Masochist

I never thought I’d ever get pleasure out of pain, but…there I was.

Time and time again, chasing after men who either didn’t want to get caught, or men who claimed to love me, but constantly broke promises & tore my heart to shreds.

That would be me…always trying to hold onto that which harms.

Or trying to grasp that which simply dissipated through my fingers like smoke. Ghostly in its insubstantiality.

I must be a masochist.

I was constantly putting myself into a position of pain.

Well…no more.

I’m done.

I refuse to subject my emotional health, my heart, my self-esteem, into that position of self-flagellating hatred anymore.

I can’t do this, anymore.

So, I’m just done getting involved.

I am not going to participate in the game.

It hurts.

And, I really don’t like pain all that much.

Sure, I’d love to have someone come into my life who would be kind to me; someone who would be in a relationship with me. Something that had a hope for a future, at least.

But, survey says…that’s not happening.

So, I’m just not going to play the game at all.

It’s not worth it, anymore.

Not when I’m the one who has to pay the price of it in pain.

In the box you go…

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Have You Tried The Bread?

I made some cinnamon streusel bread today, needing a little pick-me-up after the last few days of feeling like trash, between being sick and being in a depression.

I actually got a couple of household chores done today, as well, surprisingly, which means my energy is starting to come back, so this is a good thing.

I’ve kind of bottomed out now, though, which is not a shock. I know I need more rest to get well, I just hate this worn-out feeling. I really do.

Anyway, tonight, as I was getting ready to put the loaf of bread in a big ziploc… I suddenly heard in my head –

“Have you tried the bread? It’s good bread…”

In a voice I haven’t heard in years.

Ahhh, the voice of Ren. That infamous Asthma-hound chihuahua.

But, it was his voice as interpreted by one of my beloved Chosen Family. A “little brother” from my past, who loved Ren and Stimpy as much as I did.

And a pang went through my heart.

Because I don’t get to hear his voice anymore. He died a few years ago, taken by an inoperable cancerous brain tumor. He was smart, funny, fiercely protective of those he loved, and he was my friend, Shane.

And I fucking miss him.

And yes, Shane, I tried the bread.

It is good bread, dammit.

Hourglass

Life slips away…don’t you know?

It slides right through our fingers, like sand…or water.

It’s so easy for it to slide past us, to wash behind us, and before we even realize it…

Years have gone by.

Oh, but yeah, the memories are there. And they are precious. And treasured.

But when you’re sitting home, alone, with no one to hold, no one to love, to care… At the end of the day.

The sand slips through your fingers like regret burns.

It’s the hazard of the way I’ve lived my life, I guess.

Not to settle for less than love.

Which means I end up alone.

Because the sand in my hourglass is over halfway through, and who wants to invest in that?

Don’t answer. It’s a stupid question.

And I already know the answer, anyway.

I’ve pushed them all away, at some point, so I guess some part of me feels as though I deserve to be alone.

Another year, another measure of sand through that hourglass.

Everyone tells me

“You have to hang onto the good times!” (Live in the past, it’s the only good thing left for you now!)

“There’s someone out there for you, if you stop looking, they’ll find you.” (If I “stopped looking” any harder, I’d poke both my eyes out, honestly.)

And, one of my personal favorites…

“If you’d put yourself out there a little more, smile more, you’d find somebody”. (Just be someone else, anyone else, other than yourself, cause bitch – you depressing!)

You know what? Fuck that.

I’m tired.

If someone is going to love me, they have to love all of it. Anxiety, depression, PTSD, along with the good stuff, the random gift-giving, the snuggling, the back rubs, the kinky sex, the off-color jokes, the random trivia, the insomnia, the random TV & movie obsessions I sometimes get, the odd music I listen to, the love of RPG gaming, all of it. (They don’t have to love my being Pagan, just accept it & not try to change me)

The same as I would have to love all their weird quirks, and learn to live with, or at least compromise with, theirs.

That’s what love is.

It’s NOT about the first flush of passion & the rush of lust that floods your hormones with fire and sparks.

It’s NOT about the lovey dovey eyegasms people give each other from across the room when they first start dating.

And it’s NOT about the giggly phone conversations saying “You hang up”, …”NO, YOU hang up…”

Gag.

It’s about rubbing your partner’s feet at the end of a long day, because he has to walk a lot in hard boots in cold weather.

It’s about cooking dinner while she grabs a shower, because her brain feels like mush after a long day of dealing with stupid people on the phone.

It’s about not killing each other over how you load the dishwasher, or how you fold towels, or whether you fold, roll-up, or fold-into-themselves your socks before they go in your drawer.

I’m just tired, I guess.

Sometimes I wish I had someone here to share everything with. I hate that I come home alone, every night, to an empty house. That there’s no one here to take care of but the cats.

(They’re assholes, but I know at least Sally loves me. She says so every time I sneeze. Truly. I sneeze -she cries & jumps in my lap & checks on my face)

And I’ve gone down the rabbit-hole tangent.

Anyway…

I know I’ll be alone.

It’s difficult sometimes, being on my own.

It hurts.

I’m not used to it, and I don’t really like it. I’d rather have someone to take care of, and someone who will take care of me back.

But – this is where I am.

Whether through past choices I made, or whatever, this is where I’ve ended up.

And the hourglass doesn’t run the other direction.

I have no idea how much time is left.

So, I guess the memories will have to do.

Sometimes Weekend Insomnia isn’t my fault

I have insomnia a lot, mostly in the fact that – yeah I have trouble falling asleep, so I’m up late, but I also wake up 2, 3, or sometimes 4 times a night.

Not for long, just long enough to roll over, look at my clock, realize it’s hours before I should be getting up, & go back to sleep – but still, it breaks up my nights enough so that I normally only get around 4 or 5 hours of sleep a night on the regular.

And, weekends are usually worse.

Because I’m busy, and have shit to do.

Things I want to get done.

Things I want to enjoy.

Things I can’t seem to get accomplished during the week, like laundry (my dryer takes foreeeeever), and housecleaning, & grocery shopping & things like that.

Weekends mean all-nighters, a lot.

With a crash nap the next day, sometimes.

Yeah…*sigh* I know. Not healthy.

But, whatever.

I live alone. Who’s here to care?

Anyway, this weekend, it wasn’t really my fault that I ended up staying up late, and extended it out into an all-niter.

It started with OnlySon.

He changed his “visiting day” to Saturdays, so that we can actually see and interact with each other, talk a little, maybe, before he goes back to his dad’s. It was great, we went grocery shopping, which we both hate, so we riff off each other, & make fun of everything the whole time. When we came back, we talked gaming for a while, which we both enjoy, & made chocolate-covered potato chips together. (I’m using them for gift-giving this year, & he’s not much of a sweets eater, so it was just the making, not the snacking)

We had hours actually together, which we don’t really get, and it was – – great. It was just, really, super nice to have my son back for a while.

Not long after he left, I got a phone call from YoungerDaughter, she was on her way home from a friend’s house after some holiday activities, & wanted me to be her late-night phone buddy while she drove a very lonely, long stretch of road.

So we talked for a couple of hours as she drove home, from the town where she was, to the city she lives in a couple hours away.

By this time, it was already after midnight, and I’d hit my second wind and was good to go for a few more rounds.

And…Just as she was pulling into her driveway…my Beloved Nephew calls & my call waiting beeps!

No rest for the wicked, right?

I’m absolutely NOT going to turn down a phone call from Beloved Nephew, and the daughter is now safely home, so I hang up with her & call him back.

….

By the time I get off the phone with Beloved Nephew, it’s about 3:30 am.

Why the hell would I sleep now? Sun’s going to be up in a couple hours, & I was in the middle of a pretty good book on my Kindle.

ANYWHO… I started receiving texts from my highschool best friend about 9:30, so she & I chatted through text for a bit. She loves over-tired, insomniac me, says I’m hilarious.

Then, yes, I crash-napped for a bit.

Fell asleep around 11:30, woke up around 3:30, & here I am.

Oh, I’ll sleep tonight, even with the nap, never fear. It’ll be the same, broken, woken sleep…

But, sometimes?

Honestly, the insomnia really isn’t my fault.

But I love them.

And I wouldn’t change a damned thing.

Call me anytime, fam. You know I’m here.

So I Stay Quiet

You know I love you, right?

The way I smile whenever you look at me

The way you can make me laugh

Even when I don’t feel like it

Especially when I don’t feel like it

The way you understand things about me

Most people don’t

You know I love you, right?

The way I shiver when you

Touch me

And my hands shake sometimes

When I reach out to touch back

How you always ask

If I’m ok

Even when I’m not

Especially when I’m not

And want to try to make it better

You know I love you, right?

Even though I can’t speak the words

Won’t admit it out loud

Not even to myself

Knowing there’s no way you’ll say them back

I’ll see that look on your face

The one that says

Good-bye

Again

And everything ends

So I stay quiet.

But

You know I love you

Right?

Time Travel happens when you’re not looking, so wear sensible shoes

I lost my damned wifi password today.

And, of course, I never bothered to write it down for myself, because it was stored in my phone, so why bother, it was right there.

I wrote it down once for OnlySon, but, like all good tragedies, his room was struck by a cyclone before I could get to the Post-it note, and he’s not here to find the grumble-fucking thing for me.

ANY WHO…..

During my rip-tear-toss of a search around the house, I decided to try my rusty, trusty… (Drumroll please ****)

ADDRESS BOOK!!

YES, this is a thousand years old, the binding is cracked & in desperate need of some form of bonding agent, but!

It’s also a vehicle of time travel.

Honestly, I think I picked this book up at Ben Franklin in the little town I used to hang out in, my senior year of high school… It. Is. That. Old.

My Mom always told me to write addresses into these books in pencil. (wicked, morbid woman).

Because you know what pencil means…right??

TEMPORARY.

It makes my heart hurt & my brain ache, just thinking about all the names my mom would’ve had me erase from this book if I’d kept following her stricture.

But…I’m an ink-pen kinda girl.

Yeah, some of the names in my address book are written in pencil, but I’ve still never erased One.Damn.Name.

Not. One.

Ohhhh, I’ve scribbled out a few, hooo boy, yah I have.

But erased?

Nope.

My Grandma’s name, last home address and phone number are still written in this book, and she’s been gone a couple of years now.

My friend, Shane, he’s still in the book…and he passed away quite a few years ago from a cancerous brain tumor.

A great aunt & uncle, both passed, many years ago… Still in the book.

Friends I haven’t talked to in years, but if I saw them on the street tomorrow, I’d hug the crap out of them?

Still in the book.

Multiple addresses for my male sibling… Some crossed off, some not, none current. All still there.

People’s names, addresses, and/or phone numbers that I haven’t thought about or used in years, they’re probably no good anymore…

But when I look at their name in that old handwriting, I’m suddenly transported back to whatever time of my life that was, & remember that person.

And…in the back of the book…carefully scribbled

Anniversaries

Birthdays

Important numbers belonging to people I cannot forget – my children, my parents.

For a book small enough to easily fit in the back pocket of my jeans…

There’s a whole lot of living time crammed into those pages.

Step lively, step lightly, but step forward.

…….

…………

No, I never found the damned wifi password. I’ll call the cable co. tomorrow. Dammit.

I’m Surprisingly Not Really Surprised, But I Sorta Am

I’ve been stoked all week for Pride Week here in my city.

There are a lot of events happening, and I’m going to a couple of them, including a Drag show & a “Pride in the Park” day, where a bunch of things will be going on, all at once.

I feel so much empathy, and a strangely welcoming aura, that I don’t get from many groups, when I am in the LGBTQIAP community presence…it’s comforting and strengthening, to me.

Stupidly, I’m welling up with emotion as I type this, I’m just…

Well…anyway.

I’ve been so excited for this, I’ve been talking about it in my office, trying to see if there were any other women who might, possibly, be interested in going to one of the events. The drag show, the park, whatever. I just…kind of wanted to share the wonderful experiences I’ve had with others.

And, instead, the commentary I received back – wasn’t very complimentary.

It wasn’t outright horrible, but…it was, backhanded, snickering, in some cases, spluttering and a quick look of disgust, before quickly covering it with polite disdain.

It was, to say the least, really disheartening, to me.

You see… I’m Pagan.

I am already a minority.

I came out to my coworkers after a long 6 months of debating with myself whether I should or not, way back in 2000, when I started working with some of the same women I still work with today.

We live in a mostly-Republican state, pretty conservative, and yet, I’ve never had a really bad reaction, in this city, from anyone I’ve told about my faith. I feel I’ve been pretty lucky in that regard, as I know there are many who face regular discrimination over their religious beliefs.

These women had absolutely no trouble accepting that I had a non-mainstream religion…

And yet, I can honestly say, that I don’t feel as though anyone who is not hetero, would feel comfortable coming out working there.

Granted, there ARE a couple of women who are totally accepting and friendly towards non-hetero, so I won’t say it’s everyone.

But I was….sad, disheartened, and I felt a little let down.

Which is stupid, again.

They don’t owe me jack shit.

But…I can’t ever, really, be my true self around them.

And, that’s just another layer between them and me that must be applied and maintained, for everyone’s comfort.

*sigh*