Harder Before Easier

Last year around this time we began our travels across the country side. It had actually begun a bit earlier when we were looking for places to rent. We decided that this region was not only easier to navigate but prettier and would yield more interesting pictures in the Spring and Summer. Plus mushrooms. A lot of things change in a year. My navigator and guide is no longer with me. And it isn't easy to look at the huge collection of photos that I have of the time together, adjust the plans we made together for this year and then look out the window onto a world that feels wrong in every sense of the word.


While it wasn't the healthiest relationship in the end, at least it started out healthier than any I've been in before. I didn't come to it in as weak a position as I have with others... though also not the strongest. It was a manageable situation that didn't need to strain anyone. And we enjoyed last Spring and Summer tremendously. I had the time to enjoy it. That is not the case this year.

I do not have time. And I don't have the physical ability to do much beyond my job. Currently I am in the most physically demanding position that we have and am out of shape for it. When I get home I can barely move... thus staying close to home for the wildlife shots. Listening to the birds this morning is driving me nuts. Today would be the perfect day to mushroom hunt. There are going to be lots of photo ops in the woods. There will be lots of mushroom. It is the perfect time to get those budding shots of the trees.

This is the moment in the circle of life when it seems as though the plants are holding their breath. They are in partial bloom, not fully unfurled lest it snow again. They wait. And the rest of creation waits for that magic moment when everything finally bursts open fully and the active season launches for real. I feel like I am holding my breath and waiting for it to be safe to be fully alive and awakened again. And I keep waiting for that familiar phone number to text me to say that breaking up was all a mistake... even after the snotty email I sent.

It is drizzling this morning. Somehow the feeling in my heart matches the day and I can not even contemplate the next few months without him. Everything changed in the blink of an eye 6 weeks ago. I don't even have the defenses that I used to have. All am can do is feel... every nerve is on fire. Every memory is a scald....

Perhaps this is a good day for some Wilden Tränen, the sky cries and so do I.

Fill in the BlanksAfter

After a break up there is always that period of self loathing in which you wonder what you could have done differently, who you should have been to keep things going. No matter who you dated, Prince Charming or Gaston, when you get dumped you always think that it is your fault.

Spent some time with the therapist today. She's the voice of reason. Everyone else wants to start the She-Woman Man-Haters support group or remodel me so that the BF and I can get back together. It never is as simple as "It was the wrong relationship." But in fact... it is that simple. Relationships don't last when each person is not allowed to be themselves. I'd like to tell you that I am writing this with a completely level head but I am not. I am writing this to CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!!!

I am angry.
I am angry because I let myself erode to the point that when things got bad I shut up then shut myself off in order to preserve what was left that I had not given up. I am angry because of the broken promises, things being harder than what I had planned on, plans that are down the drain. I am angry because I was expected to change and accept some bad behavioral choices as personality traits. I am angry because I am not supposed to hate his actions. He can hate mine, and criticize me all he wants to. But not one word can be said against his choices because that is an attack on his personhood.

I hate double standards. Either the ganders start sharing the spoils with the geese or the ganders just gather together and leave the geese alone. Men shouldn't get a free pass because they are men. Bad behavior is bad behavior no matter who is doing it. Attacking someone's personality because you feel inadequate is not any different than bullying a kid on the playground.

After an hour, there are many things that I need to think about. One of those things is why I am always willing to believe that I am the inadequate one.

So here is a poster to help remind me that sometimes it isn't me. Not directly. Sometimes its just that the other person can not handle my stronger traits. Be it jealousy, self loathing, fear... something in the guys just can not deal with me. I always think it is a deficiency within myself. It rarely occurrs to me that it is a deficiency within themselves.

This is some thing that I will have to change.

Annndddd....

Single again.

Emotionally Unavailable, the pot called the kettle.
So I guess the only thing to do is write, cook, photograph the results and keep with my German culinary flash cards.

I'll get a bike and ride from Sol to Pluto, find a new fishing buddy and go horseback riding.

And I guess in the long run this means that I don't have to give up my German music and "grow up". I won't have to listen to him plan on editing my body to be more perfect for him even though he kept telling me that I was beautiful. I won't have to curtail my writing habits because he is overly sensitive.

But I will have to deal with the flood of memories when I find his picture among the dozens that I took over the last year. I can't erase every album and collage that I put together after our adventures. Those times are a part of me. It's just that they are a part of him too. To erase one is to erase the other. I can't keep erasing myself just because a relationship didn't work.

After all, that is how they end up failing. He doesn't like something so I keep an opinion to myself. He doesn't like something else and there goes an activity. The next thing that he doesn't like keeps me vigilant to avoid a combative argument. I learn to steer away from provocative topics. Then I quickly learn every topic provokes an outrageous and outlandish outburst. It always starts out as little things. But once the criticisms begin the little things get bigger and bigger.

I don't know if I am normal or stupid to hold out hope that a little time will fix these things. Time never does fix anything like this. We had a fundamental difference in our make ups. The beginning of the end was the day he asked me to quit writing about our adventures. I've been asked to keep quiet before. I've swallowed all of my words and then had to keep them down with mouthfuls of decadent desserts so that I wouldn't barf them all over the place and ruin a relationship I should have been working to get out of. I am a communicator. They all know this going in.

And this one seemed quite proud of my skills. What better way is there to get to know someone who is shy face to face than to read a blog in which the relative isolation of writing from home gives the illusion of anonymity? But when he realized I chronicled our adventures, even though it was to inspire other stay at home geeks to get out and do something daring for themselves, I had to stop. No one ever saw his face. We didn't do anything that we should not have done. We simply explored the world around us. I talked about the things that I learned, the confidence that I gained, and how I felt. And he asked me to stop. I've been there before. I should have known not to stop. I should have known that being silenced would be the first step to total erasure.

I stayed silent as long as I could.
I put myself aside as long as I could.
Then he had some issues and needed to take some time.

And that is how it ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.

And an accusation of emotional unavailability.
I am not emotionally unavailable. I am emotionally involved with several fictional characters & the actors that portray them.

Has it really been two months?

I guess it has been. Regular posting is a little tricky. Everything is a little tricky right now. I have never been very good at organizing life when it gets complicated by many important parts. That is why I usually try to keep things to a dull 1 focus at a time. Usually that is work first. Art second. And everyone/thing else competing for 3rd. However, life rarely let's you get away with that for too long. And this year's competition for first has been fierce proof of that.

I've been dating the same guy for the last year. That new boyfriend still has the new boyfriend feel. When I worked only 3 or 4 days a week and why had lots of time to hang out that was fun. And I still got to have time for art, blogging, and cooking. So much time that I was able to and in a pen pal and start a new blog at Wordpress. We had fun and I still got to do all the introverted "I'd rather be alone right now" things that I have been accustomed to these last 20 years of being divorced. Much of this has changed since April.

We started dating as the seasons slowed nature and slipped into dormancy. With a hard winter there were no adventures to be had. And since Winter was so long and difficult on the psyche, when Spring finally came we sought the sun and adventure at every turn. My skill sets expanded so that I would fit into his world. As I mentioned; I learned to fish, kayak, we went on the Unintended Library Tour, toured Lighthouses, went foraging for mushrooms after learning about them a bit, & took scenic tours of the area we live. And we did all of that on the one or two days off that I had each week... if I got them off.

I haven't had a lot of time off. And we filled it with the outdoors to make up for a hard winter. And to prepared for another potentially dark winter of endless night. I also moved this year. Again. Adapting to new surroundings is harder and harder each year. An this year is no exception. I am still living out of boxes and it has been over 6 months.

I don't have a kitchen that is conducive to photography. The taste testing goes well. But the photography is abysmal. And there is no changing it until I am in my own space once again.

And there has been a good deal of depression in the last few months. The frustration of not having a settled life. Of trying to figure out how I am going to ever have my own space again is keeping me up at night again. And we know how I am without sleep. Deprivation makes for a precarious situation when navigating the the world.

And then there is the never being alone.
I am always around people. Even if I am in my room I am still in a place full of people. I am an Aquarius. Our symbol should be a pillow. My spirit animal should be an fluffy overstuffed bed with lots of pretty bedding. I love sleep for the dreams, for the solitude and for the time that my brain is not on overdrive. I am not getting it.

I need solitude. Not and icy fortress in the middle of nowhere. And certainly not an ivory tower with yellow beams of light. Though.... if I could have a room in the turret once it is renovated.... that would be awesome. I have no time to regroup. To indulge in the flights of fantasy that keep my brain happy with all the monotony of the mundane.

And so two months here slips by me without much notice. That and now we have issues with the boyfriend and his need for privacy. I haven't given a name because I wouldn't. And I don't have his permission. But I also have been asked to not  divulge the details of our adventures because he doesn't like to think about his life being an open book. I get it. But I am a character in my own life. And that means that I no longer get to write about my adventures. It is nearly impossible to write him out of stories because he is an inextricable part of them.

Now there is a war withing me between self-expression and respecting another's boundaries.
Sigh

Reflecting Today... my cousin Michelle

My Pintrest boards have been filing up with lots of inspiration for the Boho/Shabby Chic lifestyle. I have to say, honestly, if I win the lottery the first thing that I am going to do is commission a Vardo. I don't know how I will use it, but I want it. While all of these images are flooding onto my board, I keep thinking of my cousin Michelle.

I love all of my cousins for a variety of reasons. I think Michelle stands out because she was always different and didn't really care what anyone thought of her choices, her style or opinions. She went with the flow.

Michelle babysat us for a few Summers. We were always barefoot. It was the early 70s so there weren't laws about having to wear your shoes in the car, or stores, or anywhere. And I remember the Summer that I learned the hard way why shoes are important: I split my big toe open on the running board of the Galaxy 500 while we were clamoring to get into the car so Michelle could take us to the beach. She didn't freak. She didn't call me names. She stuck my feet in the sink, hosed me down with Bactine and put a bandaid on it.

Mom, on the other hand, freaked. And forbade me to be barefoot ever because I could get ringworm, or some other thing. And she freaked out on Michelle for not paying attention. So Michelle and I conspired to more antics that would potentially damage either of us... but not permanently. Michelle was one of those people who challenged the rules, not because she was an anarchists at heart. But because some rules are far too limiting and keep us too safe, too comforable and don't challenge us to creativity or strength. When we are coddled overmuch we do not grow in any productive manner. We only grow in fearfulness.

And that is one of the things that I liked best about Michelle. She was fearless. At least she was to me. I was 4, 5, and 6 when she stayed with us for the Summers. She was exotic in her hippie maxi's with the long hair and big sunglasses. The staid housewives in polyester Carol Brady housewife attire looked at her askance. The uptight men in suits seemed in equal parts curious and appalled by her flamboyancy. We just didn't have many hippies in Traverse City. I guess. We certainly didn't have a lot of people who made alternative choices. And by alternative I mean there might have been 4 shades of nail polish that were acceptable back then, peach, pink, rose and red. And given the choice, Michelle always chose something other than those. Or no polish at all. Which unless you were a farm wife that was unacceptable as well. Ooooh...... danger on the rise!

But truly, I don't know much really about her life and choices back then. I just knew everyone worried about her until she was about 35. Much the same way that everyone worried about me. All I needed to know about Michelle was that she was encouraging, sympathetic, convivial and patient in explaining things to a child. Other than my grandparents, Michelle was the only one who ever explained anything.

She explained why she said no on the rare occasion that she did say no. She explained to me why the things that I was afraid of in my dreams needn't be scary. She explained how things were made (foodwise). She explained how nature cycles worked. And she explained adults to me. Nothing is more valuable to a kid than understanding how the adult mind works in the face of an adult episode of kid rage.

She explained that sometimes adults get mad because the things that we do scare them and they are too busy being scared to know that they are scaring us in turn. Sometimes adults get mad because they forget what it is like to be curious kids and they are too busy being addled adults. And yes, she explained what addled meant. Sometimes, she said, adults get angry because they don't have time to stop and pay attention to the things that kids want explained or to share. And sometimes adults get mad because they don't know the answers to our questions, because it makes them feel dumb. Most of which are silly reasons to get mad at a kid. But with an explanation life was a little easier to understand and navigate.

photo from C'est si Bon! La Joie de Vivre 

Michelle also had interesting friends. She had interesting ideas. And she liked to get out and do stuff instead of stay in the house. As I've been absorbing all the boho-design goodness and thinking about Michelle, I've come to realize that the friends that I have share one quality with her that I treasure the most. They are safe, or make me feel safe by fostering an understanding of the things that I don't know or reminding me of the things that I have forgotten. Not all of my friends share the gypsy aesthetic. But they foster understanding. In some sense all of my friends are teachers; though I doubt all of them would see themselves that way. In a safe environment I feel like I can do anything. I do not see my limitations as a stop sign. I see them as an inspiration to sneak around a roadblock or a fence.

Michelle was sneaky like that. Sometimes evading the rules, bending them and breaking them got her into trouble enough to warrant worry. But sometimes, more often than not I suspect, evading the rules gave her greater strength of character and a whole lot of perseverance. Rebellion is not without its problems. Rebellion is also not the problem that authority would make it out to be. Certainly it makes the figures of authority uneasy, fearing they will be toppled by a pitchfork wielding mob. But for the most part rebellion is how we learn who we are as individuals. Michelle took a lot of chances. She made a lot of bolder choices. Some of them worked. Some of them did not. As a result of the ones that did not work, her life was a bit harder than it had to be.

Similarly, as a result of some of my choices, my life is more difficult than it need be at the moment. But I am stronger than otherwise I would be. I have a mental and emotional strength that I had not thought possible. I might have a few edges that were not there before. But I am stronger. I know that nothing bad that happens is the end of my world. I might not like what happens. But I know that I can survive it. And.... getting back to those friends, I know who will be with me through everything in spirit if not in person.

Perhaps that is the best thing that Michelle taught me. How to really know who your friends are. They are the ones who caution you but encourage you to make your own choices; who cry with you when you make a wrong choice and will hand you the shovel so you can dig yourself out instead of playing keep away with it. It's the playing keep away that annoys me. It is not a friendly thing to do to dangle the tools of self help in front of someone. Real friends also do not defile your personal limits. If you are deathly afraid of spiders they will not dangle one in front of you. If you despise practical jokes they will not play one on you. Friends understand that your fears and limits trump their joy. Really, what kind of friend enjoys humor at your expense (except when of course it is a natural consequence of reality)? Friends don't take pleasure in your suffering. And those who derive the greatest joy from your discomfort can not be called friends.

Somehow, slowly through the years, I have regressed into the people pleasing mode and forgotten a large part of who I am. As I indulge in these Pintrest boards, a little voice says, "You might like this, but others will think it weird." In greater leaps than I imagined possible, the boldness returns, I see Michelle's smile and recall the fabulous patterns of her maxi dressed dappled in the shade of our large maples and I remember more and more what she inspired in me. Coupled with my Gramma's assertion that we are all made differently to make the world more interesting, I grow increasingly confident in my own direction. And I grow increasingly indifferent to other people's opinions.

I am told that there are many colorful characters in my cousin's branch of the family tree. I have found a few colorful characters in the Gerbstadt branch. The part of the tree from which I stem is rather dull by comparison with only Gramma and Michelle there. It would appear I am to be another colorful leaf in the tree.

Avoid Fail is Epic

Last night we went to an a cappella show at the local museum. It was small, and kinda low key but high lighted the voice groups associated with the local college. It was great. Dick Wallace hosts a program on the public radio station and was the evenings emcee.

Now I have rarely been to live concerts in any arena. This was probably the 6th one outside of school performances that we HAD to go to. So I never know what to expect. But it is a cappella..... Carmen San Diego and what not so it was going to be good right? It was. We were a bit early and walked through the display of a Hungarian printmaker's works and then toddled off to find seats.

One of the first groups up was the Sweet Adelines' a cappella division with one of my classmates, and my sister's best friend since second grade, Laura. She is a blast on facebook and has always been a chipper person since I've known her. It was fun to see her up there. As her group disembarked the stage she waved to a couple of people not too far from us. But alas, I was left to wonder who as the show continued.

Quado Pro Quo came up and killed me a little with some Bobby Vinton and Blue Velvet. A little snuggle and a lot of tears. I don't know why that song does it. It almost always does. The rest of the performances went off without much more emotion from me than a lot of admiration. Until the end, that is.

At intermission I saw the answer to the question and popped over to say hi to two other classmates. Tommy and his wife Jerilyn. Had a good catch up session and then the show went on as one would expect. The BF teased me a bit because I had gotten sucked into a performance. Their director was just very expressive and hypnotic with his conducting, which everyone else had done with a limited range. The song was called "sleep" and I nearly did.

At the end a 4 voice female barbershop group came on and did a couple of songs I didn't know. Then finished with a gut wrenching version of Dionne Warwick's "That's what friends are for."

It is a beautiful song in its own right. But for an entire high school in northern Michigan in 1985 the song bears a singular significance that 28 years later is not diminished for the majority of us. A classmate of considerable character, almost infamy, and great heart died. The majority of the school went in waves to his viewing and we all attended the funeral mass together as we would so many school masses of any given Friday. During some point in the mourning process, Dennis' life flashed before us in carefully chosen slides while this song played over the sound of many people crying.

Dennis had a reputation in the school from his earliest elementary days that was troubled and unflattering. In the mid 70 we didn't know how to deal with kids who were so different. I do not know all the details of his disorder and hazard to guess he fell in the autism spectrum. And our parents were not really good with information. Information is the key to making life easier as it leads to understanding. Without understanding, as you might well imagine, Dennis had a hard time feeling at home in our close knit school. When we were in 4th grade I was assigned to tutor him.

Having spent a lot of time with him, I still could tell you know more about him than I am able now. His learning was slow which angered and frustrated him. He could do more than his brain was letting him and he knew it. I was only a 9 year old kid with him and didn't know how to teach anything to anyone. I never felt like I was any help at all. I wouldn't do the work for him. And I didn't know how to help him absorb the information. I felt like I only frustrated him more because I didn't know what I could do for him. And I think that made things ten times worse for him. At some point he was sent to a far better school.

The school specialized in alternative teaching methods. It might have a Montessori element to it. I don't know. But he went and got the kinds of instruction that helped to unlock his brain from whatever prison it was born into, and let out his personality... the sweet, helpful and caring personality that was trapped under all the frustration. He did well enough to surpass us at some point. When I got into the high school which was buildings removed from the last school we shared I was a freshman and he was now a sophomore.

Admittedly, I avoided him for a solid few weeks when school started. I remembered the angry Dennis. And I was a little scared. The mental handicap was a small part of the issue. While I avoided him it was hard not to take note of the change in his personality. He was confident, kind, helpful and rather well liked by all of his classmates. At least by what I could see. There was a day when one of the teachers, Mrs. David, asked him to see if he could help another student make sense of the work they were doing on in their unit. He looked over the work while he stood along side her desk. If I didn't know better, I would have thought that he was an adult who had stepped out of one of those 1950's educational films, with the coke bottle glasses and the crew cut. He just had a professional look about him. He said it was no problem, took the assignment, made a note and half saluted as he walked away.

A few days after that Dennis called me. We published a yearly directory of students phone numbers and addresses since I could remember. I think the practice was abolished in 87 or 88. He called and we chatted. He said he was sorry that he was so mean in elementary school. I told him basically what I've told you guys. He described what it was like to be at Pathfinder where people knew what was wrong with him and could help him work around it if they couldn't cure it. We talked about what it was like to be a grade ahead of us and he cracked a joke.

It was a short conversation. We had many of them. Dennis was a weird kid. I was a weird kid. So it was nice to be able to talk about the things that were fascinating to each of us. As the school year progressed into Fall there was one conversation where he kept offering to come out to my grandparents to help rake leaves. I had the impression that he might have wanted to date.

To be honest. I didn't want to be Dennis' girlfriend in part because of the circumstance. It was a bitter pill for me to realize that I could be as shallow as anyone else. But I couldn't see it. And while we were able to talk, part of me always wondered when the other Dennis would show up, so more than talking would not have been possible. Beyond that.... I didn't like boys. I didn't like them the way the other girls kept acting like they liked them. I liked them because they had better toys (erector sets, chem labs, matchbox cars, legos and Death Stars etc...) and I liked them because they could go outside and get dirty and not worry about stains and holes and torn nails. I liked boys because we were alike in mindset and I couldn't stand the chatter than happens with girls.

But how do you explain that to someone when you don't fully understand that yourself?

Then there were the issues with family. There was no way my mom was going to let me date at 14. And when I did date it wasn't going to be to someone who didn't have money. And it wasn't going to be someone she could not control. Dennis had a strong family. As crazy and Italian opera as that sounds that is the way things were for me. How do you explain that without telling someone how crazy your own family is? I was as embarrassed by my mother's behavior as I was about my own looks and intellect at the time, as I was by Dennis' situation. How do you explain that without hurting someone's feelings? I know he understands all of this now. But as I type I can not think anything but what a horrible person I must be to be so frailly human. How do you explain that?

And how do you explain that you made up your mind that you would not ever date?

Two years later I would figure out what gay was, what lesbianism was and that the whole time I was growing up someone was taking bets on when I would come out. But I didn't know anything about anything except that I had to train myself not to want relationships so that being around people was easier. A decade later I would find out that there is a psychological phenomenon called asexuality which boiled in to its most essential description is a being uninterested in sex for the sake of sex or for human connection. I simply was not going to be capable of a fully adult relationship until well into my 30s. And it would only ever be with guys because for the most part.... I can't stand my own gender. But it would still take 20 years for me to figure that out.

But how do you explain something you don't know about?

I chose to blame it on my parents. The no dating until you are 16 would only put the question off for two years. But then things may have changed enough that revisiting the question might have yielded either a different set of results or some clarity.

I didn't have two years. Within a few days of the discussion Dennis had passed. A damaged chimney flue built up dangerous levels of gas in his basement bedroom and he died in his sleep. We came to school Monday morning to the news. It almost killed nearly everyone in his class to say goodbye. It almost killed me. The guilt was incredible. He never did officially ask me out, only talked the what if. And it was natural causes, or an act of God type of a situation, so it isn't like he took his own life. My head knew that. But my heart and that sadistic thing in my head that likes to blame me for everything and twist reality to make me hate being here myself knew something different. Shelly kept telling me that I didn't do anything wrong. That it was an accident. But I didn't want to believe that. Some days, even now, I don't want to believe that.

It's been 28 years since Dennis passed. 28 years since I was last in the Covell Funeral Home and felt the plush red carpet soften the footfalls of mourning visitors. 28 years since that song brought a school to tears. For 28 years I've avoided the song. I change the radio station or don't listen to the radio at all anymore. For 28 years I've been able to avoid the song successfully with only a few fails. Last night the Avoid Fail was Epic.

As soon as the last group left the stage the BF and I bolted. He to avoid traffic. Me to avoid the odd stares from people applying poor deduction skills to the anomaly of a woman crying her eyes out after a wonderfully less than dramatic performance. On the way out the door Laura's group was gathering for the receiving line. Laura gave me one of her big bear hugs and I remembered she was one of the first people to hug me at Dennis' funeral too. After we got back to my house I explained the whole sordid thing to my BF and got a wonderful amount of support.

It may have taken me a long time to figure out how I felt about boys, dating, human interaction period. But I am glad that when I did figure it out this one was there. Of course it helps that we have a common background. 25 years ago we were Seniors in the same school. He was 3 years after Dennis and while Dennis was never forgotten, he wasn't explained to the newbies either. I think in some way, his lost became a special gem that each person protected in memory the way many of us failed to in real life during the time that we had him. And that is perhaps why that song can kill so many of us each time we hear it.

And it will for the rest of our lives.

Looking for Living Quarters & Getting Stuck

I love having a geeky/nerdy boyfriend that is just as weird about things as I am. Did I mention that while we were apartment hunting he came over to look at all I had and help me sort in my head what kinds of things we did and did not need? Oh... I might have mentioned it on the art blog because that is what it was mostly about.

If I did mention it, I apologize for mentioning again. Since I can not stop thinking about what a gift the whole experience was for me I am talking about it again and not bothering to look through the posts to see if I already wrote about it. It's a big deal.

He told me that I would most definitely be setting up shop in the living room. All the art out in the open. The odds of us having company are slim. And any one who would come over already knows there is a huge art factor on both sides of the relationship so it will surprise no one. So it doesn't matter if the living room is the studio/library. How many people get to be that close to sustenance? And how many artists get to come out of the cramped back room or out of the basement? Any way...

All my life I've been told to hide my stuff. Hide who I am. He'd rather look at banks of white cubes than tons of pretty tchotchkes like other "normal" people would. He said that it inspires him to be creative when he sees others being creative. And then there would not be a huge disconnect, me in one room him in another. I don't know how that is going to go for me.

On the one hand... I don't like an audience because I don't want a record of the mistakes. And I don't like to be interrupted when I am in the swing of things. But... I also don't like to feel like the art makes me a freak that has to hide in another room while the normal people are eating dinner..... its so Harry Potter under the stairs. Or Jo in the garret. Except that Jo was accepted by her family for being a crazy writer. I am looking forward to it. He took one look at the basement without a source for natural light and the unfinished ceiling and the cobwebs and exclaimed

"You can't work down here! What are you thinking?"

He was right. I tried. Beyond the smell of unclumped cat pee I couldn't be down there. It was dismal. And thanks to the kidney I didn't have the money to do what I wanted to do with it. But..... times and locations are changing so we shall see what comes of this.

I am excited at least to think about a future where I am able to paint where I live instead of making a hole somewhere to hide. It can only bring out the better parts of my artistic drive right?

The hard part is that I am so excited to start painting in earnest again that I am having a hard time being focused on packing.

The Brown Bag Holiday

My history with this particular holiday is turbulent to say the least. While in 2014 I expect it to be vastly different from any other of its predecessors and am actually looking forward to it, I still am experiencing pre-performance anxiety regarding the holiday.

I went to a Catholic school so the fact that the holiday was established as patronage to a martyr who ministered to Christian soldiers during pre-Constantine conversion was not lost on us. The life and death of many persons named Valentinus who could have be The One on whom all prose, poetry and profits rests was oft quickly glossed over to get to the good stuff..... that brown paper bag "mail box" we spent 2 art periods decorating.

The Brown Bag, a ubiquitous and functional fixture in every home, carried sack lunches 354 days of the year with little fanfare and absolutely no banner waving. But on that 365th day it was both a conveyance of unimaginative edibles and sentiments of varying degrees of sincerity. We used whatever means at our disposal to decorate the bags with hearts in every shade of red imaginable. And when we were done with the bags the teacher lined them up under the chalk tray of the blackboard (green in our case) in alphabetical order. This was to make distribution easier. As we were bent over our textbooks, they called for our attention. Luring us down a day dreamy path of expectations.

Art critiques and the planning of how to celebrate friendship with our closest friends & imagining the brilliant smiles when our cards were discovered by our friends interrupted the normal business of education. We hoped for acknowledgement from some and dreaded it from others. We spent valuable educable brain cells running through ideas of design, sentiment, format, color and signature style alongside the normal work required in a school day. I did at any rate. I do not imagine that I was alone in that past time.

In varying degrees we all had planned and schemed from out first experience with this tradition how to improve our fortunes for the following year. The hierarchy of affection determined the quality and size of individual Valentines that we gave. The hierarchy of class caste systems determined the quantity received. Invariably there were one or two poor souls who had on the teacher's contribution in the bottom of their sack, a crushing statement from the peerage of your value and esteem. Then there were those of us who did not have many friends, but friends of great consideration who's efforts to provide a splendid presentation of personal worth, a kind of a claims stake and affirmation of belonging.

For a good many years, 3 in my case, the possession of the frilly overdone exuberance of my closest friends was enough for me. I may have only had 9 cards in my bag, my bag may have been suspiciously devoid of candies and assorted edible treats to accompany the saccharine sayings, but I knew who the 9 people were in my class that I belonged to in some way. It was those poor souls who could not make friends or could not understand the demands of this "holiday" and were left holding an empty sack that prompted a change of policy from the school. It also prompted a change in my anticipation of the day.

It was decided, when too many feelings were hurt with the lack of class support that all students MUST have something in that sack. And any student who failed to deliver a proper Valentine's Day post to another students paper mail box must forfeit the days gains.

In. A. Public. Display.... of humiliation in which you bore the label "antisocial"

And thus my 4th grade year became the seat of a deeply rooted anxiety. Rather than root joyously through the bins of boxed Valentine cards for the perfectly colored, perfectly worded and socially acceptable pop culture icons, it was a sweaty and soul-less search for anything that would not incur the wrath of any number of classmates I had unsuccessfully avoided offending. Scooby Doo may have been cool one year, but the following he was sure to be seen as "baby-ish". Nothing could be too sentimental for the bullies lest they think that I have some design on them. It was a nightmare of fear and loathing that could not be abated for a full week.

Having procured a set of cards with the most innocuous and neutral prose in the bin, I approached that year and every other one with the thought that I could not get into any trouble for my choice. I was wrong that year and every year there after. The cards were chose the first Saturday shopping excursion available. And the box sat and taunted me while I made the cards for my best friends until their distribution. On the Monday before the dreaded holiday the threats began. The child who most attacked me assured me that in no way did he want a Valentine from me. That if his box contained a card with my signature I would find myself eyeball deep in trouble. He reminded me everyday. I told the first teacher that I could not comply with the rules and why.

She was sympathetic but assured me she would take my Valentines away if he did not receive one from me. He didn't. And she did. I complied with his request to forgo a deposit in his bag and still found myself eyeball deep in trouble. By trouble I mean snow. I got my first white wash. The following year the process went much the same. Except I complied with the rules and gave him one.... without, as per request, my signature on it. And I was white washed again. When I pulled myself out of the snow bank to go home, I was escorted by a barrage of ice filled snowballs. And every day, all day, whenever he could, he would sidle up to me and whisper his psychological mantras on the theme of my worth along with his threats of bodily harm. He made good on every threat, sometimes with the help of his recruits.

The following year the pattern became ingrained with a twist. I put off writing the cards out until the very last night before the "Big Party." My pen slipped as I sweat to the old threats repeated in my head. I shook the closer I got to his name on the list. And when it was over I threw up whatever was in my stomach. It wasn't much as I was always too distressed to eat much of anything that entire week. And when I was done throwing up I cried.

Yes I explained all of this to my parents. Dad didn't know what to do and Mom told me boys do that when they like you. My brother heard that. He told his friend, the brother of the boy in question. And when the bags were opened, cards were read, treats devoured and the sugar buzz was in high gear, he slithered up behind me and stuck a thumbtack in my back. When I turned around he told me that my mother was an idiot. Boys don't do this to girls they like. They tease girls they like. But they don't beat girls they like. And just to prove how much he didn't like me, he promised me the beating of my life if I went home the normal way. He ended his monologue with something that I thought for a long time must be true.

No one likes you, no one will ever like you. You're stupid, fat, and weird. And the people who tell you that you are sweet lie. Sweet doesn't mean anything except they are too polite to tell you the truth... the whole class hates you.

Even though I went home a different way I still was caught, and beaten.

I went through this ritual each year we were required. And when it was no longer compulsory the only people who got anything from me on Valentines were my best friends. Handmade, heartfelt and exchanged in our homes not at school. And never to boys.

When I was married there were no Valentines. That was a problem for him. When I divorced and got back into the dating scene 8.5 years later that was a problem for him too. And years after that when I made my third attempt to stick my toes into a relationship, in 2010, I took a chance. I gave a boy a Valentine and the result was the Massacre of 2010. While an apology was made the effect was rather still a devastating one. The very next relationship I gave a Valentine. It was not compulsory. We did not talk about the day or make plans except to say that it was not a thing that either of us was comfortable with. And that Valentine took me right back to that horrible day when I was told everyone hated me.

To the credit of the men I have dated, I haven't been beaten up physically as I was when I was a kid. But the emotional scars are there nonetheless. And the behaviors are there as well. I am not an overly affectionate person in a relationship. It takes me a while to settle into the thing to know where the boundaries are and what is and is not safe to do. I am not demonstrative. I am not cold. I just am wary. And most of the time the men don't know what is going on. And there is a reason for that. They don't care to know.

So since I am dating again this year and we are two days away from it, I feel the anxiety go up. About 3 weeks ago we decided how to handle it. Neither of us wants a big shin dig. Neither of us feels that the commercial dictates of a marketing scheme centuries in the making is a realistic evaluation of a relationship. While that may seem like a cleverly logical dodge, it isn't. It is honest. Since he never met a woman who doesn't want to turn every Valentines day into a mini wedding he had questions.

And for the first time in my life I felt like answering. Honest answers. So he knows. And he doesn't think it weird or anything. In fact, the supportive hug was tremendous. There is no pressure for the day. I feel it. But it isn't coming from him. It is me.... all on the inside. It will work its way out eventually. And it will be fine. We have plans but nothing that will put a bit of undue stress on either of us.

I have done a digital card to email him. I am contemplating a homemade one. And I've been cruising Pintrest for some holiday ideas. But I think that I will actually wait on those as a special occasion thing for those "just because" days. I do want to do something small.... maybe something on a Brown Bag theme.

This is What They Mean When They Say to Be Yourself/Love What You Love & The Universe Will Manifest It

I think I should probably do a separate page for the food geek in me. It could take up quite a lot of space as I am about ready to squee senseless from the joy of receiving two cooking magazines in my goodie box from Germany.

Unendlich live CD, Midnight Mallorca Mix CD, a life changing book by
Hape Kerkeling, Mozart Kugeln and assorted lebkuchen, and two magazines
of German style cooking and baking

I have a wonderful pen pal. I've said it before. And I shall say it again. She is a thoughtful person and eager to share the things that she loves with other like minded people. One of those things that we love is the music of Matthias Reim. That fan frenzy is how we met. Online during the week of his release concert this year. We have a lot of other things in common, but Matthias is the main thing. There is not a feeling I can feel in which his music does not provide comfort or encouragement. It is all there. And really that is the best kind of music. When music, or any art, comes from a life lived fully and with the joys and sorrows that happen you have the best kind of music ever. And that is perhaps why modern American music annoys me: it really is about nothing. And not in a good Seinfeld way.

Between Sting and Matthias Reim, I should be all set with the emotional support to get through the rest of my life. Maybe. I'm one of those introverts that has a hard time with people and goes into seclusion. Then when I get bored of having to be my own company I come out of the cave guns a blazing and ready to tackle the world only to find myself tripping over the gun belt that has slipped off the hip because I do not really know what I am doing. And when I fall on my face I need someone to help me that can offer the help without judgment. Enter music. And German music is particularly helpful to me since no one around me will no what ails my heart. I can not be made fun of. I can not have my heart turned against me. It is perfect.

At work the guys always say that my radio is broken. I think I will just have to tell them that they need to upgrade their universal translators. But I don't want them to know that my heart is still heavy from the events involving Sir Knight. Nor do  I want them to know that their own brand of ugliness has gotten to me. Matthias can sing abut his heart being squished into a bloody pulp with a great dance beat behind it to disguise some of the anguish. And no one in that laundry room is the wiser for it. No one needs to know that I feel the way they want me to feel. No one need know that I am the Schwanenkönig and how keenly I feel the loss of their friendships.

And as always, Unverwundbar is my shield, Matthias my guardian angel and Über sieben Brücken is the courage to continue when I do not want to, there is light after the dark night, there is life after the ashes of despair. I know, two of those songs are not his. But his voice is the one that lends the conviction to them that allows me to take the message seriously. Lest you all thing it is all despair in my little corner of the world it is not. Matthias makes a great dance tune.

His is a soul that feels every feeling with passion. It is easy to ride the waves with him. It certainly feels safer than trying to navigate feelings without a guide. And now, thanks to my pen pal the collection is complete.

As I was getting ready to write this so that I could talk about German food and especially the baking, she wrote me to tell me a few things about the package. Which is funny because she prevents me then from asking her if she was sure she wanted to give me her copies. None of them were shrink wrapped so I assumed it was from her personal stash. She had two copies of the signed CD so one is mine now. The story of the Mallorca edition though has put me out of sorts. And I don't think that I will write about food now.

 

 



I've been trying to collect all the CDs. I have all but two of Sting's, all of the Monkees albums were re-released for their 40th anniversary. It is only fitting that I should strive for all of the albums from Matthias. Considering finances, I always put this one at the bottom of the list. And as luck would have it, the used dealer on Amazon ran out and could not get more. Amazon was out for a long time, so long that it seemed that maybe it was out of print. 7Leben caused a huge run on his work. And Unendlich depleted the rest of the supplies fairly well. As a matter of fact, Unverwundbar for a long time could not be had for less  than 100 Euro. Yikes! I love him but I still have to live.*

So I told my pen pal that I had everything but that CD. She said it was a minor CD and not really a must have. I told her that I had guessed as much. But the version of Hallelujah that I like the most is in the Midnight Show because it has the screaming violins and sounds like the kind of church music that makes dead popes roll in their graves. [This is obviously not what Matthias intended. It is how my particular brand of schadenfreude manifests itself. And a commentary on my opinion that better church music would keep more butts in the seats instead of driving people away. My opinion. And it could be wrong.] Obviously this is something that she remembered from many months ago.

She had the opportunity to help the family help Matthias' father downsize. As they were going through his personal belongings they came across 5 copies of this particular CD. He asked if she knew anyone who could use them.

And she did.

Complete.








*quick fact checking at amazon tells me that their supply of Matthias Reim anything is slim. They are down to hard copies of singles and only a few compilation albums... which I already have. No Mallorca.

Statistical Probabilites my Ass!

There is a saying in the husband hunting clubs that you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your Prince. And there is a similar thing in mathematics wherein a barrel with 99 blue gems and 1 diamond with a participant drawing one gem per draw will eventually find the diamond. Or in Castle-speak, eventually the perpetrator will be Men In Black or Aliens. Eventually. In a case of a barrel of gems, eventually the participant will draw the diamond.... even if that means 100 draws to get there. In the case of the Frog Prince and the Princess or Gold Digger (whoever finds him first) that is a lot of frogs. A lot of potential for e coli, salmonella or botulism toxicity to ruin your happy hunt.

But statistics are statistics. Probability states that eventually you will hit your mark, one must simple continue to hunt for that which one seeks. So, if one dating site yields 2 good candidates every 6 months then 4 sites should yield 8. Of those 8 someone has to be a good match. Right? Right. So says math so say we all.

Then again, we know how math and I get along. I'm a 6° Geek in that I can connect dots one wouldn't necessarily think connected. Not in the sense that I have any functional abilities in the world of math and science. I am perfectly content with the succinct explanation of quantum physics as Timey Wimey stuff™ even if it is all Wibbly Wobbly. So while the statement of logic seems a reasonable one. The results suggest that it is time I face some hard facts.

• One or Six dating sites is going to yield me more frogs than I know what to do with.
• I am tired of kissing frogs
• I would rather sell frogs TO a French restaurant than eat WITH another one
• A successful match on paper is not necessarily going to derive a successful match in person
• No matter what a man says in his profile he is only baiting a hook with the best bait he knows, which is not necessarily the truth
• What a man says he is looking for is not really what he is looking for

I think, and I have said this before, it is time to cease the hunt. I am lonely without active mates to do things with. But everyone wants a ready made partner not someone they have to put time into. No matter how well the Internet can connect me globally to people who share my same interests, the Internet is not going to connect me with people who share my interests locally. While it may seem that I am backtracking on my birthday wishes to Benedict Cumberbatch last month and what I am planning on sharing with Richard Armitage next week, I am not.

It is simply time to realize that I have spent a life time cultivating a person that I find interesting enough to spend the rest of my life with, who is not going to be painfully boring to be with, can always find new things to occupy her time and mind with and will always excel at making short term friends specifically because I knew when I was 14 that I was not gong to be married. Sure sex is a little less interesting when you are by yourself and there is a great deal to be said for having a good massage after you've done something stupid to yourself. But in the long run that second person just might be extraneous in my life.

I've spent a life becoming someone who had the chops, interests and pursuits to be solitary. I see more possibilities as an adult than I did as a child and I am not so fearful anymore of all the things that made me want to be single in the first place. I've gotten to have some great short term relationships. And I've felt the connectivity that I crave. Though I do think that it is  time to evaluate the results my efforts have yielded and change tack once again.

I would love to have an RA or BC sweep into my life and be the key missing person. Truly what are the odds that will happen? There is an amazing world around me that I have been exploring. I am open to a great many things and have a heart with the capacity to love many things equally well and with the devotion of a religious zealot. Maybe I was never meant to be a wife or life partner but just the best fangirl/army enlisted/___bitch/Trekkie on the planet. Maybe rather than be married to a man I am meant to be emotionally and spiritually married to my interests and work. I wouldn't be the first person on the planet to do so. Katherine Hepburn comes to mind. While I greatly admire Kate, I would rather be Marie Curie.

After 5 years, 7 websites & profiles, hundreds of emails in which joy turns to angry sorrow I am going to have to realize that I'm not going to find my Pierre. I made the choice when I was 14. I spent 26 years equipping myself to fulfill that choice. One does not simple change ones mind and yield instant results. I still think that because Ben and Rich want that, that because they have always wanted that for themselves, that they should continue to be vigilant for the person that is to be theirs. And if either of them are to find her then they need to be more open and allow people to know them better. RA, especially needs to be less worried about "being weird" and people judging him. I let my flag fly all the time. And I find connections all the time. It's just that the ONE person that I want is not sticking around. So, for me, I will quit looking. If there is to be a man enter my life to stay then he will have to find me.

My head hurts from all the effort and my heart is as sick of statistically probabilities as Mr. Esper was of having me in his math class. I have to get back in touch with all the things that I've had to let loose during the last 3-5 years. Find the joy in the things that I have always reveled in and expand on those ideas. There are a good many things that I geek out about that have yet to be represented here on the Geek blog... which actually means that over the last few years my Geek has diminished by degrees that I had not noticed.

Ch..ch..ch..changes

I know that I said I was looking forward to 2013 being the year of change. And I know that I said that it would be positive change. So far it's a mixed bag and we aren't even a full two months into the year. ACG is in the hospital. It will be weeks before he is able to talk to anyone. And he will spend months in rehabilitation. I do not know what his family is going to do with him. He was already talking about having to move. But I think that packing him up while he is incapacitated, while it would expedite things, would wound his soul. I don't know that would happen. It would be logical. Sad. But logical.

I knew something was wrong in my Universe. I sensed a disturbance as that of one voice calling out in the darkness in great despair. It was last Thursday. I finished my morning shift, got home before the cold settled in and started peeling my garments off. As I was unwinding my almost Dr. Who length scarf I caught a whiff of something strongly pungent, spicy and masculine. At first I thought that I was smelling Sir Knight. But his scent has a strong tobacco under note and this did not. I took of the jacket and hung it up. The scent seemed stronger. Sniffing my hands like a bloodhound from tip to wrist, front to back, I started smelling the scarf and jacket.

No scent on the clothes. And I had just washed my hands for the 5th time before leaving work. They had been in bleach, oxy clean, laundry soap and hand sanitizer for the last 15 minutes of my shift. They should not smell like men's cologne. I peeled my boots off and began sniffing my uniform. Did I get anything on me that I wasn't aware of? Nope. Lavender and laundry soap. Where the hell is the smell coming from? The more agitated I became the strong the scent. THAT should not have happened. I couldn't figure it out. I showered. The smell was still there. I dressed for bed and watched TV for 3 hours. I texted ACG to tell him about the weirdness. But the earlier text in which I asked "Are you still here?" had still gone unanswered. I fell asleep wondering which dead relative was trying to get a hold of me.

Yes I did. In the world of paranormal exploration these scents are not uncommon. Many investigators walk into empty rooms and catch a scent of roses, freshly lit cigars, old perfume with no explanation as to how that smell is there. One might say, well its still in the drapes or the chairs. Which would be a great explanation... if there was furniture in the room. And I myself will catch a scent of my Gramma, it is a particular parfum that is no longer made. It is lilac and jasmine with a spicy note of something else. It came in a tube like chap stick and had a base and cap that made it look a bit like Jeannie's bottle. No one makes it anymore. Haven't since before Gramma died. And since I am not the only one who has smelled it I know it is not an olfactory hallucination. Common belief among paranormal enthusiasts is that is when they are letting you know that they have your back. You might not know why. But they are there for you. Or they just popped in for a nip.

I am not all in on the minutia of paranormal claims. There are a lot of things they subscribe to that I can not get behind. But I do not have any other explanation for the things that happen. So I thought well, ok. Who smells like that? I couldn't think of a relative. The only one that was close was Sir Knight. But he is just fine by all accounts.

The following day I received a facebook status update that ACG is in the hospital. He had emergency surgery the evening that I smelled that scent. That scent didn't go away until after I had fallen asleep. It was very odd. And odder still that what had happened in Chicago was a medical crisis that induced coma and he has been in a medicated state since coming out of surgery.

According to the paranormal experts, the spirit wanders when the body is in a coma. He could have come to answer the text in person. He could have had nothing to do with the smell. I don't know. It is a strange set of events. I hope that it was not to tell me to get used to the idea of him being gone.

For the last 4 or 5 years we have talked several times a week. We've been angry on each others behalf. We have cheered the other along. I didn't expect to find him when I did nor that he would be a better brother in spirit than the one I have in the flesh. I am not sue that this is a change that I can embrace even if I have to accept it.

In other news: I have my key to the gym. It is a marvel of modern technology. And some of the equipment there promises to be very much the holodeck prototype I have been looking for. More on that as events unfold. The gym isn't up and running just yet. But it won't be long now.

Talk about a Mixed Bag

Sooooo where did we leave off on the whole relationship issue? I forget. There are too many lables here to write stories for. I wish that were a joke. Any way so I have made friends in my online game. It's a social site with gaming ability so I am still calling it a game. But the people are real. Meaning not like the barbarian that runs out of food because I can't get out of a maze. Real people. Real feelings. Real emotions behind their avatars actions. I know I dismissed the thing casually as playing Barbies. But that was before I found people there who are genuine geeks looking for their tribe. The odds on that are kinda slim though. Out of the 48 friends I have there, I only talk to two of them on a regular basis. Of those two, one I know in real life besides.

And almost everyone i talk to is European & a fan of or has at least heard of Matthias Reim. So that is the ice-breaking conversation. And today that European friend told me he loved me. I do not know how I feel about that. Nothing more than online communication can happen because I will most likely never be in his country. And he will most likely never be in mine. So what is the point in being in love with someone you will never meet?
What are we doing? He has friends and a family there. I have friends & family here. What is missing that we find in each other so much more easily online than in life? I know I am more my authentic self. I am afraid to say nothing because the consequences of doing so are non-existant. If they don't like what I say, do or build then they can unfriend me. it isn't like I have to cut them out of holiday photos or will burn all the letters in a beach bonfire. There are not associated memories of events to complicate the dissolution of a friendship there. So I can be whomever I really am.

That must be the larger appeal to online gaming such as this. And it is usually what I assume the safety net would be. No complications. And how do I feel about him?

I enjoy spending time with him to be certain. In my real life I am conflicted with the men in my life. Those I want for friends, for lovers, to avoid forever and to explore possibilities with have such complicated lives themselves that right now it is safer to have only my online friend. I do not think my feelings go as deep as his. But I would rather spend time with him than a half dozen of anyone else. Though I would still prefer to spend about 40 hours a week decorating.

What is missing in real life that this assuages?
Das ist die Hoelle!

Do I Hear the Horsemen?

If you've ever read Revelations then you know that you will know the end of the World As We Know It is signalled by the blowing of 7 horns, the breaking of 7 seals, the unfurling of 7 scrolls and something about 7 lamps (God's way of turning the idiot light on? dunno) and then the thundering hoof beats of 4 Horses bearing Riders (and pestilence, famine, war and some other horrible thing). If you felt the world shift under your feet today and your friendly neighborhood seismologist swears it was NOT an Earth quake, tremor or temblor, be assured it was also not your imagination.

I got an apology today. Someone who was mad at someone else dropped a verbal assault on me Saturday. I had a retort. But... true to my nature, two seconds after said person left the room I was reduced to a puddle of tears. I should not have been yelled at. But in Person's defense: a. I am a safe place to unload baggage. I joke all the time about pets, kids, horses, old men and carious "crazy" people dumping on me because I am safe. And if I don't get the emotional baggage dump then they just get close and soak up my sun. Which is fine... I know how to get more. Anyway.... b. the person he was mad at could not have taken any of that even though she deserved it. And this has been a situation a long time in coming so it was bound to happen sooner or later. and c. I needed to be jolted a bit.

I have spent the better part of this year replaying events in my head and having all manner of small incidents and larger seismic events fitting together like clues on NCIS. I have a clear picture of just how much of a chump I have been with this woman. Every night that I was homeless this Winter and realizing if I had not done her a favor by splitting hours with her I would not have been homeless. And with every catastrophe she instigated my frustration with myself and her being allowed to continue to behave that way grew. I've gained weight trying to stuff the anger, fear and loathing down so that I could put on a happy face for all and sundry. And I have not let myself fall apart on a regular basis. I won't quit because I know that this is a position worth fighting for until I go to school. But I've been a chump.

I was played. Granted I will still win. But just like when I play chess on a board I take heavy losses to gain every win. And I am spending a lot of resources here to win by so slim a margin. And when I got yelled at my dams broke.

Thankfully I knew I was mad at her and not the other Person. And thankfully, after a couple of days to my self, I realized that Person was not mad at me at all. I served my cosmic function of diffusing a difficult situation. I did not really take the damage and it was not a critical hit. Person's job is impacted every time that she fails to consider ALL of her duties. And that is where the frustration came from that drew out that response. But it took me days to realize it.

and this morning Person found me and apologized most sincerely. And asked nothing in return from me. Did not even stick around to wait for me to accept the apology and give absolution. So I have to do it here even though the words will not reach Person's ears. The energy will get there nonetheless.

"I figured out that you were not mad at me. And when I figured that out, I looked at all the times that I thought you were mad, and I realized you were only really mad once. And that one time I did deserve to be corrected though I could have been done so more gently. No matter what you say about what you Think You Deserve, you & everyone else on this planet has to have safe place to detonate. Now that I know that is how I function in your life, I can accept the rapidly changing moods. I do not like it when I have my own crap to deal with. But I accept it.

So I accept your apology. And if the PTB talked to you about any issues that arouse after the minor explosion, I apologize. But know that when asked, I told them that I would handle this one myself. And when the one returns I will make sure that he knows the situation is rectified. I have to as it is my lead in to talk to him about a solution to the situation.

And thank you. I did not expect, nor did I hope for, such an apology.  I am glad to have it though. And you deserve my forgiveness... no matter what you think about what you do and do not deserve. You deserve it and you have it. Our time is too short to hold such petty things against one another. Since this is my cosmic job description if not the one on the handbook. And you are still on the list of My Favorite People that I Have Met in My Life as well as the list of People I Will Miss Forever when it is time to part ways. This is not the time. And little blow ups like that will not be held against you."

And the other good thing about this episode is that having figured out what the rant was about, and then having it confirmed for me during the apology, is that Person will be the model for a character of contrasting strengths and weaknesses for this November's NaNoWriMo...

which reminds me...
please excuse me while I go register my  feeble fingers for the faint hope of future glory.

 

skip the multi-verse fantastic

I often wonder if there is a real possibility that the boundaries between universes can be so thin that some individuals can slip through them frequently; and that those differences are so subtle that you can be elsewhere/when for a long time before you realize that you are inthe wrong place. Take for instance a situation at work.

We have always pressed event linens on the first shift in laundry with the understanding that the laundry gets done as it gets done. And for the better part of the year I have been the one to do the linens because the other two hate to do it. We were getting them done up to four days in advance and they were re-wrinkling so we quit getting that far ahead. The larger point I am making is that it has always been a first shift thing. And as a result its been me. And I have not failed to get the linens done in a timely manner. In fact the only time they were not done for the set up crew is on my days off when the other two decided they didn't have to do it. It happened twice and one of those times the frnt desk had to do it.

Suddenly, as event season has gone into full swing it is being left for second shift to do. And this after hearing snide commments about how I need to do my fair share. Huh? I've been left with twenty linens, 70 rooms of laundry and public areas to clean then been laughed at when I've asked for help. I wonder how it is that no one who has seen me toiling can remember that.

The only explaination is that there must be a thin veil. If I am not slipping through the multiverse at random points in this time stream then there is a problem with the people that I work with; namely that the two I work with have managed to convince the others we work with that what they see is not true. But how can that be? Each person who comes in that laundry room is a reasoning, thinking person who does not seem to be easily swayed. And that would mean that the people I work with who had professed to be my friends were lying.

I prefer to believe that I am in a part of the multiverse where things are different. But I know the science for that is bad and that can not be the truth. Fantasy hurts a little less. Damn the travails of being a geek!!!

Integration

Gang, I guess I can't say this enough: Be yourself. Be the whole You, nothing but You. Be the You that you have dreamt; be the You that you envision when you rewrite your life in fantasy mode. And be the best You that you can be. Then, to over use a new phrase: Find your Tribe.

We probably have always known who we were. I knew when I was very little that I was an artist. I knew by the time that I hit middle school that I was a geek. I knew I was a tomboy. I have known for a very long time that there are types of Me that I couldn't safely be in my little town, family among the friends that I have always had. So there are parts of me that are my quiet time me. Its a lonely world when you repress the geek and artist while letting the tomboy flag fly. I've been a tomboy in a world of girly girls my whole life. I've stood out and not always in a good way. So then I artificially isolated myself.

That is not a happy place. I lost containment on the Artist. She just couldn't stand being away from pools of color and piles of texture. Once she got out of the containment unit she couldn't be stopped. But she also did not get the ridicule and anger directed at her that I thought there would be. So when the field on the Geek's containment Unit failed I didn't bother to try to control it. And the Geek flourished, adding to the things that the Artist did. They made each other better. I made a choice to find a way to route the energy of the others into the collective so that I wasn't spending so many valuable resources on containment.

I am about three steps from being fully integrated. I have joined a social group that fosters my interests and in the process have met someone who makes me wonder why I waited so long to do this. In essence I believe that my Wil has met his Anne. Each of our interests share a common circuit for a great distance but diverge into smaller branches of interest. It is not just a relief to be able to be myself. But it is also a relief to know I will have my breathing room. I am still fiercely independent when it comes to my thoughts and feelings and the ways in which they are expressed. But I am not fiercely lonely to match that circumstance anymore. It may be to soon to make declarations: it'll scare both of us, I think. But I honestly can not think of a better place to be or a better person to be with. Why? Here is an example:

I don't have to explain Calvinball. Okay that wasn't really the example. The other part of me that is kind of repressed is the Gamer. We play board games in our family. And aside from Killer Bunnies its just the same old boring games we played when we were little. So in my quest to express and define, or should that be define and express, I have been collecting games I find interesting. We have some small towns around Traverse that flourished with specialty shops before the economy tanked. Beulah and Frankfort had two great game stores. I bought games I thought could be the olive branch to healing rifts within the family and coveted the ones that would not.

I walk through stores like that the same way I walk through the D&D aisle at Borders: longingly. I look at games the way Molly Ringwald looked at expensive McMansions in Pretty In Pink. I'd buy these great games but there is no one to play them with. That has changed. I met a Geek in a different social group. I'd not met him before that social event. But when we met it was like Calvin and Hobbes had been separated by time space and a deep woods for two days and were finally reunited through Calvin's dad's vigilant (read forced) search. Inseparable is a good word. Instant recognition. Instant jubilation. We are debating a trip downstate to the Christmas store in Frankenmuth, which will also mean a trip to Abbey's or going to Frankfort to sit on the porch at Trick Dog Cafe and play games between dips in Lake Michigan for the WHOLE ENTIRE DAY on Labor Day.
Did I ever think that I would find anyone who would want to do that? Hell NO! Did I think that I would ever find anyone with whom all my parts could be present and it would be okay? Hell FRAKKING no!!! And yet... here we are.

Friends, the only way to be is to be honest with yourself. If you can't admit to and appreciate who you are then no one else will bother either. I know all those self help people say the same thing. And if you are like me you've read a bunch of  them and found them less helpful than advertised. They are right about being yourself. But they tell you that it is easy to be that person. If you are scared then it isn't easy. And I'm not saying that it is. Cause it isn't. And some times it is painful. But you just have to do it until it is easy. I'm not saying it is a sure fire way to find romance. But it is a sure-fire way to not be alone. If you've been alone either physically or emotionally for a long time a social group will let you recover your people skills. Once those recover then the rest will follow.

There is nothing better than being honest with yourself.

Singlehood and Geekdom

Been contemplating the issues of being a single woman again. Mostly because there is some financial pressure right now. This pressure highlights for me the errors in my thinking. The issue is foremost because of work as well. It would seem that single people are responsible for making life easier on co-workers with families. I thought that the other family members were responsible for making the co-worker's life easier not me. I get no benefits from accommodating people who were not smart enough to make good relationship decisions in their past but am regarded as heartless if I do not. I didn't make anyone marry "the Chad" (see Charlie's Angels for reference) and bear his kids so I don't know why I have to accommodate them. I did not make anyone steal from a previous employer which eliminates the possibility of them working somewhere else. But I am the one who has to cater to that co-worker. It was his/her mistake so why do I have to compensate for it?

Single people get to take all the crap because we are seen with lesser status. I don't know if that statement is true but it sure feels that way. I am still a human being. I have a life. And my life needs to be respected as well. I need a little help right now. I don't see anyone at work giving me the prime shift so that I can go out and get stuff done. I get the "You made the mess you fix it" thing from my family. And essentially the same thing from the co-workers. There is single. Then there is disconnected.

I think that has been the problem. I have been disconnected. If there were a group to be intimately connected to that is like a family but the connections were made completely by choice then this wouldn't feel so unsettling. A church, social group or even a sport or social club would go a long way to solving some of my issues. My brother has a friend who is looking for work. He made a round of phone calls. Then my brother made a round of phone calls. The friend will probably be at work inside a week. But if it is me then I get the you should do this this and this. If I were to get the same kind of help then it would take resources from someone that brother deems more worthy of that kind of help.

Friends, if you chose to be single do so with your eyes wide open. It means freedom in a lot of respects. There are no arguments about where to go for dinner or what movie to see. But in the realm of finance it does require far more vigilance. YOU are the only income stream. YOU are the one who has to fix mistakes. YOU are the one who is responsible. Don't do single alone. And don't do single without thought to the things that we have taken for granted in the past: saving money, planning a retirement. We need to consider this far more seriously than our married counterparts because the only one looking out for those of us who are singles by choice and lifestyle is US. When you are 80 who is paying for that nursing home?

Sure we might have a society that will let someone put us out of our misery when we are infirm. But if you are 80 and still function but just a hell of a lot slower you don't need a bullet you need someone to mow the yard and help make meals... maybe do laundry. You need assisted living and it won't be free. You can't be 40 and live like a teenager. Trust me it doesn't work. I didn't think too much about these things when I decided that I wasn't going to marry. I'm 40 and struggling in ways I never thought possible. I won't say mind over matter is a lie. But there are things for which I do not have enough brain power to influence outcomes. And that is where I see the greatest difference in being Single and being Alone.

Sooo.... I have joined a small social group. I will get networking assistance to fix some problems. But that too is a relationship and there will be dues to pay, accommodations to make and resources to reciprocate. All those things that I didn't think about make me wonder what I was thinking in the first place. Rushing out and getting married isn't the answer for a lot of us. Some of us are plain scared to make mistakes with another person based on what we've seen not work with others. Some of us just don't have an interest. I get that. Moreover I respect that. But you need to be connected within the realm of your interests so that when there are issue you can deal with them responsibly... even just for the sake of your sanity.

Yes-ter-dayyyy....

All my troubles seemed very far away in one regard. In the wee quiet hours of the first shift I found an old friend who has been missing for many weeks. Yes, one and the same. I miss that camaraderie. He has an amazing ability to make all the little things that get in a persons way seem less like K-2 and more like an ant hill. But our friendship has had to go underground.

It seems silly, crazy and sooooo 5th grade. But I did notice a pattern. Whenever I expressed happiness or relief about things being normal, had my tow days off and came back he was more angry than ever before. I thought that he is just  one of those crazy Gemini's who never knows which side of the coin he wants to live on. That little voice inside my head told me that I had not gotten to the bottom of the back stabbing yet. So I told the last person that I trust, formerly the top of the only people I can trust list, there is no more talking about me with him. Period. I had been the Wabbit. Then I had been excised. Then I was the Wabbit again. Right after having regained Wabbit status I came back to an angry frozen tundra that makes the Hoth Ice Planet look like a Sno-cone machine. So I told her I am off limits. Left. Returned.

And on my return found an abysmal landscape. She tells him everything that she knows will make him angry at me. I can't fathom the motive. But I don't need to. The fact that it happens every time I say something to her is evidence enough that there is no one in my department with whom information can be shared. And now I see that he knows that is the case as well. He has seen it all along, I am afraid. Rather than be direct, he has been obtuse so that I never know exactly to what situation I am supposed to apply his pearls of wisdom.

My readings have told me that there was more to the situation than I could see. Of course I interpreted that how I wanted to, which was not how it is. How it is, is this: we still like each other as co-workers and friends, we miss each other's wit and humor, he thinks I'm crazy to go to Germany for a concert, I hope he is happy with his new girlfriend and that it lasts longer than the others have and both of us are working passed the "What Might Have Been". But the only way that we can connect is going to be when no one else is around. For whatever reason there are 5 people who do not want us to talk. Even something as harmless as being told the story of his car accident could set the gossiping harpies on the path to re-establishing a DMZ betwixt us. For all the world I don't understand that. It isn't new. I've had this kind of thing happen all my life. But it is still astounding.

Tyranny uncovered

How can a department run effciently when there is only rule by committee?

I was put incharge when we started. It's unofficial. Jessy told me that there was no money or title in the position but that someone needed to figure things out and train everyone how to do things. When Jessy was replaced Sam left things the way they were. And Jodi din't say that we were not going to have leadership. So how do we now have rule by committee?

Told today that it was unfair for me to have my way all the time. If we were in someone's home that would be true. But we are in work. And work must run efficiently. Change for the sake of change is no way to get things done. If you watched how things are done now you would cringe. Two of the girls get in their own way all the time. And now they are in everyone's way which was what both of them hated about working last Summer's madhouse rush. So now everything is in everyone's way and our ability to get things out the door is diminished.

You can not run anything by committee and get it done. I have been trying to get things back to the way we were doing it last Summer because everyone eas happy from us little peons to the bug shot. But we have someone who will not learn. Lazy-brained is a nice way to put it. and I can't stand that.

So I guess now we see an ugly side of me that I didn't know was there... I am a tyrant when it comes to logic and process and such. I've used words. Then I used anger. Then the silent treatment. Now I just have to let them have their way even if it doesn't make sense and it drives me nuts. I'll have to listen to everyone complain about needing more help because there is too much laundry. But if they would quit moving pieces and stacks of pieces from one end of their work space to the other three or four times then they wouldn't have to complain. We aren't going to be allowed more help. There is a magical formula beyond my comprehension that the bean counter uses and we will not be able to get passed that.

The tyrant is kinda ugly, admittedly. I don't really like her. But the tyrant has to protect the part of me that wants to die when I come home and feel like an absolute failure because everyone is complaining about everything. And the tyrant wants some respect. It's tired of the wimpy me feeling like she deserves to be mistreated. While it is a necessity... it is an ugly thing in me. If Sir Knight saw that back around january then it is no wonder that he decided to detonate the Valentine bomb. But why not talk about that? Another mystery.

Here's what an Encyclopedia can't do

I just spent the afternoon watching PAUL MCCARTNEY LIVE IN HYDE PARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

How much more cool does it get? Yeah yeah yeah... Sting. Matti. ...not the point. I just lamented the loss of printed compendiums because you can't "feel" the world. But Paul played to a great crowd who chose him over the World Cup. And I got to watch it live. Singing with the crowd. Crying with the happy and absolutely tickled that life is good enough for the whole world to watch if it wants to. This is what the Internets can do for you.

Youtube hosted with twitter. So just like all of us who got together over the Spiner fic thing last year, we got to watch and comment together; people all over the world. It was amazing. I wonder if concerts could go that route in the future.

hmmm...

and now a poem, portal to apology

first draft May 17, revision 5 on May 18

Banter becomes flirtation.
Flirtation is a surprise.
Surprises mask forboding, warnings unheeded.

You skipped through the hall on old man's legs
While smiling at me through a young boy's eyes.
Your kindness eased my pain
Favors sought in return refused and refused again.
Your attention made me bold.
My boldness scared me, I've only ever gotten so far.
We were farther than I had been before...
You to the mountains
Me just a half step from the front door.

You're the handsome stallion, confident and strong
I'm the skittish mare, timid and struggling to belong.
My uncertainty did us in.
Why seperate me from the herd?
When did this dance begin?
I sought only answers, dazzled by possibilties that didn't exist before.
Who knows what you were lead to think.
We sensed in each other something kindred.
Was kindred not enough?
Or the hope to precious to take a risk at all?

We stood too close together, content just to play.
Your body curled around mine and I did not resist the subtle claim.
You take my hand in passing, linger near the door
You whisper in my ear, fingers in my hair.
I kissed you twice, once each cheek
Sensing something that wasn't here before.
How can I be certain? Meaning must be clear.
Skittish mare grows nervous but tries boldness over fear.

Too late she scents trouble; the stallion withdraws.
I volunteer no information, witholding confirmation.
You seek no answers while questions simmer as something begins to boil.
Assumptions made trump logic, breed discontent
We change in each others eyes, anger grows over the days.
Handcrafted apology, no clear understanding of the whys detonates anger.
Your anger sustained over days.
I replayed every scene seeking explanation.
Mistake made is mine no doubt.
But what? When? How?
Why did I try? Couldn't leave well enough alone.

Fear and anxiety replace my joy when we meet.
I can not look you in the eye, fighting the urge to bolt.
Stand firm. Stand strong. Stand still do not retreat.
Despair shrinks my courage. Freedom is gone.
Transported to a high tower
In a fortress I don't remember building
Yet I see my hand on every stone; we makers leave our marks.
I can not find the door let alone the lock's key.
The solitude I once sought now imposed.
I can not think my self out.
I can not wish my self away.
Every raw nerve is exposed.

Soaring tower buried in cloud banks dark and angry.
A storm howls at the door.
Even angry you reach out sensing something wrong.
But I can not hear you.
I do not see you.
You reach for me again.
If you want to be salvation, save us... then save only yourself.
I will not be rescued; my reasons are my own.
Miserable, I long to talk to you again as in old days
Our youth was too short.
I'd go to you but I am stone in stone.

Once we sought each others gaze
When we pass each other you seek air while I seek ground
With silence time passes in the flesh and bone world.
Emotion and spirit in the Spirit world silence bound.
Still in seclusion seeking comfort in cold stone
Where comfort can not be found.
You long to take back the angry words words that came out wrong.
You want forgiveness
Normal days with nothing to signify
If only Past would pass without sound.
I want forgiveness.
Normal days, in the time before Expectation
But how can it be when Memory won't be unwound?

We pretend that nothing matters
Brave words behind thin armor.
Weapons amassing behind iron curtain.
Normal is normal no more.
In an unguarded moment you reach for my open flank
Then frozen you stay your hands.
I pretend not to notice, expression blank.
You pretend I suceed.
You said I took your meaning all wrong.
Worst fears confirmed
I really know nothing at all, of this I am certain.

Once we each stole gazes at every chance.
Now we stare and wonder how safe to dare a glance.
Opponents on an open war field
Or Politicians behind closed doors?
A relationship that might have blossomed
Might or might not have been more.
Would the wrong word ignite oblivion
Or leave us silent, each on one side of a closed door?
Storm leaves as quick as it came.
We talk, joke, laugh, cooperate the same as before
Same but still different. Uneasy.
There can be no more misunderstandings.
Your overt intentions reinforced covertly.

We long for normal relations
Your good morning met with my smile.
Laughter and conversation when you stop by my table a while.
Scowling daggers sheathed til we meet a common foe
You observe the rest of the herd and
Your flirtations I will forgoe.
We still sense in each a kindredness
Cease fire becomes a truce
Will truce turn to treaty?
In that space and time of Peace
I hope we come to understand.

The past that others write upon our hearts
The fears that reside in the mind
Are all illusions easily exposed
When hope and fear balance, one in each hand.
Mishandled and mismanaged misunderstood each by the other.
Too late to say we're sorry?
Too late we see the mistakes we have made.
We talked among our peers
We sought assurance outside ourselves
Neither of us trusted Hope to Chance.
Too scared to repeat mistakes repeated inspite of niggling fears.
This tentative truce is not easy.
Wounds not fully healed.
And even to ourselves truths will not be revealed.


epilogue: for the public May 17th
Do poems have epilogues if they are less epic than Gilgamesh? This one does. This untitled little ditty is an abridged history of a recent pain. The ending can not be written because of the last line. How safe the ground? I see hope of things being normal. I see us forgetting ourselves and failing to heed the ground rules that have been laid down to insure that the truce holds. It's happened once or twice now. And I am doing my best to do what I was asked and not take anything more seriously than presented. But the ground is far from being solid. And I am still skittish. As a matter of fact, more than I have ever been.
There is conflicting evidence in my memory banks. And unfortunately with an eidetic memory, the problem isn't evidential but all in the interpretation. It should come as no surprise that I don't get the interpreting right. When it comes to my own reading I seldom get the tarot thing nailed. Again... awesome read for others, me not so much. I do not want to upset the apple cart. Things have been pretty awesome on a basic level. Communication is possible if only superficially. But the barrages from our arsenals has ceased. There had been a lot of collateral damage. I thought the smart thing was to keep my head down and do my work and, as the poem said, pretend not to see anything but the ground. D tells me that plan was not as successful as I thought. We hurt our friends unintentionally. Most likely I did more hurting than he did. But hey... I didn't listen to angry German music during my public seclusion. I listened to Sting's depressing Winter album. It is beautiful and I love that album almost more than the first one I ever heard. But it isn't for the faint of heart.
May 18th
This poem underwent a lot of revision last night. It gained several stanzas and lost some original lines. The last line most notably. But the epilogue still holds true. With all my heart I wish that it could be different. If nothing else to draw a line between us and the saboteurs and maybe at least talk about what happened. I hear things that he says:"I'm always wrong because I'm the man." The very least I'd like a chance to say I'm sorry for what I know I did that was stupid and maybe have a safe enough place to hear about what I don't know that I did. I'm skittish, timid and never sure that I belong anywhere. And I seek assurance from my girlfriends because the general consensus is that guys, on any level of relationship, don't like to have to be the ones to help bolster our confidence. And you aren't supposed to define yourself by a guy's opinion. So here I am... not as smart as I think I am and taking things too literally.

for the subject May 17th:
I know someone is going to tell you this is here. And I know someone is going to try to make a big deal out of this and twist it around to suit their nefarious purposes. But understand this: poetry, mine especially, is not meant to accuse. It is meant to heal the heart of wounds it inflicts upon itself, others, and has inflicted upon it. This is how I see the events of our recent past. It was a series of miss steps. We didn't talk about any of this to each other to start things. And we've only a tacit understanding between us now. It is a fragile peace because we have not talked to each other to stabilize relations. But it is a peace that we both need. It is a peace that I will accept with glad heart. I put this here to help me find the boldness that I lacked before. If you find this on your own, or you are directed here I hope you find this to be helpful for continuing peaceful negotiations. I hope you will find this as an invitation without deadlines for acceptance. But most of all I hope you will see this and realize that the strength of my voice is in my written word. My voice utterly fails me when I must speak of things deeper than puns and quips.
In person I will do everything I can to avoid deep feelings when I do not know where the boundaries are. In person I feel like I am being cornered, blocked into a course of action or a train of thought. In person I feel like I am being accused without hope of building a defense. In my blog I define the limits. In my blog I have the time to build a case. In this blog there is a research able partial history at my defense. In my blog I can write to you, my audience knowing there is little chance of you actually reading this, and thus look like a fool. I accept appearing foolish here in the community I am building. But I avoid foolishness in person... well as best as I can.

I am now taking a deep breath, using these few nanoseconds to evaluate the wisdom in my next step and.... hitting publish post.

May 18th: I wrote a few more lines last night. And while I was writing I realized that I did not really tell you where any of this comes from. You may recognize some of the events. There are a couple of places that I am crediting you with deliberate subtlety but you honestly might not even have noticed. Shoot, you might not even be aware that you did some of the things that I noticed... that notorious short term memory loss of yours and all. [wink wink nudge nudge] You should know that I have caught you staring at me again. It is a cliche to say that the look in your eye is unmistakable. OH! and obviously wrong since I misinterpreted it, apparently, wrong last time. So let me say this:

You look like you want to say something that is weighing on your heart, mind, body and soul. You look like a man who is facing a judge and expecting a death sentence. Maybe you think it is better to leave things alone because we have this truce. But keep in mind the old diplomatic axiom that an absence of violence is not peace. We aren't staring daggers through each others backs. But we are still both weighing our words before we speak. Maybe you think that it's too late for sorry. Maybe you think that you don't deserve forgiveness. Or maybe you're afraid that if you smooth things over too much I will entertain a false hope. Maybe you are more concerned for my feelings than your own. Maybe you're afraid that I want a Rhett and Scarlett movie embrace. Rhett and Scarlett nearly killed each other but I understand why that would concern you. Or maybe you think you don't deserve to have unbroken relationships. I don't know. All I do know is that you look like the words you are keeping to your self are choking you.

I am not like other women. I don't blame you for any of this turmoil because as best as I can piece together it didn't start with you. Besides, mistakes happen. You aren't God (sorry to break it to you :p), a machine or the Pope. You aren't infallible... that is what sorry is for. You aren't always wrong because you are a guy. And I don't say that just to get you to talk to me. You should know that much by now. Other people with motives beyond my ability to appreciate interfered because of their own self esteem, desires what ever. In this one instance kindredness did not serve us at all because we made the same exact mistake: we sought confirmation from outside sources. One of us knew better. I still am making stupid mistakes trusting girlfriends with my hopes, knowing that gets me into trouble. But I really thought this was different. I thought that our "friends" had our backs. Turns out that's where they put the bulls eye. And that is all this was. I don't know what the long term benefit is to making the attempt to resolve he situation and find real peace except that that pained look in your eyes, the one that looks like regret and self loathing, will go away. And maybe if one woman is allowed to show you forgiveness and patience, compassion and grace, you will be able to do yourself a favor at some point in the future and be a "better picker". I am sorry that I didn't turn out to be a good enough choice. But Fortune favors the bold and timid mares are often overlooked. I don't like thinking that limits me to grazing in a paddock somewhere for the rest of my life and watching the other mares paired off. It feels too much like being the last one picked for teams in gym class. But I understand.