, I'm here, back in my life. Except here isn't where I left it, is it, Bud? Everything feels so fake to me now. So utterly strange. I was missing the comfort and familiarity of "home," but now nothing in this place is comfortable. Familiar, sure, but also alien. It's like I'm filling in for someone else's shift, or something. I know what to do, and how to do it, but it just feels weird to me. I don't want to be here, but I am, and I'll put up with it because I have to. I see it as an extended business trip...I'm just working offsite for a while. I can deal with that, because I know eventually I'll be going home.
I feel...well, honestly, "weird," though not particularly descriptive, is the best that I can come up with. Unsettled. At loose ends. I'm lightheaded and sick to my stomach and just plain not myself.
My brain isn't working properly.
I feel...well, honestly, "weird," though not particularly descriptive, is the best that I can come up with. Unsettled. At loose ends. I'm lightheaded and sick to my stomach and just plain not myself.
My brain isn't working properly.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Zo My God
I can't even begin to cover how it feels to be with you, my pirate twin. You were there. You know. It's almost impossible to comprehend. There was so much. And all of it good. All of it ... right. I could try to describe it for days (and will) but in the end, that's the only word that will do: right.
And now you're gone. I believe that you love me. Believe that you'll be back, and believe that we'll have a life together better than the one in our dreams, because so far everything with you has been better than I could have imagined. Better than I did imagine. More ... everything. More right. But right now I can't feel much more than the loss of you, albeit temporary and in presence alone. I can't feel the hope in my heart for the aching emptiness, can't see the future for the despairing present, and can't dream, through the tears. I know this is temporary. I know, in some part of me that we'll be together again, but right now that doesn't matter. Right now I want you with me and you're not here.
You should know that this is the polar opposite of how I usually feel when left alone. In fact, I usually can't wait to be alone, and when I've shared space with another for any amount of time, it's not long before I wish they were not there. When they finally do depart, I breathe a sigh of relief and set about becoming myself again. Tonight, after I got home and felt your absence, I spent about 20 minutes puttering, wondering what to do with myself. Then I breathed a sigh and decided to set about trying to become myself again, and discovered that I didn't have to; that I already was and had been the entire time I'd been with you. This never happens.
Now I'm alternating between writing to you and curling up on the bed, alone, breathing in the scent of your hair and your body and trying very hard not to cry, scream or throw myself at the walls. Gnashing of teeth, rending of clothes, etc. I miss you. I love you. You're mine and I'm not letting you go.
And now you're gone. I believe that you love me. Believe that you'll be back, and believe that we'll have a life together better than the one in our dreams, because so far everything with you has been better than I could have imagined. Better than I did imagine. More ... everything. More right. But right now I can't feel much more than the loss of you, albeit temporary and in presence alone. I can't feel the hope in my heart for the aching emptiness, can't see the future for the despairing present, and can't dream, through the tears. I know this is temporary. I know, in some part of me that we'll be together again, but right now that doesn't matter. Right now I want you with me and you're not here.
You should know that this is the polar opposite of how I usually feel when left alone. In fact, I usually can't wait to be alone, and when I've shared space with another for any amount of time, it's not long before I wish they were not there. When they finally do depart, I breathe a sigh of relief and set about becoming myself again. Tonight, after I got home and felt your absence, I spent about 20 minutes puttering, wondering what to do with myself. Then I breathed a sigh and decided to set about trying to become myself again, and discovered that I didn't have to; that I already was and had been the entire time I'd been with you. This never happens.
Now I'm alternating between writing to you and curling up on the bed, alone, breathing in the scent of your hair and your body and trying very hard not to cry, scream or throw myself at the walls. Gnashing of teeth, rending of clothes, etc. I miss you. I love you. You're mine and I'm not letting you go.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
My Turn to Sigh
And now, as Robert Plant said, it's my turn to sigh.
Cue: weepy guitar solo.
I was again too busy to do more than speak with you for a few minutes on IM this morning, and although that was more than we'd spoken on Sunday, after that one brief call yesterday, and the love and longing I could hear in your voice, and feel in mine, not speaking to you today felt like a wound. Like I'd died a little inside.
There's something about that call that warms me still. It was so perfect. I needed to hear from you just as much as you needed to hear from me, and when we found each other it was like we were again the only two people on Earth. If I needed any proof that you and I were meant for each other, that ours is a love of the kind you rarely see, and that our future is a future together or no future at all, that call was enough to quiet any doubt. Not that there was any, but sometimes an affirmation can be a useful and needed thing.
But today we couldn't speak, and now I feel empty and little things having nothing to do with me make me feel foul and ill-tempered. I want you with me and want to be with you. There's slightly more to my sadness this evening, than simply not being able to hear your voice, of course. The things that separate us now are like cancer to me and I hate them. I hate them for keeping me from you. The thought of you being not only away from me, but with someone else is like a needle in my eye; it's a blinding pain cured only by looking away from it. I know it's still there, but when I look away, to the future, to the work in front of me, I can endure it. Almost.
You told me the other day, to help me with my unease in certain situations, to focus on the things near me. I'm doing that, and it's helping, but the thing I'm focusing on is you; seeing you and finally being with you. Watching that one show, while eating that one take out. That is the image in my mind, and that is the joy towards which I am working. It's near but nearly near enough. 48 hours have never felt so long.
And yet I know that if I'd only heard your voice today I'd be in a completely different mood. I suppose this means I'm addicted, too. And I have to tell you today, because I haven't yet, that I'm not letting you go.
Cue: weepy guitar solo.
I was again too busy to do more than speak with you for a few minutes on IM this morning, and although that was more than we'd spoken on Sunday, after that one brief call yesterday, and the love and longing I could hear in your voice, and feel in mine, not speaking to you today felt like a wound. Like I'd died a little inside.
There's something about that call that warms me still. It was so perfect. I needed to hear from you just as much as you needed to hear from me, and when we found each other it was like we were again the only two people on Earth. If I needed any proof that you and I were meant for each other, that ours is a love of the kind you rarely see, and that our future is a future together or no future at all, that call was enough to quiet any doubt. Not that there was any, but sometimes an affirmation can be a useful and needed thing.
But today we couldn't speak, and now I feel empty and little things having nothing to do with me make me feel foul and ill-tempered. I want you with me and want to be with you. There's slightly more to my sadness this evening, than simply not being able to hear your voice, of course. The things that separate us now are like cancer to me and I hate them. I hate them for keeping me from you. The thought of you being not only away from me, but with someone else is like a needle in my eye; it's a blinding pain cured only by looking away from it. I know it's still there, but when I look away, to the future, to the work in front of me, I can endure it. Almost.
You told me the other day, to help me with my unease in certain situations, to focus on the things near me. I'm doing that, and it's helping, but the thing I'm focusing on is you; seeing you and finally being with you. Watching that one show, while eating that one take out. That is the image in my mind, and that is the joy towards which I am working. It's near but nearly near enough. 48 hours have never felt so long.
And yet I know that if I'd only heard your voice today I'd be in a completely different mood. I suppose this means I'm addicted, too. And I have to tell you today, because I haven't yet, that I'm not letting you go.
Monday, January 8, 2007
Le sigh...
I'm an ass.
I spent a good portion of today in a foul mood, some of which got directed at you. Nevermind that you hadn't actually done a thing to deserve it, you still got some snippiness on your shoes, and I apologize for that. I could blame it on lack of sleep (which I am seriously suffering from), but the truth is that it's from lack of you. I'm a big fan of logic and reason...generally speaking, I try to live my life by them. I've been called "Vulcan" on more than one occasion, and it's usually not meant as a compliment. And logically, I knew I wasn't going to talk to you much this week...we'd discussed it at lenght, and I was, again logically, fine with it. Not happy about it, of course, but you were going to be working, and veddy veddy busy, and so obviously I just plain wasn't going to have the pleasure of your company. I knew all of this, and had plenty of my own work to deal with today, and so therefore thought myself well prepared for a day without you.
Ha.
True, there were emails from you, but they were terribly brief and to the point (again, not a complaint, I know how busy you are), and therefore did little to satisfy my hunger for contact with you. When I actually got some time with you (in real time, no less), it was like an enormous cloud lifted from over my head. Just like that. All you had to do was show up and be you. Nifty trick, that.
So, yes, I'm quite nervous about upcoming events...I think I'd have to be a complete loon not to be at least a little on edge. But I'm quite convinced that the uneasiness and awkwardness will last only a few minutes, assuming they last that long.
I miss you terribly.
I spent a good portion of today in a foul mood, some of which got directed at you. Nevermind that you hadn't actually done a thing to deserve it, you still got some snippiness on your shoes, and I apologize for that. I could blame it on lack of sleep (which I am seriously suffering from), but the truth is that it's from lack of you. I'm a big fan of logic and reason...generally speaking, I try to live my life by them. I've been called "Vulcan" on more than one occasion, and it's usually not meant as a compliment. And logically, I knew I wasn't going to talk to you much this week...we'd discussed it at lenght, and I was, again logically, fine with it. Not happy about it, of course, but you were going to be working, and veddy veddy busy, and so obviously I just plain wasn't going to have the pleasure of your company. I knew all of this, and had plenty of my own work to deal with today, and so therefore thought myself well prepared for a day without you.
Ha.
True, there were emails from you, but they were terribly brief and to the point (again, not a complaint, I know how busy you are), and therefore did little to satisfy my hunger for contact with you. When I actually got some time with you (in real time, no less), it was like an enormous cloud lifted from over my head. Just like that. All you had to do was show up and be you. Nifty trick, that.
So, yes, I'm quite nervous about upcoming events...I think I'd have to be a complete loon not to be at least a little on edge. But I'm quite convinced that the uneasiness and awkwardness will last only a few minutes, assuming they last that long.
I miss you terribly.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
No Surprises
Can't sleep, so ... I write. Everyone should be so blessed, I suppose.
Traveling always disrupts me, so I'm not surprised I can't slough off this wakefulness, but I've not been sleeping lately anyway, thinking, dreaming of you, so I'm doubly not surprised. Completely and throughly lacking in surprise. I'm also elated, and, as has been the case on a number of occasions these past couple of weeks, incredibly sad simultaneously. Which, since it has been happening so much lately, should probably also not be surprising in the least.
Here's another thing that's not surprising for a number of reasons: I have to leave for a while, and will be largely unable to communicate with you. You know this, I know, and it's been planned for some time, and it's my job, so it makes sense, I know, but it's also frustrating and upsetting to us both, if not surprising. You're probably right in that I may feel the absence less, having so much, as yet unknown, work to do, but I will feel it. I have a feeling my days will feel quite empty and there will be a black, throbbing hurt where I would usually feel your closeness through the IM or over the phone. I will miss sharing my day, although I know I will share all of them with you when I return. Still, as far apart as we've been (physically), I can't think of a single day that I didn't spend more than half of talking with you. I know I'll be a busy bee while I'm gone, but I can't possibly be busy enough to not miss that, or you, my love, who has come to mean so much to me in such a short time.
And then there's the good part, to counter the bad, since we apparently must always have that. (Remind me to explain why this reminds me of the vows I heard today, if I need to.) I'm finally going to see you again. I can't describe my joy other than to say that I'll show you how happy this makes me when I see you, but I know that even what I can express by holding you, comforting you, loving you and spending every second of every day I have you studying you can't capture the acute joy I felt in my heart when you told me you would be here after I got home. Lute Boy says he's longed for this day since we first started talking, and I agree with him. I can't think of anything I've ever wanted more than to see you again, and hold you in my arms and love you.
Isn't it funny how, when our minds were first full of dreams of seeing each other, all we could think of was the physical loving, the sex and the various ways we'd surprise and please one another. I still think of this (thinking about it right now, in fact) and still plan on acting out many of those fantasies, but lately as we've talked about The Day, our thoughts have turned to the comforting, almost chaste thoughts of long hugs, endless eye gazing and the watching of that one show while eating that certain take out. It's almost as if we've acted out an entire love affair already, and are now, in our minds, at that quiet, open, trusting, gentle loving stage in which two people, having endured the fires of their once separate, raging passions, have been fused into one. Perhaps not yet one flesh, but in so many ways of one mind. How you can doubt what will happen when we finally unwrap that gift is beyond me. We already know what's inside; better, perhaps, than anyone ever has.
So it's with both a heavy and light heart that I leave you, if you'll allow me to get all Ken Burnsish on you here, my darling (oh, my darling). I'm confident that when I return and you arrive there will be plenty of new and exciting aspects of our love to explore, but having come this fair with you, having discovered so many common interests, feelings, thoughts, dreams, hopes and feelings, I'm confident that we'll find ourselves reveling, once again, in our complete lack of surprise. Unless, of course, you expect me not to love you, exactly as you are, with all of my heart, until the earth accepts you as dust. Because that's exactly what I intend to do.
Traveling always disrupts me, so I'm not surprised I can't slough off this wakefulness, but I've not been sleeping lately anyway, thinking, dreaming of you, so I'm doubly not surprised. Completely and throughly lacking in surprise. I'm also elated, and, as has been the case on a number of occasions these past couple of weeks, incredibly sad simultaneously. Which, since it has been happening so much lately, should probably also not be surprising in the least.
Here's another thing that's not surprising for a number of reasons: I have to leave for a while, and will be largely unable to communicate with you. You know this, I know, and it's been planned for some time, and it's my job, so it makes sense, I know, but it's also frustrating and upsetting to us both, if not surprising. You're probably right in that I may feel the absence less, having so much, as yet unknown, work to do, but I will feel it. I have a feeling my days will feel quite empty and there will be a black, throbbing hurt where I would usually feel your closeness through the IM or over the phone. I will miss sharing my day, although I know I will share all of them with you when I return. Still, as far apart as we've been (physically), I can't think of a single day that I didn't spend more than half of talking with you. I know I'll be a busy bee while I'm gone, but I can't possibly be busy enough to not miss that, or you, my love, who has come to mean so much to me in such a short time.
And then there's the good part, to counter the bad, since we apparently must always have that. (Remind me to explain why this reminds me of the vows I heard today, if I need to.) I'm finally going to see you again. I can't describe my joy other than to say that I'll show you how happy this makes me when I see you, but I know that even what I can express by holding you, comforting you, loving you and spending every second of every day I have you studying you can't capture the acute joy I felt in my heart when you told me you would be here after I got home. Lute Boy says he's longed for this day since we first started talking, and I agree with him. I can't think of anything I've ever wanted more than to see you again, and hold you in my arms and love you.
Isn't it funny how, when our minds were first full of dreams of seeing each other, all we could think of was the physical loving, the sex and the various ways we'd surprise and please one another. I still think of this (thinking about it right now, in fact) and still plan on acting out many of those fantasies, but lately as we've talked about The Day, our thoughts have turned to the comforting, almost chaste thoughts of long hugs, endless eye gazing and the watching of that one show while eating that certain take out. It's almost as if we've acted out an entire love affair already, and are now, in our minds, at that quiet, open, trusting, gentle loving stage in which two people, having endured the fires of their once separate, raging passions, have been fused into one. Perhaps not yet one flesh, but in so many ways of one mind. How you can doubt what will happen when we finally unwrap that gift is beyond me. We already know what's inside; better, perhaps, than anyone ever has.
So it's with both a heavy and light heart that I leave you, if you'll allow me to get all Ken Burnsish on you here, my darling (oh, my darling). I'm confident that when I return and you arrive there will be plenty of new and exciting aspects of our love to explore, but having come this fair with you, having discovered so many common interests, feelings, thoughts, dreams, hopes and feelings, I'm confident that we'll find ourselves reveling, once again, in our complete lack of surprise. Unless, of course, you expect me not to love you, exactly as you are, with all of my heart, until the earth accepts you as dust. Because that's exactly what I intend to do.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
The Lute
Tonight was brutal.
After such a perfect day, a day in which I felt so close to you, so in love with you and so important to you and your life, being ripped away from you, literally in mid-sentence, was the worst, most upsetting ending I could have imagined. And I know you know I felt that way. I can't hide it from you. And I know you felt it too.
But I feel like I should have tried to hide it. At least for you, so that you could be strong. I don't want to be selfish. I want you to know how I'm feeling and that I love you and that being without you is painful, but I also want you to feel that I'm stronger than the pain, and that you can lean on me if you feel like you need to. Because you can. And I hope that you will. Today, tomorrow and every day for the rest of our lives. Because I know I'll ask the same of you, from time to time, and I know you'll be there for me too.
Yet even though I'm aching for you, and feel empty without you, I feel good and free and new. The joy of the day we shared, the exciting things you achieved and have to look forward to, and the promises we made, or hinted at, or dreamt hasn't left me. It's grown, and through it my love for you has grown. I love you more each day, and every day brings something new and exciting to share with you or through you. I know that there's pain tonight, and that there may be on many nights and days to come, but I know that some day you and I will be together, and we will love each other like two people have never loved each other. And everything we do will be with each other and for each other.
Remember when we were talking tonight about how gay this all sounds? I'm wearing that ruffled shirt right now, baby. If I weren't feeling it, I would be laughing as I read this, or heaven forfend, typed it. But I am feeling it. You're my everything. I can't believe I found you, but I did. And I'm not letting you go. I love you and I'm not letting you go.
I'm not letting you go.
After such a perfect day, a day in which I felt so close to you, so in love with you and so important to you and your life, being ripped away from you, literally in mid-sentence, was the worst, most upsetting ending I could have imagined. And I know you know I felt that way. I can't hide it from you. And I know you felt it too.
But I feel like I should have tried to hide it. At least for you, so that you could be strong. I don't want to be selfish. I want you to know how I'm feeling and that I love you and that being without you is painful, but I also want you to feel that I'm stronger than the pain, and that you can lean on me if you feel like you need to. Because you can. And I hope that you will. Today, tomorrow and every day for the rest of our lives. Because I know I'll ask the same of you, from time to time, and I know you'll be there for me too.
Yet even though I'm aching for you, and feel empty without you, I feel good and free and new. The joy of the day we shared, the exciting things you achieved and have to look forward to, and the promises we made, or hinted at, or dreamt hasn't left me. It's grown, and through it my love for you has grown. I love you more each day, and every day brings something new and exciting to share with you or through you. I know that there's pain tonight, and that there may be on many nights and days to come, but I know that some day you and I will be together, and we will love each other like two people have never loved each other. And everything we do will be with each other and for each other.
Remember when we were talking tonight about how gay this all sounds? I'm wearing that ruffled shirt right now, baby. If I weren't feeling it, I would be laughing as I read this, or heaven forfend, typed it. But I am feeling it. You're my everything. I can't believe I found you, but I did. And I'm not letting you go. I love you and I'm not letting you go.
I'm not letting you go.
Because I'm not feeling quite 15 enough yet...
Calling You, by Blue October
Theres something that i cant quite explain
i'm so in love with you
you'll never take that away
and if i said a hundred times before
expect a thousand more
you never take that away
well expect me to be
calling you to see
if you're ok when i'm not around
asking if you love me
i love the way you make it sound
calling you to see
do i try too hard to make you smile
to make a smile
well i will keep calling you to see
if you're sleepin are you dreamin and
if you're dreamin are you dreamin of me
i cant believe
you actually picked...me
i thought that the world had lost its sway
(its so hard sometimes)
then i fell in love with you
(then came you)
and you took that away
(its not so difficult, the world is not so difficult)
you take away the old
show me the new
and i feel like i can fly
when i stand next to you
so what if I'm on this phone
a hundred miles from home
i take the words you gave
and send them back to you
i only want to see
if you're ok when i'm not around
asking if you love me
i love the way you make it sound
calling you to see
do i try too hard to make you smile
to make a smile
i will keep calling you to see
if you're sleepin are you dreamin and
if you're dreamin are you dreamin of me
i cant believe
you actually picked...me
well i will keep calling you to see
if you're sleepin are you dreamin and
if you're dreamin are you dreamin of me
i cant believe
you actually picked...me
i will keep calling you to see
if you're sleepin are you dreamin and
if you're dreamin are you dreamin of me
i cant believe
you actually picked...me
Yeah. And stuff.
Theres something that i cant quite explain
i'm so in love with you
you'll never take that away
and if i said a hundred times before
expect a thousand more
you never take that away
well expect me to be
calling you to see
if you're ok when i'm not around
asking if you love me
i love the way you make it sound
calling you to see
do i try too hard to make you smile
to make a smile
well i will keep calling you to see
if you're sleepin are you dreamin and
if you're dreamin are you dreamin of me
i cant believe
you actually picked...me
i thought that the world had lost its sway
(its so hard sometimes)
then i fell in love with you
(then came you)
and you took that away
(its not so difficult, the world is not so difficult)
you take away the old
show me the new
and i feel like i can fly
when i stand next to you
so what if I'm on this phone
a hundred miles from home
i take the words you gave
and send them back to you
i only want to see
if you're ok when i'm not around
asking if you love me
i love the way you make it sound
calling you to see
do i try too hard to make you smile
to make a smile
i will keep calling you to see
if you're sleepin are you dreamin and
if you're dreamin are you dreamin of me
i cant believe
you actually picked...me
well i will keep calling you to see
if you're sleepin are you dreamin and
if you're dreamin are you dreamin of me
i cant believe
you actually picked...me
i will keep calling you to see
if you're sleepin are you dreamin and
if you're dreamin are you dreamin of me
i cant believe
you actually picked...me
Yeah. And stuff.
?
It's interesting, really, the things that catch your attention. What makes one person stick out of a crowd for you, while the rest remain anonymous passersby? Folks in Really Realy World tend to do their sorting based on visual cues, at least at first, but when you largely live in the world of the digital, it ends up coming down to perceived personality. Communicating one's true self through print is tricky business, and few people do it well, I've found. Don't get me wrong, I've formed many a long and lasting friendship via IM and email, but that was usually become of some outside force exerting an influence. Frequent visitors to my blog, coworkers on the site, fellow trivia game players, these people I got to know over time, as I mentally added the sum total of their comments and formed an idea as to the personalities at work.
I bring this up to contrast the near-instant impact Taurus had on me. Language is a drug for me, the most delicious of opiates and aphrodesiacs all in one. Simply using it well isn't enough to trip my trigger, though; I know more than one writer whose work is so perfect that it practically makes me weep, but that doesn't make me want to hop in bed with them. As has already been mentioned, I'd met Taurus in person for a bit, and while he created a good impression, it wasn't an OMG impression. No, that came a bit later. I had to ask him something work-related, and he was, shall we say, somewhat slow to respond to emails, so I bugged him via IM. Hey, don't put your screen name in your signature if you don't want it used, you know? (The allegory of that is don't put it in your blog profile, either, unless you want various icky people asking you to do various icky things to them. Ew.) He was pretty hands off, arm's length, totally appropriate, given the business relationship, but he was still alarminly funny. It's definitely an eyebrow raiser when you exchange all of about three sentences with a person and yet you find yourself mentally going over the conversation hours later. During every exchange that occurred after that, I found myself wishing he wouldn't blow me off, but he always did, le sigh. Until the one day he didn't.
So it was pretty clear why I was so into him, but I couldn't quite suss it in the other direction, so I reread the log of our conversation. And again. And one more time. And I didn't see it at all. I wasn't particularly witty, or charming, or funny, all I really did was ask him questions about his background and such. I mean, really, you find out someone used to do the various things that Taurus used to do, that's interesting as hell...how do you NOT ask questions about that?
I am, of course, a complete myopic idiot.
One of the things that constantly reminds me of how alone I am is that my friends--again, people who claim to care about me--regularly fail to ask me questions beyond "how are you today?" I'm not sure why people don't ask more...I don't think that it's an overwhelming amount of self-centeredness that prevents them from doing it, at least not as a rule. Maybe it just comes down to a simple lack of interest; not in me, per se, but in the world at large. I want to learn just about everything I possibly can, simply because I find value in knowing things. If something interests me, I want to know about it. Duh. Perhaps others just aren't that interesting in increasing their knowlege base unless they can see the immediate benefit to their lives. *shrug* Their loss, man.
I bring this up to contrast the near-instant impact Taurus had on me. Language is a drug for me, the most delicious of opiates and aphrodesiacs all in one. Simply using it well isn't enough to trip my trigger, though; I know more than one writer whose work is so perfect that it practically makes me weep, but that doesn't make me want to hop in bed with them. As has already been mentioned, I'd met Taurus in person for a bit, and while he created a good impression, it wasn't an OMG impression. No, that came a bit later. I had to ask him something work-related, and he was, shall we say, somewhat slow to respond to emails, so I bugged him via IM. Hey, don't put your screen name in your signature if you don't want it used, you know? (The allegory of that is don't put it in your blog profile, either, unless you want various icky people asking you to do various icky things to them. Ew.) He was pretty hands off, arm's length, totally appropriate, given the business relationship, but he was still alarminly funny. It's definitely an eyebrow raiser when you exchange all of about three sentences with a person and yet you find yourself mentally going over the conversation hours later. During every exchange that occurred after that, I found myself wishing he wouldn't blow me off, but he always did, le sigh. Until the one day he didn't.
So it was pretty clear why I was so into him, but I couldn't quite suss it in the other direction, so I reread the log of our conversation. And again. And one more time. And I didn't see it at all. I wasn't particularly witty, or charming, or funny, all I really did was ask him questions about his background and such. I mean, really, you find out someone used to do the various things that Taurus used to do, that's interesting as hell...how do you NOT ask questions about that?
I am, of course, a complete myopic idiot.
One of the things that constantly reminds me of how alone I am is that my friends--again, people who claim to care about me--regularly fail to ask me questions beyond "how are you today?" I'm not sure why people don't ask more...I don't think that it's an overwhelming amount of self-centeredness that prevents them from doing it, at least not as a rule. Maybe it just comes down to a simple lack of interest; not in me, per se, but in the world at large. I want to learn just about everything I possibly can, simply because I find value in knowing things. If something interests me, I want to know about it. Duh. Perhaps others just aren't that interesting in increasing their knowlege base unless they can see the immediate benefit to their lives. *shrug* Their loss, man.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Schmetterling
I used to say I had a saying, and it went something like this: When faced with a difficult choice between two seemingly otherwise equal alternatives, I'll always take the one which leads toward the greatest unknown. There's a poet by the name of Frost who said it just a bit better, but I like my version. Essentially, if I'm going down a road, I want to be surprised when I get to the end. Otherwise, why not just stay at home?
The butterfly flaps its wings.
One road led to a school in a far away town. It was a road down which I'd traveled before, but I'd be going with a friend. A dear friend. Still, not the road for me.
Flap.
I decided to keep at this writing thing, moved to the coolest place I could think of and made a lot of friends very quickly. Wrote a lot too. Most of the best of it with a man we'll call Buddy, who would later leave town to become a big mucky-muck at a small media company.
Flap, flap.
Buddy offers me a job at said media company. I take it. Do some good work there. Meet and work with a lot of people who will later go on to greater things, scatter like Monarchs in the Fall. But all things must end, and so does this one. I leave town and at this point, I think we're done. I get a real job, or as real as I can stomach, and plan to settle down and leave all this writing foolishness behind.
Flap, flap, flap.
I spend a lot of time reading a game site then manned by a guy we'll call Richie. Richie announces a writing contest and the prize is a game. I submit something, because I want the game. I get it. I decide to try again somewhere else, and I have success there, too. I'm a shark at this point, setting 'em up to take them down, but it's the internet. Who cares?
One of my shark attacks lands me a regular gig at a small site. It's nothing big at first, but it turns into a weekly column, and people like it. I'm content toiling away in the midnight hours, after my day job, perfecting my little nuggets of writerly goodness, and have no aspirations for anything more. In fact, I say as much at one point to another writer, let's call him Philipe, who at the time (as he is now) is pretty well known.
Flap.
On a lark, I send an article out to a pro game rag for consideration, not expecting much, but hoping it'll at least bring in a few bucks. The people who run this rag are familiar with my previous work at Buddy's place and I get published right away. It's a 10-1 shot, really. They offer me a job, and I take it. I'm now apparently a writer again. God help us all.
Flap, flap.
It's a good gig. I meet a lot of writers, including the guy Europa mentioned. One of them offers me a speaking gig at a conference on one of the coasts. It's a small thing, but somehow my boss is convinced it'll be the biggest of the year. Maybe I might have mentioned that. Maybe I read it somewhere. Or maybe it was just a little butterfly who told them. Or maybe I'm so enamored with the idea of speaking on a panel I'll say or do anything.
Flap.
I do my thing, survive, and start looking for the promised free booze. There is none. Boy meets girl. She mentions a name I know. I say "I know him." We chat. She's cute. She leaves. Day gets worse. Much worse. And the promised free booze never materializes. Life as a writer is hard.
Flappity, flappity, flap, flap.
I get home and find a card from girl in my pocket. I remember a few things she said and decide to look her up. One thing leads to another and we end up doing a little work together. And the doing is nice. She says something to me about pirates, and I think that's funny. A week later, when I hear from her again, I remember the pirate bit and her name brings a smile to my face. A smile which lasts for the next four hours as we talk and talk and fall in love.
You know why I like Chaos Theory? Because it's essentially a map of the road less traveled. Except, since the road is less traveled, the map is a bit fuzzy in spots. And like Conrad knew, it's in these empty spaces on the map, these hearts of darkness, where we find the greatest adventures. Or at least the most unexpected.
My high school guidance counselor told me that if I wanted to be a writer, I should go to school and study journalism. "But I don't want to be a journalist," I said. "I want to be a writer." I was foolish, as a teenager, but I had the right idea. Sort of. If I'd taken that well-traveled road and studied journalism at some school or another, I might be better-placed now, or making more money, or have been actually writing back during all of those dark times when I was just trying to get by. But I didn't do that. Instead I lived and flew on my butterfly wings from place to place, meeting people, doing things and accumulating a static charge that would one day dissipate at just the right place and time, bringing me to withing flapping distance of my love, someone I would never have met under any other circumstances.
Fliege, kleiner Schmetterling. Fliege.
The butterfly flaps its wings.
One road led to a school in a far away town. It was a road down which I'd traveled before, but I'd be going with a friend. A dear friend. Still, not the road for me.
Flap.
I decided to keep at this writing thing, moved to the coolest place I could think of and made a lot of friends very quickly. Wrote a lot too. Most of the best of it with a man we'll call Buddy, who would later leave town to become a big mucky-muck at a small media company.
Flap, flap.
Buddy offers me a job at said media company. I take it. Do some good work there. Meet and work with a lot of people who will later go on to greater things, scatter like Monarchs in the Fall. But all things must end, and so does this one. I leave town and at this point, I think we're done. I get a real job, or as real as I can stomach, and plan to settle down and leave all this writing foolishness behind.
Flap, flap, flap.
I spend a lot of time reading a game site then manned by a guy we'll call Richie. Richie announces a writing contest and the prize is a game. I submit something, because I want the game. I get it. I decide to try again somewhere else, and I have success there, too. I'm a shark at this point, setting 'em up to take them down, but it's the internet. Who cares?
One of my shark attacks lands me a regular gig at a small site. It's nothing big at first, but it turns into a weekly column, and people like it. I'm content toiling away in the midnight hours, after my day job, perfecting my little nuggets of writerly goodness, and have no aspirations for anything more. In fact, I say as much at one point to another writer, let's call him Philipe, who at the time (as he is now) is pretty well known.
Flap.
On a lark, I send an article out to a pro game rag for consideration, not expecting much, but hoping it'll at least bring in a few bucks. The people who run this rag are familiar with my previous work at Buddy's place and I get published right away. It's a 10-1 shot, really. They offer me a job, and I take it. I'm now apparently a writer again. God help us all.
Flap, flap.
It's a good gig. I meet a lot of writers, including the guy Europa mentioned. One of them offers me a speaking gig at a conference on one of the coasts. It's a small thing, but somehow my boss is convinced it'll be the biggest of the year. Maybe I might have mentioned that. Maybe I read it somewhere. Or maybe it was just a little butterfly who told them. Or maybe I'm so enamored with the idea of speaking on a panel I'll say or do anything.
Flap.
I do my thing, survive, and start looking for the promised free booze. There is none. Boy meets girl. She mentions a name I know. I say "I know him." We chat. She's cute. She leaves. Day gets worse. Much worse. And the promised free booze never materializes. Life as a writer is hard.
Flappity, flappity, flap, flap.
I get home and find a card from girl in my pocket. I remember a few things she said and decide to look her up. One thing leads to another and we end up doing a little work together. And the doing is nice. She says something to me about pirates, and I think that's funny. A week later, when I hear from her again, I remember the pirate bit and her name brings a smile to my face. A smile which lasts for the next four hours as we talk and talk and fall in love.
You know why I like Chaos Theory? Because it's essentially a map of the road less traveled. Except, since the road is less traveled, the map is a bit fuzzy in spots. And like Conrad knew, it's in these empty spaces on the map, these hearts of darkness, where we find the greatest adventures. Or at least the most unexpected.
My high school guidance counselor told me that if I wanted to be a writer, I should go to school and study journalism. "But I don't want to be a journalist," I said. "I want to be a writer." I was foolish, as a teenager, but I had the right idea. Sort of. If I'd taken that well-traveled road and studied journalism at some school or another, I might be better-placed now, or making more money, or have been actually writing back during all of those dark times when I was just trying to get by. But I didn't do that. Instead I lived and flew on my butterfly wings from place to place, meeting people, doing things and accumulating a static charge that would one day dissipate at just the right place and time, bringing me to withing flapping distance of my love, someone I would never have met under any other circumstances.
Fliege, kleiner Schmetterling. Fliege.
Chaos theory
My twin is fond of chaos theory, or so he says, and after pondering the unlikely chain of events that brought me there, I'd have to say he might be on to something. A butterfly flapped its wings in Beijing, and the resulting breeze one day inspired me to start a blog on a particular website. (I don't expect anyone will ever read this, but I see no reason to sully things with specificity.) And I don't think it was really a butterfly, but since I can't actually remember what in fact it was, we'll just go with the lepidoptera and leave it at that. So I start this blog, which attracts the attention of a certain fan who we'll call B. B becomes fond enough of me, or my writing...whichever...to start sending me personal messages, usually links to gaming news stories that he thinks I'll find interesting. Most of these links come from the same website, and to remove B from the loop, I start visiting it of my own accord. To leave comments on this website, one must first "apply," which I do, in part because it will allow me to pimp my own site, in part because it makes me feel like one of the cool kids, and in part to thumb B in the eye and show him just how much I really don't need him, thank you.
Yep. I'm bitchy like that.
To apply to said site at the time, you had to email a certain editor, which I did. He and I exchanged various and sundry amusing emails, until he left that site for another one, the same one at which I kept my blog. When he took the new job, he looked me up, because he was lonely and a little scared and feeling very much the New Kid in Town. We became better friends, and he added me to a team of writers he had. I became friendly with everyone on the mini-team, including one writer who wrote for yet another website. (It's a bit convoluted without all the names, I know.) Editor from THAT website pops up at a game convention I attend, and having a name to drop ("Hey, I work with so-and-so, he writes for you sometimes") gives me the guts to walk up and introduce myself, which I very much doubt I would've done otherwise. Editor in question is, of course, my pirate twin love.
A string of seemingly unrelated events that, when viewed from a distance, looks like a master plan. Which maybe it was.
Yep. I'm bitchy like that.
To apply to said site at the time, you had to email a certain editor, which I did. He and I exchanged various and sundry amusing emails, until he left that site for another one, the same one at which I kept my blog. When he took the new job, he looked me up, because he was lonely and a little scared and feeling very much the New Kid in Town. We became better friends, and he added me to a team of writers he had. I became friendly with everyone on the mini-team, including one writer who wrote for yet another website. (It's a bit convoluted without all the names, I know.) Editor from THAT website pops up at a game convention I attend, and having a name to drop ("Hey, I work with so-and-so, he writes for you sometimes") gives me the guts to walk up and introduce myself, which I very much doubt I would've done otherwise. Editor in question is, of course, my pirate twin love.
A string of seemingly unrelated events that, when viewed from a distance, looks like a master plan. Which maybe it was.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Waves
And now we've done it again.
I have to be honest with you, sweetheart, it's like centuries of literature and songs and films and ... feeling suddenly make sense all at once. Every song I heard today reminded me of you, and how I feel about you. And I've heard it said before that all songs, all literature, all poetry, all human artistic expression is about love in some way or another, and on some level I've understood this, but not viscerally. Not like I do today. Not after artists and dreamers from the world over, from time immemorial have told me, in their own words, today, what it feels to be in love. And now I've finally understood.
I almost can't believe it, but with the evidence before me, as it were, I can't _not_ believe it: I've never experienced this. This is love. I thought I knew, but it was like knowing the sea from a puddle in the road. Or the sun from a candle flame. My world has been blown apart, my understanding of everything and I'm ecstatic. And I know that only days ago I would have read these words, typed by someone else, and thought I understood. Thought myself wise and worldly and experienced and nodded sagely, thinking I'd been there, done that and had nothing more to learn from this person. And I would have been wrong.
I don't know how this happened or why but I love you. I now know what love is through you, and talking to you tonight felt like coming home. Like again, I couldn't imagine _not_ talking to you. You see through my every disguise and love me for what you find underneath. And I delight in peeling away your own onion layers and doing the same, loving you more, bit-by-bit, the more I uncover. And then it's gone. And then I'm here again, alone and without you. Wrenching was the word you used and crushing would have been my first choice, but you're the better editor, so I'll defer. I'm now wrenched. Again. Just as I love you more than I know I've ever loved anyone, I now find myself missing you more than I've ever missed anyone. I can't believe this is happening, and I love it and hate it. Like waves of love and pain and joy and despair.
And now here I am going all Charlotte Bronte on you, but again, that kind of thing is something I thought I understood a long time ago, but I was wrong. I was so very wrong.
I have to be honest with you, sweetheart, it's like centuries of literature and songs and films and ... feeling suddenly make sense all at once. Every song I heard today reminded me of you, and how I feel about you. And I've heard it said before that all songs, all literature, all poetry, all human artistic expression is about love in some way or another, and on some level I've understood this, but not viscerally. Not like I do today. Not after artists and dreamers from the world over, from time immemorial have told me, in their own words, today, what it feels to be in love. And now I've finally understood.
I almost can't believe it, but with the evidence before me, as it were, I can't _not_ believe it: I've never experienced this. This is love. I thought I knew, but it was like knowing the sea from a puddle in the road. Or the sun from a candle flame. My world has been blown apart, my understanding of everything and I'm ecstatic. And I know that only days ago I would have read these words, typed by someone else, and thought I understood. Thought myself wise and worldly and experienced and nodded sagely, thinking I'd been there, done that and had nothing more to learn from this person. And I would have been wrong.
I don't know how this happened or why but I love you. I now know what love is through you, and talking to you tonight felt like coming home. Like again, I couldn't imagine _not_ talking to you. You see through my every disguise and love me for what you find underneath. And I delight in peeling away your own onion layers and doing the same, loving you more, bit-by-bit, the more I uncover. And then it's gone. And then I'm here again, alone and without you. Wrenching was the word you used and crushing would have been my first choice, but you're the better editor, so I'll defer. I'm now wrenched. Again. Just as I love you more than I know I've ever loved anyone, I now find myself missing you more than I've ever missed anyone. I can't believe this is happening, and I love it and hate it. Like waves of love and pain and joy and despair.
And now here I am going all Charlotte Bronte on you, but again, that kind of thing is something I thought I understood a long time ago, but I was wrong. I was so very wrong.
Sixty-seven cents
The pennies thing is cracking me up for reasons I don't quite understand. Prolly something to do with the mental image of you cleaning them up, one by one, brain threatening to leak out your ears each and every time, only to have you inadvertently knock the whole thing over again. Tragedy to you, comedy to me. Only because the aforementioned picking upping and head throbbery was thine own fault.
The phone call was the best bad idea I've had in a while. I did it for a number of reasons...to hear your voice, to get as much conversation in as I could in the time I had, to see if what exists in the realm of ones and zeroes existed in real life. Your voice was better than I remembered, and the chemistry was...well. You were there, so you know. There were no awkward pauses, no jokes that fell flat, it was pretty much perfect from start to finish. And that, ironically, is exactly why it was such a terrible idea. Not being able to be with you in person went from a concept to something far more tangible, and it hurts. I spent hours last night crying silently on my pillow because I can't so much as meet you for lunch. There are so few people that I've ever felt this comfortable around, this completely at ease. I can tell you anything, and you understand it. Or, in those rare cases that you don't, you actually ask questions so that you can understand it. You know how many people do that? Yeah, actually, as a matter of fact, I bet you do.
I had the TV on while I was working on my story, and I saw commercials for two movies that I'm dying to see. The fact that I won't be seeing either of them with you makes me sad in a way that I can't quite explain.
You had a lot of work to do today (you were stuck at work, ha ha, nyah), and so I didn't have your full attention. This bothered me not becauase I was being neglected, but because I wanted to know every single thing that was going on, who was saying what, what you were working on, how your day was going as it was going. Yeah. that whole "want to know everything there is to know about you" mantra I keep uttering? It's not romantic hyperbole. I'm sure I'll calm down eventually, but at the moment, I'm so hungry for contact with you that I feel unspeakably empty when I'm without it.
I want you to notice when I'm not around.
The phone call was the best bad idea I've had in a while. I did it for a number of reasons...to hear your voice, to get as much conversation in as I could in the time I had, to see if what exists in the realm of ones and zeroes existed in real life. Your voice was better than I remembered, and the chemistry was...well. You were there, so you know. There were no awkward pauses, no jokes that fell flat, it was pretty much perfect from start to finish. And that, ironically, is exactly why it was such a terrible idea. Not being able to be with you in person went from a concept to something far more tangible, and it hurts. I spent hours last night crying silently on my pillow because I can't so much as meet you for lunch. There are so few people that I've ever felt this comfortable around, this completely at ease. I can tell you anything, and you understand it. Or, in those rare cases that you don't, you actually ask questions so that you can understand it. You know how many people do that? Yeah, actually, as a matter of fact, I bet you do.
I had the TV on while I was working on my story, and I saw commercials for two movies that I'm dying to see. The fact that I won't be seeing either of them with you makes me sad in a way that I can't quite explain.
You had a lot of work to do today (you were stuck at work, ha ha, nyah), and so I didn't have your full attention. This bothered me not becauase I was being neglected, but because I wanted to know every single thing that was going on, who was saying what, what you were working on, how your day was going as it was going. Yeah. that whole "want to know everything there is to know about you" mantra I keep uttering? It's not romantic hyperbole. I'm sure I'll calm down eventually, but at the moment, I'm so hungry for contact with you that I feel unspeakably empty when I'm without it.
I want you to notice when I'm not around.
Monday, January 1, 2007
Pennies
So I just came in from walking the dog, closed the door, put his leash away, turned around and knocked over that bowl of pennies. Pennies are now everywhere again. I may just leave them, since that's clearly how they want to be.
Fair Day
I woke up with a thundering headache this afternoon, as you already know, and literally trembled as I walked the agonizing 20 or so steps (16. I just counted.) from my bed to my desk. I was hoarse, sore, tired, hung over and miserable, in a number of ways. I needed a bath, for one thing, but also much water, Advil (as you correctly advised) and something in my stomach. I also had a vile taste in my mouth, which I will colorfully attribute to the metaphorical death of something within it. But before addressing any of these concerns, I was desperate to know if you'd called, or written or IMed, or read any of the things I had sent you last night or made a blog for us. So I struggled (valiantly, you should have seen it) to reach the computer and forced myself to endure the too-bright glare of the screen just to see if you'd been thinking of me. I was comforted to discover that you had done all of the above things and more.
It's been raining here all day. The sky is dark, and I had to turn on a lamp just to see the keys of my laptop, and even though the weather is warm, the dampness caused me to have a bit of a chill, which the pennies on the floor haven't helped. But in spite of the weather and my physical state, I have to say that today was a fair day. As beautiful as if the sun had been shining. I wasn't expecting it, nor the phone call, nor any of this, really, but I'm glad for it. Ever so glad, in fact, if you'll allow me the Jan Brady-esque outburst. Talking to you, laughing with you, getting to know you and working with you is exciting and fun and ... new. It's filling me with love and light and making me feel more human, more real and more alive. I was sad that this day had to come to an end, but I'm hopeful, and hopefully not foolishly so.
It's been raining here all day. The sky is dark, and I had to turn on a lamp just to see the keys of my laptop, and even though the weather is warm, the dampness caused me to have a bit of a chill, which the pennies on the floor haven't helped. But in spite of the weather and my physical state, I have to say that today was a fair day. As beautiful as if the sun had been shining. I wasn't expecting it, nor the phone call, nor any of this, really, but I'm glad for it. Ever so glad, in fact, if you'll allow me the Jan Brady-esque outburst. Talking to you, laughing with you, getting to know you and working with you is exciting and fun and ... new. It's filling me with love and light and making me feel more human, more real and more alive. I was sad that this day had to come to an end, but I'm hopeful, and hopefully not foolishly so.
The gist
Electronic communication is a marvelous thing, most of the time. Though some people might end up doing some stupid things with it (like, oh, I dunno, electronically flipping off your place of employ en masse), e-communication is no more at fault than the phone is to blame for drunk dialers. No, generally speaking, IMs, emails, and texting are excellent ways to keep in touch with someone, especially someone in a different state or time zone. The problem, though, is that e-communication, nifty as it is, is just never going to be as swift or efficient as actual face-to-face speech, so topics of conversation must be triaged to make the best use of time spent. The obvious answer is to just pick up the phone or have a coffee together, but such things are not always possible, so I have created this blog so that my fellow pirate twin and I might keep in touch in ways that our day to day IMs and emails can't cover. This is the place that topics might be addressed in greater depth, random observations made, and probing questions asked. YOu know, the type of stuff that just can't be summed up with an emoticon or a link to YouTube. If nothing else, it should prove to be an interesting writing exercise, since both twins are ever so fond of the sound of their own voice. And each others, thankfully.
So that's what this is. It's not really meant for anyone but us, but if you've happened here accidentally, you're certainly welcome to play voyeur to our particular little story. Just have your thesaurus ready.
So that's what this is. It's not really meant for anyone but us, but if you've happened here accidentally, you're certainly welcome to play voyeur to our particular little story. Just have your thesaurus ready.
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