Dear OOMA:
I know why you attract me and frighten me at the same time. I finally figured it out.
You could define me.
You are everything that has attracted me to a man in the past. You are smart, funny, articulate, passionate, and extremely talented. I find that most men can’t keep up with me, particularly intellectually, or they are intimidated by my being an intelligent woman who doesn’t know how to bat her eyelashes or toss her hair to get their attention. A lot of men can’t relate to me on a cerebral level, which makes it all that much more exciting and attractive when someone does. You could help me grow as an artist, help me find my way and help me explore who I am. You could shape me and guide me and be a partner at my side.
And the men in my past that have shared those traits I had always seen as someone who could define me positively, make me a better person, make me a better artist, make my life better by just being in it.
And they didn’t. They almost destroyed me in the process.
I came to them undefined and allowed their desires, their requirements, their projections of what I should be shape who I am. I never really thought I had a choice because I always thought that we shaped each other. But I was wrong. My shape became distorted and grotesque and unidentifiable.
I am now just beginning to put my hands into the clay to decide what shape I want to be and I am terrified that if I let you – or any other man at this point – put their hands in the clay as well that the shape I am beginning to see in my mind’s eye will be lost and will become what you - or they – want it to be and not what I want it to be. I am terrified that, despite all my best efforts and all my determination to not allow this to happen again, that I will wake up in five months or five years or 15 years and wonder how I found myself here again, starting over again, staring at the lump of clay and wondering where that delicate shape went that I began so long ago went.
Yet part of me so wants someone like you to be the one who takes me and shapes me and makes me something because then I don’t have to do the work. I don’t have to be responsible for being the way that I am because I didn’t know what I was doing, I let someone else do the work and I just took whatever came along with that. I’m tired of trying to see the shape in the clay and when I look into your eyes, I see you have a shape already in mind, whatever that is. And I want to be that shape you see, I want to turn into that fine sculpture and make you smile and make you proud and make you say, see what I did, I made that.
But I have to take ownership of my own formation. And I’ve never had to do that before. And I’m terrified that, during that process, I am going to lose you, both as a potential partner for whatever might happen but also as the dear, close, intimate friend that you are. I’m afraid that my fear will not let me lower the guards around me to truly find a way to convey to you what you mean to me because that would leave me vulnerable to letting you take some of this control away from me as I try to see who I am. And I don’t know if our friendship can survive all of my insecurities about you and me and us and everything around us. I’m afraid that you’ll tire of my endless confusion and indecision and crossed signals and simply walk away, gently, quietly, leaving me to wonder where you went. And a part of me would be incomplete because, no matter how you did it, you have left your handprints on my life and on my formation, without my seeing it. So far, those handprints have been a precious part of this delicate formation. But will you stay around to see what the results are?
So I am stuck, needing, wanting you to be a part of what’s going on and tell me what you think and show me what to do, yet I resent that I want that from you. My divided self cannot make up its mind about whether to pull you close and hide within you or drive you away so that I don’t have to ever face what could happen, good or bad.
I have to define myself first, at least partly, before I can really let anyone in, I guess. I have to protect that precarious beginning in me so that it won’t be tainted and twisted and ruined before it begins. And if it means sacrificing you and our friendship or whatever this relationship is, then I have to accept that it wasn’t the right friendship or relationship if it cannot survive my taking the time to arrive at who I desire to be. I hope you stay around, I hope you’re still here when I get there, because I would love nothing more than to sit down with you over some delicious repast and share with you the person I have become and watch your eyes light up the way they do when you’re so delighted at something I’ve done or when I make you laugh or when we’re sharing something dear and close to both our hearts. I want to be able to share this journey with you, as you started out on it with me, and keep you close to me as I go. And, who knows, maybe along the way, I might get my handprints on you a bit, which might not be a bad thing.
Luv. =)
Monday, December 04, 2006
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Epiphany 987
So I kind of have figured out why I have been so lost and out of sorts the last few months.
It’s a growth spurt.
When I left my ex, I went all the way out. Trying to be exactly what he told me I couldn’t be, rebelling against everything he wanted, everything he put on me, everything I hated about our relationship. I totally went a far way out to change my life to be different from what it was with him. I didn’t think, I just went.
And there were so many distractions on the way – short films, the feature, several plays, four moves, new people in my life, quick trips with my dearest friends, dealing with my father’s health, dealing with finances. I never took to the time to really stop and think through what these changes all meant and what shape they were taking inside of me, who Susan was really becoming. I’m an artist, I proudly proclaimed. I’m free. I’m becoming fearless (wow, weird, I typed “fearful” instead of fearless initially). I’m loving my life and my friends and doing all that I ever wanted to do. I am who I am, and tough shit if you don’t like it.
I thought I looked deep inside in those dark moments. I thought I delved deep into my psyche and found the deep, hidden answers I had been seeking. I thought I had made such huge progress because everyone around me said I did.
Well, you know what? I was doing exactly what I did with my ex. I was trying to become the person everyone around me was seeing. Susan, you’re so strong, you’re so brave, you’re so… fill in the blank. And, yes, I am those things. But they don’t really define who I am. And that’s what I never really looked at too deeply. I looked at what I wanted and what I didn’t want.
But this new me has to be a true real new me. I have to really examine the mistakes I’ve made and own them. I have to really see the issues in my life that keep reoccurring. My sister doesn’t really do that with her life and she keeps tripping up on the same things over and over again (I know I’ll get an earful about this, I’m sure) but while we can all pursue the life we want, until we can truly see where we went wrong, where our choices put us in peril, where we mistepped, I don’t think we can truly become what we want.
I was thinking about this the past few days as I once again migrate my belongings and my Twyla to yet another new apartment. There was so much baggage going along with this move. And I focused my attention outwardly, on the things around me that frustrate me – guess what the big one is? – and tried to deflect what was really bothering me deep down inside, particularly about this move.
I’m 44 years old. In less than six months, I’ll be 45. I’m starting back at square one in a way I have never done before. I was 25 when my first marriage ended, not yet a fully defined human being. I came to Los Angeles, seeking to find who Susan was. And I found parts of her here, parts of her with my ex, parts of her at Universal Studios and with Susan Strasberg and all over the place. But at that age, I never learned to take all those pieces of me and build the person I am. My ex was a huge obstacle in putting those pieces together but I allowed a certain amount of that.
Anyway, I realized that moving in with my parents, for all its altruistic outwardly appearances, is really getting to me for several reasons. First, I think it puts in all of our minds how delicate the next year could be. My father is regaining much of his strength, once again befuddling his doctors. He may live another five years, ten years, who knows? But this move, his allowing me to become a part of his day-to-day life, means he’s accepted that he needs help and he’s never admitted that before. I think that paints the picture for all of us – his time may be very short. This move makes that concrete, whether anybody is willing to say it or not. I will spend the last days of his life with him. I can only hope that they multiply exponentially and that I move out eventually because they don’t need me anymore. But the reality is not that.
Second, I feel like I am somehow giving up on things with this move. It is not where I would choose to be. I feel like it’s going backwards, living with my parents. I will be once again in the “child” role in such a visceral and constant basis. It’s feeing into all of my insecurities and I am worried that I will somehow lose everything that I have fought so hard for these past 16 months. That is something I’ll have to look at closer. Why would I lose ground with this move? How can I tackle this and find the issues and face them head on instead of just accepting what my parents perceive me to be? As wonderful and amazing as they are, they do see me in a particular way and it influences how they treat me. I have to guard against becoming what they perceive.
Third, I don’t think I have begun to really see and define who I am truly. I have the adjectives, I have the palette, but I don’t own those yet. I feel like a fraud because I’ve just taken what you all have handed to me as to who I am. I am who you see. And that’s different to each one of you. And I will take the very gracious and amazing traits you have all infused me with – bravery, courage, strength, power, beauty, grace, dignity. I will try to live up to those traits, as they are what I desire to be. But up until now, I have been playing at them. I’m supposed to be “brave” because I left my abusive husband and followed my heart. But to me, I was brave on one day then spent the next 480 days trying to figure out what the hell I did and why I did it. I realize that, when I look inside, there is nothing solid there yet. I see the bits and pieces of things, of who I want to be and what I want my life to look like. Yet, I can’t see me yet. I can tell you what I want, how I want to be, where I want to go, all of that.
Sidebar – Holy cow, such hugely strong déjà vu just now. I’ve written this before. Lindsay says that’s crossing your destiny line. But the sense I have of this déjà vu, as so many of them, there is a slight difference from what I sensed the first time. If it is true to exactly what the original sense was, the man I am in love with will call/show up/somehow be present as I type this. But we all, those things never happen.
Anyway, what I guess it comes down to is this. I need to disconnect from others’ expectations of me. I need to find out exactly who this person is, laying here in her Nick and Nora pajamas, trying to see inside of herself. It’s like going through adolescence all over again. The awkward stage of looking in the mirror and seeing on the braces and the glasses and the clothes that aren’t quite right, going to where all the cool people are and feeling like they’re all laughing at you behind your back, standing on the edge of the hipper, prettier, more popular girls and not quite living up to their image, wanting, needing, so desperately desiring to belong and yet not quite knowing how to do that, seeing the boy you want to ask you to the dance and you know that he wants to but he doesn’t and he ends up with someone else and you’re heartbroken because you just know it’s because of the braces and the glasses and the imperfect clothes and the laughing and not living up to expectations.
Maybe by the time I’m 50, I’ll have grown out of the awkward mid-life adolescence I am struggling through now and find the beauty and the grace of someone who has maybe not figured it all out yet but who has found peace with not figuring it out and knowing that it’s okay to continue to ask, continue to seek, continue to find, because she knows deep inside who she is and what she wants, without compromise. I look forward to that day.
Until then, I beg your tolerance and understanding when I throw temper tantrums and I rant endlessly about boys and I break out in metaphorical zits and I am just plain unruly. I promise it won’t go on forever and I hope you all will still be there when I grow up.
It’s a growth spurt.
When I left my ex, I went all the way out. Trying to be exactly what he told me I couldn’t be, rebelling against everything he wanted, everything he put on me, everything I hated about our relationship. I totally went a far way out to change my life to be different from what it was with him. I didn’t think, I just went.
And there were so many distractions on the way – short films, the feature, several plays, four moves, new people in my life, quick trips with my dearest friends, dealing with my father’s health, dealing with finances. I never took to the time to really stop and think through what these changes all meant and what shape they were taking inside of me, who Susan was really becoming. I’m an artist, I proudly proclaimed. I’m free. I’m becoming fearless (wow, weird, I typed “fearful” instead of fearless initially). I’m loving my life and my friends and doing all that I ever wanted to do. I am who I am, and tough shit if you don’t like it.
I thought I looked deep inside in those dark moments. I thought I delved deep into my psyche and found the deep, hidden answers I had been seeking. I thought I had made such huge progress because everyone around me said I did.
Well, you know what? I was doing exactly what I did with my ex. I was trying to become the person everyone around me was seeing. Susan, you’re so strong, you’re so brave, you’re so… fill in the blank. And, yes, I am those things. But they don’t really define who I am. And that’s what I never really looked at too deeply. I looked at what I wanted and what I didn’t want.
But this new me has to be a true real new me. I have to really examine the mistakes I’ve made and own them. I have to really see the issues in my life that keep reoccurring. My sister doesn’t really do that with her life and she keeps tripping up on the same things over and over again (I know I’ll get an earful about this, I’m sure) but while we can all pursue the life we want, until we can truly see where we went wrong, where our choices put us in peril, where we mistepped, I don’t think we can truly become what we want.
I was thinking about this the past few days as I once again migrate my belongings and my Twyla to yet another new apartment. There was so much baggage going along with this move. And I focused my attention outwardly, on the things around me that frustrate me – guess what the big one is? – and tried to deflect what was really bothering me deep down inside, particularly about this move.
I’m 44 years old. In less than six months, I’ll be 45. I’m starting back at square one in a way I have never done before. I was 25 when my first marriage ended, not yet a fully defined human being. I came to Los Angeles, seeking to find who Susan was. And I found parts of her here, parts of her with my ex, parts of her at Universal Studios and with Susan Strasberg and all over the place. But at that age, I never learned to take all those pieces of me and build the person I am. My ex was a huge obstacle in putting those pieces together but I allowed a certain amount of that.
Anyway, I realized that moving in with my parents, for all its altruistic outwardly appearances, is really getting to me for several reasons. First, I think it puts in all of our minds how delicate the next year could be. My father is regaining much of his strength, once again befuddling his doctors. He may live another five years, ten years, who knows? But this move, his allowing me to become a part of his day-to-day life, means he’s accepted that he needs help and he’s never admitted that before. I think that paints the picture for all of us – his time may be very short. This move makes that concrete, whether anybody is willing to say it or not. I will spend the last days of his life with him. I can only hope that they multiply exponentially and that I move out eventually because they don’t need me anymore. But the reality is not that.
Second, I feel like I am somehow giving up on things with this move. It is not where I would choose to be. I feel like it’s going backwards, living with my parents. I will be once again in the “child” role in such a visceral and constant basis. It’s feeing into all of my insecurities and I am worried that I will somehow lose everything that I have fought so hard for these past 16 months. That is something I’ll have to look at closer. Why would I lose ground with this move? How can I tackle this and find the issues and face them head on instead of just accepting what my parents perceive me to be? As wonderful and amazing as they are, they do see me in a particular way and it influences how they treat me. I have to guard against becoming what they perceive.
Third, I don’t think I have begun to really see and define who I am truly. I have the adjectives, I have the palette, but I don’t own those yet. I feel like a fraud because I’ve just taken what you all have handed to me as to who I am. I am who you see. And that’s different to each one of you. And I will take the very gracious and amazing traits you have all infused me with – bravery, courage, strength, power, beauty, grace, dignity. I will try to live up to those traits, as they are what I desire to be. But up until now, I have been playing at them. I’m supposed to be “brave” because I left my abusive husband and followed my heart. But to me, I was brave on one day then spent the next 480 days trying to figure out what the hell I did and why I did it. I realize that, when I look inside, there is nothing solid there yet. I see the bits and pieces of things, of who I want to be and what I want my life to look like. Yet, I can’t see me yet. I can tell you what I want, how I want to be, where I want to go, all of that.
Sidebar – Holy cow, such hugely strong déjà vu just now. I’ve written this before. Lindsay says that’s crossing your destiny line. But the sense I have of this déjà vu, as so many of them, there is a slight difference from what I sensed the first time. If it is true to exactly what the original sense was, the man I am in love with will call/show up/somehow be present as I type this. But we all, those things never happen.
Anyway, what I guess it comes down to is this. I need to disconnect from others’ expectations of me. I need to find out exactly who this person is, laying here in her Nick and Nora pajamas, trying to see inside of herself. It’s like going through adolescence all over again. The awkward stage of looking in the mirror and seeing on the braces and the glasses and the clothes that aren’t quite right, going to where all the cool people are and feeling like they’re all laughing at you behind your back, standing on the edge of the hipper, prettier, more popular girls and not quite living up to their image, wanting, needing, so desperately desiring to belong and yet not quite knowing how to do that, seeing the boy you want to ask you to the dance and you know that he wants to but he doesn’t and he ends up with someone else and you’re heartbroken because you just know it’s because of the braces and the glasses and the imperfect clothes and the laughing and not living up to expectations.
Maybe by the time I’m 50, I’ll have grown out of the awkward mid-life adolescence I am struggling through now and find the beauty and the grace of someone who has maybe not figured it all out yet but who has found peace with not figuring it out and knowing that it’s okay to continue to ask, continue to seek, continue to find, because she knows deep inside who she is and what she wants, without compromise. I look forward to that day.
Until then, I beg your tolerance and understanding when I throw temper tantrums and I rant endlessly about boys and I break out in metaphorical zits and I am just plain unruly. I promise it won’t go on forever and I hope you all will still be there when I grow up.
Friday, December 01, 2006
What the f***?!
So…
Tonight at Koji’s, I had basically decided to not give the two guys there (OOMA and Cute Boy) any of my time. Okay, well, that lasted about 25 seconds as I walked in and Cute Boy was sitting there. So we started chatting and he’s adorable and taken and…
Then OOMA walks in, greets everyone, hangs out with the other girls, which was fine with me. I was enjoying Cute Boy and his flirtation and just thought, what the hell. Then talked to Cute Boy about the concept of “boys are stupid, throw rocks at them.” He was intrigued.
Oh, wait. Let me add that when I walked in and Cute Boy stood up and offered me his seat, I declined. He said he needed to get up any way, he’d been sitting for a while, so I told him he could walk to the bar and get me a drink. And he did. Wow, that really works. He went to the bar later, got distracted when he went to sing and the bartender gave him two drinks, so he handed me his extra one. And for context for this blog, I’ve had two drinks tonight, which is one over my limit, so I apologize if this tangents off into the stratosphere.
So, anyway, chatting with Cute Boy about throwing rocks at boys. I told him after a few more drinks, I might tell him everything, and he was threatening all night to take me up that.
Then OOMA joins us. Not all that unusual, as the two of them get along and chat from time to time. But it always seems that OOMA hangs around Cute Boy more when Cute Boy and I are talking. And he and talked a lot tonight, so OOMA hung around a lot tonight. Interesting.
As the evening went on, everyone pretty much left, leaving me sitting between these two. And I couldn’t help but go, what the f***?! We were having a blast, the three of us, but I noticed a bit of... I don’t know. Maybe it’s the two drinks. But I kinda felt a little bit like there was maybe some competition going on. Of course, two drinks and I could think just about anything. OOMA even held up the elevator to finish telling me a little story as Cute Boy and I got off on our parking level. He’s never done that before.
So Cute Boy walks me to my car and we hugged good night and he lingered a moment before walking away.
So I get in my car (gosh, I’ve written “so” a lot) and plug in my Ipod and the first song that comes up is Keith Urban’s version of “Stuck in the Middle with You.” The universe has one fucked up sense of humor. I got stuck on “clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you.”
Story of my life.
Tonight at Koji’s, I had basically decided to not give the two guys there (OOMA and Cute Boy) any of my time. Okay, well, that lasted about 25 seconds as I walked in and Cute Boy was sitting there. So we started chatting and he’s adorable and taken and…
Then OOMA walks in, greets everyone, hangs out with the other girls, which was fine with me. I was enjoying Cute Boy and his flirtation and just thought, what the hell. Then talked to Cute Boy about the concept of “boys are stupid, throw rocks at them.” He was intrigued.
Oh, wait. Let me add that when I walked in and Cute Boy stood up and offered me his seat, I declined. He said he needed to get up any way, he’d been sitting for a while, so I told him he could walk to the bar and get me a drink. And he did. Wow, that really works. He went to the bar later, got distracted when he went to sing and the bartender gave him two drinks, so he handed me his extra one. And for context for this blog, I’ve had two drinks tonight, which is one over my limit, so I apologize if this tangents off into the stratosphere.
So, anyway, chatting with Cute Boy about throwing rocks at boys. I told him after a few more drinks, I might tell him everything, and he was threatening all night to take me up that.
Then OOMA joins us. Not all that unusual, as the two of them get along and chat from time to time. But it always seems that OOMA hangs around Cute Boy more when Cute Boy and I are talking. And he and talked a lot tonight, so OOMA hung around a lot tonight. Interesting.
As the evening went on, everyone pretty much left, leaving me sitting between these two. And I couldn’t help but go, what the f***?! We were having a blast, the three of us, but I noticed a bit of... I don’t know. Maybe it’s the two drinks. But I kinda felt a little bit like there was maybe some competition going on. Of course, two drinks and I could think just about anything. OOMA even held up the elevator to finish telling me a little story as Cute Boy and I got off on our parking level. He’s never done that before.
So Cute Boy walks me to my car and we hugged good night and he lingered a moment before walking away.
So I get in my car (gosh, I’ve written “so” a lot) and plug in my Ipod and the first song that comes up is Keith Urban’s version of “Stuck in the Middle with You.” The universe has one fucked up sense of humor. I got stuck on “clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you.”
Story of my life.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Don't know...
Don’t know how much longer I can do this. It’s too hard. Tired, angry, bitter, resentful. Alone. You don’t care. I care so much. Moving for the fourth time in 16 months. Disappointed in myself in so many ways, disappointed in others in so many ways. Tired of “finding” things and “discovering” things. Just want to be for a while. Just want someone to hold me. Doesn’t mean get back on the marriage-go-round. Just hold me. Just tonight. That’s all. Just for tonight. Then maybe I can face tomorrow. Alone.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Moving in so many ways...
Zadra said she likes when I go through the dark times because I always come out on the other side with revelations. And she’s right again.
These past few weeks have been a huge struggle for me. All the changes coming about in my life have just about crippled me even as they give me hope. Strange, that combination. I’ve also been dealing with huge issues regarding my ex and coming to terms with a lot of things that I don’t think I’ve dealt with yet. Every time I think I’m past him, something else rears its ugly head.
Although, after hanging out with AJ last night, I had a startling realization this morning. And it’s something I’ve touched on before but I think this morning, for some reason, it’s clearer to me. All the men on earth are not my ex. As I expressed to AJ last night the fears that are associated with my jewelry business because of my ex, AJ said succinctly, “He’s in your past now. Fuck him.” (I love AJ!) Chairman has said the same thing, but maybe a little more delicately.
This morning I feel that sense of leaving my ex behind. It’s only taken me 16 months. Someone said once that it takes a month of healing for every year you were with someone. I guess I’m right on schedule. I hope that with this move this week, I can leave his ghost behind and finally reclaim the final part of me from him. If any of you know of any kind of ceremony that would complete this (smudging is already in the plans for this weekend), please let me know. I’m big into visualizing these kinds of changes and movements because I think that helps solidify it.
I also can finally put words to why these three men who are so special to me affect me the way they do (including you for a brief time, Mr. CL). All of them are open to me in a way that my ex never was. They don’t hide their souls in the dark recesses of themselves, not sharing, not giving, not parting with anything. They openly share themselves. They don’t judge me. They let me say anything to them and they actually listen. If I tell any of them I’ve been struggling through a hard depression lately, the first thing that happens is they wrap their arms around me and hold me for a moment longer than usual. They don’t question, they don’t try to solve it. They just do what I need so badly – hold me, love me, let me know that it’s okay. They are honest with me, as AJ was last night, and don’t pull punches but, as is my new favorite expression, they don’t wield the truth like a weapon. I can share my fears and my concerns with them and they don’t make me feel stupid or that my feelings are invalid. They also don’t let me get away with using those fears as a way to get out of facing something.
And it’s not just the way they deal with me. It’s the way they take themselves into the world. When any of them walk into a room, the energy level doubles. When the three of them are together, they are a force to behold. I think it’s because they are open with themselves and want to share themselves with the world. So they let their passion and their joy and their souls out to play, without worrying about what anyone is going to say, without being concerned about being foolish or silly. In fact, these three will go out of their way to be thought of as silly if it will make someone laugh. They wear their passions and their joys on their sleeves.
I don’t think I have ever had men in my life like this. At least, not in such a significant way. Actually, maybe it’s that some of the men in my life previously grew out of allowing their energy, their passion to be so obvious and became protective of that part of themselves. And that’s a shame. I know I did this to myself for the last five years or so of my marriage and it was only when I started to release those senses did I feel whole.
I guess I’ve been lucky with the women in my life as I have always felt such a close bond with the few women I had kept close to me previously. I never felt the same judgment and sense of lacking from the women around me so I don’t gush so much about the women around me now because I have had this open, honest, wonderful relationship with the important women in my life all along. It’s the masculine energy that has always been closed off and inaccessible.
It’s an amazing discovery to me to really understand this because it’s just another piece of the puzzle of why it is so important that I did leave and should leave my ex behind. It’s another piece of knowing what I want out of someone who I may want to share my life with. It also reflects to me what I want to present to the world and what I want to give back to those around me. If these men are so willing to share themselves with me, then I have to be willing to share myself so willing back to them. I know I try but I don’t always think I succeed. And yet, here they are, still there, still open, still understanding that, maybe right now, I cannot return what they give me. But they don’t seem to be ready to take their energy away from me. I think they’re willing to hang around and see what the future brings. They’re willing to be patient and kind and gentle as I continue to grow. They won’t punish me because I’m struggling. They’ll be there with warm embraces and open hearts when I get there. They have taught me that it’s okay to trust that masculine energy again and that it can be different than his was. And that’s a huge step for me.
There’s so much more to this that I want to add but I cannot seem to find the words. It’s a burst of feelings in me that come to mind, not actual sentences – trust, warmth, joy, relief, release, contentment, affection, connection. I may explore this further as I begin to find the words.
These past few weeks have been a huge struggle for me. All the changes coming about in my life have just about crippled me even as they give me hope. Strange, that combination. I’ve also been dealing with huge issues regarding my ex and coming to terms with a lot of things that I don’t think I’ve dealt with yet. Every time I think I’m past him, something else rears its ugly head.
Although, after hanging out with AJ last night, I had a startling realization this morning. And it’s something I’ve touched on before but I think this morning, for some reason, it’s clearer to me. All the men on earth are not my ex. As I expressed to AJ last night the fears that are associated with my jewelry business because of my ex, AJ said succinctly, “He’s in your past now. Fuck him.” (I love AJ!) Chairman has said the same thing, but maybe a little more delicately.
This morning I feel that sense of leaving my ex behind. It’s only taken me 16 months. Someone said once that it takes a month of healing for every year you were with someone. I guess I’m right on schedule. I hope that with this move this week, I can leave his ghost behind and finally reclaim the final part of me from him. If any of you know of any kind of ceremony that would complete this (smudging is already in the plans for this weekend), please let me know. I’m big into visualizing these kinds of changes and movements because I think that helps solidify it.
I also can finally put words to why these three men who are so special to me affect me the way they do (including you for a brief time, Mr. CL). All of them are open to me in a way that my ex never was. They don’t hide their souls in the dark recesses of themselves, not sharing, not giving, not parting with anything. They openly share themselves. They don’t judge me. They let me say anything to them and they actually listen. If I tell any of them I’ve been struggling through a hard depression lately, the first thing that happens is they wrap their arms around me and hold me for a moment longer than usual. They don’t question, they don’t try to solve it. They just do what I need so badly – hold me, love me, let me know that it’s okay. They are honest with me, as AJ was last night, and don’t pull punches but, as is my new favorite expression, they don’t wield the truth like a weapon. I can share my fears and my concerns with them and they don’t make me feel stupid or that my feelings are invalid. They also don’t let me get away with using those fears as a way to get out of facing something.
And it’s not just the way they deal with me. It’s the way they take themselves into the world. When any of them walk into a room, the energy level doubles. When the three of them are together, they are a force to behold. I think it’s because they are open with themselves and want to share themselves with the world. So they let their passion and their joy and their souls out to play, without worrying about what anyone is going to say, without being concerned about being foolish or silly. In fact, these three will go out of their way to be thought of as silly if it will make someone laugh. They wear their passions and their joys on their sleeves.
I don’t think I have ever had men in my life like this. At least, not in such a significant way. Actually, maybe it’s that some of the men in my life previously grew out of allowing their energy, their passion to be so obvious and became protective of that part of themselves. And that’s a shame. I know I did this to myself for the last five years or so of my marriage and it was only when I started to release those senses did I feel whole.
I guess I’ve been lucky with the women in my life as I have always felt such a close bond with the few women I had kept close to me previously. I never felt the same judgment and sense of lacking from the women around me so I don’t gush so much about the women around me now because I have had this open, honest, wonderful relationship with the important women in my life all along. It’s the masculine energy that has always been closed off and inaccessible.
It’s an amazing discovery to me to really understand this because it’s just another piece of the puzzle of why it is so important that I did leave and should leave my ex behind. It’s another piece of knowing what I want out of someone who I may want to share my life with. It also reflects to me what I want to present to the world and what I want to give back to those around me. If these men are so willing to share themselves with me, then I have to be willing to share myself so willing back to them. I know I try but I don’t always think I succeed. And yet, here they are, still there, still open, still understanding that, maybe right now, I cannot return what they give me. But they don’t seem to be ready to take their energy away from me. I think they’re willing to hang around and see what the future brings. They’re willing to be patient and kind and gentle as I continue to grow. They won’t punish me because I’m struggling. They’ll be there with warm embraces and open hearts when I get there. They have taught me that it’s okay to trust that masculine energy again and that it can be different than his was. And that’s a huge step for me.
There’s so much more to this that I want to add but I cannot seem to find the words. It’s a burst of feelings in me that come to mind, not actual sentences – trust, warmth, joy, relief, release, contentment, affection, connection. I may explore this further as I begin to find the words.
I want a man who...
Just spent part of the evening with one piece of my heart – my dearest AJ. Man, I missed him when he was gone, which was most of this year. I’m so glad you’re married, my dear heart, because you would destroy me, I think. And I’m glad your wife tolerates my affection for you because otherwise, life would be hell.
And I got thinking about these wondrous men in my life, one of whom makes me insane but I adore him, one of whom is the above-mentioned married OOMA (does that make him MOOMA?), and one of whom is the sweetest soul I know, and it made me realize that, no matter what man I end up with in my life eventually, there are things I have learned from these three men that have helped me define and realize what I want from the man in my life. So, here it is:
I want a man who:
- knows to order me Jamesons rocks without my asking.
- sings to me, whether in karaoke or in real life.
- whose casual thoughtfulness is not calculated.
- handles my heart with gentle hands and gentler words.
- is unphased by my creativity – in all its forms.
- is willing to share with me, not lord over me.
- is strong enough to be proud of me without feeling threatened.
- can just be quiet with me.
- can laugh with his entire being.
- appreciates and embraces joy.
- is willing to gently approach my skittish cat.
- is secure in his own talent.
- eager for knowledge and willing to share it without needing to belittle.
- has passion visible in his eyes.
- makes me feel safe.
- is generous with his heart and his soul, not just his checkbook.
- is not afraid.
- doesn’t use the truth as a weapon.
- can reach into my heart without breaking it.
- whose presence I can feel when they are miles away and thinking of me.
- fills my soul with delight when I see him.
- embraces me, flaws and all, without needing to fix me.
- can see his future with confidence and anticipation.
- can see my future the same way.
- loves me fully, completely, unconditionally.
I want a man who doesn’t exist because, for all their flaws, these men are the best men I have ever known in my life.
(Okay, I know, goofy picture, but I think it's the only one I have of all three of them. Peter, AJ, Chairman and me at Koji's right before AJ left town this summer.)
I love you guys, Peter, AJ and Chairman. Thank you for the lessons and the love.
And I got thinking about these wondrous men in my life, one of whom makes me insane but I adore him, one of whom is the above-mentioned married OOMA (does that make him MOOMA?), and one of whom is the sweetest soul I know, and it made me realize that, no matter what man I end up with in my life eventually, there are things I have learned from these three men that have helped me define and realize what I want from the man in my life. So, here it is:
I want a man who:
- knows to order me Jamesons rocks without my asking.
- sings to me, whether in karaoke or in real life.
- whose casual thoughtfulness is not calculated.
- handles my heart with gentle hands and gentler words.
- is unphased by my creativity – in all its forms.
- is willing to share with me, not lord over me.
- is strong enough to be proud of me without feeling threatened.
- can just be quiet with me.
- can laugh with his entire being.
- appreciates and embraces joy.
- is willing to gently approach my skittish cat.
- is secure in his own talent.
- eager for knowledge and willing to share it without needing to belittle.
- has passion visible in his eyes.
- makes me feel safe.
- is generous with his heart and his soul, not just his checkbook.
- is not afraid.
- doesn’t use the truth as a weapon.
- can reach into my heart without breaking it.
- whose presence I can feel when they are miles away and thinking of me.
- fills my soul with delight when I see him.
- embraces me, flaws and all, without needing to fix me.
- can see his future with confidence and anticipation.
- can see my future the same way.
- loves me fully, completely, unconditionally.
I want a man who doesn’t exist because, for all their flaws, these men are the best men I have ever known in my life.
(Okay, I know, goofy picture, but I think it's the only one I have of all three of them. Peter, AJ, Chairman and me at Koji's right before AJ left town this summer.)
I love you guys, Peter, AJ and Chairman. Thank you for the lessons and the love.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Challenges and comfort zones
Challenges continue to rise to meet me, whether I want them to or not. The transitions in my life are weighing heavy on me and it’s been hard to keep my spirits up.
Then Zadra said something to me the other night that really struck me. Regarding the OOMA, she said, “He’s very comfortable with the way things are with you so of course he’s not going to change anything.”
That made me think about all the things that we put up with because we’re “comfortable” with the situation. How many times do we find ourselves not changing the things in our lives that hurt us and punish us and make us very unhappy because we’re “comfortable”?
I was thinking about Monica talking a while ago about how much she hated her job. She was waiting for her boss to fire her because she was so unhappy there. As with most of us, she was cautious about leaving this job without having something else to fall back on. But in a conversation with Deena, she began to see the truth of it – she was comfortable with where she was. She knew what she faced every day, regardless of how bad it was, and she wasn’t about to make the changes necessary because she knew she would have to struggle for her pay check if she left. It would mean being in an uncomfortable place in order to make herself happy. Monica took a deep breath and jumped into the DZone – the Discomfort Zone. She’s broke, she’s struggling, but she’s never been happier. She’s quit the job she hated, has found some work temping, found a guy. Okay, so the guy may have nothing concretely to do with leaving her job but maybe her becoming happier about her situation drew the guy to her. Who knows? I just know that her plunge into the DZone gave her a new outlook on life and has given her enormous comfort, in a strange way. She had to be uncomfortable to get comfortable.
I know I stayed with my marriage for so long because of the “comfort” factor. He was always there. We fell asleep every night with his arm wrapped around me. I knew I could count on him if I needed something concrete done. I couldn’t count on him for the emotional things I needed but I knew I could count on him for basic things of daily living. I lived with the other stuff and the lack of emotional fulfillment because what else was I going to do? I knew this life. I wasn’t ready to leap into the DZone because it would mean letting go of what I knew and going into the unknown.
But eventually comfortable becomes its own discomfort. If you sit around “comfortably” for too long, it become complacent, which is not always good. It’s because you don’t know anything else, because you don’t want to see anything else. Being comfortable can mean avoiding confrontation, avoiding the things you should face in your life, avoiding change.
I finally had enough of being “comfortable” and jumped into the DZone. It’s not comfortable. It’s harder than hell, even on the good days. My life is anything but comfortable. I miss the comfort of his arm around me at night so badly sometimes, it’s painful. I cry myself to sleep many nights because I miss the comfort of having someone hold me. I fight with depression so deep that sometimes is makes me completely useless, as it has in the past few days. I haven’t been able to get off the couch, never mind actually get anything done. I’m moving for the fourth time since last June – into an apartment with my parents. No comfort there. In fact, I’m there to provide comfort for my mother and my father. There may be some comfort in their presence, but it’s going to be strange and uncomfortable for a while as we get used to each other again. My jewelry business needs to be dealt with but, again, an uncomfortable place I don’t want to go.
Yet, the DZone has given me something that I had lost before I entered it – a life. An uncomfortable life. A life filled with chaos and disorganization and unpredictability. A life that is anything but comfortable. A life that lacks someone to hold me and someone to comfort me. But a life that is my own and no one else’s. A life where discomfort is not always a bad thing. A life where comfort does not mean compromise and giving up something that I live for. Where discomfort is leading me to define my own comfort and what I want to make my life the life that I want.
I never want to be “comfortable” again unless it’s comfortable on my terms, unless it’s comfortable in the best sense of the word. I don’t want to give up what I need, what I desire, just to be “comfortable.” So many artists do that – give up their dreams for the comfort job and the comfort life and the comfortable expectations of family and friends. They trade the organic comfort of their art for the “acceptable” comfort of others’ expectations.
As for the OOMA and his comfort level, I guess I have let myself get comfortable with where we are because then neither of us is required to do anything but accept where we are and be comfortable with that. Well, that’s going to change. I don’t know how yet and I don’t know when, but once again, it’s time to leap into the DZone to find the real comfort that I need. And if that means losing him, then so be it. The DZone is not an easy place to be but, in the end, it leads us to the place we should be, if we can allow ourselves to delve into discomfort for a little while.
Then Zadra said something to me the other night that really struck me. Regarding the OOMA, she said, “He’s very comfortable with the way things are with you so of course he’s not going to change anything.”
That made me think about all the things that we put up with because we’re “comfortable” with the situation. How many times do we find ourselves not changing the things in our lives that hurt us and punish us and make us very unhappy because we’re “comfortable”?
I was thinking about Monica talking a while ago about how much she hated her job. She was waiting for her boss to fire her because she was so unhappy there. As with most of us, she was cautious about leaving this job without having something else to fall back on. But in a conversation with Deena, she began to see the truth of it – she was comfortable with where she was. She knew what she faced every day, regardless of how bad it was, and she wasn’t about to make the changes necessary because she knew she would have to struggle for her pay check if she left. It would mean being in an uncomfortable place in order to make herself happy. Monica took a deep breath and jumped into the DZone – the Discomfort Zone. She’s broke, she’s struggling, but she’s never been happier. She’s quit the job she hated, has found some work temping, found a guy. Okay, so the guy may have nothing concretely to do with leaving her job but maybe her becoming happier about her situation drew the guy to her. Who knows? I just know that her plunge into the DZone gave her a new outlook on life and has given her enormous comfort, in a strange way. She had to be uncomfortable to get comfortable.
I know I stayed with my marriage for so long because of the “comfort” factor. He was always there. We fell asleep every night with his arm wrapped around me. I knew I could count on him if I needed something concrete done. I couldn’t count on him for the emotional things I needed but I knew I could count on him for basic things of daily living. I lived with the other stuff and the lack of emotional fulfillment because what else was I going to do? I knew this life. I wasn’t ready to leap into the DZone because it would mean letting go of what I knew and going into the unknown.
But eventually comfortable becomes its own discomfort. If you sit around “comfortably” for too long, it become complacent, which is not always good. It’s because you don’t know anything else, because you don’t want to see anything else. Being comfortable can mean avoiding confrontation, avoiding the things you should face in your life, avoiding change.
I finally had enough of being “comfortable” and jumped into the DZone. It’s not comfortable. It’s harder than hell, even on the good days. My life is anything but comfortable. I miss the comfort of his arm around me at night so badly sometimes, it’s painful. I cry myself to sleep many nights because I miss the comfort of having someone hold me. I fight with depression so deep that sometimes is makes me completely useless, as it has in the past few days. I haven’t been able to get off the couch, never mind actually get anything done. I’m moving for the fourth time since last June – into an apartment with my parents. No comfort there. In fact, I’m there to provide comfort for my mother and my father. There may be some comfort in their presence, but it’s going to be strange and uncomfortable for a while as we get used to each other again. My jewelry business needs to be dealt with but, again, an uncomfortable place I don’t want to go.
Yet, the DZone has given me something that I had lost before I entered it – a life. An uncomfortable life. A life filled with chaos and disorganization and unpredictability. A life that is anything but comfortable. A life that lacks someone to hold me and someone to comfort me. But a life that is my own and no one else’s. A life where discomfort is not always a bad thing. A life where comfort does not mean compromise and giving up something that I live for. Where discomfort is leading me to define my own comfort and what I want to make my life the life that I want.
I never want to be “comfortable” again unless it’s comfortable on my terms, unless it’s comfortable in the best sense of the word. I don’t want to give up what I need, what I desire, just to be “comfortable.” So many artists do that – give up their dreams for the comfort job and the comfort life and the comfortable expectations of family and friends. They trade the organic comfort of their art for the “acceptable” comfort of others’ expectations.
As for the OOMA and his comfort level, I guess I have let myself get comfortable with where we are because then neither of us is required to do anything but accept where we are and be comfortable with that. Well, that’s going to change. I don’t know how yet and I don’t know when, but once again, it’s time to leap into the DZone to find the real comfort that I need. And if that means losing him, then so be it. The DZone is not an easy place to be but, in the end, it leads us to the place we should be, if we can allow ourselves to delve into discomfort for a little while.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Since it's Thanksgiving...
...and I guess it’s time for me to check in with myself and see what I’m thankful for, because there is a lot, despite the darker tones my blogs have taken lately. And it’s a given there is the usual friends/family/career stuff. So here’s a random sampling of things that were in my head on the way home from Zadra’s…
1. Chairman’s laugh. If, god forbid, I should ever lose track of him, this is the thing I would miss the most about him. It defines what I adore about him.
2. Patty’s muppetness. Fun, light, yet full of depth when you’re least expecting it.
3. Zadra’s lip gloss collection, because, like her, it’s practical and silly all at the same time.
4. Monica’s wisdom on all things male-related. And her frank openness about way too much.
5. PRS’s hugs.
6. Anna B. and destination food.
7. Ric’s shirtless, shoeless serenades.
8. Twyla and all her pink nose.
9. Mikee’s cock-eyed crooked optimism.
10. Every single day that my father is still here.
11. AJ is home.
12. The re-introduction of Al Underwood to my life. What the hell did I do without him?
13. Music is back in my life in so many ways.
14. Girlfriends! More than I have ever had in my life!
15. Zadra’s Luke and his goofy ways.
16. Paul W’s respectful treatment of me.
17. Being allowed by all of you to rediscover myself.
18. Koji’s.
19. My tattoos.
20. All the amazing memories I have of this year – Cinderella, Weight of the Word, getting “Inked”, the trip to San Diego (and the adult store at midnight), and so many others.
I am grateful and thankful every single day that this is my life. This is the life I was able to choose when so many others can’t make that choice. I am so unbelievably grateful still to those who were around to catch me when I leapt and made me feel safe and solid and believed in me. Even in the darkest moments of my life, I know that I will always be thankful that I am not there. It crossed my mind today – what if I hadn’t left? What if I had stayed and tried and was still there? Maybe that is what I am most thankful for now – I am not there anymore. I am here. And here’s a pretty good place to be.
So, Happy Thanksgiving to all. Tell those around you today how much you love them – because I plan to, so if you see me today, get ready – and let them know how thankful you are that they are in your life. God bless and eat well!
1. Chairman’s laugh. If, god forbid, I should ever lose track of him, this is the thing I would miss the most about him. It defines what I adore about him.
2. Patty’s muppetness. Fun, light, yet full of depth when you’re least expecting it.
3. Zadra’s lip gloss collection, because, like her, it’s practical and silly all at the same time.
4. Monica’s wisdom on all things male-related. And her frank openness about way too much.
5. PRS’s hugs.
6. Anna B. and destination food.
7. Ric’s shirtless, shoeless serenades.
8. Twyla and all her pink nose.
9. Mikee’s cock-eyed crooked optimism.
10. Every single day that my father is still here.
11. AJ is home.
12. The re-introduction of Al Underwood to my life. What the hell did I do without him?
13. Music is back in my life in so many ways.
14. Girlfriends! More than I have ever had in my life!
15. Zadra’s Luke and his goofy ways.
16. Paul W’s respectful treatment of me.
17. Being allowed by all of you to rediscover myself.
18. Koji’s.
19. My tattoos.
20. All the amazing memories I have of this year – Cinderella, Weight of the Word, getting “Inked”, the trip to San Diego (and the adult store at midnight), and so many others.
I am grateful and thankful every single day that this is my life. This is the life I was able to choose when so many others can’t make that choice. I am so unbelievably grateful still to those who were around to catch me when I leapt and made me feel safe and solid and believed in me. Even in the darkest moments of my life, I know that I will always be thankful that I am not there. It crossed my mind today – what if I hadn’t left? What if I had stayed and tried and was still there? Maybe that is what I am most thankful for now – I am not there anymore. I am here. And here’s a pretty good place to be.
So, Happy Thanksgiving to all. Tell those around you today how much you love them – because I plan to, so if you see me today, get ready – and let them know how thankful you are that they are in your life. God bless and eat well!
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Here we stand...
Hmmmm…
Men are not faring well lately around here.
There is an amazing, attractive, powerful woman with a very broken heart trying to sleep in Westwood. She thought she had found this incredible man, who seemed so genuine, so true, so honest. Their relationship has been incredibly communicative and open and impossibly good for over a year. Suddenly, he’s unreachable. She’s changing her whole life for him and he no longer can communicate with her. But he hasn’t bothered to tell her he’s done. He just has buried his head and won’t come out. Meanwhile, she’s moving ahead with her own plans, trying not to count on him, yet I know her heart is still holding out hope that it will all be a misunderstanding, something they can overcome. Who can blame her?
There is another amazing, attractive, powerful woman who has been spending time with another friend, who suddenly has started treating her like a dog toy – being disrespectful, rude and downright obnoxious to her. I know he has the capacity to not be a “fucknut,” as he was so eloquently referred to last night, but lately that’s the face he’s showing. She was going to give him the what-for tonight, which I hope she did. She tries to brush this off as a casual thing and that it doesn’t mean that much to her, yet I know a part of her heart is wounded and hurt by this. And he has joined the above-mentioned man with his head in the sand, ignoring the signs that he has gone drastically in the wrong direction.
Another amazing, attractive, powerful woman is going through the same thing as I am – someone who she has grown to love a great deal and who means a lot to her, who has seemingly returned her affection to a point, but yet not a definable point, will not give her a clue as to how he really feels. That frustrating position of being more than a friend but not enough to be a lover. That casual intimacy that feels so incredibly good yet so deeply aggravating. His head has, too, gone into the sand, hiding out, pretending nothing has changed. Rod McKuen said something about holding one another close at arm’s length. That’s how it feels.
And my usual OOMA, on the exact trajectory I anticipated after certain recent events. At least I’m beginning to see and understand the elasticity of his fear – get close, run away, get closer, run away, get very close, run away. Join the others with their heads in the sand, denying, hiding, fearing, pretending.
Meanwhile, four outstanding women who only want to share their hearts with four outstanding men find themselves just standing, looking down at the bodies with the sand-covered heads, unable to reach them, unable to dig them out. The four of us wonder what we did to cause this (come on, I know we do) because they couldn’t have done this all by themselves. Yet, maybe they did, all on their own, with no help from us. Their baggage buries them in the sand the way ours weighs us down in other ways. Their fear of us wanting to tie them down, of us wanting to change them, of us somehow impinging on their lives is what drives their heads into the sand, while we stand by, wanting to say simply to them, “I just want to be with you. It doesn’t mean marriage, it doesn’t mean changing your or your life. It means sharing something with you. In whatever shape you want it to be. Dig your head out, talk to me. Let’s figure this out together, instead of hiding from each other.”
And yet, here we stand. Four heads buried, four hearts wounded. Neither side knowing how to reach the other. You can’t hear us through the sand and we’re getting tired of trying to be heard. When you dig out, maybe you’ll realize what was standing there but all that will be left will be our footprints, heading off into another direction. Maybe you’ll see our shadows as we disappear over the dune, figuring you’re in the sand for life. And maybe you’ll wonder where we went – and maybe you won’t. I know that I currently feel that I could easily walk away from you and you wouldn’t even notice that I was gone. There would be a faint impression left on your heart (which you would immediately bury in the sand) but you wouldn’t even try to figure out where I went. You’d just accept that I wasn’t there anymore. And maybe somewhere in the dark of night (or the light of day), you would bravely take a moment to ponder what happened. But that would require pulling your head out of the sand. And I don’t know that any of the four of you are capable of that.
So leave your heads there. We’ll take our hearts and see if we can’t find the place where there is a hole in the sand and a whole man standing beside it, his head recently unstuck, his heart recently opened and searching for one of four such astounding women. But you won’t see it. And that’s a shame.
Men are not faring well lately around here.
There is an amazing, attractive, powerful woman with a very broken heart trying to sleep in Westwood. She thought she had found this incredible man, who seemed so genuine, so true, so honest. Their relationship has been incredibly communicative and open and impossibly good for over a year. Suddenly, he’s unreachable. She’s changing her whole life for him and he no longer can communicate with her. But he hasn’t bothered to tell her he’s done. He just has buried his head and won’t come out. Meanwhile, she’s moving ahead with her own plans, trying not to count on him, yet I know her heart is still holding out hope that it will all be a misunderstanding, something they can overcome. Who can blame her?
There is another amazing, attractive, powerful woman who has been spending time with another friend, who suddenly has started treating her like a dog toy – being disrespectful, rude and downright obnoxious to her. I know he has the capacity to not be a “fucknut,” as he was so eloquently referred to last night, but lately that’s the face he’s showing. She was going to give him the what-for tonight, which I hope she did. She tries to brush this off as a casual thing and that it doesn’t mean that much to her, yet I know a part of her heart is wounded and hurt by this. And he has joined the above-mentioned man with his head in the sand, ignoring the signs that he has gone drastically in the wrong direction.
Another amazing, attractive, powerful woman is going through the same thing as I am – someone who she has grown to love a great deal and who means a lot to her, who has seemingly returned her affection to a point, but yet not a definable point, will not give her a clue as to how he really feels. That frustrating position of being more than a friend but not enough to be a lover. That casual intimacy that feels so incredibly good yet so deeply aggravating. His head has, too, gone into the sand, hiding out, pretending nothing has changed. Rod McKuen said something about holding one another close at arm’s length. That’s how it feels.
And my usual OOMA, on the exact trajectory I anticipated after certain recent events. At least I’m beginning to see and understand the elasticity of his fear – get close, run away, get closer, run away, get very close, run away. Join the others with their heads in the sand, denying, hiding, fearing, pretending.
Meanwhile, four outstanding women who only want to share their hearts with four outstanding men find themselves just standing, looking down at the bodies with the sand-covered heads, unable to reach them, unable to dig them out. The four of us wonder what we did to cause this (come on, I know we do) because they couldn’t have done this all by themselves. Yet, maybe they did, all on their own, with no help from us. Their baggage buries them in the sand the way ours weighs us down in other ways. Their fear of us wanting to tie them down, of us wanting to change them, of us somehow impinging on their lives is what drives their heads into the sand, while we stand by, wanting to say simply to them, “I just want to be with you. It doesn’t mean marriage, it doesn’t mean changing your or your life. It means sharing something with you. In whatever shape you want it to be. Dig your head out, talk to me. Let’s figure this out together, instead of hiding from each other.”
And yet, here we stand. Four heads buried, four hearts wounded. Neither side knowing how to reach the other. You can’t hear us through the sand and we’re getting tired of trying to be heard. When you dig out, maybe you’ll realize what was standing there but all that will be left will be our footprints, heading off into another direction. Maybe you’ll see our shadows as we disappear over the dune, figuring you’re in the sand for life. And maybe you’ll wonder where we went – and maybe you won’t. I know that I currently feel that I could easily walk away from you and you wouldn’t even notice that I was gone. There would be a faint impression left on your heart (which you would immediately bury in the sand) but you wouldn’t even try to figure out where I went. You’d just accept that I wasn’t there anymore. And maybe somewhere in the dark of night (or the light of day), you would bravely take a moment to ponder what happened. But that would require pulling your head out of the sand. And I don’t know that any of the four of you are capable of that.
So leave your heads there. We’ll take our hearts and see if we can’t find the place where there is a hole in the sand and a whole man standing beside it, his head recently unstuck, his heart recently opened and searching for one of four such astounding women. But you won’t see it. And that’s a shame.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
The thing nobody talks about
(Warning – long, harsh blog – be prepared)
I innocently went into Barnes and Noble yesterday looking for a book of plays to read for the Ark. Crossing through the store from the magazines, I found myself standing in the self-help/self-improvement/psychology section. Now, this is a section I usually avoid because most of the self-help books are, in my opinion, silly, overstated, warm and fuzzy bullshit. It’s all common sense, if we’d just look at things clearly. (Yeah, like I do that.) But I have never found any self-help books that have helped me. I will admit to picking up Dr. Phil’s book on authentic self but, again, found myself going, well, duh.
So as I was walking through the psychology area, which has books on real issues, not just "be yourself" and "love yourself," a book caught my eye. The title – “The Verbally Abusive Man” or something like that. It stopped me because it’s the first time I’ve seen something about verbal abuse. Usually, the abuse books/advice are for those women who have been beaten by their significant others and really need help. The ones who have been verbally or emotionally abused tend to be kind of ignored. After all, verbal and emotional abuse don’t show on the surface. It’s buried deep inside and the bruises are evident only after much searching and seeking and most people don’t want to search or seek inside someone that much. They brush it off – oh, sure, he yells at her, but everyone yells at their spouse sometimes; yeah, he is kinda harsh when he deals with her but I’m sure he’s not like that all the time; gosh, he must be hard to live with, being so compulsive and controlling, but can’t be that bad, why would she stay? If you ask yourself that after leaving a friend’s house, maybe you should go back in and ask that friend what the hell is going on. Chances are pretty good that, if it’s something you’ve experienced with that couple more than once, it’s the sign of an abusive relationship.
I should know. I’ve been through two of them and am just beginning to be able to say it. Now, those of you who know my current ex-husband and are fans of his will want to stop reading at this point. I have been polite and considerate of him until now but I feel it necessary to talk about this, so go read someone else’s blog and see what they had at Starbucks today because this probably won’t be pretty.
My first husband, S., came from an extremely abusive family. His father and stepfather both beat the crap out of the kids growing up, and his older brother ended up beating the crap out of one of my best friends for years. He broke her two front teeth by punching her in the mouth and put her into the drywall one night when I was staying with them. I understood my ex’s anger and where it came from. It was evident and right in front of me every time I was with his family. I tried to talk my friend into leaving her husband several times, even sat down with both of them one night, but she had to hit rock bottom and leave him on her own. I look back now and am sorry I didn’t do more to help her out. She must have been in so much pain and feeling so lost.
What I didn’t realize was what he was doing to me. Little snide comments constantly about how I acted, little things I did became big things. It was almost 20 years ago and I have very little memory left of that time other than constantly feeling put down and belittled by him over everything. It was particularly evident when I was doing the one thing I loved so much at that time – dancing. He always found a way to turn what I did well into something that somehow made him less of a man. I was warming up for a recital one night backstage, talking to a friend while he hung out, and he pointed at me in my pointe shoes and said, “And she wonders why I won’t dance with her.” Doesn’t sound like much, taken on its own, but when your life, 24/7, is filled with hundreds of demeaning comments like that, you stop being able to judge what they mean. I eventually gave up dancing for him, the single thing I regret doing in my whole life. I loved dancing more than almost anything else but he made it painful and dreadful, so I eventually stopped. I tried to start again when I finally moved to LA but it was never the same. Then my dancing injuries caught up with me and I couldn’t dance anymore. I miss it so much, even now.
When I met R., I thought he was the further thing from S. that ever could be. He was direct, he was solid, he was reliable. If he said he’d call at 10:15, the phone would ring at 10:15. He played “Kiss the Girl” on my answering machine after we saw “The Little Mermaid.” He brought me roses on our first date and for every opening night of every show I did. He could be enormously romantic and make the most amazing gestures of love that I had ever experienced. Those things made it easier to ignore the constant comments and violent rages that would overcome him. He tore a set of sheets in half one night when we first moved in together because they “weren’t cooperating.” I remember standing there, thinking, do I want to spend the rest of my life with this man? But, hey, it wasn’t constant, only every day, but not always, and not always that bad, and, besides, he could be so wonderful.
Verbal and emotional abuse can sneak up on you. I didn’t think twice when he criticized my writing or my directing. After all, I was still learning. I ignored the rages he flew into when I didn’t take every single one of his comments. I ignored the harsh way he spoke to me in front of industry peers and the way he cut me down in front of them. I participated willingly in the post-mortems of professional events, which always seemed to focus on what I did wrong that night and how I had made him look bad. He would throw in the odd comment that he needed to do better himself, but, over the years, it was more and more what I did wrong, without him accepting any responsibility. It was that way financially. There was no winning. If I told him we didn’t have the money for a book or for his comics that week, the evening would be filled with accusations about what an incompetent person I was, how could I do this. I should know better, I should do better. He wasn’t about to help me with it because every time I would say I needed help or try to get him to take over some of the responsibility, he would hand it back to me then criticize me when things fell apart again.
Slowly, gradually, I could no longer make a decision without an hour long conversation with him. Deciding between chicken or beef for dinner was excruciating. If I’d make chicken, he’d say, I thought you were going to make beef. Constantly. Not once, but almost every time I made dinner. Choosing a restaurant was the same. I’d say Chinese, we’d go, he’d say, after dinner, I really wanted Italian but you chose Chinese. Little wonder that eventually, I could only sit on the couch for hours on end, going over and over every choice of the day, wondering what he was going to say about it, wondering what was going to set him off.
I’ve seen him throw my shoes – MY shoes, never his – across the room when he was vacuuming because they were in the way. Every time he vacuumed. Screaming blue rages when he cleaned house. And if I dared to actually do any of the housework myself, he would literally go back over it and correct it. In front of me. Making me watch and learn how to do it correctly. For 16 years.
I would spends hours preparing for industry events, designing material, slaving over printing things, making sure everything was perfect. Consistently, as we were leaving, he’d look at what I did and find something wrong with it. Despite my having asked him a dozen times to look over what I was doing and give me his input. “No, fine, you know what you’re doing.” Ten minutes before we leave, “why did you use that image and not something better. I thought you knew what I wanted.” I apparently was supposed to be Kreskin and read his mind.
I thought this was normal. Every couple fought. Every couple had times where they didn’t get along. But a friend came to dinner one night and, a few days later, she talked to me privately, saying how horrified she was at the way R. was treating me and talking to me. She noticed it getting worse and worse as time went on but didn’t want to say anything. I brushed it off. Oh, we’re having a hard time, that’s all. It’s not that bad. I don’t cry myself to sleep every night and wonder which would be the most effective way to kill myself without incurring huge hospital bills because he would never tolerate that. Whenever I got a cold, there were hourly reminders not to get too sick because we didn’t have medical insurance and the one time I got sick with pneumonia, we had insurance, and I’d better not get too sick because we couldn’t afford it because we didn’t have insurance because he got fired from his job because of his stupid fucking mouth but it’s my responsibility not to cough too loud so that he doesn’t get upset because I’m sick and I can’t get sick because we can’t afford to get sick because we don’t have insurance so I’d better not get sick because that would a burden on him… That’s what emotional abuse does to you. Creates the hamster wheel you can’t get off of because you can’t trust yourself to.
Nobody ever said anything to him about the way he treated me. Nobody probably does now. I’ve heard from a few people that they have told him they didn’t know how I lived with him for so long because he’s so difficult. I don’t know either. I just know that, almost two years after leaving him, I am still wounded and bleeding inside and 16 years with him left me with scars so deep and so painful, I don’t know if I’ll ever recover. Some day, I’ll maybe be able to go back into therapy and work through some of this, now that I can actually say the words – I was abused. He would disagree. He mocked me once when we went into therapy, because he knew about my first husband and how I felt about that. “You’re going to tell people I’m abusing you now, right?” Then he let out a disgusted snort, because he couldn’t possible do that. I had hoped he would have learned something from my leaving him but I guess you can’t change the essence of what a person is. I just hope someone holds out a hand to the next victim on his list – or that she slaps him stupid until he stops. I wish I had. Maybe I wouldn’t be so messed up. Or I would have left him earlier, saving some of myself.
But I guess, despite my wounds and brokenness, I wouldn’t be who I am today without having gone through this. I wouldn’t be so determined to be what I am without having had to defend it. I might have taken those pills that night – or at some night in the future. I had to fight for my life. Now I have to heal the life I have and put this behind me, while keeping vigilant to never let this happen to me – or any of my friends – ever again.
I innocently went into Barnes and Noble yesterday looking for a book of plays to read for the Ark. Crossing through the store from the magazines, I found myself standing in the self-help/self-improvement/psychology section. Now, this is a section I usually avoid because most of the self-help books are, in my opinion, silly, overstated, warm and fuzzy bullshit. It’s all common sense, if we’d just look at things clearly. (Yeah, like I do that.) But I have never found any self-help books that have helped me. I will admit to picking up Dr. Phil’s book on authentic self but, again, found myself going, well, duh.
So as I was walking through the psychology area, which has books on real issues, not just "be yourself" and "love yourself," a book caught my eye. The title – “The Verbally Abusive Man” or something like that. It stopped me because it’s the first time I’ve seen something about verbal abuse. Usually, the abuse books/advice are for those women who have been beaten by their significant others and really need help. The ones who have been verbally or emotionally abused tend to be kind of ignored. After all, verbal and emotional abuse don’t show on the surface. It’s buried deep inside and the bruises are evident only after much searching and seeking and most people don’t want to search or seek inside someone that much. They brush it off – oh, sure, he yells at her, but everyone yells at their spouse sometimes; yeah, he is kinda harsh when he deals with her but I’m sure he’s not like that all the time; gosh, he must be hard to live with, being so compulsive and controlling, but can’t be that bad, why would she stay? If you ask yourself that after leaving a friend’s house, maybe you should go back in and ask that friend what the hell is going on. Chances are pretty good that, if it’s something you’ve experienced with that couple more than once, it’s the sign of an abusive relationship.
I should know. I’ve been through two of them and am just beginning to be able to say it. Now, those of you who know my current ex-husband and are fans of his will want to stop reading at this point. I have been polite and considerate of him until now but I feel it necessary to talk about this, so go read someone else’s blog and see what they had at Starbucks today because this probably won’t be pretty.
My first husband, S., came from an extremely abusive family. His father and stepfather both beat the crap out of the kids growing up, and his older brother ended up beating the crap out of one of my best friends for years. He broke her two front teeth by punching her in the mouth and put her into the drywall one night when I was staying with them. I understood my ex’s anger and where it came from. It was evident and right in front of me every time I was with his family. I tried to talk my friend into leaving her husband several times, even sat down with both of them one night, but she had to hit rock bottom and leave him on her own. I look back now and am sorry I didn’t do more to help her out. She must have been in so much pain and feeling so lost.
What I didn’t realize was what he was doing to me. Little snide comments constantly about how I acted, little things I did became big things. It was almost 20 years ago and I have very little memory left of that time other than constantly feeling put down and belittled by him over everything. It was particularly evident when I was doing the one thing I loved so much at that time – dancing. He always found a way to turn what I did well into something that somehow made him less of a man. I was warming up for a recital one night backstage, talking to a friend while he hung out, and he pointed at me in my pointe shoes and said, “And she wonders why I won’t dance with her.” Doesn’t sound like much, taken on its own, but when your life, 24/7, is filled with hundreds of demeaning comments like that, you stop being able to judge what they mean. I eventually gave up dancing for him, the single thing I regret doing in my whole life. I loved dancing more than almost anything else but he made it painful and dreadful, so I eventually stopped. I tried to start again when I finally moved to LA but it was never the same. Then my dancing injuries caught up with me and I couldn’t dance anymore. I miss it so much, even now.
When I met R., I thought he was the further thing from S. that ever could be. He was direct, he was solid, he was reliable. If he said he’d call at 10:15, the phone would ring at 10:15. He played “Kiss the Girl” on my answering machine after we saw “The Little Mermaid.” He brought me roses on our first date and for every opening night of every show I did. He could be enormously romantic and make the most amazing gestures of love that I had ever experienced. Those things made it easier to ignore the constant comments and violent rages that would overcome him. He tore a set of sheets in half one night when we first moved in together because they “weren’t cooperating.” I remember standing there, thinking, do I want to spend the rest of my life with this man? But, hey, it wasn’t constant, only every day, but not always, and not always that bad, and, besides, he could be so wonderful.
Verbal and emotional abuse can sneak up on you. I didn’t think twice when he criticized my writing or my directing. After all, I was still learning. I ignored the rages he flew into when I didn’t take every single one of his comments. I ignored the harsh way he spoke to me in front of industry peers and the way he cut me down in front of them. I participated willingly in the post-mortems of professional events, which always seemed to focus on what I did wrong that night and how I had made him look bad. He would throw in the odd comment that he needed to do better himself, but, over the years, it was more and more what I did wrong, without him accepting any responsibility. It was that way financially. There was no winning. If I told him we didn’t have the money for a book or for his comics that week, the evening would be filled with accusations about what an incompetent person I was, how could I do this. I should know better, I should do better. He wasn’t about to help me with it because every time I would say I needed help or try to get him to take over some of the responsibility, he would hand it back to me then criticize me when things fell apart again.
Slowly, gradually, I could no longer make a decision without an hour long conversation with him. Deciding between chicken or beef for dinner was excruciating. If I’d make chicken, he’d say, I thought you were going to make beef. Constantly. Not once, but almost every time I made dinner. Choosing a restaurant was the same. I’d say Chinese, we’d go, he’d say, after dinner, I really wanted Italian but you chose Chinese. Little wonder that eventually, I could only sit on the couch for hours on end, going over and over every choice of the day, wondering what he was going to say about it, wondering what was going to set him off.
I’ve seen him throw my shoes – MY shoes, never his – across the room when he was vacuuming because they were in the way. Every time he vacuumed. Screaming blue rages when he cleaned house. And if I dared to actually do any of the housework myself, he would literally go back over it and correct it. In front of me. Making me watch and learn how to do it correctly. For 16 years.
I would spends hours preparing for industry events, designing material, slaving over printing things, making sure everything was perfect. Consistently, as we were leaving, he’d look at what I did and find something wrong with it. Despite my having asked him a dozen times to look over what I was doing and give me his input. “No, fine, you know what you’re doing.” Ten minutes before we leave, “why did you use that image and not something better. I thought you knew what I wanted.” I apparently was supposed to be Kreskin and read his mind.
I thought this was normal. Every couple fought. Every couple had times where they didn’t get along. But a friend came to dinner one night and, a few days later, she talked to me privately, saying how horrified she was at the way R. was treating me and talking to me. She noticed it getting worse and worse as time went on but didn’t want to say anything. I brushed it off. Oh, we’re having a hard time, that’s all. It’s not that bad. I don’t cry myself to sleep every night and wonder which would be the most effective way to kill myself without incurring huge hospital bills because he would never tolerate that. Whenever I got a cold, there were hourly reminders not to get too sick because we didn’t have medical insurance and the one time I got sick with pneumonia, we had insurance, and I’d better not get too sick because we couldn’t afford it because we didn’t have insurance because he got fired from his job because of his stupid fucking mouth but it’s my responsibility not to cough too loud so that he doesn’t get upset because I’m sick and I can’t get sick because we can’t afford to get sick because we don’t have insurance so I’d better not get sick because that would a burden on him… That’s what emotional abuse does to you. Creates the hamster wheel you can’t get off of because you can’t trust yourself to.
Nobody ever said anything to him about the way he treated me. Nobody probably does now. I’ve heard from a few people that they have told him they didn’t know how I lived with him for so long because he’s so difficult. I don’t know either. I just know that, almost two years after leaving him, I am still wounded and bleeding inside and 16 years with him left me with scars so deep and so painful, I don’t know if I’ll ever recover. Some day, I’ll maybe be able to go back into therapy and work through some of this, now that I can actually say the words – I was abused. He would disagree. He mocked me once when we went into therapy, because he knew about my first husband and how I felt about that. “You’re going to tell people I’m abusing you now, right?” Then he let out a disgusted snort, because he couldn’t possible do that. I had hoped he would have learned something from my leaving him but I guess you can’t change the essence of what a person is. I just hope someone holds out a hand to the next victim on his list – or that she slaps him stupid until he stops. I wish I had. Maybe I wouldn’t be so messed up. Or I would have left him earlier, saving some of myself.
But I guess, despite my wounds and brokenness, I wouldn’t be who I am today without having gone through this. I wouldn’t be so determined to be what I am without having had to defend it. I might have taken those pills that night – or at some night in the future. I had to fight for my life. Now I have to heal the life I have and put this behind me, while keeping vigilant to never let this happen to me – or any of my friends – ever again.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Crisis of Faith... et al.
I’m going through a crisis of faith right now, it seems. Faith in everything. Faith in everyone, including myself. That’s the best way I can phrase it.
Faith in love/relationships is the first victim on my list. I seem to be struggling with the fact that my marriage of 14 years (16 years together) is over and I cannot stand to even look at the man who I spent more than half of my adult life with. I cannot stand to see his face, cannot bring myself to say more than hello to him when our paths do cross. This was the man who was supposed to be the rest of my life. This is the man who I thought hung the moon, to borrow an old expression. This is the man who was my teacher, my mentor, my guide, my life. Now, he has no place in that life. What did those years mean and do they mean anything now?
All that doubt and insecurity hang around and make it impossible for me to make any advancements in any other relationship. I question every feeling, every thought. I am panicked at the thought of giving even the tiniest piece of myself to someone else, let alone the one closest to me right now, who is closed off and just as frightened and just as wary as I am. No wonder I am standing here, stuck to the ground, unable to move, unable to think, unable to feel. Or to feel too much. I cannot climb over my own walls, never mind trying to scale the ones around him. I keep thinking I’m banging my head against his walls and I realized that it’s probably my own wall I’m banging against. My fingers are bleeding from trying to climb over it because I thought I was in another labyrinth, one created by him. I was startled to find the maze was of my own making and I seem to have lost the map for it. The minotaur of my last relationship hovers around the edges, breathing down my neck, just waiting for me to make a mistake, to fuck things up again. So I stand frozen, listening to the minotaur snort, trying to avoid him yet without moving. I’m not sure what is waiting for me at the end of the maze but I’m not sure I want to find out. And he’s standing over there, in his own labyrinth, his own minotaur snorting away, and neither of us can climb over the hedges and get past it. It’s stupid and it’s frustrating and it’s impossible. But again, I wonder what it all means and what does he mean and what do we mean together? Is there even a “we” other than the one I have made up in my mind? Is that composed of a compendium of what I wanted out of my old life, what I’ve glimpsed in him that makes him so incredibly special to me, what my empty, aching heart wants so badly that it’s created something out of nothing? Did you just hear my brain explode?
Then there’s a crisis of faith in myself. Losing two very important projects has knocked the wind out of me. Neither loss was the result of my lack of anything and mostly due to external issues, but it still makes me doubt myself. I’m not confident in my edit of the film, either, which freaks me out and makes me avoid any work on it. Intellectually, I know the cut is fine and it’ll get better as I work on it. But emotionally, with all the doubt about everything else in my life, doubt overflows and infects all aspects, leaving me crippled, unable to move on this front as well. I try to see what I’ve accomplished this year but am only able to see what I haven’t accomplished. This is the leftover of my marriage, the years of battery, the years of abuse. There’s a whole other blog coming about that but for now, just know that I understand where these doubts come from but that doesn’t help overcome them. I am talentless, the voices taunt, and everything he said was right. I aim too high, I try too hard, I do too much, I’m unfocused, I’m scattered, I’m undisciplined. The tape is on repeat right now and I can’t find the stop button. And, yes, I know it will stop and, yes, I know it’s bullshit. But that doesn’t stop it. And it brings me to, what did this year mean? I left a life behind for something I thought would be better but, right now, I don’t see the better side.
The crisis of faith in love is the hardest. Cupid seems to be finding everyone else – including my roomie, however briefly – yet his arrow has missed me. I’m not asking for the rest of my life. Three to six months would be nice. But right now, I don’t see it. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s my fear, my hesitation, my wounded heart holding me back. But others who are wounded are finding a way to let their hearts out to play. But I’m not sure I’ll find someone to share my days with, for whatever short term. I’m not sure my Ikea bed will be occupied by anyone other than myself and my beautiful cat. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let myself trust someone again to not hurt me, to not wound me, to not make me the brunt of everything wrong with their life. The men in my life have gone a long way to teaching me that not all men are my ex, that not all men are cruel and mean and vicious when they’re unhappy. A.J., Peter, and of course, my dearest Chairman have been such incredible examples of what men can be. And I want to trust that I will find that gentleness, that care, that comfort in someone who won’t hurt me so badly again. But I’m not sure I can. So what does that mean and where does that leave me?
I know I have incredible people in my life, so you don’t need to remind me of that. I know I am loved by those around me. I feel it whenever I walk into a room with any of you all who embrace me and encourage me and love me. But you all don’t come home with me and hold me in the night, helping me feel that thins will be all right. These are questions about the faith I have to find in myself and the healing I have to find in myself. You’ve all given me the first aid kit and opened it and unsealed the bandages. Now I have to apply those and squeeze out the ointment and wince from the alcohol rubs. These are things and answers and wounds I must tend to myself. I’m not sure how, I guess, is the problem. I’ve talked your ears off, I’ve blogged your eyes off. Now I have to turn that inward again and see what I can find. It’s frightening and it’s terrifying. I only hope to find an answer or two when I rip the bandage off and that I can keep from picking at the scab.
Faith in love/relationships is the first victim on my list. I seem to be struggling with the fact that my marriage of 14 years (16 years together) is over and I cannot stand to even look at the man who I spent more than half of my adult life with. I cannot stand to see his face, cannot bring myself to say more than hello to him when our paths do cross. This was the man who was supposed to be the rest of my life. This is the man who I thought hung the moon, to borrow an old expression. This is the man who was my teacher, my mentor, my guide, my life. Now, he has no place in that life. What did those years mean and do they mean anything now?
All that doubt and insecurity hang around and make it impossible for me to make any advancements in any other relationship. I question every feeling, every thought. I am panicked at the thought of giving even the tiniest piece of myself to someone else, let alone the one closest to me right now, who is closed off and just as frightened and just as wary as I am. No wonder I am standing here, stuck to the ground, unable to move, unable to think, unable to feel. Or to feel too much. I cannot climb over my own walls, never mind trying to scale the ones around him. I keep thinking I’m banging my head against his walls and I realized that it’s probably my own wall I’m banging against. My fingers are bleeding from trying to climb over it because I thought I was in another labyrinth, one created by him. I was startled to find the maze was of my own making and I seem to have lost the map for it. The minotaur of my last relationship hovers around the edges, breathing down my neck, just waiting for me to make a mistake, to fuck things up again. So I stand frozen, listening to the minotaur snort, trying to avoid him yet without moving. I’m not sure what is waiting for me at the end of the maze but I’m not sure I want to find out. And he’s standing over there, in his own labyrinth, his own minotaur snorting away, and neither of us can climb over the hedges and get past it. It’s stupid and it’s frustrating and it’s impossible. But again, I wonder what it all means and what does he mean and what do we mean together? Is there even a “we” other than the one I have made up in my mind? Is that composed of a compendium of what I wanted out of my old life, what I’ve glimpsed in him that makes him so incredibly special to me, what my empty, aching heart wants so badly that it’s created something out of nothing? Did you just hear my brain explode?
Then there’s a crisis of faith in myself. Losing two very important projects has knocked the wind out of me. Neither loss was the result of my lack of anything and mostly due to external issues, but it still makes me doubt myself. I’m not confident in my edit of the film, either, which freaks me out and makes me avoid any work on it. Intellectually, I know the cut is fine and it’ll get better as I work on it. But emotionally, with all the doubt about everything else in my life, doubt overflows and infects all aspects, leaving me crippled, unable to move on this front as well. I try to see what I’ve accomplished this year but am only able to see what I haven’t accomplished. This is the leftover of my marriage, the years of battery, the years of abuse. There’s a whole other blog coming about that but for now, just know that I understand where these doubts come from but that doesn’t help overcome them. I am talentless, the voices taunt, and everything he said was right. I aim too high, I try too hard, I do too much, I’m unfocused, I’m scattered, I’m undisciplined. The tape is on repeat right now and I can’t find the stop button. And, yes, I know it will stop and, yes, I know it’s bullshit. But that doesn’t stop it. And it brings me to, what did this year mean? I left a life behind for something I thought would be better but, right now, I don’t see the better side.
The crisis of faith in love is the hardest. Cupid seems to be finding everyone else – including my roomie, however briefly – yet his arrow has missed me. I’m not asking for the rest of my life. Three to six months would be nice. But right now, I don’t see it. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s my fear, my hesitation, my wounded heart holding me back. But others who are wounded are finding a way to let their hearts out to play. But I’m not sure I’ll find someone to share my days with, for whatever short term. I’m not sure my Ikea bed will be occupied by anyone other than myself and my beautiful cat. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let myself trust someone again to not hurt me, to not wound me, to not make me the brunt of everything wrong with their life. The men in my life have gone a long way to teaching me that not all men are my ex, that not all men are cruel and mean and vicious when they’re unhappy. A.J., Peter, and of course, my dearest Chairman have been such incredible examples of what men can be. And I want to trust that I will find that gentleness, that care, that comfort in someone who won’t hurt me so badly again. But I’m not sure I can. So what does that mean and where does that leave me?
I know I have incredible people in my life, so you don’t need to remind me of that. I know I am loved by those around me. I feel it whenever I walk into a room with any of you all who embrace me and encourage me and love me. But you all don’t come home with me and hold me in the night, helping me feel that thins will be all right. These are questions about the faith I have to find in myself and the healing I have to find in myself. You’ve all given me the first aid kit and opened it and unsealed the bandages. Now I have to apply those and squeeze out the ointment and wince from the alcohol rubs. These are things and answers and wounds I must tend to myself. I’m not sure how, I guess, is the problem. I’ve talked your ears off, I’ve blogged your eyes off. Now I have to turn that inward again and see what I can find. It’s frightening and it’s terrifying. I only hope to find an answer or two when I rip the bandage off and that I can keep from picking at the scab.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Monday, November 13, 2006
12 of 12 for November
Wasn't going to do this 12 of 12 for November as I am very frustrated and uninspired and depressed lately and didn't feel like doing anything creative at all. Then I saw my cat, Twyla, who apparently decided I should do a 12 of 12 this month. Check it out.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Hip openers, hot bath and truth
So, not a bad day yesterday at all. Finally digging my way out of a couple of weeks of, well, maybe not depression but certainly a big, bad hit of the blues that seems to have circled over the L.A. recently. Kinda nice to know it’s not just me, that there are others sharing my misery. Funny, though, sometimes I’d rather have full on, black-as-night, can’t get out of bed depression than this malaise that has been permeating me lately. I get some things done, just enough to feel like I’m doing all right, but the really big things that need to be attended to just don’t get attended to.
I forced myself to go to Black Dog Yoga yesterday for one of their cheap community classes. It’s always hard to motivate myself to drive over there but I love their instructors and their methodology. It’s very much about the body and mind and spirit, starting each class with chanting and clearing your mind, then there’s always a theme to the class. This week was “truthfulness.” Actually, as Shari, the instructor put it, “truth-fullness.” Telling the truth without doing harm. The truth about your body- if you’re doing a pose and it’s painful or uncomfortable, stop, evaluate and listen to the truth of your body. Also, though, about being truthful to yourself and those around you, without doing harm. That truth can sometimes be used as a weapon. That stuck with me all day. (We did a great series of hip openers and Shari commented on what a champ I was and how incredibly “open” my hips are.)
How truthful am I? This was an area of contention between my ex and I because I stopped being honest with him about our financial status. That became a huge problem between us but every time I tried to be honest with him (interesting, I just typed “you” instead of him… hmmmm…) about our situation, it became a session on what a bad person I was and how I should be able to handle things and how disappointed he was, without his taking much responsibility for our situation. That was a huge problem in our marriage. But as I looked at “truth-fullness” and the concept of doing no harm with the truth, I think that was his failure. He did great harm with his truth and, from what I gather from other sources, he continues to. Truth can be told gently and softly, without stepping on toes and without using a club. That’s what Shari was conveying. Be truthful to others without carving their hearts out.
It also got me thinking about how truthful am I with myself? Of course, part of me immediately states, very truthful, I’m always brutally honest with myself. But, really, I’m not. I don’t think any of us are. We hide bits of truth from ourselves, the ugly bits we don’t want to examine and that our friends won’t point out to us. If we don’t face the truth about certain things, then we never have to deal with them. Denial is human. And it’s easy. And it’s a cop out. I know in what areas of my life that I am not terribly truth-full to myself. And when I try to look at them, I can feel the child inside me running and hiding, saying, “Don’t go there, that’s scary.” Yes, it is. And it’s hard. And it’s painful. But maybe it will make it less painful and less scary if I take it out of the dark corners of my mind and look at it under the light, see what is really there, not what I pretend is there. Take the cover off, truly examine it and see what I can do with it. I’ve done a lot of that in the past year and a half, why not continue down that road?
I like to think I have been truth-full with my friends. I hope I have. I know recently I’ve had some discussions with some of you about what I think about certain situations in your own lives. I lived so long in a situation where almost nobody said anything about what I was going through and I felt so alone in the midst of so much pain. Now, so many people say that they saw the pain and the abuse and the difficulty but didn’t think to mention it because it was none of their business. Well, I think part of truth-fullness should include being honest when you see someone struggling in a situation that is painful or difficult, even if it’s just saying, hey, this looks painful or difficult. Do you need something? Maybe you should look at it some more and see what you can change or move or create to take some of that pain away. Again, truth but do no harm. I have tried to be gentle when I have approached those I felt needed to hear what I saw. I hope I have told the truth without doing harm. And if I haven’t, then I must apologize and try to make that right.
And, I guess, this truth-fullness needs to flow over into the most important situations of my life, force me to be honest with some people that I don’t want to be that honest with. It’s easier to hide how you feel that it is to say it. I’ve talked about this at length with all of you and my friends. It is impossible to tell those who you love that you love. The one person on earth that you should be honest with, sometimes, you just can’t. I guess in order to embrace this concept of truth-fullness, then I have to face the one giant obstacle in front of me. And in a more effective way than I have tried before. It’s time. Again. I know, I can hear your eyes rolling from here but this has been a long and challenging journey for me. And when you care about someone so much, there seems to be so much at stake that it’s almost impossible to change the status quo. But that is not truthful. It’s hiding behind a lie – even if it is a lie of omission. More thought needs to go into this particular situation but I think the truth must be told. And we’ll see if he is up for telling the truth himself.
So I now challenge each of you to look inside and see what truth-fullness you are denying yourself and those around you. Find a way to open yourself to those truths without hurting yourself or others. It’s not going to be completely pain-free but, I think if you approach the truth with the concept of doing no harm in mind, then you’ll find a way to be truth-full without being harm-full. Take from this what you will.
This ends today’s lecture. Oh, yeah, long, hot, oily bath last night just put the pin in everything.
I forced myself to go to Black Dog Yoga yesterday for one of their cheap community classes. It’s always hard to motivate myself to drive over there but I love their instructors and their methodology. It’s very much about the body and mind and spirit, starting each class with chanting and clearing your mind, then there’s always a theme to the class. This week was “truthfulness.” Actually, as Shari, the instructor put it, “truth-fullness.” Telling the truth without doing harm. The truth about your body- if you’re doing a pose and it’s painful or uncomfortable, stop, evaluate and listen to the truth of your body. Also, though, about being truthful to yourself and those around you, without doing harm. That truth can sometimes be used as a weapon. That stuck with me all day. (We did a great series of hip openers and Shari commented on what a champ I was and how incredibly “open” my hips are.)
How truthful am I? This was an area of contention between my ex and I because I stopped being honest with him about our financial status. That became a huge problem between us but every time I tried to be honest with him (interesting, I just typed “you” instead of him… hmmmm…) about our situation, it became a session on what a bad person I was and how I should be able to handle things and how disappointed he was, without his taking much responsibility for our situation. That was a huge problem in our marriage. But as I looked at “truth-fullness” and the concept of doing no harm with the truth, I think that was his failure. He did great harm with his truth and, from what I gather from other sources, he continues to. Truth can be told gently and softly, without stepping on toes and without using a club. That’s what Shari was conveying. Be truthful to others without carving their hearts out.
It also got me thinking about how truthful am I with myself? Of course, part of me immediately states, very truthful, I’m always brutally honest with myself. But, really, I’m not. I don’t think any of us are. We hide bits of truth from ourselves, the ugly bits we don’t want to examine and that our friends won’t point out to us. If we don’t face the truth about certain things, then we never have to deal with them. Denial is human. And it’s easy. And it’s a cop out. I know in what areas of my life that I am not terribly truth-full to myself. And when I try to look at them, I can feel the child inside me running and hiding, saying, “Don’t go there, that’s scary.” Yes, it is. And it’s hard. And it’s painful. But maybe it will make it less painful and less scary if I take it out of the dark corners of my mind and look at it under the light, see what is really there, not what I pretend is there. Take the cover off, truly examine it and see what I can do with it. I’ve done a lot of that in the past year and a half, why not continue down that road?
I like to think I have been truth-full with my friends. I hope I have. I know recently I’ve had some discussions with some of you about what I think about certain situations in your own lives. I lived so long in a situation where almost nobody said anything about what I was going through and I felt so alone in the midst of so much pain. Now, so many people say that they saw the pain and the abuse and the difficulty but didn’t think to mention it because it was none of their business. Well, I think part of truth-fullness should include being honest when you see someone struggling in a situation that is painful or difficult, even if it’s just saying, hey, this looks painful or difficult. Do you need something? Maybe you should look at it some more and see what you can change or move or create to take some of that pain away. Again, truth but do no harm. I have tried to be gentle when I have approached those I felt needed to hear what I saw. I hope I have told the truth without doing harm. And if I haven’t, then I must apologize and try to make that right.
And, I guess, this truth-fullness needs to flow over into the most important situations of my life, force me to be honest with some people that I don’t want to be that honest with. It’s easier to hide how you feel that it is to say it. I’ve talked about this at length with all of you and my friends. It is impossible to tell those who you love that you love. The one person on earth that you should be honest with, sometimes, you just can’t. I guess in order to embrace this concept of truth-fullness, then I have to face the one giant obstacle in front of me. And in a more effective way than I have tried before. It’s time. Again. I know, I can hear your eyes rolling from here but this has been a long and challenging journey for me. And when you care about someone so much, there seems to be so much at stake that it’s almost impossible to change the status quo. But that is not truthful. It’s hiding behind a lie – even if it is a lie of omission. More thought needs to go into this particular situation but I think the truth must be told. And we’ll see if he is up for telling the truth himself.
So I now challenge each of you to look inside and see what truth-fullness you are denying yourself and those around you. Find a way to open yourself to those truths without hurting yourself or others. It’s not going to be completely pain-free but, I think if you approach the truth with the concept of doing no harm in mind, then you’ll find a way to be truth-full without being harm-full. Take from this what you will.
This ends today’s lecture. Oh, yeah, long, hot, oily bath last night just put the pin in everything.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Blogblast for Peace...
I found this on my friend, Twyla's, blog and I thought it was a great idea. If you've got a blog, if you've got a bulletin board, if you've got anything in the internet world, spread some peace through this message. We could use a little of that right now.
_______________
Today is Blogblast for Peace day here in blog world. To find out more information, go HERE.
Basically you go to Mimi's blog, sign your name on a globe, and today post your globe under the title of "Dona Nobis Pacem" which means Grant us Peace. What can it hurt? I hope to see all of your globes tomorrow. :-)
_______________
Today is Blogblast for Peace day here in blog world. To find out more information, go HERE.
Basically you go to Mimi's blog, sign your name on a globe, and today post your globe under the title of "Dona Nobis Pacem" which means Grant us Peace. What can it hurt? I hope to see all of your globes tomorrow. :-)
Monday, November 06, 2006
Moving forward still.
These past two weeks or so have been a real struggle. I walked away from a project because I didn’t feel that it was quite there. The project is going forward and I wish the new team all the best in the world that it comes off well but I’m left with mixed feelings about the whole situation. I really don’t want to go into it because I know some of those involved read this blog and it’s not that I have anything negative to say or want to disparage anybody involved, as that would be unprofessional and I don’t want to be unprofessional, but… I guess I’m just struggling with the aftermath of something I thought would be one thing and it ended up something else. I have a hard time letting things go and it’s been hard for me to let this one go. I still stand behind my decision and I still think I handled everything to the best of my ability. But I can’t help but be left with this unsatisfied, slightly disappointed feeling. Oh, well. Move on, get past it. The project is still going up but with a whole new team and I hope it is what the writer wants it to be.
Then continued turmoil on the relationship front. No movement in one area but some in the other. Wow, cryptic blog tonight but, oh, well. Maybe this one’s just for me. Trying to find my way through the delicate minefield of two very different situations. Zadra says it’s my fault that I get into these situations with men, that I’m not a game-player and, therefore, men feel comfortable with me and get close to me very quickly, which sometimes makes things more complicated than they should be. It explains some things, maybe. I am generally more comfortable with men than I am with women because I do find that women play games, not only with men, but with other women. I hate the falseness of most women – Bitchface and Pantiless Girl are what I would consider shining examples of womanhood – and I hate watching these women play these coy and ridiculous games that, unfortunately, most men fall for, even temporarily. But, if I follow Zadra’s thought, does that mean I have to play games in order to not have men get close to me, so that men will deal with me on the basest level instead of on the deep intellectual level I prefer? I mean, if it means I have to giggle and toss my hair (or my cookies, as in Pantliess Girl’s case), then I’d rather be alone and dead than open with the men in my life. At least I know they respect me. At least I know they respond to me and not my tits, although those have gotten attention on a rare occasion. I never learned how to play games and I’m not at an age where I want to learn.
Then the other project I love is probably going to be put on the backburner due to situations beyond my control. I’m disappointed but I think I have something I can put in its place, so it’s not so bad.
But all of this stuff has built up into a sneaky depression that has left me unable to do anything for the past two weeks or so. The only real bright spots have been the couple of nights with Chairman and his mother, which were so special and so precious, and, of course, Koji’s. I guess the good thing is that I recognized the clowns sneaking up on me before they got a hold of me and pulled me too far under. They did disrupt things and put me off my timetable a bit but at least I caught it before they sunk too many things. I’ve been sitting in the apartment too much and not venturing out because I have been so caught up in the mess in my head. But since Friday, when I realized I heard the squeaky shoes of those bastards, I have fought to pull myself out of the nosedive I was heading into. At least I’m beginning to recognize the symptoms before the depression gets too black. At least I’m not on the ledge again.
Monica hung around tonight and talked to me about some of these things, which was a big help. Sometimes, just having someone say that it’s okay to feel that way, that I’m not way off on my feelings about these things really gives me some relief. I look forward to the day when I don’t need that validation but, for now, I guess I still do.
The good news is that I got my place tidied up a bit today, which helps with keeping the clowns at bay. I plan to dive back into the Cinderella edit over the next few days and get it in shape to show Chairman and get his opinion, as my producer, and hopefully get it off to the composer soon so I can screen it in the next few months. I plan to talk to my artistic director about the new project, which I think I am as excited about as I was about Gross Indecency. So I begin the week more hopeful and less blue, feeling okay to feeling the way I do about these complicated situations, and feeling like I have a potential solution to at least one of these complex relationships. I hope the end of the week finds me with some clarity and some resolution and some forward movement because I’m tired of being stuck here.
Then continued turmoil on the relationship front. No movement in one area but some in the other. Wow, cryptic blog tonight but, oh, well. Maybe this one’s just for me. Trying to find my way through the delicate minefield of two very different situations. Zadra says it’s my fault that I get into these situations with men, that I’m not a game-player and, therefore, men feel comfortable with me and get close to me very quickly, which sometimes makes things more complicated than they should be. It explains some things, maybe. I am generally more comfortable with men than I am with women because I do find that women play games, not only with men, but with other women. I hate the falseness of most women – Bitchface and Pantiless Girl are what I would consider shining examples of womanhood – and I hate watching these women play these coy and ridiculous games that, unfortunately, most men fall for, even temporarily. But, if I follow Zadra’s thought, does that mean I have to play games in order to not have men get close to me, so that men will deal with me on the basest level instead of on the deep intellectual level I prefer? I mean, if it means I have to giggle and toss my hair (or my cookies, as in Pantliess Girl’s case), then I’d rather be alone and dead than open with the men in my life. At least I know they respect me. At least I know they respond to me and not my tits, although those have gotten attention on a rare occasion. I never learned how to play games and I’m not at an age where I want to learn.
Then the other project I love is probably going to be put on the backburner due to situations beyond my control. I’m disappointed but I think I have something I can put in its place, so it’s not so bad.
But all of this stuff has built up into a sneaky depression that has left me unable to do anything for the past two weeks or so. The only real bright spots have been the couple of nights with Chairman and his mother, which were so special and so precious, and, of course, Koji’s. I guess the good thing is that I recognized the clowns sneaking up on me before they got a hold of me and pulled me too far under. They did disrupt things and put me off my timetable a bit but at least I caught it before they sunk too many things. I’ve been sitting in the apartment too much and not venturing out because I have been so caught up in the mess in my head. But since Friday, when I realized I heard the squeaky shoes of those bastards, I have fought to pull myself out of the nosedive I was heading into. At least I’m beginning to recognize the symptoms before the depression gets too black. At least I’m not on the ledge again.
Monica hung around tonight and talked to me about some of these things, which was a big help. Sometimes, just having someone say that it’s okay to feel that way, that I’m not way off on my feelings about these things really gives me some relief. I look forward to the day when I don’t need that validation but, for now, I guess I still do.
The good news is that I got my place tidied up a bit today, which helps with keeping the clowns at bay. I plan to dive back into the Cinderella edit over the next few days and get it in shape to show Chairman and get his opinion, as my producer, and hopefully get it off to the composer soon so I can screen it in the next few months. I plan to talk to my artistic director about the new project, which I think I am as excited about as I was about Gross Indecency. So I begin the week more hopeful and less blue, feeling okay to feeling the way I do about these complicated situations, and feeling like I have a potential solution to at least one of these complex relationships. I hope the end of the week finds me with some clarity and some resolution and some forward movement because I’m tired of being stuck here.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
For my birthday adventurers...
Been doing more research on Teotihuacan (thank you, Chairman, for helping me learn how to pronounce this correctly).
I'm thinking of a four or five day trip beginning or middle of June, because of my schedule. Zadra's mom works with a travel agency that can give us good prices for an all inclusive package, which they recommend for many reasons. The approximately cost could be anywhere from $700-$1,000 for four or five days. This includes flight, hotel, food, drinks, etc. However, we won't be able to get hard numbers on this until the new year. I understand this is a great deal of money and I appreciate and understand those of you who want to join me but simply can't afford it. I'm going if I have to camp out on the street of Mexico City... okay, maybe not that but... I'm determined to go, even if it is by myself. I know my birthday twin, Patty, wants to go as well but I won't put the pressure on anyone to indulge my birthday fantasy at this point due to the cost.
I'm thinking four to five days because we lose two days to travel and I want to spend at least one day if not two at Teotihuacan alone. You all can join me for as much of that as you want or you can lounge by the pool, drinking and eating and I'll join you upon my return. My whole purpose is to see these ruins but I don't expect everyone to be as excited about these as I am.
Don't forget you will probably need a passport if you don't have one. Info on passports can be found here.
The other thing I realized as I researched this is that I need to get my ass in shape. The Pyramid of the Sun is over 200 feet high - approximately 20 flights of stairs at something like 7000 feet above sea level, I think i read. So my lungs (and knees and thighs and everything else) need to be in better shape than they are now. I don't want to miss out on anything just because I was too lazy to get my butt in shape. So think about that as you plan your trip. I'm hoping to hit Black Dog Yoga in Van Nuys a bit more frequently and take Anna B. up on her offer to walk in circles at a nearby school track.
I'm going to put together a page of links about Teotihuacan and Mexico City and other things that can be done while there. If you have any suggestions, whether you're joining me or not, please let me know so I can include them.
Although it's almost eight months away, time flies so quickly these days that it'll be here before I know it. I cannot wait. I'm looking forward to this trip almost more than any trip I've ever taken (trip to Vegas last year is a close second). I hope you all can join me. The more, the merrier. Of course, there are a few of you I cannot imagine going without in particular. I plan to turn 45 in the most amazing way possible.
So let me know if you have thoughts, questions, suggestions, etc. Starting the countdown today!
I'm thinking of a four or five day trip beginning or middle of June, because of my schedule. Zadra's mom works with a travel agency that can give us good prices for an all inclusive package, which they recommend for many reasons. The approximately cost could be anywhere from $700-$1,000 for four or five days. This includes flight, hotel, food, drinks, etc. However, we won't be able to get hard numbers on this until the new year. I understand this is a great deal of money and I appreciate and understand those of you who want to join me but simply can't afford it. I'm going if I have to camp out on the street of Mexico City... okay, maybe not that but... I'm determined to go, even if it is by myself. I know my birthday twin, Patty, wants to go as well but I won't put the pressure on anyone to indulge my birthday fantasy at this point due to the cost.
I'm thinking four to five days because we lose two days to travel and I want to spend at least one day if not two at Teotihuacan alone. You all can join me for as much of that as you want or you can lounge by the pool, drinking and eating and I'll join you upon my return. My whole purpose is to see these ruins but I don't expect everyone to be as excited about these as I am.
Don't forget you will probably need a passport if you don't have one. Info on passports can be found here.
The other thing I realized as I researched this is that I need to get my ass in shape. The Pyramid of the Sun is over 200 feet high - approximately 20 flights of stairs at something like 7000 feet above sea level, I think i read. So my lungs (and knees and thighs and everything else) need to be in better shape than they are now. I don't want to miss out on anything just because I was too lazy to get my butt in shape. So think about that as you plan your trip. I'm hoping to hit Black Dog Yoga in Van Nuys a bit more frequently and take Anna B. up on her offer to walk in circles at a nearby school track.
I'm going to put together a page of links about Teotihuacan and Mexico City and other things that can be done while there. If you have any suggestions, whether you're joining me or not, please let me know so I can include them.
Although it's almost eight months away, time flies so quickly these days that it'll be here before I know it. I cannot wait. I'm looking forward to this trip almost more than any trip I've ever taken (trip to Vegas last year is a close second). I hope you all can join me. The more, the merrier. Of course, there are a few of you I cannot imagine going without in particular. I plan to turn 45 in the most amazing way possible.
So let me know if you have thoughts, questions, suggestions, etc. Starting the countdown today!
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Full moon brings poetry...
I won’t ask you to cross time for me.
I won’t ask you to wake from a coma and fall in love with me, even though you don’t know me.
I won’t ask you to follow an elaborate charade involving me, my gorgeous best friend and a radio show.
I won’t ask you to stand outside my door at Christmas, flipping through signs telling me how you feel.
I won’t even ask you to love dogs.
I will just ask you
to look into my eyes,
see what is really there.
I will just ask you
to lower your barrier a bit
and see what is really there.
I will just ask you
to look into your own heart
and see what is really there.
I will just ask you
to take a tiny, little, baby step with me
to see what is really there.
It’s that simple.
I won’t ask you to wake from a coma and fall in love with me, even though you don’t know me.
I won’t ask you to follow an elaborate charade involving me, my gorgeous best friend and a radio show.
I won’t ask you to stand outside my door at Christmas, flipping through signs telling me how you feel.
I won’t even ask you to love dogs.
I will just ask you
to look into my eyes,
see what is really there.
I will just ask you
to lower your barrier a bit
and see what is really there.
I will just ask you
to look into your own heart
and see what is really there.
I will just ask you
to take a tiny, little, baby step with me
to see what is really there.
It’s that simple.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Today
Struggling
fighting
drowning
not sure
which way is up
or down
or if there is
a difference.
Hard to move the heart
when it’s firmly anchored;
hard to move the mind
when it won’t let go;
hard to defeat the hurt
when it is so deeply embedded.
Choices
made
good
bad
otherwise
pulling
drawing
pushing me
further down.
I know what I want to have
I know what I want the future to be
I know what I want to feel
but right now
there’s nothing there.
Just things
just stuff
just filler.
And it’s not just him
and it’s not just us.
It’s all
it’s everything
it’s everywhere.
Just standing
struggling
fighting
and
losing.
fighting
drowning
not sure
which way is up
or down
or if there is
a difference.
Hard to move the heart
when it’s firmly anchored;
hard to move the mind
when it won’t let go;
hard to defeat the hurt
when it is so deeply embedded.
Choices
made
good
bad
otherwise
pulling
drawing
pushing me
further down.
I know what I want to have
I know what I want the future to be
I know what I want to feel
but right now
there’s nothing there.
Just things
just stuff
just filler.
And it’s not just him
and it’s not just us.
It’s all
it’s everything
it’s everywhere.
Just standing
struggling
fighting
and
losing.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Magic Castle, et al
Well, tonight was quite lovely and quite full.
Met Chairman, his mother and our friend, Kurt, up at the Magic Castle at 6:30 and had the most delicious dinner. Then we headed to the main room and saw a couple of good magicians and one very funny, very cool magician. Chairman and his mother both got picked to volunteer on the same illusion together so that was nice for them. His mother had a grand time and was thrilled to actually be at the Castle. Kurt, as always, was a charming, informed host and I even learned a few new things this time around. We unfortunately only got to see the show in the one room before we had to take off to go to see the Piper Downs at Molly Malones but not before stopping in the lobby and taking a photo of all of us.
Got to Molly Malones ahead of Chairman and his mom and, luckily, the band was still setting up. The place was sadly fairly empty but the band sounded great, as usual. The Piper Downs are all friends of Chairman’s as they’re all from Virginia Beach and so it became a birthday show for Chairman from the start. They even asked him to join them on stage and sing with them, which was very special. Chairman’s on the far left of the picture in the brown shirt.
The band were all dressed in costume and it was difficult to look at Yell dressed in this inflatable oversized, underdressed woman body thing. Ellen was adorable as a lion. Garner was the Punisher and Bobby was this chef kind of thing. They played a very long set, more than an hour, mainly due to the fact that there was no band following them and it was only their friends in the audience. Chairman kept shouting out requests – which is usually how the Downs works anyway – so he got to hear everything he wanted.
As a side note, my ego got stroked nicely with very lovely compliments from the guys and one very funny, sexy growl from Chairman. Bobby even referred to me as the “hot chick” Chairman brought with him. And a limo driver honked at me as I walked to my car.
Chairman’s mom is a very lovely woman and very funny. I can see where he gets his personality from. She really enjoyed the Castle and bopped along with the Downs at the club. I’m looking forward to chatting with her more on Thursday when I catch up with them at a screening of Chairman’s short film, “A Fairly Tale.”
All in all, a very lovely, fun, silly, enjoyable night, celebrating with my favorite guy and his mom. (Did I say "lovely" enough?)
Met Chairman, his mother and our friend, Kurt, up at the Magic Castle at 6:30 and had the most delicious dinner. Then we headed to the main room and saw a couple of good magicians and one very funny, very cool magician. Chairman and his mother both got picked to volunteer on the same illusion together so that was nice for them. His mother had a grand time and was thrilled to actually be at the Castle. Kurt, as always, was a charming, informed host and I even learned a few new things this time around. We unfortunately only got to see the show in the one room before we had to take off to go to see the Piper Downs at Molly Malones but not before stopping in the lobby and taking a photo of all of us.
Got to Molly Malones ahead of Chairman and his mom and, luckily, the band was still setting up. The place was sadly fairly empty but the band sounded great, as usual. The Piper Downs are all friends of Chairman’s as they’re all from Virginia Beach and so it became a birthday show for Chairman from the start. They even asked him to join them on stage and sing with them, which was very special. Chairman’s on the far left of the picture in the brown shirt.
The band were all dressed in costume and it was difficult to look at Yell dressed in this inflatable oversized, underdressed woman body thing. Ellen was adorable as a lion. Garner was the Punisher and Bobby was this chef kind of thing. They played a very long set, more than an hour, mainly due to the fact that there was no band following them and it was only their friends in the audience. Chairman kept shouting out requests – which is usually how the Downs works anyway – so he got to hear everything he wanted.
As a side note, my ego got stroked nicely with very lovely compliments from the guys and one very funny, sexy growl from Chairman. Bobby even referred to me as the “hot chick” Chairman brought with him. And a limo driver honked at me as I walked to my car.
Chairman’s mom is a very lovely woman and very funny. I can see where he gets his personality from. She really enjoyed the Castle and bopped along with the Downs at the club. I’m looking forward to chatting with her more on Thursday when I catch up with them at a screening of Chairman’s short film, “A Fairly Tale.”
All in all, a very lovely, fun, silly, enjoyable night, celebrating with my favorite guy and his mom. (Did I say "lovely" enough?)
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Looking forward to tonight...
I’m looking forward to tonight because I get to spend it with my dearest Chairman on his birthday. We’re heading up to the Magic Castle to meet our friend, Kurt, who will play host for the night. And I’ll get a chance to meet Chairman’s mother, who’s in town for his birthday. After that, we’re going to try to catch a band that he introduced me to who I am crazy about - The Piper Downs. The cool thing is that you have to get all dolled up to go to the Magic Castle – evening dress kind of thing. It’s so much fun to get all dressed up, go have a good dinner then watch some of the finest magicians in the world perform. It’s a private club so it’s hard to get into unless you have connections. I haven’t been to the Castle in a while and I’m really looking forward to it.
It makes me think of where I was a year ago, when I ventured into the Great Blonde Experiment and we were looking forward to Las Vegas, which turned out to be more fun than I ever imagined it could be. Hard to believe that a year has passed. Time is just flying by.
And I feel like things are maybe heading into motion again. Nothing’s really changed since my frustrated blog but I feel that there is change in the air – after all, Mercury is in retrograde (whatever that means) and that usually makes thing move. It’s not always for the better but at least motion is motion.
So I’m off to get in the shower so I’ll smell pretty then take some time to get myself presentable. Zadra was my wardrobe advisor last night and I’m glad she helped me pick something that will actually be warm tonight. It’s cool here, for LA, and the black dress I’m wearing won’t require a coat or jacket.
Hopefully, I’ll grab a couple of pictures tonight and get them posted quickly.
It makes me think of where I was a year ago, when I ventured into the Great Blonde Experiment and we were looking forward to Las Vegas, which turned out to be more fun than I ever imagined it could be. Hard to believe that a year has passed. Time is just flying by.
And I feel like things are maybe heading into motion again. Nothing’s really changed since my frustrated blog but I feel that there is change in the air – after all, Mercury is in retrograde (whatever that means) and that usually makes thing move. It’s not always for the better but at least motion is motion.
So I’m off to get in the shower so I’ll smell pretty then take some time to get myself presentable. Zadra was my wardrobe advisor last night and I’m glad she helped me pick something that will actually be warm tonight. It’s cool here, for LA, and the black dress I’m wearing won’t require a coat or jacket.
Hopefully, I’ll grab a couple of pictures tonight and get them posted quickly.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Somebody stop me...
I’m on a romantic comedy binge. Okay, so it’s only two RomCom’s I’ve watched tonight but, considering the fact that I lack the “chick flick” gene, two is a binge. Also considering the fact that my DVD collection contains more action and violence than the average woman’s – my favs being “Fight Club”, “Snatch,” and “Kill Bill” (prefer Volume 2) – my RomCom choices are usually odd and eccentric – “Benny and Joon”, “High Fidelity” and “Gross Pointe Blank.” I only have a couple of “traditional” RomCom’s so I’ve had to rely on Time Warner Cable to fill in the blanks.
I guess what I’m looking for is answers to my current, chronic, stupid situation. I know nothing about dating. I know nothing about starting a relationship. I know nothing about dealing with the opposite sex. And somehow I figure I’ll glean something from “Notting Hill” and “My Best Friend’s Wedding.” Maybe buried deep in the light, fluffy scripts are the secrets to how to successfully navigate the waters that I am currently dog-paddling in.
Or maybe I just want to lose myself in the fantasy that one can fall in love with their best friend and actually have it turn into something (okay, I know that doesn’t happen in Best Friend’s Wedding but…) or that you can meet someone that is a total stranger and just feel that connection and have him show up somewhere unexpected and say something so wonderfully charming and darling that you totally lose your heart.
Maybe if I study how these women behave in these things, it’ll give me a clue as to how to proceed with the stupid men in my life. Should I toss out the “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy” speech, or chase down my best friend in a stolen bread truck?
Maybe RomCom’s are the reason I am unsuccessful. The women in these always fall immediately in love and intensely in love. Very few of them are casual, approach the relationship as anything but something special and marvelous and amazing. And I’ve come to the conclusion lately that I approach most relationships that way, whether it’s a friendship or something more. I am not capable of casual and I think maybe that scares the shit out of men. Someone who I cared about deeply who left my life unexpectedly once said something about my being “too much” sometimes and I never really understood what he meant. I think I do now. I think that I love intensely and deeply, whether it’s my friends or more. I expect that kind of devotion in return, in many of my relationships, and I think most people are willing to give that back, to a point.
But it’s that “point” that I think I don’t get. If I care about you, I CARE about you. I don’t know how to do that in small letters, only capital ones. I am not the type of just take things casually and let them breeze by. I am passionate and intense and fierce and I began to think lately that maybe I need to change that.
Then I came to the conclusion that that’s bullshit. This is me. If I’m “too much,” it’s because you can’t handle all of the affection and devotion that I am capable of – and that’s your loss. Sometimes, it is my loss because I do lose myself by giving too much occasionally. I’m trying ot reign that in a bit.
But I am the RomCom heroine who is going to steal the bread truck and chase you down, I am the heroine who will say stupid things, if you give me enough time, I am the heroine who will bond with your roller skating dog and fall in love with someone in a coma and confess my soul to them. That is the beauty of me.
Maybe we women should be more than casual, give men a chance to experience us at full volume, instead of cheating ourselves out of that passion, out of that commitment, out of that depth of feeling. Sure, it hurts like hell when it’s not returned or when it finally ends, as it usually must. But I’d rather hurt like hell and know that I gave someone everything I had than only whimper and know that I protected myself so much that they didn’t get the full force of me. Even in friendships, even in the friendship I lost, I don’t regret giving him what I did because I know I did it because he was that important to me, important enough for me to unleash the whole force of me upon him. And I guess that was too much for him to handle. But I wouldn’t have done it any other way.
So for tonight, I’ll observe Julia Roberts and adore the intensity that is her character and see if I can channel some of that into this current situation. And, maybe in the end, I’ll get the cute guy or the best friend or whoever I am supposed to end up with, and he will appreciate and accept the intensity that is me.
I guess what I’m looking for is answers to my current, chronic, stupid situation. I know nothing about dating. I know nothing about starting a relationship. I know nothing about dealing with the opposite sex. And somehow I figure I’ll glean something from “Notting Hill” and “My Best Friend’s Wedding.” Maybe buried deep in the light, fluffy scripts are the secrets to how to successfully navigate the waters that I am currently dog-paddling in.
Or maybe I just want to lose myself in the fantasy that one can fall in love with their best friend and actually have it turn into something (okay, I know that doesn’t happen in Best Friend’s Wedding but…) or that you can meet someone that is a total stranger and just feel that connection and have him show up somewhere unexpected and say something so wonderfully charming and darling that you totally lose your heart.
Maybe if I study how these women behave in these things, it’ll give me a clue as to how to proceed with the stupid men in my life. Should I toss out the “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy” speech, or chase down my best friend in a stolen bread truck?
Maybe RomCom’s are the reason I am unsuccessful. The women in these always fall immediately in love and intensely in love. Very few of them are casual, approach the relationship as anything but something special and marvelous and amazing. And I’ve come to the conclusion lately that I approach most relationships that way, whether it’s a friendship or something more. I am not capable of casual and I think maybe that scares the shit out of men. Someone who I cared about deeply who left my life unexpectedly once said something about my being “too much” sometimes and I never really understood what he meant. I think I do now. I think that I love intensely and deeply, whether it’s my friends or more. I expect that kind of devotion in return, in many of my relationships, and I think most people are willing to give that back, to a point.
But it’s that “point” that I think I don’t get. If I care about you, I CARE about you. I don’t know how to do that in small letters, only capital ones. I am not the type of just take things casually and let them breeze by. I am passionate and intense and fierce and I began to think lately that maybe I need to change that.
Then I came to the conclusion that that’s bullshit. This is me. If I’m “too much,” it’s because you can’t handle all of the affection and devotion that I am capable of – and that’s your loss. Sometimes, it is my loss because I do lose myself by giving too much occasionally. I’m trying ot reign that in a bit.
But I am the RomCom heroine who is going to steal the bread truck and chase you down, I am the heroine who will say stupid things, if you give me enough time, I am the heroine who will bond with your roller skating dog and fall in love with someone in a coma and confess my soul to them. That is the beauty of me.
Maybe we women should be more than casual, give men a chance to experience us at full volume, instead of cheating ourselves out of that passion, out of that commitment, out of that depth of feeling. Sure, it hurts like hell when it’s not returned or when it finally ends, as it usually must. But I’d rather hurt like hell and know that I gave someone everything I had than only whimper and know that I protected myself so much that they didn’t get the full force of me. Even in friendships, even in the friendship I lost, I don’t regret giving him what I did because I know I did it because he was that important to me, important enough for me to unleash the whole force of me upon him. And I guess that was too much for him to handle. But I wouldn’t have done it any other way.
So for tonight, I’ll observe Julia Roberts and adore the intensity that is her character and see if I can channel some of that into this current situation. And, maybe in the end, I’ll get the cute guy or the best friend or whoever I am supposed to end up with, and he will appreciate and accept the intensity that is me.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Promises and frustration
These past few weeks have been full of things being dangled in front of me and then… well… I don’t know. Not even pulled away but just not materializing. Not that they’re not there, there is just no forward movement. Just limbo.
One thing did end up coming to a halt and I am disappointed but, in the long run, it’s probably for the best. I can now concentrate on the things that are very important to me and not spend time trying to coddle someone through something that they are not ready for.
But the lab at the Ark was basically put on the back burner and I was completely indecisive about whether to go forward or not on it due to frustrating circumstances of lack of commitment on the part of one particular person and then just not being able to finalize a cast. Not completely done but not moving forward.
Then… well… men. Just don’t get them. Cute Guy appeared again last night, never leaving my side, sending enormous signals, very warm and fuzzy feelings. Then left at the end of the night with “see ya next week.” And OOMA suddenly hovering around the edges whenever Cute Guy is around but withdrawing a bit when Cute Guy is not around. Not completely done but not moving forward.
Then an opportunity with my side business came up over the weekend. I’ve contacted the person about this possibility, which would solve a number of my financial problems, but have not heard back from her. Not completely done but not moving forward.
Been dealing a great deal with my feelings about my ex. That seems to be the only place I can move forward, is really acknowledging how damaged I felt in the last few years of our relationship. I find it easier to talk about rather than give a polite answer to protect him. From what I’ve heard, he’s still the same, still doing the same thing, still being the same person he was that I left. So I don’t necessarily need to be polite as he continues to demonstrate why I needed to leave him. Yet, occasionally, at times like this particularly when I am stuck in limbo, I have fleeting thoughts of wondering if I should have stayed, should have tried harder to work it out, should have given it another month or two or six because, after 16 years of being together, didn’t we deserve more than a year? That thought doesn’t last very long, particularly when I do look at all that I have gained in the past year, but it still does surface.
I just feel a bit like I’m being tossed around on the ocean, seeking some land to sink my feet into, even a sand bar at this point. I can see a faint horizon line in the distance and something that looks like land but I can’t quite get there.
I guess I’ll cling on to the small life raft I have fashioned and paddle like hell and hope that I can reach shore before I capsize.
One thing did end up coming to a halt and I am disappointed but, in the long run, it’s probably for the best. I can now concentrate on the things that are very important to me and not spend time trying to coddle someone through something that they are not ready for.
But the lab at the Ark was basically put on the back burner and I was completely indecisive about whether to go forward or not on it due to frustrating circumstances of lack of commitment on the part of one particular person and then just not being able to finalize a cast. Not completely done but not moving forward.
Then… well… men. Just don’t get them. Cute Guy appeared again last night, never leaving my side, sending enormous signals, very warm and fuzzy feelings. Then left at the end of the night with “see ya next week.” And OOMA suddenly hovering around the edges whenever Cute Guy is around but withdrawing a bit when Cute Guy is not around. Not completely done but not moving forward.
Then an opportunity with my side business came up over the weekend. I’ve contacted the person about this possibility, which would solve a number of my financial problems, but have not heard back from her. Not completely done but not moving forward.
Been dealing a great deal with my feelings about my ex. That seems to be the only place I can move forward, is really acknowledging how damaged I felt in the last few years of our relationship. I find it easier to talk about rather than give a polite answer to protect him. From what I’ve heard, he’s still the same, still doing the same thing, still being the same person he was that I left. So I don’t necessarily need to be polite as he continues to demonstrate why I needed to leave him. Yet, occasionally, at times like this particularly when I am stuck in limbo, I have fleeting thoughts of wondering if I should have stayed, should have tried harder to work it out, should have given it another month or two or six because, after 16 years of being together, didn’t we deserve more than a year? That thought doesn’t last very long, particularly when I do look at all that I have gained in the past year, but it still does surface.
I just feel a bit like I’m being tossed around on the ocean, seeking some land to sink my feet into, even a sand bar at this point. I can see a faint horizon line in the distance and something that looks like land but I can’t quite get there.
I guess I’ll cling on to the small life raft I have fashioned and paddle like hell and hope that I can reach shore before I capsize.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Potentiality...
Not sure where this is gonna go, so hang on.
First, did the Melrose Trading Post today. It’s a swap meet/flea market in Hollywood. Didn’t do so well monetarily but a huge potential order is hanging out there in the wind. Cross your fingers. It could set me up for the rest of the year.
Second, the potential that wasn’t. Cute Boy never called. Don’t need a book to tell me “he’s just not that into me.” Not surprised, a bit disappointed but, oh, well, I’ll live.
Third, I sat at the coffee shop the other day and thought about my life five years into the future. Where do I want to be? What could I see? What could I feel? The first thought was peace. I felt peaceful, content, settled in the best way possible. I saw a beautiful room I was sitting in, looking out a large window into nature. Not sure if it was the beach or just a beautiful sight. But peaceful came to me again. Quiet. Tranquil. Sanctuary was another word that kept coming to me. I saw a porch/patio that was a haven where I could retreat and meditate, write, think, be. No distractions, no disturbances.
At first, I saw myself alone, but that was okay. It was just me and my thoughts and my life and my space. No threats, no drama, no judgments. Just me. That made me sad for a moment but then I thought, well, if that’s what it takes to have peace and tranquility, then alone it will be. I saw my friends and a wondrous life of fun and frivolity as well as depth and compassion with those close to me, and that gave me enormous comfort. Being alone by choice is one thing, being alone against your choice is another. So if it was my choice to be alone, then so be it.
Then, there was music. Beautiful, organic music. Not recorded, but somebody playing music in the home. I can’t even tell you what type of music it was – piano, guitar. Not sure. But I could hear it and I was warmed and touched by it. Again, tranquil, peace, contentment. Beautiful, lovely, peaceful music that surrounded me with love and joy and comfort. Soon, two arms found their way around my shoulders and the whole picture was complete. Someone who could give me peace, who could allow me contentment without being threatened by it, someone who could share the sanctuary without trying to wrest it from me. Someone who was the other half of my whole.
That was scary as I didn’t think I would find another half ever. And it felt good and fine and just about the way I want the next go-round to be. Comfortable, sharing, warm, simple. I realize no relationship is really easy but sometimes we make it more difficult than it has to be.
I know what I want out of the men in my future – someone real, someone honest, someone vulnerable, someone with respect, someone with an emotional soul. I don’t want to have to drag feelings and thoughts out of someone anymore. You MUST want to share with me, otherwise, what’s the point? On that same point, you MUST want me to share with you. Two-way street.
I want someone who can hold my hand as I grow and let me take their hand and let them grow. I want minimum drama. I want honesty – but honesty doesn’t have to be harsh. Honesty can be that - honesty. I want to find someone I can talk to, can tell anything to, without judgment, without value being placed on it. And I want to return the same to him.
I want someone who I want to include in my life, not someone who just happens to be there, which is what I think happened with my ex. He was there, he wasn’t what my first husband was so, therefore, he must be better. And, for a while, he was. But I never thought about 16 years into the future, what that would mean.
I want those warm arms and that wondrous music to fill my life. I want that contentment and that comfort and that sanctuary. It’s a ways into the future but at least now, I can see it, I can feel it, I can grasp it. And maybe by naming it and sensing it, I can find it.
First, did the Melrose Trading Post today. It’s a swap meet/flea market in Hollywood. Didn’t do so well monetarily but a huge potential order is hanging out there in the wind. Cross your fingers. It could set me up for the rest of the year.
Second, the potential that wasn’t. Cute Boy never called. Don’t need a book to tell me “he’s just not that into me.” Not surprised, a bit disappointed but, oh, well, I’ll live.
Third, I sat at the coffee shop the other day and thought about my life five years into the future. Where do I want to be? What could I see? What could I feel? The first thought was peace. I felt peaceful, content, settled in the best way possible. I saw a beautiful room I was sitting in, looking out a large window into nature. Not sure if it was the beach or just a beautiful sight. But peaceful came to me again. Quiet. Tranquil. Sanctuary was another word that kept coming to me. I saw a porch/patio that was a haven where I could retreat and meditate, write, think, be. No distractions, no disturbances.
At first, I saw myself alone, but that was okay. It was just me and my thoughts and my life and my space. No threats, no drama, no judgments. Just me. That made me sad for a moment but then I thought, well, if that’s what it takes to have peace and tranquility, then alone it will be. I saw my friends and a wondrous life of fun and frivolity as well as depth and compassion with those close to me, and that gave me enormous comfort. Being alone by choice is one thing, being alone against your choice is another. So if it was my choice to be alone, then so be it.
Then, there was music. Beautiful, organic music. Not recorded, but somebody playing music in the home. I can’t even tell you what type of music it was – piano, guitar. Not sure. But I could hear it and I was warmed and touched by it. Again, tranquil, peace, contentment. Beautiful, lovely, peaceful music that surrounded me with love and joy and comfort. Soon, two arms found their way around my shoulders and the whole picture was complete. Someone who could give me peace, who could allow me contentment without being threatened by it, someone who could share the sanctuary without trying to wrest it from me. Someone who was the other half of my whole.
That was scary as I didn’t think I would find another half ever. And it felt good and fine and just about the way I want the next go-round to be. Comfortable, sharing, warm, simple. I realize no relationship is really easy but sometimes we make it more difficult than it has to be.
I know what I want out of the men in my future – someone real, someone honest, someone vulnerable, someone with respect, someone with an emotional soul. I don’t want to have to drag feelings and thoughts out of someone anymore. You MUST want to share with me, otherwise, what’s the point? On that same point, you MUST want me to share with you. Two-way street.
I want someone who can hold my hand as I grow and let me take their hand and let them grow. I want minimum drama. I want honesty – but honesty doesn’t have to be harsh. Honesty can be that - honesty. I want to find someone I can talk to, can tell anything to, without judgment, without value being placed on it. And I want to return the same to him.
I want someone who I want to include in my life, not someone who just happens to be there, which is what I think happened with my ex. He was there, he wasn’t what my first husband was so, therefore, he must be better. And, for a while, he was. But I never thought about 16 years into the future, what that would mean.
I want those warm arms and that wondrous music to fill my life. I want that contentment and that comfort and that sanctuary. It’s a ways into the future but at least now, I can see it, I can feel it, I can grasp it. And maybe by naming it and sensing it, I can find it.
Friday, October 20, 2006
yuck.
Head cold finally caught up to me, which I'm sure is coloring everything today.
Left Koji’s last night feeling particularly alone and lonely, despite having a wonderful time and singing the hell out of “All That Jazz.”
Woke up to my cable being turned off and spending every last penny I have to get it turned back on.
My gas tank is empty.
The only "food" in the house is leftover take-out spaghetti from last night and mini-sized Peanut M&M's.
Hey, on the bright side, there’s nowhere else to go but up.
Left Koji’s last night feeling particularly alone and lonely, despite having a wonderful time and singing the hell out of “All That Jazz.”
Woke up to my cable being turned off and spending every last penny I have to get it turned back on.
My gas tank is empty.
The only "food" in the house is leftover take-out spaghetti from last night and mini-sized Peanut M&M's.
Hey, on the bright side, there’s nowhere else to go but up.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
My birthday destination...
So, in April, I turn 45 years old. And I'm proud of that. Zadra suggested this year that I do something amazing for my birthday and I did - I started fliming "Cinderella Drives A Pick-up." She actually suggested Mexico but the film was more important.
So 2007, some of the gals and I are planning on tripping down to Mexico in June probably (my and Patty's birthday is actually April 8 but I will probably have a show up then). My key plan is to see some spectacular ruins. I have a fascination with abandoned bulidings and things - some day I'll post my deserted trailer park pics - and Teotihuacán is one of the most amazing sites I have seen. Check out Wikipedia info on http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teotihuacan#City_Layout if you're curious (thanks, Chairman, for turning me on to Wikipedia).
Here's Teotihuacan:
Anyway, I would love to have a whole batch o'buddies with me on this trip, besides my birthday twin and my couple of usual cohorts. It's not gonna be terribly cheap but I'm already looking for deals. To be honest, I'd sleep on the beach or camp out under the stars if it meant I could go. 2005/2006 has been difficult and amazing and fulfilling and empty and promising and disappointing all at the same time. I want something incredible for 2007. And this seems like a good place to start.
Maybe some handsome guy (who will hold my hand in public ;), right, Monica?) will decide to join me and make this the most memorable birthday of my life. Now taking applications...
So 2007, some of the gals and I are planning on tripping down to Mexico in June probably (my and Patty's birthday is actually April 8 but I will probably have a show up then). My key plan is to see some spectacular ruins. I have a fascination with abandoned bulidings and things - some day I'll post my deserted trailer park pics - and Teotihuacán is one of the most amazing sites I have seen. Check out Wikipedia info on http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teotihuacan#City_Layout if you're curious (thanks, Chairman, for turning me on to Wikipedia).
Here's Teotihuacan:
Anyway, I would love to have a whole batch o'buddies with me on this trip, besides my birthday twin and my couple of usual cohorts. It's not gonna be terribly cheap but I'm already looking for deals. To be honest, I'd sleep on the beach or camp out under the stars if it meant I could go. 2005/2006 has been difficult and amazing and fulfilling and empty and promising and disappointing all at the same time. I want something incredible for 2007. And this seems like a good place to start.
Maybe some handsome guy (who will hold my hand in public ;), right, Monica?) will decide to join me and make this the most memorable birthday of my life. Now taking applications...
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Finally found what I wanted to say…
It’s been an interesting couple of weeks. I kept trying to blog about it but couldn’t find the words. I kept finding myself writing then rewriting what I wanted to say so I would finally just stop.
I think maybe I have finally figured out what I wanted to say.
I am an exceptional woman. Now, wait. Hear me out. I am just really discovering the value of myself, something I have struggled with for years. I talk a good game and I have become very certain about my value as a director and as a writer but until recently, I haven’t been able to place that value on Susan, the woman. Susan, the woman, didn’t have an identity three years ago. Susan, the woman, almost died one night because she didn’t know who she was supposed to be to make everybody happy. She didn’t know that the one person she had to make happy was herself in order to make everybody else happy.
Even with making my own life this past year and a half, I still have struggled with finding out who Susan, the woman, is. Sometimes, I can see her very clearly and very distinctly. I like what she looks like. She wears very cool clothes and incredible boots. Jeans, usually, but something about the outfit is confident and sexy and feminine. That’s the person I want to see looking back at me. An exceptional woman.
Usually, I see the 30 lbs. at least that I need to lose. I see the frizzy ends of my hair. I see the deep lines around my eyes that give away my age. I see the calloused and cracked and unattractive feet. I see the wounds around the edges that have been inflicted by years of neglect and denial. I see the sadness and the doubt and the confusion. I rarely see the exceptional woman in the cool clothes with the incredible boots.
And I try to superimpose an idea of the exceptional woman that is not true over the insecure, fearful and timid woman that I feel I am most of the time. I realize this the most when I’m dealing with a man who I have strong feelings for. I try to figure out which type of exceptional woman he would be drawn to – young, thin, blond, perky, young, thin, redhead, flirty – and I find myself seriously lacking in that kind of exceptional. Then begins the process of devaluation. I am not worth anything because I am not 25 years old. No wonder he’s not able to see me as date-able. I’m not 25, 110 lbs. and flirty. I’m past my prime, I should just give up and go sit in the corner and wear baggy shirts and comfy jeans and realize that I am not exceptional in the way that I think he thinks I should be.
Yet, as I’ve begun to discover and accept recently, I am never more attractive and never more exceptional than when I am just me, whatever that means. I struggle with accepting that because I accepted previously that being just me wasn’t enough. My relationship with this man is never better than it is when I am just me. Doesn’t matter which me I am. His eyes reflect his affection for me when I just get out of my own way, quit trying to figure out who I’m supposed to be and just be me. Wow. So simple. And it’s when our friendship and our relationship is at its best. I should know this by now, you’d think. But, again, I never accepted that just me is enough.
Because just me is complicated. I never thought complicated could mean exceptional. I always thought exceptional was singularly perfect, without complications, without variety. Exceptional was one single type of perfect. A standard that I could never live up to because I accepted the fact that I was imperfect and valueless and complicated.
But I am beginning to understand that my complications, my complexities, my seeking and struggling and fighting and crying and wounds and sorrow and joy and laughter and all that depth of feelings and emotions is exactly what makes me exceptional. I FEEL. Without those feelings, without those complexities, exceptional doesn’t exist. It exists because of them. Anger drives the exceptional. Fear drives the exceptional. Emotion drives the exceptional. Passion drives the exceptional.
That cold, surface, plastic, presentable face that I see all around me, that I thought was my “competition,” what I had to live up to, is nothing but emptiness and the ordinary and the unexceptional. So she’s 25. When you’re ready to deal with a real woman, a real person, a real exceptional human being who can be so much more than just a face and a body and eye candy, then you come talk to me. When you’re ready to deal with your own feelings, your own foibles, your own demons, you come talk to me. When you’re ready to be exceptional, you come talk to me.
Even as I take very tiny little cautious baby steps towards someone new, I can feel the questioning begin – who do I have to be for him to love me? And I heard the answer loud and clear the other day as this thought was lingering around the edges.
I have to be Susan, the woman. Flawed, fallible, complicated, complex, exceptional me. And I wasn’t afraid anymore.
I think maybe I have finally figured out what I wanted to say.
I am an exceptional woman. Now, wait. Hear me out. I am just really discovering the value of myself, something I have struggled with for years. I talk a good game and I have become very certain about my value as a director and as a writer but until recently, I haven’t been able to place that value on Susan, the woman. Susan, the woman, didn’t have an identity three years ago. Susan, the woman, almost died one night because she didn’t know who she was supposed to be to make everybody happy. She didn’t know that the one person she had to make happy was herself in order to make everybody else happy.
Even with making my own life this past year and a half, I still have struggled with finding out who Susan, the woman, is. Sometimes, I can see her very clearly and very distinctly. I like what she looks like. She wears very cool clothes and incredible boots. Jeans, usually, but something about the outfit is confident and sexy and feminine. That’s the person I want to see looking back at me. An exceptional woman.
Usually, I see the 30 lbs. at least that I need to lose. I see the frizzy ends of my hair. I see the deep lines around my eyes that give away my age. I see the calloused and cracked and unattractive feet. I see the wounds around the edges that have been inflicted by years of neglect and denial. I see the sadness and the doubt and the confusion. I rarely see the exceptional woman in the cool clothes with the incredible boots.
And I try to superimpose an idea of the exceptional woman that is not true over the insecure, fearful and timid woman that I feel I am most of the time. I realize this the most when I’m dealing with a man who I have strong feelings for. I try to figure out which type of exceptional woman he would be drawn to – young, thin, blond, perky, young, thin, redhead, flirty – and I find myself seriously lacking in that kind of exceptional. Then begins the process of devaluation. I am not worth anything because I am not 25 years old. No wonder he’s not able to see me as date-able. I’m not 25, 110 lbs. and flirty. I’m past my prime, I should just give up and go sit in the corner and wear baggy shirts and comfy jeans and realize that I am not exceptional in the way that I think he thinks I should be.
Yet, as I’ve begun to discover and accept recently, I am never more attractive and never more exceptional than when I am just me, whatever that means. I struggle with accepting that because I accepted previously that being just me wasn’t enough. My relationship with this man is never better than it is when I am just me. Doesn’t matter which me I am. His eyes reflect his affection for me when I just get out of my own way, quit trying to figure out who I’m supposed to be and just be me. Wow. So simple. And it’s when our friendship and our relationship is at its best. I should know this by now, you’d think. But, again, I never accepted that just me is enough.
Because just me is complicated. I never thought complicated could mean exceptional. I always thought exceptional was singularly perfect, without complications, without variety. Exceptional was one single type of perfect. A standard that I could never live up to because I accepted the fact that I was imperfect and valueless and complicated.
But I am beginning to understand that my complications, my complexities, my seeking and struggling and fighting and crying and wounds and sorrow and joy and laughter and all that depth of feelings and emotions is exactly what makes me exceptional. I FEEL. Without those feelings, without those complexities, exceptional doesn’t exist. It exists because of them. Anger drives the exceptional. Fear drives the exceptional. Emotion drives the exceptional. Passion drives the exceptional.
That cold, surface, plastic, presentable face that I see all around me, that I thought was my “competition,” what I had to live up to, is nothing but emptiness and the ordinary and the unexceptional. So she’s 25. When you’re ready to deal with a real woman, a real person, a real exceptional human being who can be so much more than just a face and a body and eye candy, then you come talk to me. When you’re ready to deal with your own feelings, your own foibles, your own demons, you come talk to me. When you’re ready to be exceptional, you come talk to me.
Even as I take very tiny little cautious baby steps towards someone new, I can feel the questioning begin – who do I have to be for him to love me? And I heard the answer loud and clear the other day as this thought was lingering around the edges.
I have to be Susan, the woman. Flawed, fallible, complicated, complex, exceptional me. And I wasn’t afraid anymore.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Hmmm...
Words for tonight…
Slut (not me)
Frustration
“Chicago”
"LA Woman"
Yum-my
Snuggly
Promising
I can’t seem to stop smiling…
Hmmmm….
Slut (not me)
Frustration
“Chicago”
"LA Woman"
Yum-my
Snuggly
Promising
I can’t seem to stop smiling…
Hmmmm….
Friday, October 06, 2006
So...
I will miss your smile, your dimples, your laugh. All the things that…
But I will miss your stormy eyes most of all. And the way you made my heart leap every time you walked into the room.
But I’m just completing the distance you have placed there.
But I will miss your stormy eyes most of all. And the way you made my heart leap every time you walked into the room.
But I’m just completing the distance you have placed there.
And...
I know how I would write the end to tonight.
But you’re not John Cusack.
And I’m not Sandra Bullock.
And there are no funny, funky sidekicks to tell you the truth.
And life is not romantic nor a comedy. It’s Survivor. It’s the Surreal Life. It’s where bonds are made and then broken, leaving even friendships in tatters behind as the one voted off packs their bags and quietly leaves the island/hotel room/whatever.
And there are no end credits and no songs sung by Peabo Bryson. Just silence.
But you’re not John Cusack.
And I’m not Sandra Bullock.
And there are no funny, funky sidekicks to tell you the truth.
And life is not romantic nor a comedy. It’s Survivor. It’s the Surreal Life. It’s where bonds are made and then broken, leaving even friendships in tatters behind as the one voted off packs their bags and quietly leaves the island/hotel room/whatever.
And there are no end credits and no songs sung by Peabo Bryson. Just silence.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
One look...
He has the ability to level me with just one look. He has this way – across the room, his stormy eyes catching my gaze, no smile, no frown, just a look. His eyes lock with mine and there is nothing in the room but the two of us. God, it sounds like a romance novel but it’s true. There’s nothing but the air and the breath and the look. His haunted eyes. Wanting, needing, begging for something that I don’t think he can even define. Lost. I can’t look away and neither can he. We’re both lost in a moment that neither of us can define.
And I want to reach out to him, cradle his face in my hands, kiss his forehead and tell him it will all be all right, him and me, the world, the hurt, the pain, the life – it will all be okay if he will just let it be.
The breath stretches to an eternity and, occasionally, we each take a step, as we did last night, towards one and the other. The world shifts, accommodating that step, taking the breath with us as we move that one single step. His mouth opens just a bit, just enough to almost allow a sound out, one more breath out, then he chooses to close it, unable to let the word slip out with the breath. I’ve lost mine, waiting to hear the word, waiting to hear something, holding my breath, as he does as well.
Then he breathes out and the moment is lost. The world crowds in, the noise drowns out what he might have said, what he would have said, if he could have just held his breath with me for one single moment longer. But he breathes and he blinks and he tears his gaze away, looking back into reality, choosing to not get lost with me in that one indefinable moment.
And I don’t breathe out yet, hoping that he’ll catch his breath again and return to my eyes and maybe give me a syllable of what he holds in his eyes. But he turns and he is gone, not physically but emotionally, taking whatever words might have lingered, if he would have just let them escape. I watch his back move away, being swallowed up by those around, and I catch my breath, afraid to move, hoping he’ll turn around. But he doesn’t. And I breathe again, wishing to be breathless with his look again.
And, eventually, he does it again… and again… and again…
“I saw them standing there pretending to be just friends, when all the time in the world could not pry them apart.” - Brian Andreas, storypeople.com
And I want to reach out to him, cradle his face in my hands, kiss his forehead and tell him it will all be all right, him and me, the world, the hurt, the pain, the life – it will all be okay if he will just let it be.
The breath stretches to an eternity and, occasionally, we each take a step, as we did last night, towards one and the other. The world shifts, accommodating that step, taking the breath with us as we move that one single step. His mouth opens just a bit, just enough to almost allow a sound out, one more breath out, then he chooses to close it, unable to let the word slip out with the breath. I’ve lost mine, waiting to hear the word, waiting to hear something, holding my breath, as he does as well.
Then he breathes out and the moment is lost. The world crowds in, the noise drowns out what he might have said, what he would have said, if he could have just held his breath with me for one single moment longer. But he breathes and he blinks and he tears his gaze away, looking back into reality, choosing to not get lost with me in that one indefinable moment.
And I don’t breathe out yet, hoping that he’ll catch his breath again and return to my eyes and maybe give me a syllable of what he holds in his eyes. But he turns and he is gone, not physically but emotionally, taking whatever words might have lingered, if he would have just let them escape. I watch his back move away, being swallowed up by those around, and I catch my breath, afraid to move, hoping he’ll turn around. But he doesn’t. And I breathe again, wishing to be breathless with his look again.
And, eventually, he does it again… and again… and again…
“I saw them standing there pretending to be just friends, when all the time in the world could not pry them apart.” - Brian Andreas, storypeople.com
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Sanctuary comes to an end…
The woman I have been subletting from returns from her adventures today. So, for at least a short time, until I move or she goes out on another adventure, I will have a roommate again. A roommate I know really nothing about. She seems like a very nice, private, quiet woman and I hope that impression is correct.
It’s been a particularly hard couple of weeks, dealing with my father and knowing that there are huge transitions coming up. I think I’m at my limit with transitions but there is really nothing I can do about these ones.
I’m struggling to see the positives right now. My roomie may be temporary. The move with my parents is the best thing for all involved, taking pressure off my parents, will probably help me financially as I won’t have to pay for everything myself. And the time with my father will be invaluable.
But this whole year and a bit has been so transitory. Just when I start to feel like I’m settled, things shift drastically. Even moving in with my parents may be temporary, depending on my father’s health. When he is no longer here, my mother plans on moving back to upstate New York to be with her sisters. I think that’s a great idea. She has been away from them for most of her adult life and I know she would love to be able to spend the rest of her life with them, in her hometown. I will miss her terribly but I’m glad that’s her plan.
I can never be grateful enough for these past four months in this apartment. It has been such a pleasure to be able to entertain the way I’ve always wanted to. I loved being able to invite the girls over at the last minute to just hang out. The short film festival (also known as Chairman B. appreciation night) was a delight. Being able to rehearse in my living room made a huge difference for “Earnest.” And just the peace and quiet, which at times was hard to deal with, gave me time to listen to myself, acknowledge and begin to deal with the clowns in my head, and allowed me the time to just be.
So, although I am sad to see this quiet end, I’m hoping that the time with the “new” roomie will prove valuable, as my time with Tiffany did, and that the changes and transitions over the next few months will prove to be fulfilling and amazing and leave me in the place where I’m supposed to be.
It’s been a particularly hard couple of weeks, dealing with my father and knowing that there are huge transitions coming up. I think I’m at my limit with transitions but there is really nothing I can do about these ones.
I’m struggling to see the positives right now. My roomie may be temporary. The move with my parents is the best thing for all involved, taking pressure off my parents, will probably help me financially as I won’t have to pay for everything myself. And the time with my father will be invaluable.
But this whole year and a bit has been so transitory. Just when I start to feel like I’m settled, things shift drastically. Even moving in with my parents may be temporary, depending on my father’s health. When he is no longer here, my mother plans on moving back to upstate New York to be with her sisters. I think that’s a great idea. She has been away from them for most of her adult life and I know she would love to be able to spend the rest of her life with them, in her hometown. I will miss her terribly but I’m glad that’s her plan.
I can never be grateful enough for these past four months in this apartment. It has been such a pleasure to be able to entertain the way I’ve always wanted to. I loved being able to invite the girls over at the last minute to just hang out. The short film festival (also known as Chairman B. appreciation night) was a delight. Being able to rehearse in my living room made a huge difference for “Earnest.” And just the peace and quiet, which at times was hard to deal with, gave me time to listen to myself, acknowledge and begin to deal with the clowns in my head, and allowed me the time to just be.
So, although I am sad to see this quiet end, I’m hoping that the time with the “new” roomie will prove valuable, as my time with Tiffany did, and that the changes and transitions over the next few months will prove to be fulfilling and amazing and leave me in the place where I’m supposed to be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)