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.

Meandering the Soul and Tinder Bits

There is a quiet spot now, a levelling off of some intense push that I was creating. I let go of some stuff, or rather, saw and confirmed some clarity around stuff. But still, lets talk about the Greek, shall we?

Most unfortunately, he is my one point of reference for things that elicit the possibility of feeling passion, of being one with the animal, the beast with two backs. It's tough to not revisit. It is my hope that he is some what still inflicted with the memory and desire as well. He still makes wee comments that allude to our knowledge of each other, but he has a one man rule book on when and how these can be made and he opens and closes that book at his will.

Oh well, whatever, I have come to understand him differently and in a way that allows me to meh his non-advances advances. He enjoys poking the flirt - that's his business.

Other than that, I think my invitation to new/old friends and new life is taking shape. It's work being single, you have to make sure you make a life. You can't rest in the daily comfort and routine that exists when you have a partner. Side note: Tinder is not a tool for this.

Not so side note: What the fuck Tinder dudes?

Let's say I know younger 20 somethings that, somewhat successfully, use Tinder. Which is to say they meet and talk to guys that are not eager to share pictures of their oh so proud hard members. Me, at 45, I've only heard from the new age of heavy breathers.

(To be fair, I'm 2 for 2 on these Tinder fuckers and have given Tinder 0 time to redeem itself, because, yeah, whatever, I know it's a hookup app)

In today's technology, heavy breathers no longer have to choose phone numbers at random and hope for a female voice on the other end. Heavy breathers now how a plethora of instant women to choose from AND they get to show you pictures of their hard cocks.

How droll.

Dudes, we've seen a lot of penises and while you're immensely proud of yours, it doesn't look any different to us. It's a weird looking sticky-outtie thing that, out of context of "the moment," just looks a little funny. It really is just that over eager bald guy, with a purply, squidgy head saying, "look at me" and then "look at me now," and then, of course, "look at me now."

(Even though it's a hookup app - I'm not sure instant penis in the raw is the way to get the quality gig)

The thing is though, I suspect there are a lot of women my age that eat this shit up.

"Oh my god, yes, send me a picture of your hard cock"

"You like my hard cock"

"Omg, it's so hard in that pic, is that all for me? lol, rofl, lmao..."  (Ugh, ladies be giving me a bad rap)

Another side-side note: No one should ever use rofl, lmao, lmfao EVER again. I'm not sure where I stand on lol. "Ha" should suffice, I think.

So, yeah, all's quiet on the home front, I've settled down and am getting into the groove of a realistic, Tinder free, single life.

S'good.

Things Beautiful

People may or may not be beautiful. Right now though, there are a couple, few maybe, that feel really beautiful.

There are so many beautiful things lingering about, like little fire flies that have me on brink mind blowing expectations masquerading as little hints of things to come.

The Greek:

While working together, are friendships is restored (yet again, until he changes his mind), that mini connection where it all started. He lets his arm touch mine while reaching for my computer, he sits closely, absent mindedly pulls a hair off my sweater. He's allowing himself to touch me again - so not avoiding everything about me.

The New Guy:

He's sweet. He's very, very sweet. His eyes lit up when I walked in in the morning. We chat, he's soft spoken and very interesting. There is a hint of connection/attraction there that is most enjoyable.

The Rock Climber:

The sweet talkin', very handsome, very kind, and intelligent Puerto Rican calling me Bella and letting me know he's been thinking about me. Sigh.

They're all attracted to that light that shines inside of me - and I love them for it. They are lovely.

WTF? Did that just happen?

As I meander around my mind and read back on old posts, I come across this one where in I was walking through some anxiety. It was written almost a year ago to the day (it was written exactly one year to the date that I will find out if I did or did not win a short story contest, but that's a different story). 

In this post, I ask the universe to reveal itself:

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.

 "There is a move"???? I remember being unsure if I heard it or made up what I wanted to hear (it's always safer to assume that one just made up what they wanted to hear). The next post I write after that marks the first time I see the Greek in a while, wherein he makes his first slight of hand move, which is the beginning of the breaking of my foundation.

After that day, momentum continues slowly until October of that year when the door gets kicked in and my life as I knew gets real. I get the life sweetly fucked back into me (hurrah!)

I re-read this post after, once again, sitting quietly and asking the universe to reveal itself, as it pertains to this desire for love, passion, and elevation.

After reading the post and seeing that, um, I think the universe actually spoke to me, I asked if it had anything to say today.

I heard, or made up that I heard, "He is coming" and then I heard or felt, "2 months."

So, I thought, I should just write that shit down.

For the record, I don't think it's the Greek, I mean, I have no idea whatsoever, I'm just sayin' for the record, I'm not actually holding on to that.

If he is coming, I should get ready (I have no idea what that means either, but it has something to do with getting on with it).

I am always a little mystified by how we are given answers but because they don't happen in a day or a week, we don't believe in it or we forget. But when you look back, you simply see that it really does take time for life to unfold, for things to pass. It takes a gloriously sweet amount of time.