Friday, April 27, 2007
Can I Take the Good with the Bad ?
Does it say something about how my week is going - or at least about how my day will go - when I come in to work to find a dead mouse under my desk? Is that some kind of omen? He didn't die of natural causes, so it's not like he came here to die or anything. But of all the mousetraps in all of my office, he had to eat out of mine. It started when I came in this morning to see my two coworkers taking the garbage out behind my desk. They thought there must've been food in there, and that's where the slight odor was coming from. But, an hour later and the smell was still around. After three puffs of Febreeze, I finally moved the garbage can to see if food had somehow fallen behind the bin itself. And there it was: A mouse, curled up, post mortem, hiding behind my trash can. After yelling and calling out to "GET IT OUT OF HERE" (because whomever set the trap is therefore responsible for removal of the corpse), it's gone...But it seems to be the icing on top of the really shitty cake that is today.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
The Perfect Imperfections of Our Relationship
I think about you all the time - when I’m driving, when I’m working, when I’m alone, when I’m in the middle of a crowd. I think of your eyes, your smile, the smell of your shirts, and the feel of your fingers wrapped around mine. You laughing at something totally silly and me just getting "it" right away. I resent work and the demands that keep us away from one another throughout the day. I want to spend my every breath on you. It's weird because even when we're mad, happy, no matter what, I still want you there. To be mad with me, to be happy with me. Doesn't matter, just there...together.
The way I think about you - the fantasizing, the wishing and the longing - borders on obsession. Because while a good majority of what I think is pleasant, passionate, and romantic there’s the other side, too. The side that wonders what you could be doing right now, and then realizes it could be anything, and I’d never know.
These trust issues that I have - this constant worry that I’m being made a fool, the rush to find something out before you can betray me - it’s not your fault. I was like this before you, and probably always will be. I’m the product of one too many bad relationships, my own indiscretions, and a mind packed full of stories of men deceiving their women. It’s all shaken inside of me, and I come out with this cocktail of suspicion, mistrust and fear.
It hurts me the most when I’m feeling particularly insecure - because of hormones, a fresh story or a stale memory. Those days, it’s all I can do to smile. Lifting the corners of my mouth feels like such a colossal effort, when my mind is thick with questions, feelings and probably tinged with my own guilt as well.
They say that if you have to ask a psychic if your other half is cheating, then you already know the answer. And that a women’s intuition is nearly flawless when seeking out betrayal. But I don’t buy that. I think that there are women out there, like me, who have been given every reason to trust and believe and fall into the soft security of a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, yet cannot shake their demons, the little voices whispering into their ears. The demons that make them check the computer history, and find themselves unsatisfied with whatever they unearth: If there’s nothing, their other halves were just good at covering their tracks. If there’s something, then…Well…There’s something. The demons that make them ask questions so obviously directed at seeking out his whereabouts, making him - without asking directly - account for every minute of his day. The demons that suggest that phone call he’s making - right in front of you - is to his other girlfriend.
And you’ve been nothing but incredible most times. You’ve been honest and forthright when you need to be, and you’ve told me the little white lies when I needed them. You’ve shared your life with me. We’ve been through death, disease, surgeries, robbery…We’ve seen parts of the world together, and parts of each other that no one else has ever seen. We talk about our future. You call me every night on your way home from work, you devote every minute you can to me. And yet, still I wonder. Maybe it's because of the past, our past, and my own. Maybe it's because I still have thoughts, and you are insisting that you don't.
I don’t call you when I’m on my way home to you, almost hoping to find you mid-transgression. I don’t want to give you that warning shot; I’m just going ahead and firing. I think about our future, but I leave it open and remind myself that nothing is set in stone. You suggested, that we should get tattoos together. I recoiled and knitted my eyebrows, worried that doing that is too permanent. Because what if you leave? And although I did it anyway, you never went through with yours.
I’ve been told for years - years that knew me before I knew you - that I wasn’t worth sticking around for. That someone better than me would come along. I was reminded that I’d never be thin enough for anyone.
I still wanted to get married. After all of that, after all of those hurtful words, all of that possibly irreparable damage, I still wanted to get married. Because I was weak and hurt and it seemed the only way to patch up the broken me that I’d become.
I had to force myself to move on. I cried for weeks on end, I didn’t eat. I barely slept. And somewhere around the time that I found myself getting better, you found me. You took me in and you tended to my broken pieces. You saved me.
And, now, sometimes, I forget myself and take all of that history out on you. I do. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I snoop and dig and seek things that aren’t even there; I’m sorry that I make you constantly defend and reiterate that you love me, that you’ll always be around, that you’re never going to leave. “Don’t you know by now that I love you?” you say, “After all that we’ve been through? You think I could just wake up one day and not love you anymore?” I don’t know how to answer you, though. Because I know what you’re getting at when you say those things: That you do love me, that my insistence to the contrary is so obscene that it’s crazy, that your words are almost rhetorical, meant to remind me that my believing otherwise is pure nonsense. But yes. Yes I do. I think that love to me means more than it does to anyone else, including you. I believe I love you more. And yes, I believe that one day you will wake up and wonder why you ever let me in; wonder why you ever kissed me in the first place, got married, had our kids, loved me at all.
And believe we both know all too well that marriage doesn’t fix things. And I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. Just like I know that the sky is blue and Florida is humid and taxes are due on April 17th. I know it. But, sometimes, I just can’t understand it? I can’t internalize it? The rational side of me knows the score, but my irrational side tries to persuade me otherwise.
I’m just grateful for you being here, and sticking through it. For convincing me when it was the last thing you wanted to do. You’ll never, ever know how much that means to me.
You save me every day. From myself.
The way I think about you - the fantasizing, the wishing and the longing - borders on obsession. Because while a good majority of what I think is pleasant, passionate, and romantic there’s the other side, too. The side that wonders what you could be doing right now, and then realizes it could be anything, and I’d never know.
These trust issues that I have - this constant worry that I’m being made a fool, the rush to find something out before you can betray me - it’s not your fault. I was like this before you, and probably always will be. I’m the product of one too many bad relationships, my own indiscretions, and a mind packed full of stories of men deceiving their women. It’s all shaken inside of me, and I come out with this cocktail of suspicion, mistrust and fear.
It hurts me the most when I’m feeling particularly insecure - because of hormones, a fresh story or a stale memory. Those days, it’s all I can do to smile. Lifting the corners of my mouth feels like such a colossal effort, when my mind is thick with questions, feelings and probably tinged with my own guilt as well.
They say that if you have to ask a psychic if your other half is cheating, then you already know the answer. And that a women’s intuition is nearly flawless when seeking out betrayal. But I don’t buy that. I think that there are women out there, like me, who have been given every reason to trust and believe and fall into the soft security of a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, yet cannot shake their demons, the little voices whispering into their ears. The demons that make them check the computer history, and find themselves unsatisfied with whatever they unearth: If there’s nothing, their other halves were just good at covering their tracks. If there’s something, then…Well…There’s something. The demons that make them ask questions so obviously directed at seeking out his whereabouts, making him - without asking directly - account for every minute of his day. The demons that suggest that phone call he’s making - right in front of you - is to his other girlfriend.
And you’ve been nothing but incredible most times. You’ve been honest and forthright when you need to be, and you’ve told me the little white lies when I needed them. You’ve shared your life with me. We’ve been through death, disease, surgeries, robbery…We’ve seen parts of the world together, and parts of each other that no one else has ever seen. We talk about our future. You call me every night on your way home from work, you devote every minute you can to me. And yet, still I wonder. Maybe it's because of the past, our past, and my own. Maybe it's because I still have thoughts, and you are insisting that you don't.
I don’t call you when I’m on my way home to you, almost hoping to find you mid-transgression. I don’t want to give you that warning shot; I’m just going ahead and firing. I think about our future, but I leave it open and remind myself that nothing is set in stone. You suggested, that we should get tattoos together. I recoiled and knitted my eyebrows, worried that doing that is too permanent. Because what if you leave? And although I did it anyway, you never went through with yours.
I’ve been told for years - years that knew me before I knew you - that I wasn’t worth sticking around for. That someone better than me would come along. I was reminded that I’d never be thin enough for anyone.
I still wanted to get married. After all of that, after all of those hurtful words, all of that possibly irreparable damage, I still wanted to get married. Because I was weak and hurt and it seemed the only way to patch up the broken me that I’d become.
I had to force myself to move on. I cried for weeks on end, I didn’t eat. I barely slept. And somewhere around the time that I found myself getting better, you found me. You took me in and you tended to my broken pieces. You saved me.
And, now, sometimes, I forget myself and take all of that history out on you. I do. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I snoop and dig and seek things that aren’t even there; I’m sorry that I make you constantly defend and reiterate that you love me, that you’ll always be around, that you’re never going to leave. “Don’t you know by now that I love you?” you say, “After all that we’ve been through? You think I could just wake up one day and not love you anymore?” I don’t know how to answer you, though. Because I know what you’re getting at when you say those things: That you do love me, that my insistence to the contrary is so obscene that it’s crazy, that your words are almost rhetorical, meant to remind me that my believing otherwise is pure nonsense. But yes. Yes I do. I think that love to me means more than it does to anyone else, including you. I believe I love you more. And yes, I believe that one day you will wake up and wonder why you ever let me in; wonder why you ever kissed me in the first place, got married, had our kids, loved me at all.
And believe we both know all too well that marriage doesn’t fix things. And I know you’d never do anything to hurt me. Just like I know that the sky is blue and Florida is humid and taxes are due on April 17th. I know it. But, sometimes, I just can’t understand it? I can’t internalize it? The rational side of me knows the score, but my irrational side tries to persuade me otherwise.
I’m just grateful for you being here, and sticking through it. For convincing me when it was the last thing you wanted to do. You’ll never, ever know how much that means to me.
You save me every day. From myself.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Stressed
Dear Mother,
I've been wanting to say a few things to you for the longest, probably way too long than normal. I love you, God knows I do, but you need to get your shit together. You need to wake up and realize that you're no single fucking person living in this world alone, you have children, and although I am grown and taken care of you have a 15 year old daughter that you've just pushed off on me to raise all by myself. In the year that I've had her mother, you've sent 40 dollars! 40 dollars! I have two children as well. They cost money, and now I have three. It's unfair that everyone else has to step up to the plate to mend your wounds, your issues. It's unfair that you won't get a job, and KEEP a job. It's unfair that you love him and continue to stay with him when you know he's toxic. And I believe he tries, never for a minute do I think he would ever do half the shit he does out of cruelty or ill-intent, but he's not strong. And what worst to pair up with than a weak woman with an even weaker man?
Grow up for God's sake, better yet for K's sake! Why don't you have a car? Why don't you have a job? Why did you waste your entire income tax on YOU, him, and weed? Why the fuck didn't you come back? You know how disturbed K is? She's really got issues, you should hear the crap her counselors from school tell me. She won't talk to me, even when I ask. She's a liar just like you. She's a quitter just like you.
And I know that your youth was hard, I hate your family for all they've done to you. Every one of them looks down their nose at you, and neither of them are no where near being far better than you are. Momma, what I'm saying is that I know everyone has shit to work through, but you, you've always had "shit" to work through. It was no need to for us to live the way we did, no need for you to live the way you live now. Put that weed, and beer shit aside, and again GROW the fuck UP! Love alone doesn't keep a family together and off the street, love alone doesn't pay the bills and it sure as hell doesn't make everything all right. Because of you mom, I am overly sensitive, and soft on my own kids, and in my personal life. I love you for that, that in no way is a bad thing. But we needed more. K needs more now, and you still have time to change, you just have to want to.
Why do I feel more mature than you? Be the mom, not the friend. There's no reason you should let K curse in front of you. You would've never let me. Never. And just because circumstances have gotten a little out of hand is no reason for her to do so. Have a back bone, speak your mind. Leave him, and do what's good for you. Even if it does suck, do it, cause you have an obligation to K and yourself to be better. It's not alright to just be "comfortable" you've lowered your standards and now you are low.
And although your problems lie far beyond money reasons, I just don't know what else I can do to help, if you won't help yourself.
I've been wanting to say a few things to you for the longest, probably way too long than normal. I love you, God knows I do, but you need to get your shit together. You need to wake up and realize that you're no single fucking person living in this world alone, you have children, and although I am grown and taken care of you have a 15 year old daughter that you've just pushed off on me to raise all by myself. In the year that I've had her mother, you've sent 40 dollars! 40 dollars! I have two children as well. They cost money, and now I have three. It's unfair that everyone else has to step up to the plate to mend your wounds, your issues. It's unfair that you won't get a job, and KEEP a job. It's unfair that you love him and continue to stay with him when you know he's toxic. And I believe he tries, never for a minute do I think he would ever do half the shit he does out of cruelty or ill-intent, but he's not strong. And what worst to pair up with than a weak woman with an even weaker man?
Grow up for God's sake, better yet for K's sake! Why don't you have a car? Why don't you have a job? Why did you waste your entire income tax on YOU, him, and weed? Why the fuck didn't you come back? You know how disturbed K is? She's really got issues, you should hear the crap her counselors from school tell me. She won't talk to me, even when I ask. She's a liar just like you. She's a quitter just like you.
And I know that your youth was hard, I hate your family for all they've done to you. Every one of them looks down their nose at you, and neither of them are no where near being far better than you are. Momma, what I'm saying is that I know everyone has shit to work through, but you, you've always had "shit" to work through. It was no need to for us to live the way we did, no need for you to live the way you live now. Put that weed, and beer shit aside, and again GROW the fuck UP! Love alone doesn't keep a family together and off the street, love alone doesn't pay the bills and it sure as hell doesn't make everything all right. Because of you mom, I am overly sensitive, and soft on my own kids, and in my personal life. I love you for that, that in no way is a bad thing. But we needed more. K needs more now, and you still have time to change, you just have to want to.
Why do I feel more mature than you? Be the mom, not the friend. There's no reason you should let K curse in front of you. You would've never let me. Never. And just because circumstances have gotten a little out of hand is no reason for her to do so. Have a back bone, speak your mind. Leave him, and do what's good for you. Even if it does suck, do it, cause you have an obligation to K and yourself to be better. It's not alright to just be "comfortable" you've lowered your standards and now you are low.
And although your problems lie far beyond money reasons, I just don't know what else I can do to help, if you won't help yourself.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Unsent
These are the unset letters to boys that once loved me, they have each made some sort of significant change in my life. I thank them for it. Maybe not at that time, but now, in retrospect, I too, love them.
Dear T,
It has been so many years since we were together but I will never ever forget you. You helped me to become the woman I am today. You let me know how it feels to be loved for the first time. The lessons I learned from you were lessons I needed to learn and I'm so glad you were the one to teach them to me. You will always own a piece of my heart. I still think about you to this day, even with my life, even with my husband, I still love you like no other. You are my first love. I regret the things I did to you, to lead you to treat me the way you did. But we were young, and crazy. Maybe a little age and maturity was all we really needed. But now it's too late for us. I have my life, you have yours. And though, sometimes I'd give anything and everything to be back in that time, to be able to do it all over and correct my mistakes, I know it won't matter because you're no longer that person. That was the sweet "T", the man you are now scares me. He screams peer pressure, and cultural norms, but I'll always love the old you, for you made me...the new me!
Dear M,
I'm sorry. That's all I ever wanted to say was that. I know I hurt you, over and over, and yet when anyone turned their back on me, you were ALWAYS there still looking at me, and yet, loving me through the imperfections. You were everything any sane woman would want in a man. The problem was I wasn't sane. I'm still not. I hope you are happy. I worry about you sometimes and wonder if I damaged you very badly. I hope I didn't. I never deserved you. I'm sorry.
Dear H,
I loved you too much. I still do. The truth is I didn't even want you when I first met you. You were just the entertainment. So fun and full of life. The flavor of the month. Funny how that came back to bite me in the ass. You were tragically broken and I was going to heal you. Except in trying to heal you I too became broken. You were self-destructive and I was going to save you but in trying to save you I almost destroyed myself. Even with all of that and all I know now I still miss you. Tragically, for me, I still love you. And the funny thing is out of all the guys I'm writing my "unsent" to, I honestly believe that you're the only that still loves me too.
Dear D,
Timing is everything. Why is ours always off? Why hadn't I met you first, before I met HIM? Why couldn't I have been as good to you as you were to me in the beginning? When we met the first time I was still struggling to breath. I was just leaving home, never once lived on my own made my own rules, and I went crazy. We found comfort in each other until we didn't anymore. No matter what we might have said ord I done to each other in the heat of the moment I will always be here for you. And though not in the sense that others may think because we both know that I will lose everything if we were to have actual contact with one another. We aren't quite ready to forgive each other yet but hopefully someday we will find our way back to each other even if it is just as friends. I want you to be happy. I hope you are happy. And I hate that I made you cry that night the way you did. Every time I hear that song that was playing in the back ground I have to fight to hold back tears, because in that moment you changed something for me, and I realized that it's not always just about ME, other people's feelings mattered. You mattered. And although I could never love you enough, or how you wanted me to, I tried for a while. But it was just so exhausting, so confusing having to choose between you and HIM. You treated me like I have never been treated before. Both mentally, emotionally and better yet sexually. I want you to know, I hope you know.
Dear A,
I just recently found out your married, and living extremely close to my family no doubt! Well good luck on that one. I think that you're significant in my life because you took my virginity and you were the first to mention "love" in our relationship, but oh how insignificant you are in the BIG scheme of things. See, my husband is aware of you but doesn't know you de-virginized me. He thinks (because I've told him and everyone else) that T did it! And it's not that I'm ashamed of it, or you, or me at that time in my life, it's jut because...I always hear women say, "you'll always love your first" but honestly A, I never loved you. I only did it to get it over with, and because everyone thought I was already doing it anyway. I wanted to know what the big deal was. And you were so mean and cruel about it. I guess I shouldn't have lied and told you I weren't a virgin, so you wouldn't be looking for some experienced slut like you were. It does hurt that you told all your friends how I bleed all over your sheets. Maybe even thought it wouldn't get back to me, but you told one of T's friends, and of course T told me. He knew details, details A, so I know he wasn't lying. For some reason back then I never had the courage to bring that up and confront you on it, just let it go and vowed to never fuck you again. But you are the sexiest man I've EVER dated.
Dear T,
It has been so many years since we were together but I will never ever forget you. You helped me to become the woman I am today. You let me know how it feels to be loved for the first time. The lessons I learned from you were lessons I needed to learn and I'm so glad you were the one to teach them to me. You will always own a piece of my heart. I still think about you to this day, even with my life, even with my husband, I still love you like no other. You are my first love. I regret the things I did to you, to lead you to treat me the way you did. But we were young, and crazy. Maybe a little age and maturity was all we really needed. But now it's too late for us. I have my life, you have yours. And though, sometimes I'd give anything and everything to be back in that time, to be able to do it all over and correct my mistakes, I know it won't matter because you're no longer that person. That was the sweet "T", the man you are now scares me. He screams peer pressure, and cultural norms, but I'll always love the old you, for you made me...the new me!
Dear M,
I'm sorry. That's all I ever wanted to say was that. I know I hurt you, over and over, and yet when anyone turned their back on me, you were ALWAYS there still looking at me, and yet, loving me through the imperfections. You were everything any sane woman would want in a man. The problem was I wasn't sane. I'm still not. I hope you are happy. I worry about you sometimes and wonder if I damaged you very badly. I hope I didn't. I never deserved you. I'm sorry.
Dear H,
I loved you too much. I still do. The truth is I didn't even want you when I first met you. You were just the entertainment. So fun and full of life. The flavor of the month. Funny how that came back to bite me in the ass. You were tragically broken and I was going to heal you. Except in trying to heal you I too became broken. You were self-destructive and I was going to save you but in trying to save you I almost destroyed myself. Even with all of that and all I know now I still miss you. Tragically, for me, I still love you. And the funny thing is out of all the guys I'm writing my "unsent" to, I honestly believe that you're the only that still loves me too.
Dear D,
Timing is everything. Why is ours always off? Why hadn't I met you first, before I met HIM? Why couldn't I have been as good to you as you were to me in the beginning? When we met the first time I was still struggling to breath. I was just leaving home, never once lived on my own made my own rules, and I went crazy. We found comfort in each other until we didn't anymore. No matter what we might have said ord I done to each other in the heat of the moment I will always be here for you. And though not in the sense that others may think because we both know that I will lose everything if we were to have actual contact with one another. We aren't quite ready to forgive each other yet but hopefully someday we will find our way back to each other even if it is just as friends. I want you to be happy. I hope you are happy. And I hate that I made you cry that night the way you did. Every time I hear that song that was playing in the back ground I have to fight to hold back tears, because in that moment you changed something for me, and I realized that it's not always just about ME, other people's feelings mattered. You mattered. And although I could never love you enough, or how you wanted me to, I tried for a while. But it was just so exhausting, so confusing having to choose between you and HIM. You treated me like I have never been treated before. Both mentally, emotionally and better yet sexually. I want you to know, I hope you know.
Dear A,
I just recently found out your married, and living extremely close to my family no doubt! Well good luck on that one. I think that you're significant in my life because you took my virginity and you were the first to mention "love" in our relationship, but oh how insignificant you are in the BIG scheme of things. See, my husband is aware of you but doesn't know you de-virginized me. He thinks (because I've told him and everyone else) that T did it! And it's not that I'm ashamed of it, or you, or me at that time in my life, it's jut because...I always hear women say, "you'll always love your first" but honestly A, I never loved you. I only did it to get it over with, and because everyone thought I was already doing it anyway. I wanted to know what the big deal was. And you were so mean and cruel about it. I guess I shouldn't have lied and told you I weren't a virgin, so you wouldn't be looking for some experienced slut like you were. It does hurt that you told all your friends how I bleed all over your sheets. Maybe even thought it wouldn't get back to me, but you told one of T's friends, and of course T told me. He knew details, details A, so I know he wasn't lying. For some reason back then I never had the courage to bring that up and confront you on it, just let it go and vowed to never fuck you again. But you are the sexiest man I've EVER dated.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
A Change In The Tide
Things have started to change- you know, on this roller coaster I call life, you call love, I call prison. One day I'm in the dumps: hurting, aching, moaning and wanting for another life, another chance at something different, and then in the next moment, I'm content, not happy, but content. And for me, for US, that's good enough. To just be something other than mad at each other. To be able to come home and know that No, I'm not walking into another argument that's just an extension of last nights, and No, I'm not afraid to even walk past the door for fear or getting some horrible headache.
It's been different. Different in a good way lately, in a way that I hope never will pass.
When I walk into the house, I'm greeted of course by my wonderful kid's smiles and hugs and kisses, but now by a smile as wide as my own. By a hug as tender as it is filled with love. And by compassion that's starting to sweep me off my feet. I like this. Like this feeling, and I never know how long it's ever gonna last so I wanna savour it. Enjoy every single delectable bite. I wanna take this dream life I've been living over the last couple of days and make it all my own.
I wish he knew how much easier and better it made my life when we were "this" way. How good I feel throughout the day just knowing I have him there to come home to.
It's wonderful, and I never want it to end.
It's been different. Different in a good way lately, in a way that I hope never will pass.
When I walk into the house, I'm greeted of course by my wonderful kid's smiles and hugs and kisses, but now by a smile as wide as my own. By a hug as tender as it is filled with love. And by compassion that's starting to sweep me off my feet. I like this. Like this feeling, and I never know how long it's ever gonna last so I wanna savour it. Enjoy every single delectable bite. I wanna take this dream life I've been living over the last couple of days and make it all my own.
I wish he knew how much easier and better it made my life when we were "this" way. How good I feel throughout the day just knowing I have him there to come home to.
It's wonderful, and I never want it to end.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Stiffled Creativity...
I feel like being creative today
But I honestly have to say
You've drained all my energy away
So I stare at blank paper
And nothing else comes my way.
This is how I feel today, drained, empty, tired. My DH and I are just aweful, aweful to each other. I hate being this way, I'm stubborn, but when I'm right, I be damn if I'm going to give in just for the sake of arguement. I've done that too many times, and so has he, but damnmit, this time it's NOT MY FAULT! Why the hell does he want to just place this blame on me just because?
Tight wound ball of tangled mess.
Find the end, relieve some stress
twist and turn and pull it through
now tie my string to something new.
Everytime I turn around there's alway something ELSE. Something other, than the other fucking thing that just pissed me off a few minutes ago. My life can never be care-free. And I guess, really whose is? But sometimes it should at least be easy. Not so stressful.
I open up
I let you in
I'll never feel this way again
love is liftedoff the ground
hold me make me
safe and sound
crushed I hit the ground so hard
why did you change
why is love hard?
you can't do this again you say so
drop me off along the way
months go by
I bear the weight
strong I am
but it's too late
how could I know
black is your heart
how could I not
have been so smart?
you come around
and want to be
everything we used to see
your sins are spread
out on the floor
but I can't love you
anymore.
And that's how I feel, like I'm falling out of love, like I'm losing it. My mind, my strength, my heart, my soul, my everything. I'm losing it.
But I honestly have to say
You've drained all my energy away
So I stare at blank paper
And nothing else comes my way.
This is how I feel today, drained, empty, tired. My DH and I are just aweful, aweful to each other. I hate being this way, I'm stubborn, but when I'm right, I be damn if I'm going to give in just for the sake of arguement. I've done that too many times, and so has he, but damnmit, this time it's NOT MY FAULT! Why the hell does he want to just place this blame on me just because?
Tight wound ball of tangled mess.
Find the end, relieve some stress
twist and turn and pull it through
now tie my string to something new.
Everytime I turn around there's alway something ELSE. Something other, than the other fucking thing that just pissed me off a few minutes ago. My life can never be care-free. And I guess, really whose is? But sometimes it should at least be easy. Not so stressful.
I open up
I let you in
I'll never feel this way again
love is liftedoff the ground
hold me make me
safe and sound
crushed I hit the ground so hard
why did you change
why is love hard?
you can't do this again you say so
drop me off along the way
months go by
I bear the weight
strong I am
but it's too late
how could I know
black is your heart
how could I not
have been so smart?
you come around
and want to be
everything we used to see
your sins are spread
out on the floor
but I can't love you
anymore.
And that's how I feel, like I'm falling out of love, like I'm losing it. My mind, my strength, my heart, my soul, my everything. I'm losing it.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Speak up or shut up!
If there’s one thing I hate in this world, it’s being talked over.
Like when I answer the phone at work with my standard greeting, in which I offer a salutation (”Good morning!” or “Good afternoon!”), then state the name of the business, and then my name…But before I get through our business name, the caller starts talking.
Usually, when a person has no use for my greeting, they also have no use for pleasantries, or me. While I speak, they just go ahead and say the person's name they're calling for, more of a demand than a request.
And because I hate this so much, I usually just finish my greeting and then wait like I hadn’t heard them, offering them the chance to say it again, only this time, when it’s their turn.
But this experience isn’t limited to the phone. There are people out there who just really don’t care to let you finish what you’re saying, finding it imperative to speak right this second, whether you’re finished with your thought or not. Maybe I’m too full of pride, or maybe I’m just a bitch, but I feel it my duty to continue speaking until they give up, and listen like they’re supposed to. I do it for them, the least they can do is offer me the same.
Today, a woman of roughly four and a half feet in height came into my office, just moments after my boss and coworker had, curiously, left together for lunch. She yanked open the door and waddled in, and asked immediately if my boss was available.
She’d been in before, and met with my boss before, so I suppose she assumed he’d just be here waiting for her. “I’m sorry,” I said regretfully, “he’s out to lu-”
“I drove up from New York. He’s not here?”
“Did you have an appoint-”
“No,” she cut me off, her tone incredulous. Why on earth would she need an appointment? “But I did tell him I’d be here sometime today.”
“Well, he just left for lun-”
It was at this point that she began to talk over me again, explaining to me that she’d driven here from New York just to see him, what he was supposed to go over with her, what she brought with her, how long she planned to be in town…
But I only heard bits and pieces, because, as she spoke, I was busy giving her a detailed account of the fact that he had gone to lunch, where he went, and how long I suspected he might be gone. Our voices met somewhere in the middle of my office and just bounced off each other, neither of us getting our points across, but both of us just talking. I grasped for subject matter, determined to talk as long, if not longer, than she did. Because, hey, cut me off once, fine. Twice, now I’m pissed. A third time? Now I don’t have to listen to you, either.
I think this comes from growing up with my father who is infamous in my family for talking, and talking and talking. Especially when arguing, he talks so much and so consistently, you can’t get a word in edgewise. It’s annoying and troublesome, and we other three members of the family have become well-versed in pinpointing exactly how long it’ll be before he’s forced to take a breath, or a pause to collect his thoughts, and jumping in at exactly that second. But never one to have the floor stolen from him, my father will jump right back into his speech, completely without regard to his counterpart and whether or not she or he is currently speaking. As a child, it was intimidating and made me clam up. Because, Dad’s talking. And his voice is so loud and strong. Better shut up. But, as I grew, it just became irritating and anger-inducing. And because my father and I are almost exactly alike, except for the mustache, I started doing the exact same thing to him.
So, often, when my father and I are “debating,” the room fills with both of our voices trying to out-speak the other. Only, if you turned down the volume on my voice, there’s no doubt that my father would still be speaking about the subject at hand, offering arguments and proof and historical references. If you turned down his voice, however, you’d hear me talking about absolutely nothing. Nothing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, when this verbal clash takes place, I run out of things to say one sentence into the match. So I start either repeating what I’ve said over and over, with different intonations and inflections to make it seem that I have something to say, or just drawing whatever I can from the preceding conversation and repeating it, just to fill the space. Because, hey Old Man, how come you can speak over me? Why can’t I talk?
Today, as the little ol’ lady and I went to Thunderdome with our voices, I tried to tell myself to just relent. That it’s not important to make sure I’m not talked over, that if she cuts me off to just drop it and move on. Kill ‘em with kindness.
But then I was all “Nah, fuck that.” And I started talking about what my boss could be eating for lunch instead.
Like when I answer the phone at work with my standard greeting, in which I offer a salutation (”Good morning!” or “Good afternoon!”), then state the name of the business, and then my name…But before I get through our business name, the caller starts talking.
Usually, when a person has no use for my greeting, they also have no use for pleasantries, or me. While I speak, they just go ahead and say the person's name they're calling for, more of a demand than a request.
And because I hate this so much, I usually just finish my greeting and then wait like I hadn’t heard them, offering them the chance to say it again, only this time, when it’s their turn.
But this experience isn’t limited to the phone. There are people out there who just really don’t care to let you finish what you’re saying, finding it imperative to speak right this second, whether you’re finished with your thought or not. Maybe I’m too full of pride, or maybe I’m just a bitch, but I feel it my duty to continue speaking until they give up, and listen like they’re supposed to. I do it for them, the least they can do is offer me the same.
Today, a woman of roughly four and a half feet in height came into my office, just moments after my boss and coworker had, curiously, left together for lunch. She yanked open the door and waddled in, and asked immediately if my boss was available.
She’d been in before, and met with my boss before, so I suppose she assumed he’d just be here waiting for her. “I’m sorry,” I said regretfully, “he’s out to lu-”
“I drove up from New York. He’s not here?”
“Did you have an appoint-”
“No,” she cut me off, her tone incredulous. Why on earth would she need an appointment? “But I did tell him I’d be here sometime today.”
“Well, he just left for lun-”
It was at this point that she began to talk over me again, explaining to me that she’d driven here from New York just to see him, what he was supposed to go over with her, what she brought with her, how long she planned to be in town…
But I only heard bits and pieces, because, as she spoke, I was busy giving her a detailed account of the fact that he had gone to lunch, where he went, and how long I suspected he might be gone. Our voices met somewhere in the middle of my office and just bounced off each other, neither of us getting our points across, but both of us just talking. I grasped for subject matter, determined to talk as long, if not longer, than she did. Because, hey, cut me off once, fine. Twice, now I’m pissed. A third time? Now I don’t have to listen to you, either.
I think this comes from growing up with my father who is infamous in my family for talking, and talking and talking. Especially when arguing, he talks so much and so consistently, you can’t get a word in edgewise. It’s annoying and troublesome, and we other three members of the family have become well-versed in pinpointing exactly how long it’ll be before he’s forced to take a breath, or a pause to collect his thoughts, and jumping in at exactly that second. But never one to have the floor stolen from him, my father will jump right back into his speech, completely without regard to his counterpart and whether or not she or he is currently speaking. As a child, it was intimidating and made me clam up. Because, Dad’s talking. And his voice is so loud and strong. Better shut up. But, as I grew, it just became irritating and anger-inducing. And because my father and I are almost exactly alike, except for the mustache, I started doing the exact same thing to him.
So, often, when my father and I are “debating,” the room fills with both of our voices trying to out-speak the other. Only, if you turned down the volume on my voice, there’s no doubt that my father would still be speaking about the subject at hand, offering arguments and proof and historical references. If you turned down his voice, however, you’d hear me talking about absolutely nothing. Nothing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, when this verbal clash takes place, I run out of things to say one sentence into the match. So I start either repeating what I’ve said over and over, with different intonations and inflections to make it seem that I have something to say, or just drawing whatever I can from the preceding conversation and repeating it, just to fill the space. Because, hey Old Man, how come you can speak over me? Why can’t I talk?
Today, as the little ol’ lady and I went to Thunderdome with our voices, I tried to tell myself to just relent. That it’s not important to make sure I’m not talked over, that if she cuts me off to just drop it and move on. Kill ‘em with kindness.
But then I was all “Nah, fuck that.” And I started talking about what my boss could be eating for lunch instead.
This "stage" is over...
So quash all the gooey show of emotion from the last post. (How quickly my feelings change lately) But not to my dismay actually, I've lost my "crush" so to speak on the guy. And it's not that I don't still have little feelings of wonder, because I do, however, now they're no where near as strong as they previously were before. I think the more talking we started to do after we had our conversation. I respect the fact that we were and are able to be so up-front with one another. Right from the beginning I knew what I wanted, I told him exactly that, and he did the same. We started talking more and more. And after that, I now realize that he's not what I want.
To big of a risk for me, too wild. I am still attracted to him in a sense you know. Probably will remain that way as long as we work together. But I now know I would never, NEVER act on any of these feelings.
To big of a risk for me, too wild. I am still attracted to him in a sense you know. Probably will remain that way as long as we work together. But I now know I would never, NEVER act on any of these feelings.
- In other news my DH has returned to the home front, for of course only a few days. But it's all good though.
- My dearest, best-est (LOL), most wonderful friend is moving away. And I'm as sad as a person can possibly be.
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