eating the bread of idleness

...has been my habit far too much of late.  Ok, it's not like I didn't get out of the house today.  That's not what I meant.  I went to JoAnn's & picked fabric & patterns for dresses for my girls (2 patterns, 4 dresses & they are going to look adorable!).  I stopped at the farmer's market by the mall & visited with Ali at the Brother's Products stand for a bit before going into the bookstore to wait for my niece to finish her writing assignment. I even worked on a task that I picked up for GWW. The thing is, when you put all of that time together, it's only a couple of hours, maybe 6 out of the 16 or so that I have been awake.  What did I do for the other ten hours?  I can take out another hour for eating (all meals).  Finished book 1 of "Tom Jones" by Henry Fielding (& learned what the phrase nolo episcopari means).  Maybe drifting is something I need to learn how to do, but it just feels odd, to be so disengaged...or maybe it doesn't feel odd at all & I'm finally starting to feel uncomfortable about that. Hmm.

Ali at the Farmer's Market -

• obviously tired today.  It was the end of the market & he just wanted to sit & relax.  was charmingly honest about this
• is maybe 25 - very handsome Jordanian (black eyes, shining dark hair, slender, quick friendly smile; his very strong nose saves him from being merely pretty)
• decided that I was a sympathetic listener (apparently, my motherly aura was particularly strong today)
• left Jordan mostly against his will before he turned 16 - his parents divorced when he was a toddler & his father went to America.  Just before his older brother was due to turn 16 (& be required to serve in the army - at 16!), his father returned to take the boys to America.  He didn't want to go, didn't want to leave his mother, but his brother really wanted to go.  Mom took a stand and said that either both boys went or neither did.  Ali was convinced to see his brother's side of things & they moved with their father to Indiana. (I don't know if he ever saw his mother again.  He did say that she is dead now.  She must have loved him immensely to send him away so firmly.)
• Life with Dad & the Step-mom (African-American woman with 3 kids of her own) was not good.  No English.  Trying to fit in with Dad's new family.  Culture shock.  The beatings (his word - may or may not be as severe a word as it sounds.  He clearly contrasted his experience with his father to his mother who never laid a finger on him & bought him gifts to make up for the one time that she yelled at him in anger.) began within a month or so of arriving & continued regularly regardless of success in school.  Some of what he said sounded so familiar, so similar to what another person has told me about his own father (who is Lebanese), I wonder about some elements of the culture...some of the expectations.  Anyway, older brother turned 18 & left, never to darken their door again, & Ali had to deal with Everything by himself.  He tried reporting the abuse to the school counselor who then told his father...the beatings continued (needless to say).  When he was 16, his English languge teacher reached out to him, treated him like a human being, & helped him emancipate himself.  He was surprised at how quick and easy the process was, only a week.  His father was surprised when the police came with Ali so he could gather his things and move out.
• He finished high school, worked full time when he could, graduated early at 17.  He was motivated by the fact that the police told him that if he didn't succeed, then he would go right back to his father.
• When he turned 18, he went a bit wild.  Stopped college.  Stopped working.  Just played.  Traveled with his best friend to New Orleans where they lived for a year and a half (good times).  Then moved to Michigan for a time (where all of the Arabs live, according to him).  When they got to Michigan, they were so glad to have familiar food that they each ate two full platefuls at the restaurant where they stopped.  The waitress there took them under her wing, showed them around town, helped them get work and a place to live, cooked for them once a week, and was effectively a sister to them (though she indicated that she was willing to be otherwise, they didn't want to mess up the friendship).  They stayed there for a time, then moved on to Chicago, South Dakota, California.
• In settling in Socal, he & his friend moved in next to a family that seems to have adopted him.  They feed him, check in with him, helped him finish college.  He's not alone even though his blood family is not around (this was important to him, he mentioned it several times).
• He talked often about how kindness really matters.  People have been kind to him, and blessed him all through his life.  He tries to be kind to, to give where there is need.
• Do all Middle Eastern men talk so much?  or have I just been lucky to meet two who do?

Using my Words

(Note: I am typing this more for my sake than for an audience, so…you’ve been warned)

(Hmm, Independence Day.  What an odd day to write this…but it works for me…)

So, lemme start with some background:

1.       (distant past) Once upon a time, when I was young, I wrote down how I felt about a person in a letter to my brother-in-law.  The notebook wherein I had written said letter was found, and I was openly mocked by 15 or 20 people, including the person that I had mentioned having feelings for…since then I don’t put important stuff into writing if I can help it. In addition, because of my own reticent nature and upbringing by older parents, I tend also to repress verbally when it comes to sexual matters.  I’m not quite so tied up and Victorian that “legs” become “limbs”, but it is far too easy for me to “lie back and think of England” mode rather than to use my not inconsiderable vocabulary to express my sexual needs and give my partner direction.  (Yah, I don’t have issues there, I have subscriptions.  I’ll have to unpack that eventually.)

2.       (somewhat recent past) The dear friend who helped introduce me to kink encouraged me to “learn how to use my words”.  He worked with me to get me to be able to speak more about my feelings and/or needs.  So, anyway, one (several) of my challenges on this path relating to courage is to speak – to my partner, of my desires generally and specifically, and to write.  Write anything.  Analysis.  Desires.  Whatever.  So, this is me writing.  It won’t be brilliant or moving or erotic (sigh.  In fact, inane is the adjective that’s coming to mind at the moment), but it is something that I need to learn to do.

3.       (very recent past) This week has been so very interesting (in that Chinese kind of way), and a great deal of scar tissue has been activated by events entirely out of my control.  All week, I have fought to keep myself from slipping back into that old crazy, because NOBODY needs me to go there (least of all me).

Alright, that’s the background.  Now, to the point…

This morning, we were curled up in bed, and my sweetie was simply holding me, being respectful of my stress.  Normally, this is a pretty easy thing for him, but he really went hard at yesterday’s fighter practice and that gets him amped.  So he was trying to comfort me while holding back his own urgency.  This wasn’t fair, clearly, but neither would me rolling over and “thinking of England” have been (an unfortunate tendency of mine).  Today I tried the “and” approach, hoping we could both get what we needed.  First, I asked if he could stroke my skin in long, slow pets.  These are still comforting, but since I am a sensation hog, they also woke up my sensual side, got me purring and wanting more.  Yay for my first use of words.

We lay there spooning, his arm curved above my head and our hands loosely clasped there.  Another suggestion came to mind.  I asked him to shift his hand slightly and grasp firmly around my wrist.  The contrast of the secure grip with the soft, sensuous pets distracted me even more from this week’s internal monologue of nuts.  Trapped by my wrist being held slightly above my head, I turned my body in, to get more petting, which was becoming increasingly intimate. 

I asked my sweetie to wrap his leg around mine, further pinning me in place and in a position that left me both secure and exposed.  This completely re-focused my attention to matters at hands and ramped up my interest levels intensely.  Both of us soon found a certain noisy satisfaction.

(ok, latent Victorianism kicking in for a sec, sorry, but in case you haven’t been keeping count, this now makes three instances of using my words to express specific needs or wants.)

But, he wasn’t done yet, as is often the case.  We curled up once more, panting a bit, and he continued that maddening long, slow petting.

Needing to focus, I asked my sweetie to grasp my neck, just at the collarbone, and to give some of the weight of his hand to my chest.  This is a pin that feels like it could be a chokehold without ever truly becoming one.  With his thumb and forefinger just putting the slightest pressure on my jugular vein, and his meaty hand bearing down just enough on my windpipe and sternum, I could only freeze.  Every bit of my attention riveted on his hand and getting oxygen.  In slow, halting words, I explained to him exactly what was happening in my head and where I was focused.  He listened carefully and responded.

This time the orgasm nearly bowed me double, and I’m afraid I clawed him right on a bruise left from practice.  He didn’t seem to mind.

I still need to suss out why that neck grip works (though I’m sure I know folks who could explain it).  It seems to have a similar effect when you are training a dog and want them to be calmer. (Not touching that)

So, today I used my words and it worked. J And I’m writing it down and leaving it out there.

…Independence Day…yep.

Spring brings stuff

So many changes...
- I'm now a peer of the realm, a Pelican to be exact.  I'm still trying to figure out exactly what that mens or how my SCA experience is different now that the dust has settled from the actual elevation.  On the other hand, I have 2 really great new outfits & a pattern that fits.  I may be sewing a bunch more.
- Twinkie is now a 9th grader.  Still wrapping my brain around that.  I'll likely be more traumatized come the fall.
- Tall Boy is all twitterpated about a girl (& she in return is twitterpated about him).  I'm really ok with this.  Yes, she has a bit of mileage, but she has come through it on her own.  She does not need to be rescued.  She is sane and strong and funny and smart and warm and generous and ambitious and energetic and full of integrity.  I think he made a very good choice.  Since she doesn't need to rescue Tall Boy either, and he is basically sane (as much as anyone in our family is) and healthy and generally wonderful, I think this is a win-win relationship no matter how long it happens to last.
- I am trying to figure out how to afford walkabout.  Yuck.
- I need to lose more weight.
- The school year is almost over, so yay.  I just have to get paperwork finished & rough syllabi up.
- Boogie is apparently writing a novel.  This is a good thing. She turns 13 in a few days.  I'm not certain if I'm ready for this.  I know her father & his wife aren't, & they get Little Miss Kaboom for the summer.
- This summer I need to get back to writing regularly.  I'm not entirely certain how this is going to happen with my laptop in the shop, but I'll figure it out.  Sigh.

Just recently, I re-read Reiner Maria Rilke's "Letters to a Young Poet".  He always makes me want to re-visit my creativity, try to find it again. 

Today I read a book about Katie Bieshline's mother, Elsie, when she was a teacher in Arizona from 1913 to 1916.  It was a really interesting book, but it made me homesick for Palomar.  It also reminded me how very much I treasure that whole turn-of-the-century mindset and how very far from that ideal I have strayed.  Sigh.  I just never could manage to be good, or stay strong for the right choices.  The thought occurs to me that the kind of man I want to fall in love with died out in 1918.  Ah well, I will just have to put a positive face on it & do the best I can.  "Every day is fresh with no mistakes in it...yet"

The two books are mentioned just to give an idea of changes happening in my noggin as I sweep around and stir up the accumulated dust of the year.  Lets see if I can make a clean sweep...

drunk posting

ok, so four drinks in during "spa night", perhaps I can unbend enough to post honestly... or maybe not - watching "Much Ado About Nothing" for the billionth time - missing the Tennant production from London this summer - wanting to be anywhere but here - sometimes I think the thing I want the most is to be  at the happy ending section of a rom-com movie or play -you know - miss the tough stuff & just jump from the meet-cute to the happy ending - sigh. No such luck.

can I imagine myself with some one, the same someone, forever?

Nope.

Time to drink water.  Have a cigarette, & go to bed. Night...
got back from a drunken walk with cigarettes - feeling nicely floaty & don't want to think about various crap that weighs me down

My friend

Do you know that I miss you?
That you walked with me
along the Siene last summer
and stood
beside the Bourne with me as
we listened
to the waters roll gently by?
My Soul -
you may have been teasing
all those years ago
when you gave me that name,
but maybe you weren't -
maybe you understood
something more.
The river rolls on
carrying the past
the then and the now
and the maybe and the certain
Does it roll past you too?
Carrying my thoughts to you?
I miss you, canum.
Just sayin'

Dumb emotional reaction day

So, yah, today was a dumb emotional reaction day.  This morning, I was pulling my hair up into its usual twist & realized that there was less of it than there used to be a decade ago (Duh?). And I start to cry. Why? Because in my brain, my hair is my one real vanity, & without it, I'm just fat & old.  I'm sitting there crying over my hair & realizing at one & the same time that I'm idiotic to be sitting there crying over my hair so I cry harder because I feel like such a blithering idiot.  Yah.  Aren't you glad you don't have to see this on a regular basis?

Then, this afternoon, my dear friend calls, & since he may not have power at home due to ugly windstormage, asks if he can crash over here.  I'm emphatically ok with this.  I'm not in love.  I won't be, but he is wonderful to cuddle with (& if I'm honest, currently turns my bones to jello).  He was clear that this is no guarantee because he has to be at work on time tomorrow (& it's a brutal 1 1/2 hour drive from here to there), but if not tonight then he'd like to come over tomorrow for certain. No problem, says I, you're always welcome, either way works.  Then I went home, grabbed a shower, salt scrubbed & moisturized & got cleaned up.  And he found that he has power after all & went to a munch in Pasadena. I didn't cry (that was reserved for my hair, thanks)...but I want to.  I still may.  I may just curl up in my bed tonight, pillows packed carefully on either side to feel like a person & buried under covers, I may just cry.  I can feel the tears lurking in the back of my throat & just behind my eyes, waiting.  Stupid emotional responses.

I find myself thinking, Do I even want to resolve this right now?  Why am I so bothered?  Is it that Forty is within knocking distance & I'm still over 200 pounds & haven't been able to run for a week because of a charley horse in my calf & haven't been sticking to my diet?  Is it that I am fervently sick of my extra 2 roommates (even if one is the sink whisperer & saved us a plumber's visit yesterday, the darling girl) & they asked us for an extra month to stay here (rent free because they shot their wad & are unemployed) & they'll likely get it?  Is it that I'm thoroughly sick of being surrounded by people & feeling alone?  Is it that I want to get OUT and met people & maybe live a bit before it's too late?  Is it that I feel that I have missed so very many chances to live because I'm too cautious?  Is it that I miss people that I would love to be in my life (not necessarily romantically) but who are too far away for that to be at all possible, so I can only think happy thoughts in their direction?  Is it that I feel that I am not really doing anything useful or good in my life, nothing that really matters?  Ok, I teach, and that's a good thing, but lately I'm having a hard time seeing that I'm really making any impact on anyone's life.  I'm not certain why, either.

I'll get past this.  I know I will because I always have.  There's a good bit of enjoyment in my life, comfort, warmth, affection, security in some measure.  Fun opportunities coming up to travel, to Hawaii to visit my tall boy & to New York to visit my adopted sister.

I will not cry about stupid things.  Dammit.

head games *rant*

Ok, so if any one who happens to be my friend and male happens to read this, I apologize.  Right now I'm just bugged about men and their stupid head games, and I'm not going to specifically mention the males I happen to be most pissed at.  I'm just going to rant about the entire gender.  It's wrong.  It's over-generalizing.  I'm doing it anyway; I have my reasons.  Deal.

Anyway, back to my rant.

Dammit. I'm so desperately dumb that I can't even rant about stupid men without admitting that I'm mad because I feel guilty (for no reason, mind you, but I feel that way anyway).  Lemme try this again -

So, one particular gentleman of my acquaintance is very aware of certain lines in the sand.  Those lines are silly lines, arbitrary lines, pointless lines, but they are still my lines and I won't have them crossed.  So does this gentleman leave them nicely alone?  No, he decides on doing some edgeplay (without telling me), and proceeds to push those lines.  HARD.  Never mind that in his brain, those lines were never going to get crossed.  I didn't know that.  All I knew was that I was fighting to hold onto what little honor I have, what those lines mean; I was begging for help, and he took too long to pull us back from the edge.  The lines were not crossed, but they could have been, with enthusiasm.  It is not nice to mess with a body's head that way.  Once I finished crying, I dealt with it mostly, but I'm still pissed.  I'll get over it, but I _hate_ those kind of mind games.  If you make a deal & set specific lines, then abide by them.  Don't push them; don't renegotiate them; don't tease along them.  They are The Lines.  I need them there.  You know exactly why I need them there.  You agreed to having them there, knowing full well what that meant.  Stop pushing, dammit, even if it's only a test, even if you're not really pushing.  You know you're not, but I don't.  I need to trust you, and the pushing (even when I know what it is and isn't) makes that hard to do.

(flip side) I shouldn't have been where I was and doing what I was doing.  I was wrong from the get go.  There is no room for me to get angry over a situation that my own flawed decision-making put me into.  If I really object that badly, then the easy fix is to step out of the situation.  That's as simple as it is.  That's arguably one of the possible _right_ things to do. The fact that I cannot bring myself to do it is on me, and I need to accept responsibility for that.

Why do men push anyway?  I mean, every single male of my acquaintance (and I do mean every single one) pushes.  They say they agree to something.  They give you their word, and when it really comes down to it, their words means nothing because they already want to renegotiate from the moment the "I promise" passes their lips.  It's never just good enough.

Speaking of pushing, see, there's this other gentleman of my acquaintance.  He is the chief line drawer in my life, but sometimes it seems as though the lines form a box around me; they keep shrinking, and they are at times invisible.  I never know if something I say or do or someone I talk to or talk about or whatever is going to send him into a snit.  He says it's not my fault, that it's him, but even though he's right, he's still wrong. See, it _is_ my fault.  I am more than the passive recipient of his emotional baggage.  I make choices, one of which was to be in this relationship with him.  If something I said or did hurts or offends him, then somewhere I knew it would or thought it might.  We are supposed to be partners (of a sort anyway), and this whole waiting for him to decide to tell me why he's upset, holding me hostage to his emotions, f___ing sucks.

(flip side) See, he has reason to be upset with me, even if he doesn't really know why.  The waiting sucks, but it sucks worse because I know that he would be disappointed in my choices lately.  And as above, I know what I ought to do, what one of the possible right choices is, and that is to stop that association /activity that I know he would disapprove.  One of the other possible right choices is to stop seeing him and then he won't have room to disapprove because we are not in a relationship.  Still another option is to end both associations and figure out exactly who I am and where my brain is without anyone having any access to it to play stupid head games.


Right now, I am just done with men and all of your stupid external plumbing motivated, emotionally crazy, head games.  Just Done. You are not worth the stress, none of you.