missrenie: (Default)


Friday afternoon finds me huddled on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, fighting off a horrendous sore throat and I crying pathetically over some lame ass lifetime like movie (which shall remain nameless for my own protection).

I'm sick from overworking, emotionally exhausted and as I look back on it I blame the bookshelves for turning me into this hot mess. Well I blame me but it started with those damn shelves.

I should explain


Last Sunday at  2 in the morning I am  toiling away at these bookshelves because if I don’t get it done it won’t get done.  Now this is not a new thought for me.  In my last relationship I knew/felt that if I didn’t do it wouldn’t get did.  But there was still that glimmer of hope.

Now I’m completely alone and well without that slim optimistic sliver of “maybe he’ll…” so its all me on hands and knees at two am finishing up the last of the tool-less shelves in coffee brown from Target’s home décor  when it happens…

I flip the page and the instructions have this little triangle.  Inside of the triangle are two little sexless block people almost holding hands.   An indication that this part is a two person job. Suggesting strongly that I would need help. 

I start to cry

I decide that this is a dangerous thing to do when wielding a hammer (tool-less my ass) so after 4 or 5 tears I suck it up, brace the damn things against the wall, maneuver my body into the closest things to a split its been in since second grade ballet and get her done.

For a brief moment sanity seductively flitters past me and whispers in my ear telling me to stop.  I have been up since 6:45am the previous day, I’ve done 5 hour long massages, run a ton of errands all over town which include getting these heavy shelves, carrying them from the store to the car and the car to the house solo. 

But I’ve been working on this “Reorganize the Room” project since 6pm (the previous day),I have a UU service to attend in the morning, work in the afternoon and dinner plans in the evening so I have to finish.

It became a call to arms
It became a challenge
And as neurotic as it sounds it became a fucked up analogy for my life.

It has to be done. It has to be done now.

No one is going to help me.  I have to do it alone. 

I have to do it perfectly.    My performance is a direct reflection of me

I am not going to pussy out. 

I am strong enough.


I finish around 3am with everything.  My room, my closet all neat and ocdly in order.  It’s perfect and beautiful.  My shelves, my fucking shelves with the things I worked so hard for on them.

I’m exhausted and half insane and I laugh myself to sleep...since I refuse to cry.

In the morning I’m beyond fucked.
My eye’s burn, my wrist is swollen my palm is giving out sharp radiating pain, my right knee is swearing eloquently in french.
I call off service, I call off work but I still try to limp around the house and do chores with my left hand disadvantage.  Since I can’t manage to lift more than 5 lbs with my right.

I blame the shelves ( and not me) all the way…. It’s a long day.  And at this point I am working just because my body doesn’t know what to do with itself or how to stop.  It’s a relief when 6pm comes around because I have to call a truce with myself to get ready for dinner.

He shows up. 

This guy.  A friend I have known for almost two years now and he takes me to dinner.  No strings attached, no expectations, just friends and it’s really nice.  And when he pulls up to my house I ask him inside to look to see my shelves cause I am so proud of them.

And he looks at them
       And says they are nice
And he looks at my wrist
       And asks why I didn’t ask him for help

“But the place was a mess.  I didn’t want you to see it like that”
But I’m a mess and I didn’t want you to see me like that
“I would have helped you Irene”


I look at him as Muddy waters I Just Wanna Make Love to You sings out from
the cd player on the bottom of one of the shelves in front of us.

I really look at him
I do want to make love to him.

For some reason I believe that this guy would have helped me build my shelves stat and he would have done it correctly.  It’s crazy…is the passing thought I have as tears form in my eyes .   This is insane I think as he holds me tightly against him and tells me to let go.  To just let go.  I cry and sob and apologize and swear as he holds the world still around me.  And that song on my shelf is singing into my soul

I just want to make love to you.
I just want to make love to you.



Now I’m fucked. 

Because as I lay there listening only to his heart beat, feeling his hand moving across my hair I looked over at my perfect shelves that I worked so hard on.  Then deeper still  I looked at my life and everything in it. 

And in that moment, and breath, and beat, held tight within his arms I realize with shocking, startling and paralyzing clarity  just how fucking tired I am, how completely and  utterly exhausted I am




of building it alone~
missrenie: (Default)
I'm the moaner
I'm the moaner

I realized why I have been having such a hard time learning my lines
its not because I am frightened:
of preforming on stage
infront of a couple of hundred people
in a tight little pvc dress I have stashed in the back of the closet for
Halloween/ bank holidays/ birthdays and emergencies only

No...it's what comes before all that
the hours spent developing the character
figuring out how she moves, and breathes
taking off my own skin and slipping into hers
like a warm bath
warm moist voluptuous pulsing

She is a woman living her
eccentric, exceptional, divergent purpose

She is a not only a seeker
She is a finder

She is a kind of horticulturist
tending the most tender bloom

She is disciplined
but hungry

A calm, climatic, chaos controlled

And I was frightened of what it means to be her

Because I want so desperately to be her

A confident, calm, climatic, creative chaos controlled.

Normally I can just read something a few times a memorize it.
Its what got me through high school
but this time I couldn't every time I looked at the words on the paper
when I went to speak them aloud
my first thoughts were
this isn't me
I can't do this
It can't be believable
I won't be believable
It went on that way
While trying to read the lines I would avoid looking at myself in the mirror .
I was trying not to hear my own voice
separating it from me
the Moaner from myself
embarrassed, blushing, quite obviously horny as hell.
Just from the first lines
"I love vaginas, I love women. I do not see them as separate things"

I finally settled down and recorded the monologue onto my mp3 player on Monday and listened to it the whole day. Over and over and over again. At first I was startled and disturbed by the sound of my own voice. My voice was sexier than I felt I was or deserved to be. I always like to think of myself as sexy. In my own head. Where the little fragile image was safe from the outside word. I was embarrassed again. Uncomfortable not just because of it but because I was uncomfortable by it. I decided not to focus on it... decided to just approach it in a purely professional manner. I broke it down critqued myself, found pacing but it wasn't until later that night when I was in bed on the brink of sleep running the lines through my head that it clicked

"I love vaginas.
I love women
I do not see them as separate things"

I separate myself from my vagina, my sexuality. I have let myself be convinced that only the women on television and magazines could truly be outwardly sexy. It did not matter that I knew many women who were not that airbrushed ideal, women who I considered to be very sexy, and beautiful. I was still waiting to fit into a certain dress size before I gave myself permission to really fit into being a woman again... waiting to be "pretty" or what I had convinced myself to be "pretty"

"Video gurl" I am not!!!!
but thats okay
as a matter of fact it more than okay

The Moaner is not perfect, idealized beauty.
She is not the sum of her physical parts
The Moaner is in the mind
She is heady in the head
She is raw, sexual, confident
she is unapologetic
she doesn't quite give a fuck
well she does
but when she does she is showing women the door
through finding
A confident, calm, climatic, creative chaos controlled.

I'm the moaner
I'm the moaner
I'm the
missrenie: (Default)

I care too much about what other people think
I feel as if I am straddling some unmarked line
I am so uncomfortable with myself
I am really going to try to use I less
but its hard
to write I mean.

At my center
at my core I feel something that isn't me
something that wants me to stay the way I am
some poison

I get angry and mad and defensive
I jump to conclusions because I know that something is off inside of me
All that other bullshit is just smokescreens.
I pretend confidence, I pretend to love me
but I know... when I am alone.. when everyone goes home
and its just me and the thoughts rattling around in my head

I know

the strong woman inside of me is starting to punch through the weak one
the wild womun inside of me has a hold of the demons
and I feel like I am trapped in the storm... sometimes I am the wild womun the huntress the wolfe and others I am the demon, the rejected, the vile abasement
sometimes I am neither
and sometimes that feels worse

I know that I am not making sense to anyone but myself
but there is a war going on in my head
in my soul
in my heart
I'm trying so hard not to run from the storm
I'm trying to embrace it and let it change me

do or do not eh? there is no try
the floor that was my foundation has faded fast
as soon as I realized that I was walking on smoke screens

I began to fall
free fall

And someone may want to reach down and pull me up... the ones that love me the ones that care
but I've gotta pull myself up
because in the end when I look in the mirror

I want to know that I did it
that I crawled on my own hands in knees
I want to feel the ache the pain that comes with growth

I want to laugh like an insane woman as I spit back into that dark pit from wench I came.
The satisfactory sizzle  sound of water hitting the flames below.

I want to pull myself through that canal and be reborn
or die trying
and I will die trying
at least figuratively
and wether or not im ready for that
its happening.

And the me that is less than is scared shitless
And the me that is greater than ... I have yet to know.

missrenie: (Tree of Knowledge)

When the white hot lighting burst forth from the blackened amethyst early morning sky and stuck the green rolling hills that teemed with orange and yellow wild flowers something stuck me too.

I remember pulling over to the side of the road and getting out of my car while the lightening danced a violent staccato tarantella across the alien Wyoming landscape. I remember my heart racing to its rhythm... my blood saturated with every roll of thunder as it stalked closer. And I could not move... run... retreat from it. For the first time in my life I faced the storm. Let it wrap my in its arms and smother me. The wind picked up the tiny rocks around me and they bit into my legs like tiny ants but still I could not move... would not move.

Even when the sky opened like a spilt ripened fruit and poured down over me the cold rains gathered by yesterday sun I willed myself to stay and to embrace it back... letting it saturate me. I became so filled that the things inside of me... the dark and dirty, disgusting , unforgiving, un- merciful things that drove me across the mountains, through the hills and across the desert began to overflow their banks. Out of my womb, out of my heart, out of my head, out of my soul and out of my mouth I screamed curses and first... vile profanities... I stamped my feet into the soft earth until my calves were mudded. Then came words which weren't really words but real... a heathen, insane prayer. I mixed my tears with the tears of heaven until I became sick... drowning in the rain.

But I stayed muttering, mumbling,gasping, choking, aching until I could not feel anything except for the earth below me and the sky above me... and pleasure so intense and complete and sexual that it was painful to endure. And that was when the wind died, the heavens solidified and the last distant sound of thunder rolled away.

I was  shaken. I was confused I was unsettled. I felt like I had been kissed passionately by a dying man in his last seconds of life and I knew I was never to be kissed that singular way again. I had felt life, death and divinity in a span of time that was unknown to me. As I sat in the passenger side seat and washed away the mud with a towel and a bottle of water I tried to relive or at least understand what had just happened to me.

I stayed there in the middle of nowhere for the better part of an hour and not one single car passed that stretch of road as I feebly attempted to grasp that moment. By time I left the sun had cleared the horizon and the wind was gently running its fingers through rolling hills... making green rivers run though fully opened orange and yellow flowers that covered them. I took that moment and hid it away. Locked it in the secret place. Washed it off like the mud and left it in the hills. Forgot about it because it was hurt me to think about it.

But it chased me

Through Colorado's rocky mountain ranges and Wyoming's  winding hills, skirting the salted plains of Utah, blazing past Nevada's white hot sands and brunt black jetties, up up up and over the rolling coast of the Sierra. It crept into San Jose down Saratoga street and caught me in its arms yesterday at sunset as I lay on a hill with the wind blowing from the South and the pointed blades of grass biting my legs and arms and neck.

I know why it was painful... why it hurt to remember. My life has always moved from one storm to the next as soon as the sky turned ashen and grey I ran, or turned away or cowered. But not that time. No that time I stood with arms open, soaring and challenging and alive. It hurt because I was dead for so long that I no longer remembered what it felt like to be alive.

Alive!!! My entire being was a sleeping limb roused and beaten until blood coursed again with the sensation of a million tiny pins and that was the pain... that was the torture and torment.

I pushed it away, denied the experience because of deep rooted monestrous reasons that I used as justification to not lead a life well lived.

I substituted false unworthiness, and shame because it was easer than dealing with the appalling veracity of selfishness, slothfulness, and stifling fear.

But yesterday I remembered, relived and was paralyzed with anger at myself but more than that I was hungry. That memory is ahead of my now instead of behind me... teasing and taunting and fresh as spring
and I am hungry for it... longing for the kiss and the thrill of thunder.


May. 4th, 2006 01:58 pm
missrenie: (Default)

I hate myself
I can not look at myself in the mirror without being repulsed by what I see
I can not touch myself without flinching with disgust.
it is unbearable for me to even take a shower
because I don’t want to feel

this shell
this fat, bulbous, morbically obese me
that I have become
and I want to die
to just give up

I can not even feel the hands that I am writing this with
I hate
I hate
I me

I am dying
I am trying
so hard
to put a smile on my face
but I can not even sit up straight with this overbearing weight

My prison
my body
my prison
I am stuck behind these bars
and I am screaming
and so fucking pathetic

I loath this insignificant
piece of shit
I am
right now
this me
and I am angry
and pissed
and called to arms
against this beast
against this false me
against this one this me this I that rapes me
of my freedom
of my potential

and what you have done to me
the real me
that is writing this

I rage
and fight
and believe
and will live
because I am not you

I will defeat this beast I have become
or I will die in the attempt

missrenie: (Default)

I had a particularly odd dream last night
well last night was just
I kept getting little pains all over my body
deep throbbing pains
like every time my heart pumped pains
When I finally fell asleep
I had my hands curled into fists under my stomach which I slept on
I woke up three times thinking I had developed some sort of weird cancerous tumor or my left ovary was finally about to rot off from years of non use
but I was to depressed and too tired to do anything about it at the moment
not even groan
besides I didn't want to deal with waking up Terick because he might remember that he fell asleep trying to get some
and restart his campaign
So if it was cancer then there was nothing I could do about it seeing as I have no insurance and no money I feel back to sleep
and that's when I had the dream

I was in an office... kinda like a doctors office. A new age one except for the fountain in the middle of the floor. Some enya-isque muzak wafted in from an unseen source. The room was brightly lit with multiple wall sconces. The seating was one long couch which circled the entire room and there was only one door. Everyone was relaxed... as a matter of fact it was the most relaxed I had ever seen people. I felt totally out of place.

The door opened. A woman in brightly colored world design scrubs came in. “Irene Solonge McCalphin you can come in now.” I stood and walked after her into the next room. She was gone and instead of the plush warm atmosphere of the waiting room I was surrounded by cold white walls with glaring florescent light. Despite the matrix like setting my first thought was... omg I look horrible under florescent lighting.
“Uncomfortable isn't it?” a voice said

I turned around and seated at a steel table in a steel chair with his hands folded neatly was one of the most drop dead gorgeous men I had ever seen... He was a hybrid of Johnny Dep and Jeff Goldbloom He was dressed like a Santa Cruz native calm conscious and classic.
“Please have a seat Ms McCalphin”

He didn't have to ask twice. He leaned forward. Looked me right in the eye and said “Do you know why you are here?”
“Not really”
“Notice anything odd?”
“Yeah... Where are the doors?”
“There are none I don't want you getting away before i'm done with our little chat”
“I think this is a dream”
“You would.”
“It is'nt?”
“I guess life it a dream, isn't that how the song goes?"
”Soooo this is a dream?”
“Your about to wake up.”
“Excuse me?”
“If life is a dream you're about to wake up.”
“You are going to die”
“Alright you're reasonable enough as mortals go... I can give this to you straight.”

All of a sudden the room changed and we were back in the room with the fountain except no on was there and I was in a hospital gown on a padded table with stir ups like the ones in the gynecologist office. Still no door.

“Look honey your killing yourself.. The lack of exercise, your diet, your self-esteem, your stress levels... hell if the pcos doesn't get you the cancer will or a stroke or diabetes.”
“You know about the pcos?”
“Yes and that was a test and i'm sorry to say that you are failing miserably.”
“I knew it was a test” I said indignantly
“Look I'm sorry... I'm trying my best to keep you here but you're working so hard against me that I might have to recall you and re-issue you.”
“Recall me?”

He put the little clip board he was holding into my hands.
“Yes dear, recall you... Do you know who I am?”

There was a moment of infinity with him just staring at me. And all of a sudden it clicked.
“Noooooo” I said like one whose missed the punch line on a joke and just had it explained with use of graphs, visual aids and baby words.
“Your the god damn grim reaper right?”
“That depends on what you mean by god, hell doesn't exist and  that's not what my mother named me"

"You have a mom?  What did she name you?"
"That's not important and your taking us off topic"

"Oh... sorry"
"No problem...look this is your last warning Irene.. I can't do anything more for you after this”
“Last warning what about my first!?”
“You're soo dense dear you really need to look around you more often.. Anyway get your shit straight... you have too much to do here okay. I really don't want to recall you early it's unnecessary paperwork.”

The table disappeared and I was dressed again. There was a door.
“Do we understand each other?”

I nodded
“Good girl now scoot”

And I woke up.
I rolled over and shook Terick

“I'm dying!” I said once he groaned
“Yes yes every second we live we die. Go back to sleep.”




missrenie: (Default)

November 2011

1314151617 1819
202122 23242526


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 25th, 2017 04:58 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios