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10/11/11

Among other things that we talked about, i listened to her describe how she’d been assaulted,

And my first thought was to simply acknowledge how awful that was,

It took me another few moments to acknowledge that it had happened to me

And so many other women i know

In so many different contexts,

Where the result was always the same, like she said,

It had ruined a part of her.

We were talking about sexuality,

About how these bodies, while temporary,

Are not simply disposable.

and i think women struggle with their sexuality

because of the remnants of double standards

that say that a woman who is interested in exploring her sexuality

is simply easy.

And we find ourselves in situations that we later feel responsible for

Even though, many times, we did have the sense to say

No.

And that’s why it is more difficult

When there is someone we have said yes to—

Why sex does complicate everything.

Even in the presence of mutual desire,

There is no guarantee that it is truly mutual,

No way to tell what one person wants,

Because despite what one person says

There is always more at work.

The few times that i’ve allowed that hunger to take over

To guide my actions;

When i’ve wanted nothing more than to simply feel

That penetration,

It’s strange how i am simultaneously so numb

But there is a part of me that has shut down,

That has given up,

That has hidden,

That has compromised in order for my appetite to

Pursue what it thinks will satiate it.

I don’t want to follow patterns that do not satisfy enough of my being.

And lately i have felt scared that i will never be able to love someone,

Because i don’t know if enough of me will ever be capable.

I know that i am becoming stronger,

With every experience,

With every connection that i make

Or recognize.

I need to believe that i am evolving.

I don’t want to allow myself to feel nothing.

And i don’t want to feel too much either,

But i want to feel like i am allowed to feel more.

the illusion of adulthood

when i was younger, i used to imagine what it would be like to be older, but i never imagined life beyond my early twenties.  so when i hit thirty last year, it was all sorts of surreal.  but so far my third decade has offered me proof that the universe is working in conjunction with my whimsical sense of curiosity and need for continuous growth.  some evidence of that growth manifests within the relationships i have with other people.  but it also shows itself through my ability to let more and more roll off my back.  my self-esteem, which adolescence shot to hell, has made a steady upward climb for over a decade, and is in better shape than i think it has been since i was a toddler.  my confidence in myself and my sense of what i want is more clear to me now, and though i'm still prone to stress myself out, i have an easier time getting back to the center where i recognize my strength, wisdom, and sense of contentment lie.  this thing called adulthood is misleading.  there isn't a magic age at which suddenly i will feel as if i've got it all figured out.  perhaps some people reach a point at which they feel they've "established themselves."  yet i refuse to adopt any labels that have to be set in stone.  i know that my life is somewhat unconventional, but only because my ways of thinking are as well.  my principles, my beliefs, my philosophies are all reflected in the things i do and the ways i choose to live.  if i remain true to myself, that's something that will not change.  i consider how terrifying it must have been for my parents, who in their late twenties became parents and accepted the challenges and responsibilities that came with raising a family.  i'll admit i'm too selfish to commit to something so noble.  however, i think it's smart to recognize, not only my lack of desire to pursue that path, but that i can still live a full life without traditional goals.  the frustrating thing about this age is that so many questions remain.  what will i be doing in another five years?  when will i be able to buy a house?  where will i decide to live?  despite the unnerving uncertainties, i enjoy the fact that life is still full of surprises.  just when i think things are becoming too monotonous or predictable, the universe throws something at me that i wasn't expecting to spice things up a bit.  every time my pseudo-routine becomes a little too comfortable, i'm forced again to reconsider, reevaluate, and make sure i'm still pursuing those avenues that will add to my sense of happiness.  and happiness is a dynamic thing.  i have a spiritual level, an intellectual level, a physical level, an emotional level--all of which require different ingredients to remain balanced. 

when i was younger i also knew that with each new year added to my age, i would only acquire more and more responsibility.  i dreaded growing older for that reason.  i remember people saying that it wasn't all that bad--that things would get better, that i would enjoy being older.  for the most part i do.  i am not one of those people who would wish to return to an earlier point in my life.  i don't glorify my own past.  i appreciate what i have been through, because my collective experiences have brought me to this point here, but i would never want to go back.  that would be regression.  i need the inertia inherent in forward motion to help me feel as if i am truly traveling.  not toward some destiny, but toward a stronger, more content, more confident version of myself. 

the students i have who are younger have a sense of entitlement that i do not understand.  i remember being lazy.  i'm still a bit of a slacker.  but i never believed that the world would simply give me what i wanted or needed.  i understood that everything required some work.  that is still the case.  while sometimes i do worry that i'll work my life away, i also know that it's not in my nature to sacrifice my sense of wellness for a paycheck.  i'll struggle; i'll give up the opportunity to make more money if it means i get to spend more time with friends, family, or alone.  i'll give up shifts to enjoy my life.  it may seem irresponsible.  unmotivated.  unambitious.  but i learned a long time ago that there is much more to life than a higher income.  as long as i'm not a burden to anyone else, i see nothing wrong with prioritizing my sense of happiness over a socially imposed sense of duty to a career.

besides--what is a career?  a job.  a job that someone keeps for a very long time.  on one hand people do this for a sense of security.  but job security, like so many other things, seems to be an illusion, or at least a distraction that allows us to shift our worry to something else more pressing.  i admire people who've found a career that satisfies them in more than a fiscal sense.  personally, i have yet to find a job that fulfills my desires--that combines the need for intellect with a sense of doing something good for the world.  it seems that most of the jobs that would satisfy that desire wouldn't earn me much more money than what i'm making now, so i don't think my lack of ambition has to do with a lack of motivation, but with the understanding that the most rewarding work is rarely the highest paid.

most of the new chapters in my life have not developed out of planning.  the time for change came.  opportunities presented themselves, and i picked a direction like a card from a deck of possibilities.  this has worked.  it hasn't offered me much stability.  it hasn't offered me much in the way of saving money.  it hasn't offered me a retirement plan.  but it's given me endless moments with people and with myself that i would not trade for the world.  i wouldn't have gotten to this point had it not been for my unwavering sense of duty to myself.  so adulthood for me only represents the degree of positivity that i allow to influence my life.  the older i get, the more i let go of the negativity i harbored for so long.  it was inhibiting; it stunted my ability to advance.  if the older i get, the less there will be within me holding me back, then i do look forward to gaining more years, more experience.  i look forward to enjoying life beneath the surface and beyond the boundaries of what i might expect or imagine will happen.

inventory

well, it's about that time again.  no--actually, it isn't.  but i keep reflecting upon things because i have had at least three people whom i love contact me in crisis, and when i'm sharing the love to help others through rough spots, it always makes me take a look at my own life as well, just to check and make sure i shouldn't be having a nervous breakdown again.

usually, when i think i feel like whining about something, all i have to do is think about the people starving/dying/struggling somewhere else in the world, and i remember that i have little to complain about.  the most constant struggle for me is the daily threat of conformity--the voice that tells me, over and over, how much easier things would be if i were just to settle down and behave as if the american dream were mine as well.  go for the husband.  the house.  the car.  the stable job.  go back to school for a degree in business or marketing.  get pregnant and settle down with a man who loves me as long as i don't gain more weight.  buy a hybrid so my status symbol is still eco-friendly.  yeah...no fucking thank you.

here's where i am:  i am 30, living at home, suffering from a netflix addiction, single (with only one semi-serious relationship within the past six years), an adjunct faculty at a community college with no possibility of full-time work in sight, a part-time cashier at a gas station for a healthcare plan that wouldn't do much good if something really went wrong, overweight (which doesn't bother me as much as it used to because i know i can change it if i want to), and i have no clue as to what the next five years will be like.  i've got little ambition other than doing what it takes to be happy, and that is about the only thing motivating my personal evolution.  but here's the thing--i am totally okay with all this.  i like that i'm rebellious against what i perceive society expects of me at this point in my life.  i like that i'm still out there, meeting new people, making friends, collecting stories and experiences, staying up too late, missing out on sleep, playing with the fifty-thousand little ideas that tango through my consciousness daily, and occasionally do something that does make me feel like i have a purpose outside of just living my own little life.  

i might be being a little modest.  i am an educator, though there is about one student per semester whom i really feel i've done something amazing for.  i am a singer, though few people have gotten goosebumps from my voice in the past year.  i am a damn good friend, though my time with the people i love is spread thin.  

point is, i'm my own worst critic (i haven't put myself down here as well as i usually do).  but when i look at what i have accomplished, how i have progressed over the past couple years, i cannot deny that there has been growth and chance--the only essential ingredient that, combined with self-awareness, is necessary for steady movement toward contentment.  because, let's face it, i'm never going to have my dream house.  i'll probably never get that record deal.  shit, i probably won't even ever be able to drive a prius.  but i will always have family (well, until the older ones die off and i take their place--but then i'll have nieces and nephews too).  i will always have amazing friends who, in a heartbeat, would be by my side if i developed cancer and had a week to live.  i will always have these words to look back on and remind me of the life i have LIVED.  fuck goals--i'm doing a good job of living in the moments as they rush by.  and despite all of the silly things that have a way of making me feel like i'm a loser, or like i will never reach my potential, or like i've wasted my time and talents, i know that i've carved out a life for myself through the connections i've made, both internally and externally.  and i'm pretty sure that even though we don't get to take anything with us when we leave this world, the experiences that have enriched and aged my soul will remain and help me through the next life.

so to all you people out there who feel lost, or who feel ashamed because you aren't where you thought you would be by the time you reached whatever age you are--remember that you are only supposed to BE.  and whether it's life or fate or karma or chaos that has aided you in reaching the position where you are now, it's pretty fucking amazing that you are here at all, and that you've managed to absorb what you have of this life and the things around you.  think of that and think of the people's lives you've touched, and how much nicer the world is with you in it.  that's what gets me through.  well...that, and the occasional piece of dark chocolate. 

In a related note, but on a personal level...(from 3/12/11)

The relationship between motivation and desire.

When we are motivated to do something, we are determined to see a task completed.  When we desire something, we are also motivated to do what it takes to accomplish it.

I’ve always felt like ambition was a dirty word.  I have watched my mother work so hard to provide for her family, and here at a point in her life when her body needs to slow down, she is unable to stop.  She has become a workaholic out of necessity, and that survival mechanism has made it difficult to have what she still believes she actually wants.  Few people I know live a life comfortably—free of debts or tragedies befalling their sense of stability.  We work to earn money so that we don’t worry about money.  But with more money, there is always more consumption.  Something that needs to be repaired.  Something that needs to be replaced.  Something missing from the fridge.  Something to wash clothes with.  “The things we own end up owning us” (Fight Club). 

There is this materialism that it seems we’ve come to believe is innate.  But I don’t believe that excessive want is anything more than the manifestation of the ways which we feel incomplete.  How much we do that reveals our sense of inadequacy, discontent, or anger.  I don’t take consumption lightly.  And for every plastic bag I’ve used and failed to recycle, I feel a remorse as real as if I had taken someone’s life.  For every stitch of clothing I’ve purchased at a discount price, whose tag says “made in Mexico,” I’ve felt sinful.  And I keep doing these things.  Because there is always something more I want, because my ambition can never truly be satisfied when it is the result of industrial conditioning.

Obesity—such an interesting issue.  On one hand, it symbolizes our gluttony, our love of excess to the point of disease and ruin.  It also represents how unhealthy we are—and that’s the aspect of the issue that is more significant to me.  Not because for decades we’ve been fooled into thinking the way and things we eat are healthy, but because our concept of health hasn’t caught up with the increased pace of our “busy” lives.  In an agrarian society, families worked on farms, growing crops in fields, moving throughout the day completing manual labor—sweating under the sun.  Before the advent of modern farm equipment—the result of industrialization of food—a farmer worked within the limitations of his physical abilities, and succeeded based on natural circumstances.  Natural—a good farmer followed the cycles of the earth, kept the soil healthy, and did what was necessary to produce a healthy crop—one which would feed a family and the community.  It was natural.  It was local.  It didn’t require the implementation of any machine to increase a yield.  And people weren’t unhealthily overweight to the degree they are now because they were working throughout the day.

This is an oversimplification of a time period that I know little about.  There are still plenty of farmers out there, but few who do things the old way.  Few who don’t rely on a profit so huge as to outweigh a subsidy that they are living comfortably.  Our traditions of multiplying and going forth have ultimately led to overpopulation, urbanization, the depletion of natural resources and wildlife, unforgettable violence in warfare, and ultimately this sense of discontentment that forces us to find ways, methods, things to fill the holes in our psyches.

I was so struck by what Marin said, because I felt that way too, and she was the first person I’d heard say it just as I had felt it:  She had no ambition, no long-term career goal.  She was content working in a flower shop, providing emotional and financial support toward couplehood, toward her boyfriend opening his own place.

It was like a relief heavier than an ocean wave had rushed through me.  But I said little more than that I agreed with her.  She couldn’t have realized how profound a moment it was for me.  But the more I thought about it, the more it made me resent the fact that I was single—because I had to find the same way to earn what income the two of them pulled in together, just to have what they had—which wasn’t fancy or bourgeois (blech), but was sensible and attractive.  Comfortable.  So it felt like she had the luxury of not needing to pursue a “career” that provided a higher income because she had a man who earned a decent wage to keep them both afloat.  That bothers me, but I can’t deny how appealing it is.

It isn’t that I don’t want to work.  I just don’t want work to dictate my life.  I don’t want to have to wait years and years to earn a high enough income to take care of my debts, having acquired more debts by the time I am making more.  I don’t want to have to commit to a career.  I don’t want to compete within a struggling workforce.  I don’t want to sit at a desk all day turning food into fat.  I don’t want to rely on coffee to wake up in the mornings.  I don’t want to turn to my computer five nights out of the week for some sense of connection.

I don’t know what happened this break.  My sister got strep and spent the week home, except Friday.  My mom’s car got repossessed.  I’ve had to clean up smeared, dried dog shit and piss from the kitchen floor a few times.  I’ve had to confront the fact that I probably won’t be able to move out when I want to.  I tried to clean and then realized how constantly I’d have to clean like I did to keep the house truly in order.  I keep reevaluating, and reevaluating, and I can’t figure out what it is I’m supposed to be doing.  I always say that I don’t need much to be happy, and that’s true.  But the happiness I rely on on a daily basis to get me through the day has a hard time staying near the surface.  There are things that I must do.  To earn money.  One is noble and required a degree.  One is not noble, but provides me with a degree of help should something go wrong with my health.  The society that has helped to make me unhealthy is the same one that can’t offer me help to correct what it causes.

Sure, some people might say, “Well, if you want to farm, then farm.”  But I don’t.  I wouldn’t want to work in that post-industrialized version of an originally sustainable system.  And I don’t have the time or motivation to even work on a small plot.  In some strange way, I feel like I was meant to do what I’m doing for now.  I just worry that its novelty will soon give way to the point where I have to decide what will be the next step.  Do I remain where I am, unsure of how I will pay bills in a few months?  Do I move onto another institution?  Do I go back to school to get a doctorate so I can work at a four-year institution (accruing more of that debt I spoke of, and competing within the politics of academia—which I am disgusted by)?

What do I want?

I want to earn a paycheck that is consistent throughout the year.  I want to earn enough to cover my bills, allow me some fun, have a buffer for emergencies, and still have some saved for long-term travel. 

When I teach four classes, I earn enough money to pay my bills and play.  Not to save much, and not to pay rent.  I need twice what I earn when I’m teaching four classes, twelve months of the year.  Enough to move out.  Enough to buy healthy foods.  But not so much that I’ve sacrificed all of my time to a job that will wear away at my soul and sense of joy.

I’ve written myself into a headache, but the original point of this was ambition, and how I felt like I had none.  It isn’t that I don’t want to better myself, or to reach a state of more frequent contentment, but sometimes I get so stressed out that I feel immobilized by my fatalistic/cynical/realist outlook.  I never want to give up, but, as I have said I don’t know how many times in the past, though usually during my dark times, I am already tired.  I am tired of the game.  Tired of the system.

Free would be disappointed.  He didn’t understand what was to stop me from accomplishing what I wanted.  I felt spoiled complaining to him about the difficulties of my life.  But the problem was desire.  The things motivating me usually have nothing to do with what truly makes me happy, and more to do with what I am forced to accomplish in order not to be a waste of space and resources.

I am going to stop now because this headache is only getting stronger, and I am working myself into a dizzying brain frenzy. 

Utopian Idealism from August 19, 2010

Academia is all about name dropping.  Acknowledging someone who managed to get published, who eloquently explained something.  Giving credit where credit’s due.  Though it’s quite possible for different people, in different places, from different times and backgrounds to reach many of the same conclusions given their specific realm of symbolic communication (words, numbers, hieroglyphs). 

Scripture has come to mean to me anything that has been documented as divine wisdom.  And by divine, I simply mean that it is revered as if coming from a “power” greater than any single human mind.

Through all the cycles, births, falls of civilizations, there are parts of their cultures that have been documented, that stand as examples of how to live the proper life in harmony with the rules that govern the universe.  The gods, goddesses, origins might change (only slightly in many cases)—but the lessons remain the same.

I was reading somewhere, probably in a student’s paper, that religion feeds off of common knowledge—pieces of logic and understanding that even the most daft human can grasp (whether or not he/she follows the “way” is another issue).  The argument was trying to get an anarchy along the premise that people do not need written laws to govern themselves.  But I couldn’t help but feel like the kid was giving too much credit to the human race.  Sure there are those individuals who stand out, who have left their mark within the realm of study, of schooling, of the educational system that controls the conscious paradigms.  But the average person, the average C student, the average joe or jane, is not necessarily one who has taken any scripture into account, beyond perhaps a story that somehow ultimately only tries to maintain “faith,” when it is really just a story that we assign meaning and significance to.

Theoretically, it could have been any religion that took hold like Christianity did.  And part of this is because people became easy to convince, to scare, to persuade into believing.  Which leads me to believe that we are not capable of self-rule.

I think about tribal communities.  Small communities that strive to maintain their independent way of living without interfering or infringing upon their neighbors.  How common is tribal war?  We have “representatives” that are sent out into the realm of politics to make decisions on our behalves, but they don’t know what we want.  How can they?  In tribes, if officials were elected to hold certain powers, they would be selected by the small group of people who made up that tribe.  They would be living among their peers, working, playing, living with them.  No class difference.  No problems too big to solve.

But there is population to consider in the tribal model.  Coupling leads to procreating, which leads to growth.  There would have to be rules for how many children a family could have.  But there would have to be enough blood difference for the families to continue reproduce without the threat of deformities or deficiencies. 

But what if there happened to be the right kinds of people in these small communities.  Suppose there were some people who didn’t want to have children.  Suppose there were a single mother or father here and an unplanned pregnancy there.  Suppose there were some scholars here and an artist there who did not seek to procreate, but shared their knowledge and talent with the community nonetheless.  Suppose it was really the entire village that raised each child.  Suppose marriage wasn’t necessary for two people to be together.  Suppose acts of violence were rare and severely punished.  Suppose they went back to herbal remedies and treatments based on an extensive understanding of Eastern and Western medicinal practices.  Suppose they all gathered to do yoga in the mornings.  Suppose they grew their own food.  Suppose they made their own clothes, and art, and stories, and songs, and dance, and music, and games, and rituals.  Suppose they relied on one another because they understood their connection to one another, and they acted out of kindness not because they feared how they might be judged after they died, but because they felt compassion for one another, because they were all divine incarnations set here to live, among a complex, terrifying, and beautiful world.  Wouldn’t that be nice?

But instead we all seem to be seeking some kind of independence that separates us from one another by filtering us into categories that represent the popular vote of the time.  We want to flaunt the fact that we are unique, yet we manage to look like clusters of sheep, filing into the same jobs, personalities, accessories, and tastes.

Work is absurd to me because of its relationship to the necessity/luxury issue.  Back in the day, the only way to eat was to know something about growing food.  New jobs began to develop depending upon the technologies of the time.  In a town that used horses, there had to be a metalsmith.  In a town that has automobiles, there has to be a mechanic.  And so forth.  But the necessity of production is the issue.  We need food.  We only need automobiles because of the way our civilization has advanced (and here I use the word “advanced” only to describe movement through time, from past to present—not in terms of real improvement). 

There are many aspects of our collective knowledge that have not changed.  Real wisdom is timeless, and the world has had its share of sages.  One of the only things that has really advanced (improved) over time is our scientific understanding.  It is not news that technology changes faster than our ethics can evaluate it.  It is worth noting that science takes much longer, as well, to reach the mainstream.  The concept of gravity took a long time to stick and synthesize into the general public’s understanding.  As science explores the subatomic realm, as quantum physics provides answers to the unseen, the general public is having a hard enough time passing geometry.  The problem becomes more of one when we consider that only certain people even have the benefit of a formal education, let alone a higher one.  And since our educational system is so defective, students become mostly honed to one specific set of skills and knowledge and cannot participate with a real community outside of their jobs or neighborhoods.  (This wouldn’t be an issue within a tribe). 

Who was it…Nietzche—who said that “choice is chaos.”  I think within a smaller community, it’s easier to find your niche.  To fulfill a role that fulfills a need—not a luxury, but something that fits our basic human needs.

Without being so far from a particular service, without the middleman, without shopping malls, without mail order, there wouldn’t be a need for money.  Capitalism would be no more because jobs would be done, production would be done, food would be grown, schools built, services rendered and shared by the members of that community.  It would be bartering and trading at most, but many jobs and services would be performed simply because it was a person’s (or people’s) responsibility to do so.  For the sake of the community. 

Teachers would still exist in these communities.  Doctors.  Counselers.  Cooks.  Artists.  Treasurers.  Builders.  Farmers.  There are plenty of jobs that we need.  There’s nothing wrong with a person having knowledge in more than one of these areas, but there is also nothing wrong with having people who are particular talented in these positions.  People who are chosen or voted to carry out certain work because of the traits, affinities they display.

The only time a person would leave a community would be if they did not find a niche within one, and so traveled elsewhere to see if they could find purpose and contentment.  Some communities would banish people who displayed characteristics of violence or malevolence.  Others would simply execute those people.  But criminals would be few and far between because each person’s needs would be met.  Each person would be loved and accepted and appreciated and respected, heard.  No racism.  No homophobia.  No single person in control.  No manipulation.  No corruption.

But, says the cynic, we cannot be rid of greed.  Greed is the evil that contaminates the harmony of an equal society.  How do we contain and eliminate this greed?  Is it truly a part of our humanity?  How is that possible when there are so many who do not display this tendency?  I’m baffled by greed. 

Thou shalt not want.  Period.  If only it were that simple.

from summer 2009

...........

7/24/09

.. ..

I let the door close behind me

As a resounding click indicated it was shut

I stepped nimbly onto the gravel

Almost tiptoeing to my car as if I had to be careful

Not to wake the people already in their beds

Sleeping for tomorrow.

.. ..

Sang along with Adele on the way home

Trying my throat after another day of coughing

The sound is supposed to come from my diaphragm

So the state of my throat shouldn’t affect my ability.

But I’m glad I only had three cigarettes today

And I hope eventually I have less.

.. ..

Both cats were waiting patiently as I pulled into the driveway.

They scurry over toward the car, as if they know that because

I am in it, it will not hurt them

(I’d like to believe they can differentiate between my car

And a stranger’s car, zooming toward them on the street).

They follow me inside because they know I feed them

But I appreciate their companionship so much

That I expect it to remain a part of my life

For many many years.

.. ..

I know it is okay to feel lost.

I’ve accepted that I have limited control.

I just wish I were more certain of where

To direct my energies.

.. ..

This feels good.  Right.

.. ..

Write.

.. ..

We walked into the bar expecting there to be celebration

But everyone was huddled around a table,

Subdued,

Perhaps tired; it had been a long day for all of us.

I’d only had three hours of sleep myself

And there I was wanting to keep things moving.

So later I asked the bartendress permission to bring in a CD

So that we could dance.  I explained that the bride really liked it

(which was true)

And Travis went out to the car to find it, couldn’t.

I went out to find it, did (just inside the door, next to the seat)

And minutes later my burned CD brought people to the dance floor

A square of wood separated by railings from the rest of the bar.

Only big enough for a small crowd, or a medium crowd dancing closely together.

I was so glad to have Travis there with me

And thought about the absurdity of the evening, the day, so far.

A friend gets married, walks determinedly into a commitment

That is nearly impossible for me to fathom.

I read a love poem for their ceremony, claim some sort of

Insight into a relationship of their stature,

My date is a close friend with whom jokes are made about a marriage of convenience

A man who will only ever romantically be interested in men.

The other single men at the bar assume I am with him—

(I’m flattered.  He’s very handsome and carries himself well).

I just dance.  I ignore how I assume I look

Or what other smaller dramas might be happening

Between bridesmaids and groomsmen.

I ignore how difficult it is to be in the presence of

Two people who have just joyously taken the first

Conventional steps toward a life together.

.. ..

I saw that my own parents’ marriage was not healthy. 

I wanted them to be happy

And it seemed that was more plausible once they were separated.

.. ..

I felt my mother’s remarriage was abrupt.  Irresponsible.

But she is my mother, and she seemed happy.

Now my stepfather lives in a different state

I live with my mother

Her mother lives with us

And so does my mother's fifteen year old daughter

(my baby sister, who will be fine, but will have a whole different set of

Issues with regard to marriage and relationships).

.. ..

I know it will all be fine.

But I know it will also all be a mess.

.. ..

My social experiments continue.

I keep reaching out to people I don’t know

Searching for common ground

Searching for connections.

Not romantic, mind you,

Because I know that’s…not pragmatic.

But open, of course,

I'm open to the possibility.

.. ..

I feel more like a collector

And I feel wrong for having fucked the kid

From a few towns over

In the back seat of my car

Even though I wanted it at the time.

I only wanted it at the time.

.. ..

It’s as if I want someone to need

And need me.

And yet I can’t let go of

(what is it—pride?)

Cynicism.

Believing it will end before it’s begun.

Because that supports the idea that I have to

Be able to do it on my own.

.. ..

We sat there in the dark

Me and another relative stranger.

We had just woken from a nap

And in the cool, humid room

He asked me to turn and face him

So that he could see my eyes in the

Light of the blue digital numbers

Of his alarm clock.

I remember thinking he was going to make

Some sort of admission.

But he spoke about the other women

He’d met through the dating service.

And how he’d been disappointed.

And I felt guilty for not being attracted to him

For not being able to offer him anything more

Than a loose friendship.

Am I stringing people along?

Should I just let them go?

How do I do that?

.. ..

I found myself fantasizing again about a boy from high school.

Nothing sexual.  Just seeing him,

Getting together for coffee and catching up.

I did that once, you know.

Got together with a kid from high school

That I used to be nuts about.

He was completely different and it shocked me

How much he had changed.

Perhaps because I felt like I had not

But moreso because he had abandoned parts of himself

In the past.  Parts of him were completely dead and forgotten.

And there I was able to recall so vividly how I felt,

And what I wanted.

I wanted him.  I wanted someone else.  I wanted to not be sad

And feel so alone.

.. ..

But loneliness is comforting.

Maybe only because I know I am not

Always alone

The times when I feel threatened by loneliness

Are empowering because I can reach into myself

And lift my soul up

And breathe gratitude

And peace.

.. ..

Another of my internet friends

Whom I don’t really speak to anymore since he

Kept asking me to help him get off

He was deeply saddened

By the fact that life had not turned out how he had expected.

And I felt fortunate.

Because I was never so certain about how things would be

That I could be disappointed.

Most things have honestly been a surprise.

And while that may seem directionless

Uninspired, ambiguous, aimless, careless

To a lot of people,

That’s just because they have grown toward

Other ways.

I enjoy making my own,

Regardless of how frequently my direction might have changed

Because

As I’ve said

There are so many parts of myself. 

There is no reason to accept a monotonous path

Stability is only necessary for certain levels of life. 

And I reject several traditions.  So far they do not seem compatible

With who I am.

.. ..

I think about my thesis advisor

And how awful I felt about quitting my thesis work.

But I had no idea what I wanted to say.  Where I wanted to go.

I reasoned that in a few years I might have a better idea.

The truth is I really do believe I could take any little piece of my life

And show how beautiful it is.  Leave plenty of ways for people

To interpret and create meaning of their own.

I could craft the story any way I saw fit.

.. ..

I do not want to go back to that job.  But I have to for now.

I just worry too much.  It’s crippling.

I need a day to get back to feeling beautiful

So that my strength returns

I need to get rid of this cough

So my body feels whole again.

I need a dream that has enough impact

To recharge my mind

So that it can not only push

But progress through another day.

Anotherday.

after all this time this is what little comes out

There’s a time in the season when it’s time to switch from my sweater boots to what i call my duck boots.  They’re more water resistant, and as the earth struggles to remain a frozen winter, the sigh of spring breathes ever so slightly in the vapid February air.

This week has been one of adventures, which is really all i ever have to deal with.  Adventures among the mundane ritual of everyday responsibility.  Quirky trespasses amidst a routine that has become distastefully familiar.

The roads had collected ice.  A sheet of it at least an inch thick.  We were out cruising, because neither of us had our own place.  He, a 20 year old trying to put his life into some order, and me, a 30 year old, still essentially doing the same thing, only having avoided certain obstacles in place of others.  He was enjoying my company, and i fed off of the fact that he only wished to extend the night a little longer.  Talk a little more.  I don’t know, maybe from the start he was just looking to feel new lips, new skin, but it felt genuine.  Yeah—there was an element of sincerity in his voice and in his actions.

We were waiting on the side of the road, stuck on an icy hill where gravity and balding tires worked against our progress.  I had resigned to waiting, hoping, for some ice trucks to go by.  What do you do when you’re stuck on the side of a road, in an ice storm, with an attractive person who’s presented nothing but pleasantness?  You eventually give in, move over to his lap to snuggle, to keep warm, and though he claims to be a gentleman, you hope he’s only slightly not.  And two hours after you’ve been sitting there, talking, sharing stories, you finally give in and curl up against him, despite the weight of your body and your hesitation, and after breathing for minutes upon minutes against his neck, brown and smooth in the blur of moonlight coming through the foggied windshield, he kisses you.  And falling into it is the best feeling you’ve felt in a while.  He asks you how long?  Six months.  It’s almost cruel, I say, not that I’ve done much about it.

My Kinsey scale tips back toward men.  I missed this feeling.  Of feeling safe.  Even though he was more worried about crashing or being crashed into than I was.  Of feeling those man arms wrapping tightly around me.  Those giant hands grazing so sweetly against the small of my hip.  It was difficult not to completely let go, and had another woman been in that situation, she very well might have.  He was that tempting.  But I held on as well as I could, and just when I didn’t know if I could restrain myself any longer, i realized the salt trucks had been by, and the ice had probably melted to a more rough frozen slush.  Rocking out of the small hole I’d created on the side of the road, I crawled slowly and surely up, over the crest of the hill.  Found our way to the main road, crept quietly to his bed.

And that’s where the story stops.  Because beyond that, the tone totally changes.  It becomes something more adolescent.  Something unexpected and awkward.  Something inexperienced and unsure.  After some fantastic initiation into a new friendship, there is a halting noise that will forever alter the tone of the original flavor.

I suppose some would say it was the kick in the ass necessary to confront the reality of the situation.  But all i could think was how much better the night could have gone after its most magical moment if i had my own place.

I ran out of money.  I expected a paycheck at the end of January, and found out too late that i was not due for a check until the end of February.  How nice that the people who have less money coming in get paid less frequently—because that makes sense.  And my friend rescued me with his financial aid refund.  Had it not been for his pursuit of a higher degree, I would have been screwed.  And he is probably the last person I will know who is in that position—a giving position.  A “i’ve got more than two thousand dollars in my account that i don’t need right now” state.  It would be sweet to earn four grand a month.  I could live completely comfortably on that.  It’s got to be a matter of supplemental income.

And I contacted Blue and he was married to a woman

Though he was gay ten years ago when i thought i knew him.

And I contacted Christine because I couldn’t believe it.

And she didn’t write back but she’s been under the weather, at least

I hope that’s why.

And I thought about the boy with the rose for a name.

And the way his back glistened in the light of the fire

Burning next to the creek where a group of old and new friends skinny dipped.

Toward the end of a summer i managed the skinny dip three times at different locations on different occasions, all of them blissfully happy and fun and safe.

I sent a message to the boy who sat with me in my car

On a hill on a night when the streets froze over with ice

And behind layers of winter fog, blurring the lights of the town

I let my guard down.

I just don’t want to regret.  I am not ashamed of being who i am,

But don’t appreciate me in one moment, and then

Ignore what transpired.

Be in it or step away from it.  Don’t let bravery be part of a rare moment.

I canceled class on Tuesday because the winter storm warning in effect made me feel like i needed to just stay home, just stay home and clean up the pile of clothes growing in the corner, just stay home and think about some of the thoughts i hadn’t given my mind time to ponder.  To reflect on the happenings of the past however long since i’d last reflected. 

It’s superbowl weekend.  Which doesn’t mean much to me except a lot of my friends are happy to have an excuse to hang out together and drink and be merry.

It’s strange knowing that the body is a temple, and deciding who’s worth to share it with on those terms.  Because the animalistic part of me just wants to tear our clothes off and feel him inside me, but the rational side of me recognizes that there are steps toward that that the proper disciple should take.

Why is the recycling truck coming by this night?  Because typically the pick up night is Sunday, and this Sunday is the Superbowl.  And those of us who don’t think in those terms miss recycling until the next pick up.  So the bottles and dishes and cups and lids will accumulate until the next date.  Until they roll by again on their regularly scheduled Sunday night.  Wtf?

I’m wearing my polka dot pajama pants, an old t-shirt my mother gave me that has a disclaimer about ruining one’s education because of a DUI.  It’s worn with tiny holes, the fabric worn thin enough to almost be see-through, but its elasticity still strong enough to hug the curves of my torso, breasts, love handles and all.  Tonight I dug through a suit case that held sweaters i’d not yet brought out of hibernation.  I put on one that i bought in a target in Fredericksburg when i went to visit madie, an old roommate and friend, who’d moved to a new place to continue the same unexpected adventures into different parts of herself.

Sometimes it is very hard for me to understand inebriation.  Only because there is no part of me that isn’t me that comes out.  I never feel any remorse for my behavior, only a little embarrassment over the fact that i wanted to be lubricated for the expression of what was already in there.

Tomorrow my little sister is taking her driving test.  When I dropped her off at school today, I waited to make sure she got into the building.  And as I sat there, looking at her little figure, waiting patiently at the door to be let in, I thought of how much she’s grown from such a small thing into this completely new person.  This completely conscious being that was starting to really filter what happened to fill her surroundings, her past, her future, her dreams, her perception.  I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, part of the reason i don’t’ feel the need to be a parent is because i’m already privy to the miracle of watching an innocent child develop into a beautiful young adult.  I’m a witness.  I don’t want to responsible for that.  Not because i don’t think i could handle the responsibility, but because i feel like providing enough support to the people in my life already will take up a healthy amount of my energy.  I can’t imagine giving more, from the start, to a whole new life.  That i am primarily responsible.  I like being part of the village that helps to raise the child.