missrenie: (Tree of Knowledge)

It's always sad when a hero dies.

But its heart wrenching when that hero "dies" to you... when you have to change how you see them or sever yourself from them in defense.

I'm angry because it did not have to be this way.

There are alot of things I did wrong partially because I have never had to deal with such an exhausting personality so closely. But even with my lack of experience the only thing I can honestly apologize for it holding you up to those hero standards. You didn't ask to be my hero its something that kinda happened. It was unfair of me to think of you as such.  You have made me stronger and you've shown me how to confront on the battle field of life.  I'm not sure that lesson would have reached me if you did not have the capacity to be such a bully. 

In the near future when I am not so angry, injured or indignant I will tell you that you lack the compassion you expect to receive from others, that you lack the respect you demand from others and that once you attained your future would be limitless for this is the key to your success.  In my dream world you would listen and hear and change and go on to touch the world in the same positive way in which you have changed and touched mine.

I'm not doing this for you, for your acceptance, for your love, for your respect although I know I was at one point.  I would have loved to have these things that I had so readily given over to you.   Now I am in it for the mission, the cause, the right reasons.

So here's to you!!

You're brilliant and talented full of charisma and inspiration.  You were my hero but you killed that by continually being such a flaming bitch.  To be completely melodramatic you're some weird hybrid of Jesus and Judas both...I'm thankful even for that. 

You've shown me that heroes are painfully human.
You've shown me that I can be one too. 
You've shown me that I can and should be my own.

missrenie: (Default)

Sometimes I look at you and I wonder how it happened


I wonder if you see it as mystical and as magical as I do.  I wonder if you notice how everything had to come into synergy for us to be the way we are with each other now.


For the better part of a decade I thought I knew what love was.  It was tolerance, sacrifice, not kicking the other person when they were down.  It was caring for, cleaning up after, pushing and pulling and changing drastically for the "us", the unit, the team.  I thought that love was achieving the impossible.  That love didn't happen every day  so it had to be held onto, maintained, protected and kept guilelessly pure even if the vessel rotted around it. 


I thought it was convoluted.




You've shown me that I was terribly wrong

Love is simple.

Painfully simple


You do not protect and maintain  it.  IT protects and maintains you. It purifies you and give you a hope with which you can achieve the impossible.  It gives you the ability to endure and change.  To yield instead of pull... to push so gently that dust remains unsettled while breaking through an immovable mountain.


It is the honesty to tell each other the truth even if you are down, to give everything you have while sacrificing nothing.

It is perpetual motion while standing perfectly still


It is not romantic

or at least not nearly as romantic as I was lead to believe

It is real

It is blissfully mundane and in that lies it magic

Love happens everyday... that's fucking important to remember so I'll type it again.  Love happens everyday.


It's the warm hand adjusting the seam of your black fishnet stockings, or the careful yet ample application of glitter spray to a nervous, giggly body.  It's the battle cry of "Vajazzle" and "I live" 

It's a tolerated snore in your ear or drool on your shoulder


It's in reconnection and forgiveness. 

It's a shared night that we may never talk about again but think about every-time we see each other and smile. 


It's a bag of snap peas you didn't have to get

the extra tip you gave

or refused to take. 


It's the in following text:

"Where you at bitch? Dead in a ditch?  I haven't hear from you since go was a child"

It's telling me I have something stuck between my two front teeth.


It's taking my car and forcing me to call in sick when I am.  It's reminding me of me when I have lost myself.  You remember the little things and you are present for the big ones.


It's your breath against my neck at 2am


the sound of your voice over the phone at midnight


It's the open  invite to dinner or lunch or breakfast even though I never quite seem to have the time.


It's letting me feel safe enough to painfully vulnerable and trusting me to be powerfully strong for you.


It's letting go

It's refusing to let go


It's in seeing my faults and filling those empty spaces with your own unique perfection and allowing me the privilege of doing the same for you.


Thank you

I'm a better person

because of you~~~

missrenie: (Default)
So my room is a mess
which is normally an indication that I am a mess

Its a pattern.
I make a mess in my room so that I have to clean it
through cleaning it I regain control
and that control makes me feel like I can take the other messy parts of my life and clean that as well.

Sometimes though I need help
and I wasn't expecting the help
but it came in a big way
and I wish I had the words to convey exactly how much it means to me
Not only did yall stop me from drowning, yall noticed I was drowning, yall decided to throw me a rope and more than the rope is the knowledge that you have enough faith in me to reach out to me to pull me to a place where I could once again stand on my own is humbling and makes me wanna cry in the happiest way.

My words are thank you... thank you for taking me in, for caring for me like family.
My actions will be a reflection of your kindness, your consideration, your encouragement
Because of yall
I can sort this out
Because of yall
I have a second chance
Because of yall
this future I had planned, this dream, this desire, this call, this passion, this life, my life
Because of yall
I can

I did not even realize that I had given up.
That I felt so lonely and so used up that I had given up
I was falling, kicking and screaming, grabbing at air but knowing that I was gonna hit the ground and shatter and break and face hard recovery.  And while I appeared to be putting up a good fight I had accepted that.... part of me had accepted that utter loss of hope but yall found my hands and gripped my arms and took the weight of me so that I could find my footing again and climb back and past the place I once was.

Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.

I'm gonna make you proud
I'm gonna make me proud
and then I'm gonna do for someone else what yall so lovingly and selflessly have done for me.
missrenie: (Default)

I am happy for my friends whose marriages were upheld and respected.
and I am furious beyond words that the marriages that were to be can not come to pass at least not right now. 

I believed with all my heart that prop 8 would be seen as the deplorable, disrespectful, demeaning, segregationist piece of shit it is. 

I believed with all my heart that there was indeed a division between church and state.

I believed with all my heart that if IOWA could do it then CALIFORNIA sure the hell could.

I thought that people would see that this isn't just about marriage that it is about Civil Rights.  Just like it was all those years ago with a person of my ethnicity could not do certain things or marry certain people.

I thought that people would see this as a president for control.  That if they could do this with marriage that they could do this with other things too.


I think that what happened today is WRONG

and I belive it is FAR FROM OVER!!!

erase the H8

missrenie: (Default)

A tiny woman on a tiny stage is singing
Her voice stronger and more powerful than her stature suggests pours out of her and into everyone there

Into me
it pushes
pushes to the surface the disturbing things, the dirty things, the deep dark things that creep in the shadows and silent spaces, things once swept into crevices and corners… forgotten like an elementary school year book collecting dust in an old unopened room.

She releases it, this unrealized pain.  She feeds it this denied flame.  She articulates it this ignored longing for a life that is for more. 

She absolves sins with the admissions of her own. Each song, each verse, each tone sweeps me away to a tiny island where a tiny woman on a tiny stage casts her voice like a net over my soul.  And pulls it from me like cellophane from a
movie reel unraveling it until it becomes something straight and comprehensible, understandable and forgivable. 

The story of her life,

the story of my life,

the story of the couple at the table in front of me 

I realize how alike we all really are.

She pauses.        She talks about life and she says that she felt that she would feel more like an adult by know but she doesn’t and she doesn’t think she ever will and that’s okay because the best beginning in an open ending, things are never really finished just changing and my being agrees with this woman who is gently undoing us as she herself was undone. 

The last painfully poignant organic chord echoes off into silence she smiles, brilliantly.  It’s a reminder that at the middle of each dark night, at the middle of every dark hallway there is hope for metamorphosis at its end.

It’s a reminder that I did not know I was so desperate for.
Thank you Tina
missrenie: (Default)

missrenie: (Default)

How could you?

Why would you do it?

Pursue me so boldly and then lack the courage to keep me.


I asked you three times to state your intentions towards me because I know me and you claimed to know me.  But I think you were wrong in your assessment of me, else you would not have erred so grossly.

Had you have truly known me you would have known that when I opened myself to you, when I wrapped my legs around your hips and took you inside of me that it was no mere physical thing.  That the hunger was deeper than carnal desires of flesh and bone.

You should have known that when I grabbed your hair and looked you in the eyes and said:

I want you

that I wanted You!


You who amidst the cover of night against the glow of my candles danced to the rhythm we created together

You who spoke so perfectly and sweetly, who called my name over and over as if I were some earth bound goddess.

You who held me in his arms as I cried out the grief of years of heart stabbing aching loneness

You who had the gall to look into my eyes as you lay over me, as you worked above, as you came.


I can’t believe you could be so utterly spineless and afraid and stupid enough to let me go.


I asked you what you intentions were to me and you answered then

And now, now after being with me, seeing me in a way in which I have not even shown my ex lover of nine years you tell me you don’t know

That you are not sure!


How could you?

Why would you?

You who watched me struggle, break myself, rebuild myself

You who waited so patiently for me to notice you


How could you mend my heart and break it so quickly?

Are you afraid of me?  Of this?

Did you feel more than you expected?

I would ask if you were such the talented actor that faked it and felt nothing at all. But your body didn’t lie.  Your breath and heartbeat, your embrace, the sound of my name on your lips, your low guttural moan, your loss of control so quickly, your body’s resounding answer to my own body’s plea.


Or could I be the stupid one here. 

Was everything perfect because you waited so long to say it, to do it to me?

Or was it perfect because you had done it before to someone else?


I guess that does not matter right now does it?

Because in my idiocy I refuse to believe that you lied to me, and I can see the struggle in your eyes when you look at me, but know this sir…


I am your perfect woman and like your perfect idea or your perfect cup of coffee I will not stay hot forever. 

I am all those things you said, sexy, beautiful, intelligent and frighteningly strong. I am also courageous and bold and oh so fucking worthy of one who is just the same.


I was


Horribly and grievously mistaken to believe you to be that person.




My patience ebbs

My adoration will wane



Your loss will be great.

missrenie: (Default)
Dear Mr. Obama,

    I want to trust you.  I want to believe you.  I want to hold your hand and have you walk besides me.  I want you.  You said all the right things to me in all the right ways.  You promised to not use me but lift me up, you promised to help me find a way to feed and educate  my children, pay my bills, soothe torrid tensions with my neighbors and provide for me so that I could provide for myself.

I’m broken but you already know that don’t you.  I have been ravaged and torn and screwed over and blamed.  I have been shamed and twisted and lied to and about.  I have been raped and you come along… from no where and you tell me to stand up, to open up, to love again.

It’s unfair of me but I desperately want you to fix me. To wrap your arms around me and make me believe that this change you speak of is possible.  That I will not only be able to heal from this but that I will be able to heal others too.  You know that is a dream of mine don’t you?

Anias Nin said the following: I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.~~

Mr Obama I am that woman and I hope by all things sacred that you are that man
Don’t leave me
Don’t fuck me

Yours very truly,
Ms Amerika
missrenie: (Default)

A year ago….
I received a call from my brother. 

Dad wants you to call him.  You should call me back after you speak to him.
-Is he dying?
-Is he going to die?
-(Resisted correcting him on his technical error)  Are you sure he's not dying?
-Why can't he call me if he wants to talk to me.
How long has it been since you talked to him?
-You mean since I left a message saying I was never going to talk to him again… at least three years. ( I had a particularly good reason for being pissed at him… trust me it's a gem)
Mom says to get over it and not to be your normal charming sarcastic self.

I laughed, said I would call, hung up, rolled over to went to sleep.
Couldn't so I called mom.

-Hi mom
yes (voice totally void of emotion… tell tale that she already knew why I was calling)
-Did I wake you mommy?
-Are you busy?
-ummmmmmm Wilfred wants me to call him
Call your father
- (silence)
Mama loves you
-I love you too

Mom hangs up

Mom made a point of never speaking ill of the man that fathered my brother and me.   I will forever respect her for that.   She encouraged us to form our own opinions.  She held her tongue when we got excited at his promises… and when 95% of those promises fell through. She tempered my outbursts of anger, soaked veils of tears, coaxed my coldness into an at least  reasonable luke-warm-iness while remaining sensibly stoic and appearing mentally stable.   Many kudos to mom.

Instead she spoke in facts.  He owns a photo business.  He has married and divorced several times.   He has two other children.  He likes to drink squirt… the one in the yellow can.  The only time I heard any inflection in her voice was when I was about nine.  I had just watched some heart wrenching black and white with Cary Grant or some other older, suave caucasian male with glossed back, chalkboard black hair who glided effortlessly and flawlessly across the screen while simultaneously maintaining the absolute peak of virilality… when I was inspired.  I don't remember the exact story line but I do remember feeling like my questions were answered… like I had found a reason, an explanation.

I went into the kitchen where I found my mother going over a pile of papers and frowning… I hovered at the door for a bit before I spoke

-Am I a love child?

She looked at me for the first time since I had entered the room.  Her eyes narrowed a bit and disappeared into her high cheekbones.  Then they softened and glazed over, she looked at the ceiling, she pressed her hands against the table cloth.  I remember her fingers splaying out a little.  I can't remember the color of the cloth.  It was probably vinyl because its easy to clean.  It was probably blue and white with either checkers or dots.  She had a thing for those mother goose plates which were blue and white and she always was well coordinated.   Her head tilted to the side.  Her eyes close completely.

"You know, " she said after a while in a concerned voice "I don't even know why I did it… the sex wasn't even that good." 

So that squashed that.
Did I mention I was nine.

I decide not to call
7 mins go by



Did you call him
Call Dad and call be back okay!!
-Alright alright I'll call!!!!
And Irene
Don't be your normal charming self.. you know … don't be a bitch


I call him. 
The first time the phone rings             I hold my breath

The second time the phone rings        I dare him to pick up and face me

The third time the phone rings           I can feel the same deep seated sorrow of a teenage girl that had been stood up on prom night.  Except I wasn't wearing chiffon and satin and the person on the other end wasn't some acned 17 year old. This wasn't the prom.  This was me 13 years later still waiting for a man, still waiting for a daddy that would never show up.

The fourth time the phone rings        I breath a sigh which carries with it a broken relief.  Things hadn't changed, he hadn't changed, I am now free to roam about the country hating him for the rest of my natural born life…

He answers the phone… 
He speaks and I listen.  Well I try to listen but honestly I just heard words.  Pointless words spiraling in cyclones and circles, wildly skewing into cockeyed tangents and in my mind I am screaming bullshit.    Just say what I want you to say.  Just say what I want you to say.

I'm sorry
I'm an ass
I miss you
I am proud of you
I want you in my life

But he doesn't say that.  He says other things that I now can't quite remember.  He constructs a lopsided, half baked cake and tops it with a shy, weak and uncertain "I love you"  and when I stop breathing he says it again

I love you

It is a question. And a fucking unfair one at that.  He really meant to say "Do you love me too?"  and that really meant "Do you forgive me?"  But I couldn't forgive someone who never said I'm sorry in the first place.  I asked him if that was all.  And when he didn't reply I gave him a firm

-Good bye Wilfred 

I hung up the phone.

I was pissed because this was no way to start a work day.  On top of the emotional rollercoaster that I had just ridden I was going to be late to work.  I rushed through getting ready.  I didn't allow myself time to think.  Just as I was leaving the house I receive a call from my brother.


-well what?
What did he say?
-a whole bunch of bullshit
Yeah, but what did he say.

I told Joseph everything that I heard and when I was done he said wow.  And Joe broke it down for me.  All those words that didn't make sense,.  He redirected the tangents, made a straight line of the circle, calmed the cyclone and told me this:  He says he's sorry for being an ass, that he misses you, and he is proud of you and he wants to be in your life


I laugh.
The crazy laugh. 

The one where my shoulders shake and my head drops forward.  The one that makes Terick place his hand on my shoulder because he knows a crazy storm is brewing inside.  All breakables should be put away and sharp items stowed under the seat because we are heading into turbulent waters and its going to be one hell of a ride. 

Terick's not in the room to stabilize me but I catch my reflection in the mirror and I stop laughing.  I stop laughing because the face that stares through the looking glass is not my own. This face is ugly with anger, twisted with bitterness, rouged with resentment, darkened with rejection. 

I tell my brother I will talk to him later.

I get to work,  brew coffee, turn on lights, water plants, un-collate, copy re-collate.  I check my e-mail.  And there it is.

One line… one little grenade that's been waiting to go off since 2:15am.  And I laugh again.  This time because while the jury was still out on whether or not I was truly a bitch I am now certain that the Universe in her cosmic glory is one and has a fucked up sense of humor that I couldn't bring myself to appreciate in the moment.

One line, one fortune cookie line and I am bent over my desk sobbing so hard that snot is running out my nose.  Half my mind screaming Wtf this isn't that serious, don't let him get the better of you… the other half begging me to just let if all out.  

One line, subject header of an daily e-mail from spirituality something or other  dot net that read "It is far easier to hate than to forgive because in forgiveness we must see ourselves in the face of the one who has wronged us."

Hate is a strong emotion.  It is easy to say I hate my father but it was a lot of work to maintain it.  I didn't hate him.  I didn't like him but I didn't hate him.  I hated  that I couldn't rip his blood from my body, I hated that I couldn't  rip off my broad shoulders or my nose, certain things I would say, gestures I would make.  I hated that he shaped me... formed by the things he didn't do.  I hated that a man that I had barely spent a grand cumulative of 72 hours with in 26 year had so much power over me.  And what I hated most of all.  What really made my blood boil was that even though I had given this unworthy man reign over my emotions and mind.  I knew nothing about him.

Not his birthday, his shoe size, his father's name, his favorite color, his elementary school, the name of the street he grew up on, what type of music he likes to listen to… his middle name.

I hate wondering whether he wonders these things about me.

It took so much out of me

I called my father and told him I loved him too.  I didn't mean it then.  But I wanted too. 

I really wanted too.

That was a year ago and today I publish this. 

I publish this because I am coming to the end of a journey.  A journey that has taught me so many things and among these is how to forgive myself and how to forgive others.   I have found the following quote to be true:

"What is forgiveness? It is a gift from a generous heart. Forgiveness is not a reward. It is not something that you give to someone based on his good behavior. It is something that you give to a person irrespective of whether he has deserved it or not. Forgiveness is also not based on whether the person has asked for forgiveness.

Also know this. Forgiveness is not an event, which starts and concludes when you say the words, "I forgive you". Forgiveness is an act and a process, which often takes time. The deeper your hurt the longer it usually takes to completely forgive. It is an act because it is not just the words you say but it is your actions which will show if you've really forgiven."

In two weeks I graduate from this place of learning and life change.  Not only  have  I faced my demons, beat my addictions, challenged and accepted myself taken the first step on a long ever-changing adventure  I have also managed to learn how to give a wonderful massage.   

I will get a certificate , say a couple of words, shed a few tears, go to a party, drink like nobody's business and I  will most likely wake up on a beach in Santa Cruz with sand stuck in my ass.

My dad's not going to be there and neither is my mom.

I'll call them though.  On three way.  I'll have someone hold the phone so they can hear them call my name… so they can hear me say my few words before I pass out on a Californian coast line.

They are not going to be there
But that's okay
I'm okay

I'll make sure to say mom I love you.  I will make sure to say dad I love you. 

Because it's true
I love you dad
I mean it this time
I forgive you
And I forgive myself for taking so long to do so

The truth.

Jul. 11th, 2007 04:08 pm
missrenie: (Default)
"You're lying
about something", she said as she held her hand over my neck. I could feel the reiki moving through her and into me. A heartbeat formed in my throat. Pulsing, throbbing "Or is your throat sick?"
"My throat has been a little sick, a little scratchy."

The truth is that I was lying
About a lot of things
Important things

See the truth is this, this thing that I do not want to look at. The truth means questions and answer with messy routes to get to them. Straight forward as those answers are… they may still cause heads to rolls, feelings to get hurt, illusions shattered into tiny shards of sand, dreams dashed dramatically against razor pointed proverbial rocks (not all my dreams… other peoples dreams too). And I just feel like…

I already waded through a big pile of bullshit and now that I reached the other side and scrambled up the hill I hoped to see a spa treatment fit for at least a demi-goddess instead I find another mind blowing pile of bull. I guess I have a lot more to learn… or better yet I have to apply to my life the things that I have learned. So yeah I'm not Jedi yet but damn Yoda can't you cut a gurl some slack?

This truth thing touches every part of my life

Its not lies that I told other people… I used to lie a lot as a child and as a young adult because I wanted people to like me. No matter how much I dressed in multiple layers of black with matching onyx nail lacquer and shied away from who I considered to be the brain washed masses. I wanted to be liked and loved.
Since accepting this and growing up a bit and realizing that so what if every one does not like me I stopped lying… so much… It's still kinda hard to tell certain people when some article of clothing, collectible trinket, or behavior is the reason the word ugly was created

It's lies that I told myself… about myself that are getting to me. That tasty yet empty meal of delusions
Appetizer: Denial
Soup Course: Luke warm serving of Settling
Main Course: Self Destructive Behaviors
And for Dessert: Anything that you can convince yourself it true (which is harder to get rid of than cellulite)
And its all coming back up
And it stinks and burns

I knew when I started this whole… "Living my life to my fullest potential" thing that it was going to be an experience that words could not quite capture. This is not a singular experience. Every one has gone through it in some degree or form or fashion. It is different for everyone and in its purest essence it is the same. I have watched the people that I have admired struggle through it and emerge as (again a loss for words)
I'm not depressed or even daunted

I'm just tired

The truth takes everything from you
Things that you think you need
The truth takes everything from you
And leaves just you.
A frighteningly beautiful limitless you .
It's just a difficult detox
Its uncomfortable.

And at this moment and in this now I just want someone to hold back my hair for me.
missrenie: (Default)
I have been trying to keep in control of things.
Because so much is happening.
I figure that if I keep everything under control then I would be alright
I was doing fine until I got hit by kryptonite.
Everyone has kryptonite I think. Some person place or thing that makes them stop. Sometime it is always the same thing and sometime it changes.

For me, this time, it was a song.
It made me stop…and cry.

Recently things seem to be happening so quickly that I barely have time to breathe. When I look up the week is gone it's Sunday and I am barely prepared to venture into the next seven day cycle. I feel like I am spinning and whirling out of control. Like being on that one thing at the playground that mama never let you go on, I can not remember the name of it and I have not seen one in eons. Probably because they are so damn dangerous :). I had a friend that would bug me and pester me until I went on it with her. There was a trick to this thing. It took at least two to three people to get it going fast enough. If you didn't get it going fast enough you would have a short and crappy ride once you hopped on. If you got it going too fast you could get knocked to the ground before you even got on it. We would grab the outer bars and run faster and faster picking up speed and right before our legs fell from under us we would hop on. I remember I would curl up and clamp my eyes shut…trying not to scream in terror as the world spun out of control. And she was like a bird… a wild black exotic thing. Her legs wrapped around the iron bars, her head tossed back in defiance, her left arm going up and out skimming the wet hot air… and she screamed and screamed and laughed. When it came to a stop I would wobble off and she would roll off… begging me to go again. Her eyes shining with tears from the wind.

I am on that ride right now and everything is blurring by… woosh woosh woosh. I have been trying to clamp my eyes shut. I have been trying not to scream. But that is silly. I should handle this like her. Find my center, ground, then open my eyes, shout, scream, laugh, cry, be breathless. And be thankful.

Thankful because I could never have gotten this thing started by myself
Thankful that I am not riding this thing on my own
And although the world seems to be rushing by
Life rushing by
I am still standing
Rooted and Flying at the same time
Enjoying the ride
missrenie: (Default)
If you lay down in a bed of roses you are bound to get thorns in your ass

The sucky part about this
Is not the thorns inconveniently lodged in you keister
Nor the fact that you need a little help pulling them out
But the inevitable question:

"How the hell did you get all those thorns stuck in your ass in the first place?"

The unavoidable response is
At best
The worst blow to your ego… like watching your personal pride pedalstool crumble like "that cookie" your mother always warned you about

At least that is how it seems… a few months ago Terick and I got the offer of a life time. We were offered a chance to start again, start fresh. It was almost too good to be true. A job that offered us enough money to:
-get our lives on track
-get back into school
-carry out the wedding of our.. okay my dreams
-start a little nest egg
- and anything else that our mothers told us responsible adults are wildly rumored to do with their cash

All we had to do was:
-put our lives on hold
-move out of our apartment
-sell/ throw away/ get rid of everything that did not fit into our car
-squat with the in-laws
-quit our jobs
-say a temporary goodbye to our wonderful supportive social circles
-and go to hell… and by hell I mean Los Angeles of course

Everything was coming up roses
All signs pointed to yes
So we did

We took that gigantic leap of faith… me with eyes shut tight and screaming in mortal fear and Terick eyes wide open, laughing with pirate goofy ears on…

We hovered for a bit in the air …an endless stuffy purgatory where I eventually tiered of screaming and Terick's smile was beginning to strain the muscles of his face.

And then we landed

In those roses

Butt hurt

Because I now have thorns in my ass

That wonderful job offer fell through, vanished, and dissipated… poof.
Like coming to the last bit of that mary jane and realizing that you were not in fact high.
But who can I complain to… I should have done it anyway right ;)

Because of my medication I can not handle this situation in the usual way which involves a bottle of hooch, mid grade tequila and four kamikazes (not the shots.. the full glass) And because of a health condition and my new found respect and regard for my own life I can't bring myself indulge in a binge fest to end all binge fests.

Instead I am totally sober and sugar free... well low at least

Now I did try my damndest to take to my bed like those willow wisp women you read about in Jane Austen novels… but my beautifully large well rounded Gaia Goddess ass makes laying on my back staring at the ceiling physically uncomfortable after the first three hours

I tried to squeeze out some kind of a breakdown. But for some reason emotional rollercoasters just aren't as fun as they used to be.

Those thorns brought a kind of clarity though. My life was over due for an over haul. I was comfortable in my job, my place, my lulling mediocrity. Well not totally comfortable… comfortable enough. It would probably be another 25 years before I realized that I was living a lie, shave my head, get tattoos, buy a little red corvette, a carton of menthols and drive off into the Nevada Dessert blasting the sound track to Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. But lucky me… I was spared all that!!! Besides I didn't really like those Christmas Decorations anyway.

So there I was picking myself up and picking the thorns out of my ass while contemplating how the hell I was going to go from living to LIVING
When the phone rang.

Strong possibility that the deal is back on

So here I am now
In the air

Wondering where I will land this time
Wondering if I had possibly mistaken the creeper quality for regular MJ

Either way
I'll more than survive
And it will make great writing material in the end.
(puff puff)

43 Thangs

Jan. 18th, 2007 09:47 pm
missrenie: (Default)

Test post  

I am doing 43 things.


Circus Act

Nov. 14th, 2006 03:22 pm
missrenie: (Default)

In my dreams
I’m dressed in a horrendous white tutu
the theme from swan lake blasting so loud that my ears ache
no umbrella...
no shoes...
no net...
no audience
just bare feet on white rope
It’s happening again and I have no intent to let it.
I am not sure wether or not it is the medication, depression or if my brain  is actually trying to turn itself off as a defense mechanism or a combo of two or more of the mentioned above.
I’m forgetting again
names, events in the recent past, things that I have just said
things are slipping out of my hands
its dangerous for me to drive ... unless it is really early in the morning.
And to top it all off the muscle spasms started this morning.
I want to break down and cry but I know that is just plain childish
not to mention a complete waste of time
There are people all over the world taking medication and having horrible reactions
I am no different from them.
And in many ways I am better off
But I worry about messing up.
Not for my sake
but for the people whom I affect
wether it be in friendship or work.
I worry because I am slipping off the tightrope that I am precariously trying to cross.
I can focus
I just have to try harder
I can have discipline
and this will make me stronger
I can see the other side.







missrenie: (Default)
Fuck it:
as in fuck this shit
as in walk away from it all from everything or everyone


Fuck it:
as in fuck this shit
as in pick up and keep going, keep moving forward

it may seem like I am inching forward
small moves
step by step
but when I look behind me and see exactly how far I have come I am amazed and I am proud

I can beat myself up for not yet being the person I want to be
I can wallow in the shame of the things that I have done
I can run away and begin again
but sooner or later it will catch my ass
like that whupin mama promised you for something you know you shouldn't have done

so instead
I will face it
I will learn
I will deal with it

I've done some shitty things
I acknowledge that
and it hurts.
To know that I have hurt others
it's a whirlwind to think your shit don't stink
and then to find out that you got the funkiest stuff around

I am sorry to all the people I trampled along the way to figuring the things out that I am finding out now. I know there are no words... there are only actions

Honestly i've spouted off so much bullshit
that I've got a funny taste in my mouth
I don't want it any more

I'm committed
I'm not depressed
in some deep dark crazy oh help me thing
I'm not angry
Im not looking to give righteous self justification,
Im not looking to get forgiveness
not any more

Fuck that

Cause no one can give me that which I have not given myself

What I'm looking for is my own reflection
What I'm going to get is my own redemption


Oct. 1st, 2006 12:14 pm
missrenie: (Default)


I'm really begining to wonder if I really am who I think  I am.
I fancy myself as compassionate, intelligent, witty, slightly off and a generally nice person, with horrible spelling and other slightly aggravating quirks
Maybe I'm wrong
Maybe I talk too damn much.
Maybe I don't really help people
maybe I am just trying to make them into what I think they could/should be
maybe I get sucked into other people's lives because I don't want to even think of the possibility that I am a person whom I would
a:feel sorry for
b:hate with a passion
c:never notice in the first place

I have been blessed to come across some truly wonderful people in my life
and the moment that they told me that they thought that I was wonderful
I ran away and hid.
I've messed up alot of good things for myself
caused alot of my own "drama
I am afraid of wonderful, brillant ,happy people because im sure they will look at me one day  and say
 "Oh my how did you end up at this table ... you must be lost... I'll find someone to help you out of here."
But there is this big raging ego in me saying
"you have something to offer, you have something to give, you are worthy, you are goddess"
and then the other voice saying
"you are proud and vain and arrogant.  you are fake and cheap, trite as dayglo pink fanny pack strapped to the waist of an overtanned, over processed 70 year old"

I'm not writtng this in the hopes that someone tells me
"No Irene you're really swell."
I'm writing this because it is a real problem... because it is a real crutch.
My fear of not being the person I believe myself to be
My fear of being inadequate
My fear

The thing is that these wonderful people
are coming out of the goddamn woodworks now
and  I am caught
caught up in joy and tears and bursting with love for them
and I am caught
caught up in the fears of being not good enough

So I'm sorry
I'm sorry to everyone I ran from
I'm sorry to everyone who I didn't keep in contact with
I'm sorry  even though sorry isn't good enough
I guess I have to face the music
or the firing range ;)
I hope
maybe this is part of growth.




missrenie: (Default)

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