The Light in the Day

I do this thing where I ask the universe to show me the light in the day. I do it when I find myself stuck in a shitty place, my brain taking my heart to sad, stuck places. Places where my ass ends up in my couch and Netflix is ruling my life and I need it to stop.

I have no one and nothing at this exact point. No one is home, I am alone. It feels, well, lonely. So, I ask the universe to show me the light in the day. The light where I am alive regardless of my feelings or thoughts.

I turn the music on and let the light take me where it will. The music becomes the air around me, it becomes my heart and my pretty heart sings - and just like that, I feel joy.

Something Sweet

I had a lot of fun with him this week in work, life, and bed. I have a number of feelings around it all: exhaustion, giddiness, love, fear, desire,  and joy.

I don't know what to make of it all; I know I'm not supposed to make anything of it yet a part of insists on having some different level of understanding. What are we doing, where are we going, will I get hurt, is it just about sex, do we really have anything in common, is this going to fizzle out quickly...?  Or do we love each other?

Exhaustion:
I'm exhausted around how fucking happy I feel. My heart feels like it's continually blooming, over and over again. How long can that last?

Giddiness:
See above. It's exhausting.

Love:
How my heart feels when he says things like "I love being with you. I just want to make you happy, do I make you happy?" My stomach swoons with a depth when we touch those moments. When our foreheads touch, when our eyes meet and that knowing thuds beware - you are falling. When he kisses that spot between my eyes or my face, the tenderness that is attached is beautiful. When I return it, it is with all of me.

Desire:
That longing to feel his skin, his body next to mine. To kiss his lips, to feel him inside of me or the warmth of his mouth between my legs - his face buried deeply.  The sound of him coming undone to his desire when he fucks me aggressively and instinctually - my god I desire that.

Joy:
The forever smile on my face, the song my heart seems to subtly and quietly forever dance to, day in and day out, day in, day out.

This week he whispered in my ear that I was like a drug or like honey that he couldn't get enough of.

I want this. I want what I have with him... .  I accept and surrender to this - something sweet.

Mayhaps

I mean, whatever and shit. Christmas is weird.

Here I am, another Christmas morning, awake by myself for hours as usual, waiting for the hype of the day to consume itself.

I don't even have anything to say here, but writing is a friend so I do it.

Speaking of which: the daily grind is getting that edge to it, that sharp edge that I don't want to acknowledge.

I forgot that writing stories is like a vacation from life, that I write the escape I want to see - so there's that.

I don't have to write for people, just me. I don't have to be so serious... just write.

I think I might look forward to that.

I am grateful that I have people. Christmas would be a lot weirder if I had no one to complain about. So, there is that, too.

Whatever.

Evolve Or Die

He said, "I love holding you, I love fucking you, I love being with you, I love working with you... can you see where I'm going with this...? "

Yes. I can. You love me.

You love me.

And we evolve.

I've been waiting for him to say this.  I could see it on the tip of his tongue.

He came over to watch a movie and eat dinner, to spend time... not just fuck. So, we watched a movie, a little bit of it (Love Actually) and then had sex instead. A making of some kind of love.

What an interesting picture this paints.

I watched him sleeping. I looked at him and felt the same, I didn't shy away.  He slept and curled up beside me - his spot. My spot being buried into his neck.

I don't know why I feel the way I do, but I'm good with it. It's hard to say, but





I love him, too.

I gave him the glass heart.

I'm afraid to love you, but I do... that different kind of love.

I love you.

Another Cognitively Dissonant Christmas

I have to remember I can't trust my feelings around this time of year. For reasons not clear to me, Christmas, especially December, makes my mind go amuck.

The reasons seem obvious, but also not. I don't knowingly feel overwhelmed by Christmas. I both reject and accept it. I hate the commercialism but love the coziness of it. So, why does it make me feel anxious? And why do I start to reject absolutely everything?

It's gross. I hate this feeling. This idea that I am enjoying aspects of the season but feeling so apathetic.

Such a conflict.

And I remember the years past feeling like I was losing ground only to have January come about and I feel normal again.

Is it family? Is it expectations? Who's expectations? Mine?

For the last twenty years, Christmas has been my job to pull off. I've got to say - it's a fucking lot to ask of someone. While I try and let go of that expectation on myself, the habit remains. It's twenty years in the making.

So, what shall I do?

I shall accept the odds, I suppose. Surrender to my incompatibility and put thoughts and feelings on a shelf for now. I will review them in the new year when the air clears of this ambiguity.

Love

I don't know if what I feel is love.

We decided to skip this week. Fucking like we do gets a little routine and lack lustre if it's on a clock. I was done for a while, I didn't feel the need to visit our bubble, and, as it happens, neither did he.

I was feeling done with us and our bubble the way it is/was. It had reached an evolve or die kinda spot.

And now that I know we both are good and don't feel the desire to visit, I feel endearment to us.

It feels again a little bit like a tender love - even though it is based on fucking. Is that love?

If it is, it's a little exhausting. So much blooming. Ugh.

Waxing Love, Waning Alien

I hope it's the full moon. I feel odd. Outside of myself. It's just one of those weeks. I'm an alien to myself.

Like I'm missing a goal, this morning my body suddenly said, "you must start writing again."

I must remember one of the greatest reasons I am here - to create stories.

It doesn't even matter if the world reads them or recognizes them, the greatest reason I am here is to say them. Stories, I have a lot of.

I've lost them in this whirlwind that is my job and life as of late. It's been good, almost as if I was supposed to lose them for a time - but that time is gone now.

I think I feel sad about that. I think that, today, it means that my journey with the Greek has passed. Over the weekend, I lost something that attached me to that relationship and I don't know what that thing was or is. It could be that it's just changing and evolving...

I didn't not enjoy the time we spent together this week, but it did feel routine. The nicest part of that routine was the sleeping together, the cuddling throughout the night, the waking up and working from bed.

He had said he just wanted to take his time with me sexually, he hadn't wanted to just get to the fucking but we did. It was me that urged for it - even though I too would have preferred to mix it up with something a little less fuck-the-shit-out-of-me sex.

Maybe it feels like we're at fork in the road, evolve or die. Do we want to evolve? That means a relationship, and it appears that my body goes into a cold sweat at that thought. A vomity, cold sweat kinda fear. Is it fear though? Or is it just... I don't want that. Is it the fear of not wanting that?

And so, I am reminded of my sole goal - write. Don't get lost or caught up in a relationship. Don't get distracted. Write.

And in order to not get caught up in it, I will scream, "No, I can't. I have to write. See, I have all this stuff I have to do. I can't do you. Sorry, I'm busy." And then throw up.

I am definitely afraid. It's weird. I can't remember the last time I felt afraid of myself in this way. It was probably when I made the first big decision to leave my marriage - I was fucking terrified then - but I knew that fear, that fear was... obvious. This seems a lot less obvious. Unless it comes down to the fact that, now, after all this time, I am just not that into him and I don't want to admit to it so I make this drawn out Oh my god, this is so deep emotional plea to love.

It's weird though, because I still felt love. Although, in my truth, I think I'm afraid I felt the waning of it. This makes me feel like an alien to the person I've been for the past year.

I hope it's just the moon that's making me a little crazy, pulling at my soul, nailing a possible truth to floor in front of me, whispering "Get to work."

Anticipation.

Today I am a little scared that I am afraid of us. That whole shit be getting real thing.

I'm afraid we've accepted that, in whatever way we do it, we love each other. Why does that make me want to puke? That we've accepted it seems to be the catch. We've accepted and are going to let it do its thing. He doesn't appear to be putting up so many road blocks to slow shit down.

This happens sometimes when I'm going to see him again after a week of not. The last time we were together is always great, the fantasy memories of it throughout the next week are great, the love, because of the distance and want, grows - and then I'm afraid it will be gone?

What if I loved it in my mind so much that it does that thing that things do and makes itself more real than is pretty and alluring.

What if we've fucked the fuck out of each other? What if we've exhausted this?

I also feel that when his skin is close to mine, I can breath again. I can let go of the breath that I didn't know I've been holding. I can relax.

Today it feels even more urgent that I be in his arms and feel his warmth. I'll have to work with him for a full 8 hours before I can touch him. Before I can relax.

Maybe that's what scares me.

My skin, my heart, wants the breath. What if it's not there?

Knowing that something exists that you no longer want to live without... chancy.

It's always been that way for me, knowing I didn't want to live without it. But, he never really gave it to me before. Now, it feels like he's surrendered to a majority of it, not all of it, but most of it. It being the idea that him and I are more.

He has given over a piece of him that I wanted which has, perhaps, lulled (or is lulling) me into a false sense of security.

Now, I'm letting myself love him, not knowing what will come of it.

Where Things Start to Feel (a tiny bit) Dangerously Real

It went well.

Of course it went well.

I told him I had a past that affected my sexuality in a way... yadda, yadda, yadda.

I told him that I faked some orgasms. He said that, if anything, that hurt more and asked me to please not do that. If I don't have one, that's fine, we'll find a way together.

Shit be getting kinda real in a "sure, okay" shrug of shoulder aint no thang kind a way.

And over this past 2 weeks, so many other things have happened. He asked me about my fantasies, I said I couldn't nail down just one as the fluctuate, but they all boil down to one thing usually, either a) intimacy so profound that you have earth shattering orgasms or, more likely and often  b) sex where I'm being slightly dominated and my body simply there for their pleasure - and often there is more than one of them. There, I said it.

I don't like to admit to that because I'm afraid/ashamed that my desire for that comes from my experience, that on some level I'm trying to recreate what happened all those years ago.

Ugh. There, I said it. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

He wants me to tell him my fantasy, but that right there is why I can't.

Anyhoo, the funny thing is: I've mentioned, he's a real talker in bed, to the point where I laugh because it seems silly. He also likes to be a little dominating and pushy at times, which I also thought was "pretty cute."

But then, I realized that some of what he does/says IS THE SHIT THAT IS IN MY FANTASIES.

hahahahahhahaha.

So, the other morning, as he was working at making me come with his hand while he's fucking me, he's whispering in my ear dirty little words. Instead of thinking it was a him thing, I listened. I followed him, the sound of his voice, to where ever he was. I let him take me there. I let go. 

It was fucking fantastic. 

Shit be getting real. I love it, but it scares me that it will scare him. I can see we're falling in love. I lay in bed with him in the mornings ('cause we sleep over now, too) and I love him. I feel shit stir as my skin touches his, as I run my hand along his body. I can feel myself loving him. 

I think we can stay the way we are and still be in love. We don't have to move in or spend every waking moment together. But it is still love and it will continue to grow unless one of us feels the overwhelming need to stop it. 

Transparent

So, things are good and okay. Nothing bad happened. I cried a bit - for what, I'm not sure. It's possible that I've worked myself up into a lather thinking about if and how I might tell the Greek a bit about my past so as to make myself accountable around the orgasm and my journey to learn how to let go and have them for real.

If I don't tell him, I'm forced to faking it because I know I wont have one (because I think I don't know how to let go enough nor do I feel comfortable saying what works and doesn't work for me) and I don't want him to think he's not good at it. And it brings him such happiness to see me have one.

A friend of mine and I had a good discussion last night, mostly I was giving him my blah, blah, blah on how to resurrect your soul, but I managed to tack on my dilemma at the end, asking for his take on whether or not I should tell the Greek this shit about me - or is this something I could do on my own without bringing up the downer subject of my past.

He suggested I just say it, that I deserve to have a full chance of taking this opportunity to get this last part of me back.

I was able to get back the art of performing sex without attaching it to my past. I own that now. However, I have never learned how to receive sex. I believe I was happy to have partners that didn't push for that, that left me alone. Now, I've told the universe that I was ready to do what it takes to have something sweet in my life - who fucking new it would bring this shit up.

Being transparent with the Greek about this makes me accountable to me. It lets him in on my secret so I can't hide behind it anymore.

the thought of it makes my hands sweat:

What if he thinks I'm too damaged
What if it makes our sweet bubble too real
What if he thinks I'm gross
What if he thinks I like our dirty/rough sex because I'm used to being a sex slave (ugh, that's gross)
What if he wants to take care of me
(seriously, my hands are sweating)
What if he doesn't want to take that type of project on
What if...

But, in the end, I think my friend is right. I owe it to me to be transparent (and thus accountable) to see if I can take this last piece of my sexuality back. I think I need to take this chance and let the chips fall where they may.

I will be a humble, poised Queen, and I will reveal myself.

Obviously, I will let you know how that goes.

Umm.

I don't know what happened. Some thought whipped its way into my head and created a feeling of dread and dislike. I think it has something to do with my daughter being out, probably late, with the Greek. A bunch of people from the office went out to play cards and she stayed around till the end I believe...

I don't like something  - it's either intuition or misplaced fear.

I'm glad I'm not going into the office. I think I am mad at him and myself.

I have anxiety about everything this morning. It's uncomfortable.

I'm asking the universe to reveal itself. If I need to see something, please show me what I need to see.

This weekend we have a get really dressed up event, the Greek and I have agreed on a skip this weekend break upon my suggestion. I wanted to save it up until the next weekend which is our christmas party.

Today, I don't want any of it. Something doesn't feel right.

Protection

Someone might come across this blog and think that it is just about my obsession with some guy because that is all I write about. But it is just all I write about here.

This is the place where I defuse all those thoughts and feelings about love and sexuality and how that compliments or interferes with my life - and, sure, maybe I am a little obsessed with that.

I have a great interest in love, specifically my connection to love and the humans I experience it with.

I'm intrigued by my motivators. I am intrigued by my decisions. My feelings.

Today, I feel like I am coming out of my obsession with the Greek. It's losing its hold just a little bit. The fantasy still exists, the lure of the fantasy beats as much as ever. The love still sits on the precipice of life being breathed into it.

BUT. He still resists that... I think.

I have my  scientist/anthropologist pants on now, studying humanity; it is not me pining for a young man that is ultimately just using me. Not that I haven't been that most of this relationship, it's just not who I am right now.

He's in my dreams so much more lately, almost every night compared to never. This morning, he was sitting in front of me, we were sitting across from each other and he said, "I'm thinking about you" and I nodded. Then, as if reading my mind or facial expression that I understood he was thinking about me sexually, he corrected me and said, "No, I'm thinking about you."

He was thinking about how close he felt to me.

That exists between us. It exists between the lines. It's lovely, and I love those moments most of all.

Last time we were together, 2 nights ago, we fucked like carnal humans ripping the flesh from one another. Thinking about it makes me swell with excitement. That kind of fucking feeds a part of me that is so happy to be alive to experience it. It's powerful and delicious.

It does need to be balanced though. He will need to allow himself to love me - like he did in my dream.

And if I truly want to give him what he wants, watching me have glorious orgasms (ugh), I will have to find my voice.

We're both going to have to let go of something we hold dear.

Mouth to Mouth

We resuscitated it. Ha ha. You probably saw that coming. Honestly, I wasn't so sure.

The last time we got together, it was short lived and kind of cold.

This time, it was warm. It felt like he surrendered himself a bit more and, maybe, so did I.

He said he wanted to touch me, kiss me - and that he did. There was tenderness mixed in with the fucking. It was one of those beautiful nights.

He slept over, he would roll over in the middle of the night and wrap his arms around me. We were both without walls.

There is one small wall remaining though.

He loves it when I have an orgasm. Of course he does. Only, he loves it so much it's his mission: fuck me until I orgasm multiple times. Which means knocking on that thick oak door that my voice is locked behind - for safe keeping or protection... .

I mean, I think I always knew that that was the case, but I was wholly okay with that. I've found tiny voices over the years but only in very small cases, cases where I've been willing to challenge myself after years of proof that I was safe to do so.

But, it's a voice that feels so utterly foreign to me - I think that's really the biggest issue. It's like a muscle that I've never used, a line I've never had to cross because no man I've ever been with has ever put my pleasure at the top of their priority. They weren't assholes for it, it's who they are. I probably subconsciously chose them for that.

But this man wants, needs me to speak up, to tell him what feels good and what doesn't.

Jesus, he has no idea what he's asking of me. He's asking a mute to speak, but not even just to speak... to speak up.

I guess, as a child, that was the ultimate betrayal, when he would not only engage me in humiliating acts, but demand I state how much I liked it, and in those moments, I betrayed myself.

I think it still feels like a shameful betrayal if I say what I like. That or, the person that would say those things is not an integrated part of me, so if she speaks, I am no longer there. If I am no longer there... I am dead.

"Where did you hide me"

That was that dream I had when I was about 11, I was shaking the asshole stepfather's mother, screaming with urgency in her face... "Where. did. you. hide. me?" I had to go back and find something that I left there -  I think that's what it was.

From a psychological  standpoint, in the years to come, I would assume that it was the wounded child that I had left there, but maybe it wasn't. Maybe, it was my voice that I left behind.

And now, I have invited someone into my life that is literally giving that locked up part of me mouth to mouth.

Ima let him.

I Killed It.

Pretty sure that's what I did. It's magnificent, really. Blindingly brilliant. The brightest light you could ever see.

I let him fuck me at lunch.

Is that what I did? I'm still not sure.

It wasn't love though, that I'm pretty sure of. Or, at the very least, I saw it for what it has been all this time, finally.

Maybe that's why I wanted to go, to make sure I killed it. Finished it.

Isn't that what I said to him? "Sometimes I just wish we would do this to death - just get it over with, end it once and for all."

I think that's what I did. I let him do something that would end it for me. I gave him liberty and he accepted - because, ultimately, he doesn't love me. Not like that.

Good to know (or finally get).

For what it's worth, it was sweet - when it was sweet.

Good night, love. Or whatever your name is :)

I Love

With my heart, my mouth, my hands, my skin.

I am left with the energy of you lingering just before mouth and I want to reach out to it.

Your lips,  I want to kiss them.

Your skin,  I want to touch

Your body, I want to walk around and then to.

I want to feel your arms reach around my waist as you stand behind me. I want to feel that naturalness of being with you.

I want to crawl all over his body.

I want to be his lover. I want him...

In the bottom of my soul, that is all that is there: desire, want, love... for him.

Where Mental Real Estate is Slim

There's going to be a slew of writing now as I walk through this.

I just don't fucking know what or why I feel anything that I feel. I need to peel myself back from him when I have so much to say.

I told him, when he was saying that he meets other girls now (since us being together-ish) that they just never measure up. Since he's had this experience with me, other girls, closer to his age, seem empty and void. He said that he has never had a girl/woman give themselves completely to him - and I said, as I fiercely bit back tears at first,

[The Greek], I had a shit show of a life in the beginning, I experienced things that should have broken me, they should have destroyed my spirit... but they didn't. Instead, in order to survive all of it, my spirit got stronger and so much brighter - it shines like the sun in me because that experience didn't take me down. That's what you see, that's what you are attracted to, and I don't know how to be any other way.

Nor do I want to be.

Yes, I let him see all of my brightness. I let my heart shine. I opened my doors and windows.

But then, he makes comments during sex, such as, "You're so dirty..." like it's a good thing

and I realize that this is perhaps where I fucked up. I gave him that piece of me. That piece that I've often wondered where it comes from, does it stem from my natural sensuality or from my experience and trying to receive love for doing it the right way and being disrespectful to myself.

I don't think I am being disrespectful. I don't even think those things I do are dirty. I think they're intimate. I gave him that intimacy.

But I should't have given him that, I suppose. I shouldn't have trusted him with that, it was a big ask.

One of the last times I wrote, I asked the universe to show me what I need to know in this situation and I heard, "Let him go." That was during our 2 week break. And I thought I did, I thought I did enough. I guess not though, and here I am now, really having to let him go - like, having to have some self-respect kind of let him go. And when I ask the universe now to show me what I need to know in this situation... I hear, He will come back to you.

Again, that seems like something I would tell myself because it's what I want to hear and believe, but it has that sound to it, that outside of me voice sound.

And then, sure the voice says he will come back to you but they don't really say what I should do with that. Is that necessarily a good thing?

If he does come back, I suppose that is not something I need to know right now.

I don't know if I want him to come back, this is all a lot of drama.

He asked me, "did you not get satisfied?" and I said, "No, I didn't" and I wasn't sure in the moment why that was but having given it some thought I realize it is because he never gave all of himself to me or this.

He got all of me and sex. I got... sex (which, thumbs up and all), but I was still waiting for that piece of him.

To me we could have a fun and good fling and without withholding love and self, but he's not a place in his life where that makes sense. I just have to ask again, Universe, show me what I need to know in this situation.

I heard, "Wait."

For what it's worth.

In Other News

Once upon a time I was head over heels in love with a boy I went to school with. It was so obvious to me that we were fated. Finally, after high school, we dated, and it turned out it was all a big mistake.

It turned out that he was more like a brother to me. It ended poorly, we didn't talk for 10 years and even then you could count the sentences we traded.

In a recent turn of events, he's moving back to his hometown where I just so happen to live as well. We actually hung out last night and talked like we used to in the old days. I told him that I'm bored in life and want to do things, I said, "Let's do things!" and he agreed with the same enthusiasm.

It feels so good to have a male friend to do things with. Having a husband, you always have that male energy around and I like that. Not having one left me missing having guys to talk to.

I looked forward to having part of that with the Greek, just hanging out and doing fun things, but he read that as a relationship.

AND NOW... I have my friend back!!! We can do fun things and explore places and just be curious - and laugh and talk. I can't wait.

I am so happy to have my friend back. I missed him.

I wanted to go to the trestle with the Greek, I wanted to share that with him.

But I also really want to go to the damn trestle - so now I'm going to take Bryce with me.

Whatever

and it's over. Again.

Whatever. This is ridiculous.

He loves me, he said it, he cried even... but the little things like where I am in my life (at the end of it?) and where he is at his, my age, these factors stop him cold and he refuses to allow this to become more for him.

Fine. Good enough, I guess. Obviously he's the driver of his bus, seems like a fair decision.

But, jesus, I'm done with this drama (I'm pretty sure).

I am going to miss the hell out him, his touch, his smell, the sweetness between us - the lure.

But I gotta pack this shit up, I can't keep myself open to him like this anymore, he's too volatile of a soul right now. I need to respect that and let him go - because really, who is the adult here?

He ended it because he doesn't want what I want and he understands he's not being a good soul taking what I am giving without reciprocating in kind - emotionally and sexually. Seems pretty adult of him.

So, what's my fucking problem?

Full

I love him and he loves me.

But, as he notes, "it's not that kinda love, silly...."

He's right, it's not that kind of love. It's just a lovely love. A love love. A sweetness. A desire. A connection. A fit.

So, yeah, not that kind of love - the kind you make wedding plans, life plans, and project a future for. It's the kind of love that you can't avoid. The kind of love that sets fire to your body - a fire that smoulders and stirs your heart in ways you don't understand. The kind of love where I catch a glimpse of him sitting at his desk and some voice in my body thinks, ugh, I love him, because I know I can't stop this.

It's like it's coming from some other world.

The power was out at the husbands last night, you know, that twenty year relationship that I left almost a year ago now (and for the third time), so he came over here and watched a movie and spent the night. He didn't ask for sex (probably because I shot him down last time he asked), but even so, I felt the boundaries thicken. After twenty years of my fidelity belonging to him, it now belongs to someone else.

The Greek. I love him and he loves me.

It's him throwing around the love word. I feel it in my body and I hear it in my heart, but I don't say it.

After our two week break, it was him that said he missed me. Him that whispered in my ear that he loves fucking me, loves being inside of me... and that, although, it's "not that kind of love, silly" he does love me.

It is scary. Again, he admitted that he is scared and that he does push me away because he doesn't understand what he's doing and where this will all lead.

I'm scared, too. What he doesn't see yet is where my fear comes in.

He keeps me at an arms length, and what neither of us sees is that I do the same - it's just that his arm is longer than mine - so we haven't seen my scaredy-pants yet.

If he surrenders to this, I'm scared it will change it too much. I'm afraid we will ruin it.

But those times we've spent together outside of work, albeit small, have shown me differently. It all just came so naturally.

I loved being at his house, in his kitchen, and him walking up behind me and putting his arms around me as if we'd been doing this for years...

Sweet jesus. I'm in love.


via GIPHY

Not That I Am Counting...

Today marks one year since flirting turned into the next step. Tomorrow marks one year since we first kissed, since we had sex, since I was so surprised at how much he turned me on.

I say this only because I figured this out recently and sorta by accident and then wondered, in the way that silly girls do, what magical thing might happen tomorrow. I had already been planning to suggest he do the trestle with me on that Sunday without knowing that was the day. And I don't know why that one particular place is stuck in me to go with him there. My sci-fi brain suggests that there is some portal there.

But then I broke it off in order to stop the madness for me, and now he is far away in both mind and body.

I want him closer. I want him to say yes to whatever it is we are. I want him to devour me.

I want tomorrow to shine some light in the heart of this thing.

I miss him.

A Piece of Me

I feel better. I told him I don't want to keep this going, not like this. I said, "I am at your mercy and it's killing me, it's driving me nuts."

I said, "you are having your cake and eating it, too" and he agreed.

I told him that if this was going to continue, I would need him to put both feet in and give himself to the experience. His half in/half out, near/far, is driving me insane.

I didn't go there to give him an ultimatum, I just had to speak my mind.

He doesn't particularly want this to stop either, so it became that. I can only continue to do this if... 

In one of his arguments about why he was leery to put both feet in, he said if he was to do that, he would expect that I wouldn't sleep with anyone else, he would expect me to be faithful. I said "of course" with a look of confusion - because, of course.

I was surprised but flattered in some way, too that he thought he needed to confirm that. It also made me think he had put some thought into it.

He also said that he kept himself from falling in because he knows it wont last and if the does all those things that bond him to me, he's going to get his heart smashed.

I said, "of course we are, both of us."

I said how we only have short amount of time together, and that life hurts, we all get hurt and, generally speaking, nothing lasts forever, you can't outrun heartache and still live a real life. I reminded him that I just left a 20 year marriage and that being closer in age doesn't guarantee you a happy ever after, there is still heartache - even if you last a lifetime. You don't get out of here unscathed. I told him that it is not in my DNA to avoid something that feels so natural simply because it wont last and it might hurt.

I said that, "You know that we wont last, so you treat us as less. I know we wont last, but I don't treat us as less, and that that is the difference between us that is breaking me." I can't be at his beck and call like this.

And so we said that we would revisit this next time we see each other in two weeks, he said he would have to think about it. Then I kissed him goodbye and we touched and, as usual, my body warms, his face smiles...

I felt so relieved after that, so free from his grip on my mind wondering if he was half in or half out, waiting for the bottom to drop out.

And then the rest of the day at work was so much lighter, so good. We worked. Together. We still flirted... but I was still free.

and as I lay in bed last night and this morning, I just can't help but imagine and feel his body beside mine, laying together and talking. I close my eyes and remember his lips on mine, his hands on my body, and parts of him inside parts of me.

I will miss him should he not come with me. I hope he can see his way over this hurdle.

A piece of me loves a piece of him.

The Near Far Game

One week he's calling all the time in the evening, we talk for hours, he says things, "I could really fall in love with you (were I closer to his age and we could build a life)," and then - nothing.

He barely messages me at work and never after work. No more, "I called you because I like talking to you."

I don't know if he's being skittish or he's just reached his point of disinterest. Is he forcing himself into disinterest or did he se something he didn't like or someone else that he did?

He was like this last week, too. A bit more standoffish. Then, I showed up to work in what turned out to be the worlds sexiest turtleneck sweater and he couldn't stay away from me. I don't even think he had planned to make any time with me until he saw me in the flesh.

This week feels the same and I have no idea what I am walking into. Not a fan.

So I am back to manifesting strength, empowerment, and personal success. Focus on my job, move forward, hurrah! and whatnot.

I don't know if he's playing games or not, and I only have myself to fall back on.

This is the MVP

I agree, this is no ordinary love; but, it is still a love of some kind or another, and I am having a really hard time treating this, acting, as if it is less than that love. And, I feel as though he is back to trying that.

I get the part that is just about sex, because the sex is so alive and so much fun. It's passionate and aggressive and slow and thoughtful. It could just be about that....

But there is more now, we both saw and felt it that one night we were away together. I need to see that more. See it and touch it. Spend 24+ hours with it. I want to be in its presence.

I think I might love him.

And if he's not willing to explore that world, let that happen a bit more, then it feels like I want to respect me by respecting the feelings I have for him and step back.

I don't know how well I can do that. He's like a magnet.

I think I am a magnet for him too. I think he gets to a point in the week where he thinks, I don't need or want her that badly at all,  and then I show up and that goes to shit.

Slow Beat

It is like a sickness at times. My desire for him is so present it takes all of me to push him out of my head.

I think I see why he avoids me at times, I feel like saying, "you are taking up all of my mind space, I feel like I am holding my breath when I'm not with you, only exhaling again when you are around me, you are in my skin - and I need you to leave."

I can barely get things done right.

I find myself wanting to just do this to death already. Why are we prolonging this? Let's just be together the way it feels like we should be, and then we will likely see the folly of it much clearer, then we can laugh about it and let go.

Let's press the pleasure button so much that we break it. Seductively touching it every once in awhile and then hiding it again is driving me nuts.

I don't want to manifest the end though. I will let it be what it is and just focus on mitigating the connection that my brain has made. I will do my best to replace that exploding synapse with a gentle, repeating spark - the calm solidarity of my one.

A slow beat.

IT'S UNRELATED! BITCH!

I'm quitting smoking as of last night. SHUT UP. It has only 1% to do with him saying it. I was already 99% here, have already given it a couple of dry runs in the last few months.

But, you know what? I asked the (god damn) universe to make this decision easy and seamless for me, AND  I GUESS IT FUCKING DID. I guess this guy and the embarrassment I feel smoking around him, and the idea of him spending a solid 24 hours with me at my house and having to sneak cigarettes, was the final straw that pushed me over the edge.

But I didn't do it "for" him. Oh look, snooky, I quit smoking so you would love me more! I'd rather punch him in the face than do that.

No, I did it for me so that when I am around him I don't have to deal with this pain in the ass incessant need to smoke, and then washing myself like a Silkwood shower  to get rid of the stench.

So, yeah, now for the next week or two, you, should you decide to find/read this blog, will be subjected to the absolutely inane vile ramblings of nicotine withdrawal (and now that I have written out the word nicotine withdrawal, I will be subject to much spam regarding quitting. In advance of that, "fuck you, spam").

I have an e-cig ( bleh, more spam) and I will be using it, but I don't think it will be enough to save my grown-ass children from my wrath.

And should the Greek find out that I quit (especially right after he "requested" it), I will cut someone .

ps: fuck you.

Somethings Up

Mixed bag today - too much love, passion, and a knowing unknowing stirring about.

This man is probably one of the most ridiculous choices I could make, yet I want more of him.

I feel as though I realize that this is due to how little we actually see each other (generally, once a week) and that there is so much space for desire to bubble - but then I don't know that for sure.

It is as if there is a chemical reaction that I have absolutely no control over, and this confounds me.

I was at the office for 4 days, 2 of which we were together for.

First night - as usual, much "love" making, a bit more deeper discussion and both of us revealing some more intimate details of our sexuality. Me letting him know that it's tough for me to climax during sex, it's not something I have figured out fully; where and how my body reacts, letting go, stopping mind chatter. I said that I start to think if I'm taking too long that he is getting bored...

He didn't call around the next night and I went out with some other work people.

Third day we had our big work event, the office was full and a buzz with more staff than usual, he seemed to be avoiding me a little bit and I brushed it off. In the evening, we had our big work dinner where he seemed to be avoiding eye contact with me - he started to piss me off. But then, we went out to the after dinner party (pub) where there was music. We are both big on dancing and ended up on the dance floor a fair bit together, he was normal again.

We danced together here and there. I still wasn't too sure where his head was at.

Let's recall that he is of the kind that, at times, changes his mind and flits away from me like a deer caught in headlights, or a young boy who's perhaps gotten all that he was looking for... or whatever the fuck it is that goes through his mind. 

The night finally came to an end and he left a little earlier than me sending me a message to meet him at his place - which of course I did -  and where we meet drunk sex for the first time.

You know how drunk sex goes -  when it's good, it's very good.

We were getting started, touching, holding, kissing, and he mutters, "I just wanted to touch you today and hug you... " (not the vibe I had been picking up on)

As we move on, I was getting close (ish - let's be real, sometimes you know it's not going to happen and you just have to give this eager young gun the gratification that he's done his job. Yes?) and, as he heard my moans and efforts to get there, he, the talker, said quietly that "I am here, I am enjoying this..." or something to that affect to let me know he wasn't getting bored of waiting for me.

Seriously? ^

Shit. How the fuck am I not supposed to connect to that? In this world where we balance so delicately between something like love and.... for fucksakes.... love. Ugh.

Final night there is yet another work party at the office. By this time, I am fucking exhausted having had about 2 hours sleep the night before.

I leave earlyish and say, "talk to you later" and he responds with a somewhat flat look in his eye "yeah, next week...."

As in, I wont be calling you tonight.

Now, this is fine that he doesn't call me (I'm exhausted) but the way he says it is like fingers down a chalk board to me. No, "Okay, well, I'm going to hang with guys, I guess I'll see you next week? I had a nice time...." Just "later."

It was just weird for me. Was I dealing with the cocky kid who was just fucking me for shits and  giggles and wasn't interested anymore? Was I going to have to go through that whole thing where he says "this is our last time..." and then he ignores me - cause if so, I wanted to be a little bit more ready.

I called him out on it the next day - said "Hey, I need a quick chat" and it did reek a bit of boyfriend/girlfriend kinda shit - but WTF?

Long story short, he said he knew as soon as he said it that it was going to piss me off and that he was annoyed with himself for not communicating better and annoyed with me for "barreling in" on his morning to discuss it.

We laughed about it, and I said "hey, you are you... and I am me. We both get to choose how much of the other person's stuff we can put up with"

Also, he did want to continue and had no wishes to stop it.

And then. THEN, as we were cuddling on his couch, softly touching and kissing, he asked me to quit smoking.

He said that at one point at the office party, when I was about to start a game with him but then went for a smoke with other co-workers, that he was mad at me for that.

He said he'd been thinking about it for a while, how to approach it. Ultimately he said he didn't want me to  quit for him but, as he lost his mother to cancer, just quit in general and for my kids.

It sits with me. Sits like an echo. What kind of non-relationship relationship are you in where you ask your other to quit smoking. It sits like an odd rock in a riverbed that has the potential of changing the direction of the water.

In some intuitive way, I just can't shake the feeling that this whole thing, for however long it lasts, is bigger than we both anticipate.

Kinda Love

There is a beautiful spot inside of me that feels like love. A gentle excitement and contentment. A sweetness.

It's scary as hell because he could take it away at any time.

He's not ready to succumb to whatever this is.

But I love spending time with him, I love him beside me.

We had a night away, just me and him. It was work related, but we were away, just me and him. It was lovely and natural.

He talks so much during sex, he's one of those people - people that I never thought I could endure because it's so macho or something. It makes me laugh.

When he thinks I'm getting close to orgasm, he does that thing where he says, "Yeah, that's right, you cum for me..."

Which makes me laugh but also throws me off because, you know, the pressure to preform. But then, the other night, I was really very close, I was there, and he was saying that, and I... let go. I listened to him, his voice in my ear, asking me, telling me to cum for him. And then I did. It was glorious and I felt so connected to him.

I think we kinda love each other, and I think I want that.

It's really nice.

Silly Girl

I don't know why I feel like throwing up today. Anxiety bubbles. It seems to stem from the fact that I sent a picture of my cat sitting on the edge of my bath tub while I was in it - you can see a small part of my leg.

This (Greek) person I sent it to loves my cat (and enjoys me naked) - so I sent it. It got no response.

This person likes to laugh kindly at my girl like nature to assume that no response equals dislike, disinterest, or lack of affection/appreciation. They may even like to challenge it.

Making that small move for me was giving up some vulnerability, admitting in some way that I like them more than I should and trying to pass it off as just a picture of my cat. Very silly girl.

So, I made myself vulnerable and now I want to puke. Interesting.

The only thing I know to do in these times is to surrender to the feeling of vulnerability. Yes, I did that  and then humbly accept the outcome.

and then comes the talk: Just focus on work, Silly Girl. Put your blinders on and focus on success and G.O.D (Good Orderly Direction). It's okay to do silly things and to show that side of you and it's okay if those things go unreciprocated - that doesn't mean you lack value. 

It's okay. Do your thing and walk strong with the rest of the world. 

Let it go, if to comes back to you - you'll know. You are not wrong.

Dear Universe, show me the love. Show me I am safe.

A Pleasant and Wisely Charmed Life

The universe has been so good at brining me things I have asked for. I have tried my best to be humble and ask for the best of me to come forward, to have sweet things enter my life - accepting now that I do deserve sweet things, too.

Life has been hard. Sadistic sexual abuse happening as part of my very first memories and experiences, the aftermath of that abuse, the way it shaped the way I felt and the choices I made. Drug and alcohol addiction - the lovely losers that were my teachers. Poverty and lack of education. All these were the building blocks of my adult life. They were very hard to scale, but I did it.

The entirety of my life does not need to be hard, this is what I realized. This is why I began to look to the universe and ask for something sweet. It's as if I woke up one day and realized the words I speak to my children, you can have anything you want. So, what did I want?

Sweetness. Laughter. Truth. Love.

I've worked so hard all my life to overcome those adversities that were given to me, I have focused my life on that work. I will always continue the work, but now I want to change my focus.

Deserve isn't the right word. After all that hard work, I deserve something sweet, but I can't find a better one right now.

Maybe it's after all that hard work,  I am ready to let sweetness, love, laughter, and truth in. Yes, that is it.

I wouldn't let it in, I wasn't willing to have people in my life that hadn't experienced life the way I had. They were not a fit. I needed those hard, dirty people around me. My people. Those of my people that had chosen to live a better life but still carried the scars. The wounded. I was one of the wounded.

I am not anymore. I do not wish to live out the rest of my life on the backs of my scars. I'm ready to let those go. I am ready to accept a different kind of love. An innocent love, free of battle boundaries.

Now, universe, the only boundaries I ask for are love, kindness, and truth. If this type of free love challenges me to be more open, less guarded, then I aspire to be ready. From the bottom of my soul.

I also ask for balance so that I can bring the best of me into my work, the success of this company and my coworkers.  I ask for the wisdom, ambition, and success.

For my children, I ask for the purest of love to act as their strength to build their lives, their truths, their passions.

For Chris, I pray - with all my heart - that he will find the same epiphany I did, the willingness to let joy in. To not ride the rest of this life out on the backs of scars.

For me, I ask for a pleasant and wisely charmed life.

Take a Chance on Me

Epiphany:  I want to do fun things, adventurous things, SUP'ing, music, arting, etc...


I had day dreams of doing some of these with the Greek, but instead he's going to do them with some one his own fucking age. Fabulous.

And I thought, well that doesn't stop me from finding other people to do those things with, I could do them  with anybody - but that didn't hit the spot. That was not the actual thing I wanted or want.

And then it hit me like a punch in the gut.

I want someone to want to do those things with me. I want a romance wherein somebody likes me enough to say, "Hey, let's go do fun things!"

And I looked back on my life and realized I've never had a relationship with someone where I've experienced that.

I've been watching romantic movies all my life because I long to have a fun, healthy, passionate, firey, alive relationship.

I can't believe the two main men in my life have been so emotionally deadened. Closed up. Left the building.

And I believe I chose them because they were safe. They would always keep their distance from me, and I could complain about it as if I was the more evolved person.

Dear Universe, I don't want to play it safe anymore - not like that. I'm ready to open up to love. Scared, but, I think, ready.  I'm ready to take a chance.

Feeling Slightly? Pathetic

"The truth shall set you free but first it will piss you off" 

- G. Steinem

One of my old blogger friends, who ended up becoming a Facebook friend, shared this quote. At first I was like, ya, that's a good one *keep scrolling by*.

And then, as another old blogger friend used to say, my brain went Wait, what?

You see, it's been a glorious June/July with the Greek - although not without its fair share of fucked up drama as well. Our last time together, 1 week ago, was fun (as usual) but then also, it had a lot of tenderness to it to. Things that felt a lot like love things. Intensity that you... I don't know, could see, feel, hear.

He had Sade on and at one point the song This is no Ordinary Love comes on and he sings the chorus an then laughs lightly saying something like she's got that right meaning... "ours" is no ordinary love.

Because he feels it, too.

but the TRUTH is:

He doesn't see this going anywhere, he doesn't consider me as someone he would spend time with outside of bed.

Because I am... old.er.

What a simple truth - wherein lies freedom from the hope of something more, the dangling truth of what I am actually looking for and will not find with him.

The big truth here for me is "what I am actually looking for," that's the one that pissed me off first. Then it was the fact he doesn't see me like that, that pissed me off second. Two truths for the price of one.

I was convincing myself that this was all I wanted but secretly I envisioned enjoying each others company in other ways too. Building a relationship that was not overly serious but not just sex.

Our last night together, we had, apparently, both decided it should be the last. Me because he's just too confused and young. Him because he's decided that he wants to open himself up to the potential of a serious relationship (with someone his own age. ugh). He had meet a girl he was interested in pursuing and said, "I want to give it a fair shot and I can't if I'm always thinking of you."

And so now, he's pursing. They have a date on Monday - to do SOMETHING FUN.

I want to do SOMETHING FUN! And also, you know, bully for him.

what-the-fuck-ever.

A Kinetic Sleep

He was telling me at work that he was hungry, he told me how pretty I was that day, he dropped suggestive comments, he wanted time alone with me whenever he could, he was candid and honest about feelings and things...

Later that day, I concluded once again that I would most likely have to let this lovely bubble go.

Later that night, I fucked him in my mind.  I couldn't help but imagine him imagining me, my mouth and tongue on his cock, me looking into his eyes from below as I seduced him with my mouth.

He was there. I felt him grab my ass, I felt his urgency, his desire, his confusion, his lust. The feeling was so strong that my body started to move with his. He was there.

Every part of me was lit up electrically, sensations I have never felt quite like that.

As I neared orgasm just by moving my hips into his imaginary body, imagining and feeling him inside of me, he said, "look into my eyes." I didn't, couldn't, not just yet, so no my head shook as I reached deeper. Not yet. Until I knew it was in my grasp... I was there, I was coming.

I looked into his eyes a little defiantly, his cock deep inside of me, his hips pressed against mine,  as I experienced an incredibly full orgasm. He was there.

And then, for the first time in my life, I experienced what I have heard other girls experience early in their sexual life. It was so pure and complete that I cried.

Alone. 45.

I didn't really sleep for the rest of the night. I truly felt caught in some other dimension, whether it was of my own creation or not.

Welcome Back...

Success, Beauty, Strength

I must keep repeating these three words, they are my signs, my pointers, my goal. I feel those things in me are depleted, my tank is running dry.

I'm at a place where staying busy is preferred because then I don't feel the emptiness of my life: friends, lovers, children.

I am reminded of that one summer when I was about 11. We lived in a derelict old farm house that we patched up with paint and elbow grease. This one particular summer, my older sister was gone for the whole summer, my parents worked from 6am to 6pm. I was fairly new to the shitty little Alberta town we were in and any friends I did have were all gone for summer vacations. I was completely alone.

Although I'm sure I did, I can't remember feeling loneliness. All I remember is the routine I created:

TV: The Alan Thicke Show, Welcome Back Kotter, and a few others. Those were my morning shows. After that, I would spend some time with our dog outside, playing with him. I would climb the tree I named Herbert and read. I would visit the horses when they let me. I would wander the farm aimlessly.

In the afternoon, I would bake chocolate chip cookies for my parents and wait for their return.

Same thing everyday for about 6 weeks of that summer. To this day, it was/is the most memorable summer I had. It was/is so full of sweet moments that I can't name or put my finger on, but I suppose they were all created by a deep sense of acceptance. Acceptance that I had no one and nothing to do.

It was a beautiful discovery that I didn't know I had made until many years later.

I find myself at this moment again. I am at the starting line of having no one and, outside of work, nothing to do.

Weekends come and I take myself for a bike ride or walk into town to get groceries - things that will get me out of the house and take up time. In each of these, I bask in the beauty of walking or riding, being alone doesn't bother me at all; but, all the same, it echoes aloneness - as if I have somehow failed to have a life.

My 11 year old self gave me insight. I know that this alone time, no matter how odd it can feel, is rich in gifts. Gifts that will include some amount of personal struggle to see, like the hike on a mountain to witness the sunset. I will get there.

The acceptance of aloneness being the key, the key being the beauty.

Beauty being love, joy, connection, light, laughter
Success so that when my work week is over, I can leave it behind and experience my life, my beauty.

Strength because I think I'm going to need it.

Blinders

What an incredibly dramatic week last week was.

• My daughter was in Nice, France at the fireworks on Bastille Day (totally traumatized, but absolutely alive and well. Thank fucking Universe). 
• The Greek wanted to be honest (after fabulous, fun activities - before finding out about the attack in Nice) and say that he find himself attracted to the younger version of me he sees in my 22 yr old daughter who I recently hired (thanks to my couger-ness, he is only 6 years older than her. I, on the other hand, am 18 years older than him.)
• I had the worlds worst misogynistic, demanding, entitled customer so far up my ass the entire time the two first things have been going on. 

I believe all has worked out just fine. As mentioned, my daughter in Nice is well. 

The Greek has professed that he totally understands that nothing could or would ever happen and that he wouldn't put my daughter in that position AND that was a lapse in reason because he does see the younger version of me and it was confusing and/or misleading for him at the time. He had just wanted to be honest.

If the misogynistic prick continues on his tirade, I can probably fire him.

I have no idea where any of these things might go (accept for my younger daughter, she's coming the fuck home safe and sound), and today, I find myself totally okay with it. I feel kinda sick to my stomach once and a while around the whole Greek thing. He works with her every day, how confused or clear will he get about what he wants? 

The customer, the work, the job - jesus, it's amping up fast. I have so much work to do to make this the best possible thing. I need to focus all my energy on manifesting my career move. 

That's it. That's all. 

A Tribe Called Lovers

And....... We're Back!

Fuck me (literally, please) that took a lot of time and a whole lot of patience, but it's done.

Last Friday marked a continuance with the Greek, and I do believe we've crafted a "truce" or... better yet, a deal.

I can breath again. I can stop being distracted by the confoundedness of what the fuck do you mean this is not going to happen, cant you feel this shit between us? and move on with my life - looking for the next addition to my tribe called lovers.

Yay fucking me.

The Big Bang

He finally - finally! - cracked. It only took 8 fucking months.

It was a small crack in that there was no physical contact, but he brought it up. I was freezing in our freezing office and said as much. His response, "I know what we can do to get warm."

We sit close, our legs touch, our arms touch, we exchange knowing glances with cocked smiles. We are in love with this dangling lust.

He's like a skittish deer though, I didn't jump at his off-the-cuff suggestion - he made his decision to not engage very clear, if he wants to change his mind, he's going to have to be much more direct.

But, oh, the relief of him just talking about it. Jesus.

"Do you still think about it?" he asked.

"Of course" I answered aloofly. "You?"

"Yeah, you are still very attractive and it's hard not to when your boobs are in my face."

"Oh, are they? Huh, gees... I hadn't realized" I laugh.

He didn't make a move and nor did I. I guess we'll just let that sit there a little longer.

Of course, we all know the layer, the slight film, of passionate complexity this leaves upon my skin. I fight to reject the want to imagine him on my skin once again. His lips, his hands, his passionate aggression.

We have an event next weekend, I had already decided on the dress I would wear and wasn't sure he was attending and so felt confident that I wasn't wearing the ba-boom dress for him. But now I know that he will be there and he is indeed still attracted, he still thinks of me in that way, he is tempted, and I can't help but be predatorily pleased that if he thought my boobs were in his face before - he hasn't seen this dress.

I am a predator. This appears to not be by choice but by instinct. An instinct that is difficult to reject. Doing so is like rowing my boat up the stream, not down.

He, too, is a predator.

Whereas my predatoril actions seem to fall towards luring my prey into my den and then devouring him and spitting him out, his are to encourage the lure and  to create a false sense of empowerment in me. However, once in the den, he will attempt to flip the game. He will appeal to the girl in me, foster an illusion of relationship, thus allowing him to exit the den unscathed. 

Or something of that sort-ish-y.

Be that as it may, nonetheless, and having said that... I am, on one side, satiated by the speaking of the words, by the white elephant being acknowledged.  On the other side, I am - even more so than last week - sweating desire, lust, and hunger.

I might explode.

Let's Talk About Sex

Because that's all I've got right now.

After rare form work day last week and continued in my head, on my skin thoughts over the entire weekend AND my lovely cycle being at full fucking throttle this week... I am fucked.

I want. I want. I want.

I am literally like cat in heat; and given the direction of my affection, I am a very large type of cat.

This is sad.

Very

very



sad.

It's like I'm cash rich with nowhere to spend it.

Rare Form

God help me. But, you know, don't.

We were in rare form this week, exuding our lovebirdness, our work buddiness, our connectedness, our enjoyment of each others company.

 

Fuck. Sonofabitch. ugh. and... jesus - this is rediculous

Down at the Bottom

I'm in a weird spot. My skin is inside out again and I feel very vulnerable. I think I've over worked myself, loved my job a little too much.

I'm not sure what to do about this given that I feel bored and enjoy the work that I do, it beckons me to do just a little bit more; while at the same time, reaching for it feels like sandpaper against the raw side of my flesh.

I need to stop.

I would like to write, but I don't feel drawn into any stories or characters. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I can call one in.

It feels dirty to talk about this, in a grains of sand you didn't clean out of your bathing suit kind of way, but... this weird enigmatic friendship I have with the Greek. It's weird how it sits in me. It's weird how we are attached in a polar opposite kind of way. We're friends in the way we're attracted to something in one another, but at the same time, that is fading or changing.

And my place at work is changing.

And I've been overloaded.

And maybe this is what stressed out really feels like. I bet it is.

Not a fan of it.

Need to let go and let g.o.d.

Universe, please help me de-stress within the roots of my soul. Let me experience those things that bring me quiet joy and nourish my journey.

Beside Myself

I've done that thing where I travel with work people and then feel entirely out of my element afterwards. It comes down to us all being strangers after all. 

I just couldn't wait to be home and hide behind blankets in between the cushions of my couch. 

I think we had fun though. 

I don't feel like I know where I am today. Sometimes my life feels so much bigger than me. I have to work hard to stay grounded and connected. Or maybe I should just let myself feel lost. 

I wish I could hide behind a story again. 

That was fun.

Baseball Bat to the Knees and the Evolutionary Intention of Emotional Pain

I don't always relive bad memories, but when I do... I fuck that shit up

So, I had this dream of person from my past that was an evil little bastard, and it took me out at the knees.

The impact of the fresh memory was nearly unbearable and has left me a bit of a wreck of vulnerability. I feel gun shy to anything outside of my house, the world at large seems too chancy. 

I don't like that. At all. 

It will take time for those memories to wear down again and for me to regain my regular scheduled programming;  I get that, but I don't like it.

I like to feel what is real today. My real life today. 

But it got me wondering, why do memories feel so painful. So deeply and utterly painful? Outside of the obvious I'm an adult now and can fully appreciate the wrong that was done kinda thing, why can I not still be a little bit more objective about it, why do I feel the pain so acutely?

And the big question, is there value to feeling that pain? If yes, what is it?

I believe we are given what we need to survive (reflexes, responses, memory storage to build patterns of responses etc) and giving the body/brain the benefit of the doubt - this acute re-experience of a trauma/memory emotion must have value. 

Without knowing this value and being subject to our environmental/societal influences, I believe that a lot of us could succumb to the pain and fear responses and not evolve - as would be the intent of the evolution process. 

So, is the bonus factor of having experienced trauma empathy? Is the reason for the physical pain to restore and maintain a worldly empathy so that we can go forth and do better?

Brain: this shit happened and we're going to store it as a trigger or warning so that we can flee or fight the same set of circumstances should they arise again - the basic reason for storing "bad" memories. But why connect the pain to it? Surely the brain can just pass the fight or flight response without reliving the pain. 

Brain: we are also going to allow you absolute, devastating compassion towards your role in this memory. 

Why? I want the science, the numbers, the data. 

Did the brain just fuck up during programming, was it rushed or simply thoughtless? If {bad memory} then {store}

can (and should) we add, if {bad memory} relived >  !=include {emotional response}

I mean, that's my atrocious attempt at php in human programming - but that's besides the point.

What would we lose if we didn't also relive the emotional response to the memory (should it be triggered)?

I think it's needed, so although I don't like, I will walk beside the pain and honour it - but I'll do it like a science fair project. I don't want to get attached to or identify with the pain. 

Hi, welcome to my science fair project for triggered bad memories. Here, we see the memory that was triggered and here we see why with the "fight or flight" response. But over here we see interesting additive companion results of fear and pain. 

(And we see two unhappy minion like characters bouncing about and yammering gibberish, both vying for attention but cowering at it at the same time. )

These two factors don't appear to have a clear role in the "bad memory = flight or flight" process. Are they to the memory what the appendix is to the body? Or are they required to obtain optimal compassion - a key factor in our hopeful evolution?

I'm tired now. 

Design

If I could design my heart today, well, I would make it light and open - so  I suppose it is just that.

It feels that.

It is my brain that is far reaching for chaos.

I need to sit still in my heart.  I want to sit still in my heart.




So I will. It's time to go inside.