It's not that serious

I should be sleeping
but I'm not
this denotes a problem
some evolving issue in my id
a pimple in my psyche just waiting to breach the surface and explode embarrassingly

Why when everything is going good do I freak out?
Why must I sabotage myself just to feel normal?
Over eating 
Over spending
Over extending
Is it because I don't really think that I deserve my happiness or my success?
Have I really gotten so addicted to the adrenaline high, the strung out of stress?

Or is it just easier
to create an excuse to not live fully

See all these problems, all the extra hours I spent at work, every time I let someone use me, every time I swallowed my truth, every time I pushed myself beyond all reason in the name of sacrificing my wellbeing for those that had less: less love, less affection, less happiness, less opportunity, less vision, less drive, less will I gave up vital pieces of me.  I gave up my flesh to warm another, I gave up my heart to sustain another, I used my happiness as a blanket to smoother someones burning sorrow and when there was no one to give to I simply cut.  Cut Cut Cut Cut into myself via my health, self esteem,  self image.

I should blame my mother you know.
I really wasn't hugged enough.

But I can't blame her.  I couldn't choose how I lived as a child but I do choose how I live an adult and despite all my accomplishments this year I know beyond a doubt that it is a drop in the bucket compared to what I can really get done.

I could say that I am afraid of failure but sugah I've tasted failure.  I've been it's bedmate and lover.  Some people think its a horrible thing but once you get a whiff of it it is intoxicating because it's so safe.  IT is the gateway drug.  It's bottom floor and basement.  You can't get lower, no fall is gonna hurt as much. Stay down it whispers sounding as smooth as a leather pants wearing  Lando Calrissian.  Its like a great big fucked up hug that's hard to get out of...  no I don't fear failure.

Neither do I fear success.  I've rolled in the hay with that cocky well hung bastard as well and smoked a cigarette after so that's a non issue.

It's simpler than that
I'm too lazy.

See  I exhausted myself so I would not have to deal with the truth of what I could become.  What we all have the potential to become.
My ambient was that 60hour work week, unhealthy relationships, the problems of others, bad food, lack of exercise, my outstanding ability to turn my body into a breeding ground for illness.  And while it looked like I was fiercely forging ahead I was really running away.  I was running away from the commitments that I had made to myself, the tapestry of a destiny that I set on the loom with threads of will, faith, intuition, courage and encouragement because I was too lazy to finish it.

I looked a what my life could become and said god damn that would be a pretty thing but fuck me look at all the work its gonna take.... oh something sparkly!!!


I should be sleeping
but I can't
because the "inner I" has been asleep  for so long
my body is tierd
but my spirit is impatient
she is crouching and growling and pawing at the dirt of this fucking grave I sent her to so long ago
she is screaming in rage for her freedom.
"Let me be.  Let me be.  Let me be me."

I have no more excuses
Circumstances I have allowed myself to be put in.  Situations that "inner I" set in sway has stripped that all from me now.
I am waking up
whether I want to or not  and I have to be strong
so  that means that I have to sleep.

That's the real reason why I don't see you as much as you used too.
Like Pink said "I'm not dead just changing"

 so off to bed I go~~~



 

 

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
 

 

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
 

 

 

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~

 

You think you can do these things, but you just can't, Irene!!

 

 

So Thursday night I had a date.  Which I canceled because I was super emotional and hyper horny and if I went out on said date I would just end up crying on his shoulder or fucking him and that is no way to begin a relationship with someone that I don't even really like in the first place.

 

So Q being the darling that he is had the perfect solution which involved a trip to San Francisco, a bar on Castro apply named The Bar, and the meeting of a man named Louis.

 

First off driving into the city at night is a glorious thing, if you're not driving.  The nite brite lights, the mosh of music, the open individuality of the people, the steep ass hills that either make you feel like you're on a rollercoaster and/or give you vertigo...  I've been there several times before but for some reason last night felt like the first time.  There was all this excitement.  I felt like a virgin on prom night. My exact words as I peered out of the window were "Omg I feel like a huge clitoris"

 

We parked two blocks away from our destination and made our way down hill to The Bar.  Q advised me to watch my step but I was so intrigued by the vinyl padded walls that I didn't… I stumbled through the entrance, into the padded wall and fell immediately in love.

 

Three drinks later I was all sorts of sheets to the wind and involved in deep conversation with Louis who I love now too.

 

"You have to be who you are.  You have to own who you are." He said as he held both my hands.  "You're in a stage right now and you are figuring yourself out and that is beautiful, you are beautiful.  I see you.  I can see you right now.  What I see is wonderful."

 

And then he told me things.  All the dark things, all the sad things, all the happy things, all the wonderful things, and he spoke with confidence because he wasn't speaking to me as much as the Universe was speaking to me through him.

We understood that

We understood each other.

We had synchronicity

We had vodka

 

"You're perfect and I'm validating you," he said as he looked into my eyes "so you can now validate yourself and someone else.  You no longer need anyone else to validate you, because you're perfect and God loves you and I love you and you love you.  We're family now you and me.  You have my card now and if you don't call me or contact me the next time I see you and I will see you again, I will call you all sorts of bitches"

 

 

 

Despite the fact that

-I am limping a bit from dancing on my turned ankle

-will probably not be able to drink cranberry or pineapple juice for a month

-typing the word vodka is masochistic in nature

-And my stomach feels like it's full of lead…even though I know its empty for obvious reasons that I won't go into.

 

I feel wonderful, whole, free, complete and perfect.

 

Because I got what I needed what I was searching for not just in the past few months but the past few years.  During the course of the night between dancing, drinking and discourse Louis gave me a book mark and what was written on it changed my life just as much as massage school did, just as much as playing the Moaner did.

 

Thank you Q and K for taking me out last night.  And driving me home since I was a drunk, snoring mess by the end of it.

And thank you Louis for taking the time to connect with me, to share with me, to see me...you are a wonderful, divine and perfect person. All my love to you.

 

 

 

 

Nothing from without can touch the

Perfect Life of The Divine within me

No past experience has power over me

 

I am a perfect child of The Divine

 

And nothing that anyone has ever done or said

can interfere with my divine inheritance. 

The power of The Divine is greater than any circumstance in my life.

The strength of The Divine is mine to use.

 

Turning away from all feelings of inadequacy,

I discover that all that I need is within me right now.

 

As I forgive the past, I find that I have

nothing to atone for,

nothing to run away from. 

 

Casting off the old me,

I discover my true Self

 

I take dominion in my life,

Old habits have no power over me

Conditions have no power over me

Personalities have no power over me

I take dominion!

I am whole.

I am free.

I am complete.

Now and forever more

And so it is.

 

~Adapted from Your Needs Met, by Jack Addington

Seriously, stop calling me. 

You see I fear I am like a teenager that just got a new job and with it disposable income.  But this new job is being single and the disposable income is the pussy.    But i'm over it now... or at least I am over you.

It's not you its me.
Wait...  let me try to say that with a straight face.
....
Damn I can't
actually it is you
Non withstanding the fact that you were a complete moment of weakness, that if it wasn't you it would have been someone else.    It was really really bad.  Aside from that great stretch where you managed to get my knees completely parallel to my ears it was uneventful... which is an absolute shame, because someone tall, dark and handsome as you are with a voice like a lion in the wilds of  exotic Africa should have done better.

I should sue your ass  for false advertisement!!!!
Because of you I have to add a new tag to my live journal.

No i'm really not going to date you now, or answer your calls. Because you're just looking for a lay.   And trust me I am not hating on that at all.  But the sad thing is that you stimulate neither my mind nor my vagina... so I don't think we can do business.


Notes for future you
oh I'm deleting you from my phone book right now.

I hate me...

It’s11:15 pm on a Thursday. It’s raining. You are in the den playing World Of Warcraft, the cat’s licking her ass and I am sitting in a plush beige 3^rd hand recliner in the living room of a 2 story house nestled in a suburbia which exists on the fringes of a large city in California .

The living room has shag carpet that someone told me was once orange. It might have been 25 years ago but today is an unpleasant muddy green with splotches of moldy brown. The curtains are yellow and as old as the carpet. A bowflex sits in the middle of the floor, unused, unwanted and glaring ominously at any one who passes it by.

The room is flanked by 3 bookshelves all spilling over with binders of world maps, recipes, math and English assignments, craft instructions, etc. Two plaid couches (from the late 70s?) mercifully covered by bright red table clothes, hold up the rest of the walls.

The walls themselves are plastered with a concoction of African and African American collectables, oddities and art work which start off as museum worthy then hyper jump directly into the realm of offensive and tasteless. Example: Hand carved wooden mask from Nigeria next to a green, red and white hand stitched circular pot holder that portrays a black female child in classic red lipped, moon faced, darky, pickanninny style. This is the standard décor for the rest of the 2 and ½ bathroom, 4 bedroom house. To summarize it looks as if the 70’s a Costco/Sams ( or what ever local where house supply store your familiar with) size box of Reese’s pieces, a teaching supply store and the Black Power movement got together for one wicked foursome and heaved all over the place.

The art, the carpet, the furniture, the room, the house all belong to my possibly- future -mother-in-law and is a physical manifestation of the mental and emotional abuse she endures from her husband. I used to feel sorry for her. I don't anymore. She stayed. She stayed here. She constructed her tomb. She chose to accept. I want to grab her and shake her. I want to wrap my hands around my neck and wake her up. Sometimes I even want to blame her for how my life is. If she would have demanded more of her husband and for herself you wouldn't be the person you are today right... right? That has to be the reason for it. Your father is an ass, your mother his tool and you a cross between them both.

I’m hungry. I want to stuff the hollow space within with something heavy and solid. just to pretend I'm whole. The emptiness is something food could never truly fill... but right now its close enough. I open the door to the refrigerator and look inside. It is just like the walls, just like the house, just like your mother, just like me… full of useless odds and ends, going off and in need of cleaning, in serious want of catharsis. I close the door to that little pocket of insanity and tragedy so viciously that I can hear clank of 8 13 month old salad dressings bottle cry out against eachother. Although I wonder if I have broken something I am quite certain that I do not care.

I feel destructive. This isn't good. My minds not well. I should go upstairs, sleep off or through this storm.

I might as well take a Valerian root and go to bed. I say this out loud. But the only one who hears me is the cat. Who is busily content at the moment so she could care less. I repeat my plans for retirement again, louder. And I hear you say "Go ahead I will be right up."

It's 2am before you actually comes to bed. Your feet which areicy cold from sitting in front of the window while running your latest "instance", brush against the soles of mine. I feign sleep and roll away from you but you snuggle closer and suddenly the cal king size bed isn't nearly large enough. You place your hand around my waist and slowly, slowly inches your fingers up until you are cupping my breast. Warming your frigid fingers from my body heat. I know you don't mean to be a pain. I know you just want to be close to me. But I want to cringe, I want to push you off, but I don't want to explain why.

So I lay there and I wait for your breath which comes in deep sighs to even out. I wait for you to stop your slow and gentle grinding into my back. I wait for you to sleep. And when you do I un-twine myself and push away. I'm colder than before.

I'm wide awake now.

And I'm pissed because I have to get up at 6 and go to work then leave work and go to class until 10pm and you don't have to do that.

I want to shake you. And tell you to get it together, get a real job so we can get out of this house. Get in school, get a life so I can get some respect for you. Get it together... so we can get together. Because I am so damn tired of holding our world up. So tired of being here, in this house, in this place, in this state of mind.

I want to tell you that you are killing me. That you have been killing me for five years! I want you to stop it!

But I don't. I pull the covers closer and force myself to fall asleep. In the morning I'm cuddled up next to you. It's warm, comfortable, familiar... the curve of your side against mine and the cadence of your breath, the beat of your heart.

And for five minutes right before you open your eyes, before you say good morning, I love you. I wonder if this is how your mother feels and I hate myself for it.

 

I hate this house

I hate the walls

I sometimes hate you

but most of all

I hate me

for continuing to be

here

In this house

within its walls

it's rotten, it's crumbling

it's going to fall.

Before that happen I'll come awake

I'll grab me and slap me, I'ma give me a shake

Just for now I'll sleep and grieve

But one day soon I find the strength to leave.