The Dead Horse Wants It

Seriously, he's begging for it. The horse is lying there, begging for me to beat it. Moaning and calling my name.

But I can't and I will not. Not this one, I will not beat it.

Fuck and god damn it.

I want to open its guts up and talk about this shit till it's burnt beyond recognition. It's my nature. Yet, I know... I must leave this one be. It's the right thing to do.

I need a distraction from this horse.

fuck me.

Touching the Middle of Sweetness

Things move around and shift.  Some I like, some make me sad.

The universe seems to have a plan for me, twice now it has given me a someone that shows me it's time to leave my marriage, and, it appears, as soon as I listen, I lose the someone that inspired the decision to speak up.

Which is a bit of slight of hand, universe.

I'm hoping that this time that's not entirely true. I really liked this latest inspiration, I liked the little bits of time we spent together. I would like to have more of those.

When it first appeared, I asked for it to be something sweet. Now, I would like it to come back and I would like it to be lovely and a little enduring. Maybe not a life time of moments, but a good length of them.

Those moments had pieces of that kind of stillness where you cease to exist in this world and visit a different place, you know that kind of stillness?

I want to touch and be touched by it again and more. I miss it already.

I may have found a new home for me, fingers crossed that the owner picks me. It's beautiful and simple, and I believe it will foster my heart's growth.

It was his turn to say that "this has to stop," he said he was getting more attached to me and that current circumstances didn't bode well for us if feelings became stronger. He's very adamant that he should not have attached feelings. Whatever. I guess.

He doesn't know I'm leaving, it seems weird to tell him. I have to make this decision for me and only me right now. He was my physical evidence of just how removed I am from my marriage, and I must deal with that separately.

I just wish he didn't have to disappear once his "job" was done.

I've broken my husband's heart. He was very comfortable staying still where we are - or were. And I dreamed (always dreaming) of more: more connection, more lust, more passion, more life. And, as it happens, I'm more afraid of not taking my chances finding it again than I am of leaving the safety and comfort of what I have.

And so grace falls at my feet and all I can do is breath one breath at a time, slowly, taking it in.

Gods bless me.

Resolute Absolution

Most days are fine, good even, but then these other days pop up where I am suddenly shocked by my actions. Reality falls like a lead ball into my stomach, and I wonder if I know, really know, what I am doing.

How lonely will I get or be? I will have to take my own garbage to the curb (um, that might be the one thing he does that I don't look forward to having to take on. Or it's the only thing he does...) . I will be alone.

Will I like being alone (again)? One only needs to look at the alternative to know that the answer to that question is mute. But still, it begs asking (and suffering).

I'm a little scared. But, not scared enough to stand still. I'm more scared of standing still than entering the unknown.

I'm also sad - not just about the obvious, but something more, too.  Perhaps I feel sad because it feels a little like I lost something that was tangible and nice in my present. Something that, there could be no doubt, I would have to let go of eventually (and shortly after receiving it even). But,  I guess, it feels like a bummer - if indeed it has met its end already. I will miss it.

Yeah, that's the sadness. There is a resolute absolution that stirs beautifully in me, on the precipice of my knowing, like a small dirt devil dancing in my peripheral.

It's coming.

Where I Leave Once Again

I told him we are separating, and in a not so unique, shouldn't have been a surprise, surprise... he's fine with it. Not happy, but resigned in a pleasant fashion.

This because he is numb as fuck. In hindsight, I shouldn't have been surprised. However, being as human as I am, as un numb as I am - I am, scientifically speaking, shocked.

I will miss my friend in the way we have each other now, but it is time.

I've reviewed hindsight and, I think, all that talk about being okay with living in his prison because I get to come and go was me just trying to convince myself that this was okay.

But at the bottom of that is the realization that I am already a single person, only I am stopped form moving forward and growing as sensual being (which doesn't stop moving forward on it's own, by the by) because of my commitment to someone who has chosen to stop living beyond their duty.

I reread a bunch of old writings and had to laugh at how long I have been missing passion, sensuality, and... connection; it's been going on since at least 2008, ramping up in earnest in my face in 2009.

And now, I am in front of something sweet. I would like to say that I am a lot more grown up and prepared this time. At least, I'm pretty sure that's true.

The slight attraction that started about a year ago, recently and suddenly kicked the door down, and I ran to it like the world was on fire.

It feels as if, finally, the gods have seen fit to release me from my wasteland and I get to physically experience a somewhat ferocious lust and passion and/or a sweet and lovely string of moments that exist like water.

It's very sweet. He's sweet. I enjoy him. I enjoy the energy that goes between us. I would like it to remain for a little while.

So the truth has physically manifested itself in a way that I can't talk myself out of how done I am. It would be irresponsible of me to stay.

For me and my life, I get to be alone again. To grow solid in my understanding. To feel... real. And hopefully, to enjoy time and love with lovely people as the journey continues.

That is my hope.

love + lust = lost

He asked if I would bungy jump. "No," I laughed, "I would not."

"What if we went together?" he said.

So, me tied to him at the feet, clinging to him to save my life as we drop.

Again, I laughed, "I would be crying the whole time."

"That's okay," he replied plainly and softly.

He would just like the experience or excuse to be that close. He would like the experience of being the provider of safety to a woman he has a wee crush on. A woman he could never have. That's sweet. At least, it feels sweet. At 27, he doesn't come across as preditorial or greasy, just wholly naive.

Given that the mutual attraction exists, I find his suggestion is intriguing.

You can tell he sees a life force in me that he would like to touch, and finds any excuse to do so.

Those little sparks of attraction, that highway of energy that can be felt when you are just so close to that boundary line, fly, and I think, damn it. 

I eat this shit for breakfast, lunch, and dinner: romance, desire, seduction, innocence, love, human connections. I live for romantic ideals. Sometimes, it is the largest one vein in my body - throbbing for attention. I am forced to write this out of me as other people and their experiences in stories because I am, for the most part, reasonable. I will not act out on irrational thoughts. I love my husband and our life.

But, god damn it, he opened the door.

When someone opens the right door, they pour in light, light that leads me to look into the rooms in which I live every day, and it appears, suddenly, as though perhaps I shorted myself by living in my husband's prison with him. I chose to live here knowingly, because I get to come and go.

He may live every day of his life in the prison of his mind, but I come and go. But, the thing is,  I always come back - to his prison.

Once and a while someone opens a different door, a door that threatens the peace and balance of our half prison home,  and I see the prison for what it is. I end up asking myself how much of my life force am I giving away to this prison?

I don't believe that running off with someone, anyone else, would fix this issue, but it presents the questions: could I be more alive in my own life, do I desire to be more alive in my own life, have I fallen asleep in his cell with him?

Do I have to cross the line when I share time with someone who presents options, is there a way to explore a muse safely? Because of this I have no doubt, he is a muse.

Can I just let him kiss me?

In Which I Walk Through Pain

I am too weak to be an addict, even to something as simple as cigarettes - my constant companion. I don't know that this pain, this anxiety, I feel is directly related to that, although it often seems the culprit, if memory serves correctly.

I could be wrong.

It could be that I feel the anxiety because I am like Theresa Caputo and the deceased, or other-worldly, are trying desperately to communicate with me. It could be that my intuition is screaming about something else.

I've had anxiety before when I was gently refusing to clearly see what was right in front of me. That little excursion brought me to my knees - like I had a rope around my neck and the universe, along with my inside self, yanked me down to my knees with it.

I don't know if this is the case now, you never know these things when you're in the eye of the storm. So all I can say is that I feel the pain of discomfort. The only thing one can do in these circumstances is to ask the universe to "reveal itself."

It sounds corny, but it's true enough. Reveal yourself.

What is there that I should know and I will walk through it. I will lay down my cards, forgive my hand, and... meet the storm.

I would rather that. I would rather there be something rather than nothing.

"There is a move," I hear or make up that I heard. There is a fundamental breakdown in my foundation - a blessing. A longing to feel real.

Bobing for Existence or Pin the Tail on Your Purpose

Fickle. Fickle, fickle humans. Restless and rather stupid. Sometime a simple slap would be a good idea or simply sufficient to shake one out of ones race for completion.

I aspire. It is my strength and my weakness. Because I aspire, because I have passion - a human condition one day, an affliction the next - I evolve, I blossom, and I stink at life.

I have ups and downs that range so radically some days that I long for the day I can flat line. How peaceful that would be. How wonderfully restful.

So what is it? What is this drive for completion? This thirst, this unquenchable thirst. Why can't I just be? Why am I not content?

Will I ever be truly content?