I spent a lot of time thinking about this, yesterday, on my drive to & from my folks’ house.

I am a tangle of contradictions.

Most people know one side only, as I keep its opposite pretty well hidden from view.

And nearly all the people who know me IRL, know the jokester, who mixes in with the caring, nurturing part of me. (If I care about you, I care enough to joke with you/about you)

Something I don’t say often, though, is that – once I love someone, it’s forever. No matter how much this can hurt ME in the end. And I’m not just talking about being in love with someone, I’m also talking about Chosen Family love. And there’s a few of those out there.

Beloved Nephew is first & foremost of the Chosen. He is now, and has been for years, my best friend. There could never be anything intimate between us, because we’re family to each other, but he knows me better than anyone else alive.

And he’s seen both sides of my personality.

There are also kids, well, they’re not kids anymore, because they’re godsbedamned grownups now, (yes, I’m feeling the age, here). Kids my children brought home with them, who needed an adult at the time to tell them that they were going to be ok. That they were enough, that they could do this thing called life. I don’t get to see them, or talk to them anymore, because they’ve moved on & past needing me, but I still consider them Chosen Family.

And yes, it stings a little sometimes when I think that, once I wasn’t needed to prop them up, I was forgotten. But that’s what happens. And I don’t want anyone to feel any kind of obligation to me because I was kind to them. That’s selfish. I’m just glad they’ve grown, and hopefully gotten themselves to a good place.

And, yes, there are people whom I’ve been involved with in the past, exes. Who doesn’t have those?

And yes, some of them I love.


To this day.

NOT to say that I’d go back to them, because most I wouldn’t. There was a reason behind the split, and it was needed. I’m healthier, emotionally, mentally, without them in my life.

There’s a couple that I would, but it probably wouldn’t be good for me, so I keep my damn mouth shut. Go me. (sarcastic eye roll)


Not one of them can say they’ve truly seen my other side.

The dark coldness that I keep for only myself.

Y’all have no idea.

There is a detachment that happens when my switch gets flipped. And I can honestly say I, myself, have only seen it truly come out a couple of times. Always in the most dire of situations, and ALWAYS as a protective measure, either for myself, or for a loved one.

Example – cutting my male sibling out of my life.

I’m not going to retell the story, just know that I did it to protect myself from further emotional harm.

The point here, is, that I was able to do it. With no guilt, no remorse, and no second thoughts.

And no one has ever, nor will they ever, talk me out of it. Familial guilt gets nothing.

Talk of blood, of dna, gets nowhere.

After all, his blood, his dna didn’t stop him from hurting me in the first place, now, did it?

Anywho, before I get completely derailed off onto a rant, this is only one example.

But it’s an effective one.

The level of darkness to which I can descend, should I deem it necessary to the situation, is one which most would never seek, and I’m sure, they would never suspect me of reaching it.

But a part of me lives there.

And only the Nephew has seen it, or heard it in my voice.

Probably because he recognizes a kindred spirit when he meets one.

But, I digress.

My tangled dichotomy is pretty balanced, ironically enough.

Because as deep as my darkness goes, that is how far my love extends. And vice versa.

Scary thought, hunh?


I touch.

It’s one of the many ways I experience the world around me, and I have very sensitive fingertips. They transmit streams of data to my brain, constantly, telling me about smooth/rough, soft/firm, warm/cold, curved, straight, edged, sharp, dull, slimy, fuzzy, completely touchable, or never again.

I love sensuous fabrics- satin, suede, microfiber, fleece, oft-washed cotton, or high thread-count cotton. I love the way they feel when they glide across my skin, soft, smooth, pettable, as though I could wrap myself in it and float off on a cloud.

I am, what many would call, a “sensual person”. Not, necessarily in the sexual overtones most people use that phrase, but, in the fact that I use all of my senses to explore my world. 

Sight – colors, depth, symmetry, and that certain something that just appeals to my sight, makes an object, person, view, simply something that catches my breath, and makes me stare.  I stare at people I see in public, sometimes, simply because of the tone of their skin, or the depth in their eyes, the curve of their mouth as they smile, or the fall of their hair.  I feel awkward if they catch me, because I’m sure they think I’m some kind of weirdo, but, it’s just… something extraordinary… about them, that grabbed my attention. I’ve told people in the past “I’m an artist, and you have fabulous (insert cool thing about them here)”.

Smell. I revel in woodsy scents, warm smells, cedar, sandalwood, etc. Dark, inviting smells like musk; exciting and spicy smells, like cinnamon & cloves. That’s why carnations are my favorite flowers, they’re spicy and sweet, all at the same time, & when I smell them, I’m liable to just want to stick my nose in the bouquet & stay there. Pumpkin spice, apples & cinnamon. I love the “clean” scents, too, they’re invigorating & comforting. Line-dried laundry, smelling of sunshine & fresh air, and, yes, the smell of honest sweat can even be inviting. No, not the B.O. that happens after a really long, sweaty, rank day… But the fresh smell of hard work has never been a turn-off for me.

Sound. Drums. Oh. My. God. Drums. With a strong beat, I turn into a meditative zoned-out zombie. Drums can calm me down, or fire me up, depending on the tempo, rhythm and depth of the drum itself. Bass drums set my heart beating to whatever tempo they’re sending out… Thump. Thump. 

Taste.  Well, I’m a picky eater. But the things I like, I love to savor, indulge, linger over. Nuff said.

But- Touch.

That is my personal go-to.

Soft touch, rough over smooth, warm and steady, lingering, shaky, light, firm. I will often run my fingertips over my arms, just to reassure myself, to calm myself. 

Well, I’m too old to carry a blankie around, now, aren’t I?

I just wish there was more of it to go around.  



To me, anyway.