2012 Tastes like Joy!

Here comes the first sip of bourbon for tonight. I enjoy it with ice enough so that it all melts and combines smoothly together. Tonight I poured a double. I’m too lazy to want to get up and pour a second single when it’s eventually gone. I’m rather surprised at how much I enjoy bourbon. Actually, the bang of a surprise is that scotch tastes somewhat villainous in a bad way to me now. I used to enjoy scotch, night after night one autumn season a couple of years ago. The other night my mate brought home scotch for us to have again.

Sip.

NOPE.

Sip again.

And again.

I finished it so that I would show appreciation for Honey bringing something home for us to have. I did not want another. The next night I went back to Maker’s Mark.

So much talk of bourbon. Really, I had a therapy appointment today. She suggested that I write often. I already know this but I’m not doing it. I have a journal…somewhere. To me this is scary. That I have one and cannot locate it. That’s not like me to lose something of my own voice out into Anywhere. She’s right though…I should be writing. How else to find my own voice? To sit in my head constantly like I do, watching the Roaring Rapids of thought constantly go by without collecting some in a jar, letting it settle and figuring out what’s in there? Welp. That’s how I do.

She brought up a good point…to figure out who I am and what I want. Pretty basic stuff, right? Easy answer? Yes, for some people. I envy those people. People who carve out their vocation so early in life….they are born with it in their core, before they can even speak. It’s all there, in blood and spine and deep into every cell.

So the phone rang and I talked for over an hour. I may have lost my train of thought. But while on the phone I started to think about working with the raptors and crows. I’d love to volunteer at a bird sanctuary to see what it’s like.

I went to check the mail today and on my way to the mailbox, two crows remembered who I am (and they haven’t really seen much of me in 2 months) and did the swoop and land into a nearby tree. The posture of Feed Me. I keep peanuts in the shell in my car. They got to eat. Wonderful crows…they do remember. And once I throw the food down, I hear them call to their clan that Dinner…Is Served.

So who am I? What do I want? What do I feel really good about? Allow me to pour a small bourbon, get a slice of cake and drink lots of water and I will answer that.

Well I got all settled in and dropped my fork on the floor…..so I have to eat the cake with my hands.

Answer time. I loved my life in my 20s. At 22-ish I was learning more and more about spirituality. I read all that I could on Wicca. At 23 I was meditating nightly and it was something that I craved throughout the rest of the day because it was so good. I was creative, open, opinionated without apology. I would like to harness the best of the joy from that period of time and apply it to the life that I feel is right for me now. I’ve become rather wishy-washy over the last couple of years….not necessarily to the fault of my mate, but I moved into his home and his schedule. I let life dictate what it would. I stopped being outrageously me. My mate has taught me so much about so many things. So now I need to merge the worlds….being in his world and squeezing drops of mine in until the colors are balanced. He is doing a great job at helping me.

I want Spirituality. I want Meaning. Hunger for Knowledge….but not in vain….no the hunger must not lead to starvation, it must be fed and satiated. I want more of a life with the wild. With the animals. I am capable of enjoying people (in doses) and in general really do love and have compassion for the human race. Animals are more compelling to me. I really can’t ignore it. When I was six, the job that I wanted as an adult was Zookeeper. I asked my friends to join me but they didn’t want to clean poop….one detail that I hadn’t thought of. So back at that age, what I wanted was to take care of animals.

Well it is time to go read. I promised myself if I were good and wrote, that I would get to read. It’s quarter past eleven and I’m fairly buzzed. Maybe this will give me the heavy sleep and the clarifying dreams that I would so enjoy.

The Cusp of Change

I
Am
Lost

But someone believes they have found me
So my floating crate is no longer at sea
But I’m still inside wondering
Why someone hasn’t yet jimmied open a wall for me

Perhaps my grip on reality
Outside of the barbed membranes
Really isn’t the main path at all
Then again
With all my excavation gear...

Isn't this what I expected?

Dusting Off

My mate has successfully received the transfer of stomach love that I have given him. He lies in bed, recovering from a mild day before of annoying pains and sweats that kept him from fiddling around with his plants, but did allow him to do anything that absolutely needed to be done. I also had this preferable version of the gift that keeps on giving. I went to work last Friday with it and worked the day, decided it best not to eat and hey, Barry Manilow…I made it throoooough the Pain!

Only to come home and collapse into bed with one single notice: Please take care of everything else….I just need be left alone to die with my pains. Then I’ll be ok.

And ok I was and he will be too.

After sending a crimp-haired Humanling off to school for picture day, I crawled back into bed with my mate to snuggle up and try and restore some energy for the day. Last night we decided to make that 3rd cup of coffee at 9:30pm in order to enjoy time longer. We enjoyed. I played Farmville and did some brush up work for today’s radio show, he played his kenken puzzles online (http://www.kenken.com/).

As we snuggled, I drifted in and out of thoughts…well needed reflections. I thought of how a little over a year ago, my mate slept with his arm around me all night long, no matter how dead and useless the limb had become from lack of circulation. A wonderful gesture, although I don’t wish him discomfort. I thought it was Knightly, romantic. I moved in and will admit that when you crash dive into an ocean at night, you can’t always tell where the shallow water is, nor how jagged the rocks.

Within a month or two of moving in, I slowly realized….this isn’t exactly what I thought. The things that I was ok with, he wasn’t. I don’t mean he was ‘nah’ wasn’t….he REALLY wasn’t. Life Lesson Severity kind of wasn’t.

He was way more angry and militant about things than I had thought….in fact, I hadn’t thought this a matter at all. Didn’t realize it existed. Slowly, my self-worth and self-esteem were swirling into a boil of questions. When they finally emerged, they had cooled off only to become hardened like iron. My emotional rebellion.

My mate is a wonderful man…loyal as they come. Can cook insanely well…to the point where you find yourself requesting favorites. He’s a perfectionist. I like to have flaws. I like flaws to be cute, endearing, unique. Kind of identifying almost, like that little Eggo Waffle campaign they did years ago where they left the variating batter pieces on the outside so you could identify your waffle from your brother’s. I have figured out that around here, flaws are something to be fixed. They aren’t cute. They are complaints. Faults. Faults seem to be the formal Tuxedo version of Flaws. Flaws rather enjoy a grungy outfit while Faults stand out in patent leather.

I didn’t realize that I would be with someone who when mixed with my anger alchemy, fight so nasty. Would make me feel as though my head was about to burst since I would be told that I wasn’t remembering events of the argument correctly, that I was rewriting the history. I learned that although I never thought it was ok to pull from prior arguments, this relationship was going to prove to me that nothing is sacred in that vein. Prior issues with certified apologies will snowball from the current topic of hell and no matter how often I show apologetic receipt, there is no fending it off until it is ready to temporarily die again. I have found that it seems that I am told that all arguments are mostly my fault. That I hold the key to allowing these creatures to run amok and frequently must be sleepwalking with key in hand. I have discovered my new defensive mechanism in the form of apologizing, whether or not I believe in it, to derail the chugging train off its tracks of insanity so that I may have some peace. I have learned that although I may follow the former sentence and apologize, it is a crapshoot. The train doesn’t always derail. Sometimes an apology is merely fuel for a faster ride.

I have also come to find out that My Jekyll during an argument does not usually allow pause enough for another person to speak. I’ve been schooled in the art of talking/arguing/shouting without much of a break for periods of time I never thought possible.

My mate is and can be quite wonderful. But everyone comes with their baggage. His landmines left by former acquaintances, family members and exes, are everywhere and I can’t quite avoid them, even when floating. I might say something quite neutral or even as a compliment and not realize that I have now sledge hammered another discreetly set trap. I’ve no experience with this kind of set up.

These things can really break a person’s mind down into various questions…..have I always started arguments? Did I really start this one? Are my points really invalid? Am I really turning things around or is he? Do I really have these specific issues that he is pinning on me because it seems like he has them…? How come I haven’t had these issues with other people? How come none of my previous arguments with my previous significant others went like this and with these problems? Am I looking deep enough into myself? Why can’t I think anymore? Why am I going numb during these? Am I really difficult? Is he? If I dialed up his exes, would they tell me their question list and would it include these very ones?

Why is it so difficult to communicate at times….something innocent and non-threatening sounds to the other person like its wrapped in a Tone or has a critical bite to it?

A year ago I found so many things were not as they seemed, while many other things were also rather nice surprises. I suppose that I could say, That’s Life. Surprises all over.

As I lie there in his arms, my mind moved to one month ago. One month ago we had probably the worst fight we’ve ever had. One that includes back up for possible relocation separately. It was a rough time and neither of us have completely left it behind yet. There have been plenty of hand holding moments, intimate dalliances together, meals cooked and sadness and celebratory happenings.

So I focused on the present moment. What does THIS feel like? Let me open my eyes and look up at him from where I lay on his chest. What do I see….what do I feel?

I feel as though I have taken myself away and attempted to build a lonely bomb shelter. His arm feels sweet around me. When it is there, I know it is there meaningfully. Mine isn’t an overly affectionate lapdog, waiting to use all his time to pet. So when I do his feel hand on me or his arm around me, I know it is deliberate. That feels good.

He feels that I don’t like him, but I do. I lost who I was in the last year….have become angry and confused as to what my roles were as self appointment and what they are one year later. I am basically wading through a dirty puddle and can’t see the bottom, no matter how shallow.

So what have I done? I’ve decided to be proactive and figure out who I am. I have written a list of things that I want to learn everything about. My interests will lead the way. A blog is to follow soon…more details down the road….short or long.

In the meantime, I will love my sometimes difficult relationship and try to remember how to live with love instead of having to constantly look for how I may have been shaped by my willingness to give up pieces of myself to please another. I will love him, but I will love him as myself, not the person who thinks she will gets along better with him if I do/don’t/say this or that. I’m sure if I get my soul to take a nice cat stretch and be silent for a bit on my sun spot on the rug, I will emerge in joy.