I’ve worked very hard this week on peeling the onion. It has been difficult. Having AZ back has helped this because now I can write to him again. (Its another story as to why I haven’t been, but anyway.) The birth of my niece also facilitated this journey.
The best way to explain what I have been feeling is best outlined by excerpts from first the 35 page handwritten letter and the 7 and 4 pages typewritten letters to AZ. The first he received on Tuesday, the next on Wednesday and I just dropped the last one in the mail not five minutes ago. Yeah, well, I started the 35 pager on Monday the 19th. Did I also mention the three e-mails?
I’ve spent my whole life saying, “I’ll do better, I’ll do better, I’ll do better.” When my mom would put me down or bring my brother into conversations, like what I did wasn’t ever good enough, I got that mind set, I will do better, I will do better, I will make them proud, I will be the good child, I will love harder, I will try harder, I will make better grades (gee, where do you go from A’s? Oh, A+’s) It wasn’t ambition. It was trying to please them, my mom and dad.
And I still have it. I’ll do better. I’ll make more money. I’ll be the good child. I’ll love harder. I will be the good child. I will be the good child. I will be the good child. I’m so fucking sick of being the good child. I don’t want to hurt my parents, especially my dad. But I’m so fucking sick of being the goddamn good child. I’m so fucking sick of listening to her and how she makes excuses for my brother. I hated the way they ganged up on me when I was a kid. He knew he could get by with more, so he did.
My brother and I haven’t had a conversation in like 4 years. Most of the time he acts like I’m not even there. And why do I put up with it? Because I’M THE GOOD CHILD!! Work with me here. Its always been MY JOB to mend fences and soothe the scratches and all that shit. That’s MY JOB in the family. I put up with all the shit. That’s always been MY JOB. Well, not anymore.
7/29 butt-fucking early in the a.m.
Anyway, I’m feeling much less evil than I was before. Mainly because I did pinpoint the axis of evil, the source of frustration and irritation which is the not necessarily this whole baby shit but the way my parents kiss my brother and sister-in-law’s asses. Then it dawned on me, doh! that my brother and sil treat my parents like shit and make them wonder what they ever did so bad as to be so low of their totem pole of life. I forgot that karmic law thing. So, as the world turns, we’re even.
7/29 late evening
Okay, let me get this baby stuff off my mind and finish up what I figured out. I did a lot of deep thinking and realized that although my family may have treated me like shit, they’re the ones who missed out. I used to think I missed so much being single and with my family so estranged from me. But it really wasn’t me.
I mean, I was there the whole time, every doctor visit, every ultrasound, every roll, bump, hiccup and kick. I was at my baby shower. No one from my family was. So who missed out? I have only two pictures of myself pregnant and one you can’t tell it because it was taken at Christmas. The other one is at a side angle with me sitting but I have no idea where it is. And that’s it… I’ve spent all this time being bogged down by what I felt I missed and now I’ve realized, it wasn’t me, it was them. They’re the ones who missed out and they have no one to blame for that but themselves.
July 30, 2004
That has opened a gateway for me to look at other situations in my life differently. Instead of constantly questioning why things have been the way they are, I’m looking at the situation and saying, “look at what they’re missing by treating me this way.” And look what I’m missing by not being able to fully be myself…
So… that’s what I have worked on this week.
I wrote the above at work this afternoon and on the way I home I realized that my brother married a woman exactly like my mother. I remembered the death of my Grandma and how at the age of 16, when she died, I really had no idea who she was. It started with my Grandpa looking at me and saying, “You are a lot like your grandmother.” This made me proud in one way and sad in another. My mother favored her family over my dad’s and made it a point, because she did not like my grandmother, to hold us away from them.
She talked about my grandparents poorly, especially my Grandma because she was messy and she swore and smoked and wasn’t a warm and fuzzy person. My Grandma yelled a lot but she was still my Grandma. Frankly, my mom was a lot like her in personality. So, my dad married his mom and my brother married his mom. I’m lucky that I do have some good memories of her and that I was finally wising up to my mom and made it a point to have contact with my dad’s parents. Unfortunately, right after I figured this out, my Grandma died of emphysema.
As far as karmic law goes, paybacks are a bitch. My dad didn’t stand up to my mom and insist that we spend as much time with his parents as we did hers. My memories of them are fleeting but still significant. That is another post entirely. Perhaps no one else sees the emergence of this pattern. I do. I can’t change it.
My mom and dad want me to play nice and be “the good child.” I haven’t done anything wrong. I have always been the one to try and made amends and put aside my thoughts and feelings to “keep peace” so we can pretend we have some sort of “normal” family. This is an illusion I refuse to feed anymore. I’ve tried in the past to faciliate relationships between myself and my brother and his family. I’ve been scorned and ignored. Just because my parents don’t have the guts to stand up to my brother and tell him that his actions and those of his wife hurt them is not my fault.
I miss not being able to participate fully in the lives of my brother and his progeny but it is not my doing. I have been ready and available. My brother and his wife choose to exclude people from their children’s lives who are good, solid folks who will love and support their children. The saddest part is the wave of disgust I feel from my sister-in-law as her boys run to me and Hyper-Boy, yelling our names when they see us, happy and smiling.
They know Aunt Inanna will pull them around the yard in the wagon, take them fishing and for walks in the woods. Aunt Inanna will kick the ball, show them the deer that hide in the shadows and point out the mushrooms and different kinds of trees and plants. J1, my oldest nephew, is the one I had spent the most effort seeing when he was a baby. I went to visit to spite my brother and his wife. With the birth of J2, 17 months later, that became more difficult. J2 hated me for the longest time. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. One day it was as though a switch was thrown and he realized who I was. Now, he’s my buddy.
I know things with Annie will probably be the same. I have faith that Annie, like her brothers, will eventually realize what her mother cannot. That we’re a good sort and we love them and want to spend time with them and learn who they are. The effort I make will be made toward a relationship with my niece and nephews. I am done with making an effort towards their parents because it has not been reciprocated, ever. I’m not the one missing out.
I will not be going to see my new niece Annie anytime soon. She will probably be 3 or 4 months old before I lay eyes on her. There are many reasons for this and coming to the decision not to go to my brother’s house has been a hard one.
My brother and I are not close. We were as children but then I grew boobs and he figured out he was mom’s favorite and used it against me. The last conversation we had entailed him recounting a conversation he had with our father in which he told my dad that as soon as he died he was going to sell the farm. I told him I thought that was a cruel thing to say as my parents have worked their whole lives for what they have and it is their dream. My dad was none to pleased either. It made him angry but more so, it hurt his feelings. I reminded my brother that he was not the single heir to the kingdom and any, and I do mean, any decisions that were made following our parents death would include me. I also told him I thought he was rotten and insenstive. I think that was 4 years ago, although I’m not sure.
My sister-in-law is just a bitch. Her family are assholes. They look down upon us as though we are simple folk without brains and that we’re not good enough to walk upon their lily-white land. Fuck ’em.
The decision to not travel north two hours to see this new flesh-of-my-flesh has been very, very difficult. I love my nephews, even if they have been taught absolutely nothing their entire lives and wreak havoc everywhere they go, and, I love my niece. It is not their fault they have been allowed to run amok and terrorize everyone and everything in their path, including each other. They are both very cute, very smart little boys and I have no doubts that Annie will follow in their footsteps in all ways.
Here is why I will not being going. I do not feel welcome and I do feel as though my son is welcome. I am not invited to be a part of their lives unless it suits them for something they want. Additionally, they treat my parents like shit. I don’t have much respect for my brother and the way he allows his wife to dictate to him that her family is more important that his.
The final straw for me was Hyper-Boy’s birthday. I do not have a party for him, his dad does that. We have our own thing that we do. However, since it is close to the 4th of July, I normally take him to my parents and invite my brother and family down. That didn’t happen this year for many reasons. My brother and family sent him a card. I could see the disappointment in his eyes as there was nothing inside.
I try to teach my son to accept what is given and not ask for more. However, I cannot help that he sees a discrepancy in what we do for my nephews and what he received. I always try to get my nephews a little something for their birthdays and make the two hour trek north for their parties. Hyper-Boy would have been thrilled with a new state quarter taped to the inside, or one of the gold dollar coins. He thinks things like that are kewl and neat. That’s all.
Now, I know some of you are thinking that it is wrong for me to expect my brother to send my son a gift of any kind. Its the thought that counts, right? Well, I know that my brother and his wife buy gifts for all of her nieces and nephews… and she has five. I see a difference being made here and I don’t like it. Especially when my son sees it and realizes it.
My mom, in all of her wisdom, said that it was a good lesson in humility for Hyper-Boy. I’m not sorry to say that I jumped her shit. I shot back that my son will learn plenty of lessons in life and already has and that he didn’t need his own family shoving it down his throat. Whether you agree or disagree, I stand by what I said.
Further, my brother makes zero effort to get to know my son, his nephew. What he likes, what kind of personality he has, nothing. I was not allowed to hold Nephew #1 for the first 3 or 4 months of his life. Nephew #2, I just walked in and picked him up but not for long. I really don’t feel like dealing with all that bullshit again and since AZ set me straight about how I was subjecting Hyper-Boy to this, he’s not going either, with or without me. Period.
The conversation with my mother today went something like this:
Well you and Hyper-Boy can go up with me and your dad to see the baby
No, we’re not.
Well, if you go up with us then they probably won’t treat you like they did before.
We’re not going.
Well, maybe you should just give it a little time for them to recuperate and then you can go up.
I’m not going mother.
Well, now Inanna.
Did you just stop by the last time you were there? Or did you call first?
Mother, I don’t make a 2 hour trip to just “stop by”, of course I called them first. (Now this is my fault?)
Needless to say, my mother believes I’m going to change my mind and be “the good child.” I’ll talk more about the “good child” syndrome tomorrow and also some other things I figured out in relation to myself and my family. Thanks to T-Bird, I made a major stride in letting go of some pretty rotten baggage.
GIRL!! 8 lbs. 10 oz. Born 2:47 p.m. The funny thing is I had thought the entire time that it was a boy. This morning after my mom called and I finally went back to sleep I had a dream that it was a girl and they named her Lawton Weirdass-Name-I-Wouldn’t-Call-My-Dog. They named her Annie Elizabeth. My boss’s dog’s name is Annie. I think I like Lawton better.
(whispery throaty voice) Hello
Yeah. (Who the fuck else would answer my phone at 4 a.m. with a female voice?)
We still don’t have a baby. (Then why the fuck are you calling me? At 4 fucking A.M.?)
They checked her at 12:45 and she had only dilated to 2.
Uh huh. I told you it would today before she had that baby. Do you know you have to be at the homestead for closing at 9 a.m. (Why did I bring this up?)
Yes! and I’m really upset about that. I’m calling the realtor at 6 a.m. and… (blah, blah, blah… snore)
Well, I’m going to go (blah, blah)
Yeah, call me when we have a baby.
7:30 a.m. (whilst I sleep through the alarm for 45 minutes)
(whispery throaty voice) Hello
We still don’t have a baby…blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…6 cm….blah, blah, blah…epidural…passing out… blah, blah, blah… 11:00 a.m….blah, blah.. realtor… blah, blah…
Mom, call me when we have a baby. (Click)
If I gotta wait… so do you. Saturday is the Blue Moon, maybe my little niece/nephew will wait until then to make his/her appearance… (evil laugh)
You are the Devil card. The Devil is based on the
figure Pan, Lord of the Dance. The earthy
physicality of the devil breeds lust. The
devil’s call to return to primal instincts
often creates conflict in a society in which
many of these instincts must be kept under
control. Challenges posed by our physical
bodies can be overcome by strength in the
mental, emotional, and spiritual realms. Pan is
also a symbol of enjoyment and rules our
material creativity. The devil knows physical
pleasure and how to manipulate the physical
world. Material creativity finds its output in
such things as dance, pottery, gardening, and
sex. The self-actualized person is able to
accept the sensuality and usefulness of the
devil’s gifts while remaining in control of any
darker urges. Image from The Stone Tarot deck.
Which Tarot Card Are You?
brought to you by
1. I hate waking up at 4 a.m. because the temperature has crept one degree above my comfort level.
2. I hate tossing and turning trying to find a cool spot.
3. I hate having to actually get out of bed to turn the air conditioner on.
4. I hate it when I get up to the A/C on and my cats wake up and want love.
5. I hate playing “punt the kitty” at 4 a.m.
6. I hate oversleeping.
What I Love About Mornings
1. Getting up and realizing my clock was set forward a half on an hour so I didn’t really oversleep.
What I Hate About Mornings 2
1. Going back to bed after realizing I didn’t oversleep so I can actually oversleep.
2. My 15 lb. cat laying on my head and chewing my hair because he wants to go outside.
3. Playing “punt the kitty” while attempting to oversleep.
4. Realizing “punting the kitty” is not working and having to get out of bed to throw said cat onto the porch.
5. Oversleeping an additional 15 minutes to make up for playing “punt the kitty.”
6. Realizing it is so humid my hair will not dry until tomorrow.
8. John Boy and Billy
What I Love About Mornings 2
1. More coffee
2. 10 a.m.
Too Many Memories
Take me back
Too many memories
Take me back
So many memories
Take me back
(I can’t remember all of the lyrics… this is the best I can do)
Everywhere I go
and every place
I imagine I still see her face
Oh there ain’t a way I can erase
Too many memories
That make me cry
Too many memories
That never die
No they won’t ever die
I will go on dying everday
Oh baby if you don’t come home to stay
Oh there ain’t a way I can erase
Anyway, I can’t remember any more, at least in any coherent form. That song is by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons and was released along with Walk Like A Man, Sherry, and Big Girls Don’t Cry sometime in the 70’s. I know this because it was on 8-track and it was owned by my mother. It was a compilation of sorts but I don’t remember the name of it. My mother may still have the 8-track and she probably has something to play it on.
Anyway, as early as 1977 I can remember listening to and singing that song. I remember because our Chihuahua, Taffy, died on January 22, 1977. I remember that because it is my aunt’s birthday. I remember crying to that song because it was sad. It spoke of loss and pain. Years later, while the 8-Track player still functioned, I sat down and transcribed the lyrics and put them in my writing folder. I know they are written on lined notebook paper and there is a sticker on the paper of a green dragon. It is written in neat 12-year old handwriting, as though it was very important. It was important and it still is because I gave it significance.
As so I can say, there is the instant where my love affair with music began. It is where I began attaching significance to memories and reliving those memories encased in music.
Just a small town girl
Livin’ in a lonely world
She took the midnight train
Just a city boy
Born and raised in South Detroit
He took the midnight train
A singer in a smoky room
The smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on
That’s Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey. Those lyrics always bring my bud AZ to mind as he was raised in Detroit and I was raised in a small town and, well, it means something to me. To me, that song is us. It is the essence of us and will forever be the essence of us, if only in my mind, in my memories. Its soft like a pillow and I lay down on it frequently.
A lot of people attach significance to songs because they were playing at a certain time in our lives, when something significant happened. I can remember a couple of instances of that happening.
Everybody Wants You — Billy Squire
You see ’em comin’ at you every night
Strung on pretension,
they fall for you at first sight
You know their business,
you think it’s a bore
They make you restless,
it’s nothin’ you ain’t seen before
Get around town, spend your time on the run
You never let down,
say you do it for fun
Never miss a play,
though you make quite a few
You give it all away –
everybody wants you
Thunderstruck – AC/DC
I was caught
In the middle of a railroad track (Thunder) […of a lightning attack]
I looked round
And I knew there was no turning back (Thunder)
My mind raced
And I thought what could I do (Thunder)
And I knew
There was no help, no help from you (Thunder)
Sound of the drums
Beatin’ in my heart
The thunder of guns
Tore me apart
You’ve been – thunderstruck
I used to dance to those two songs at the bar that AZ worked. He worked on the second floor which overlooked the dance floor if you stood at the far end of it and occasionally I would catch him watching me. Yes, I was an attention whore, not to mention, I really love to dance. I’m not much for today’s dance music though unless you count “Dirrty” by Christina Aquilera and the Moulin Rouge song Lady Marmalade.
Right now I’m listening to Skid Row’s Slave to the Grind which includes such memorable tunes as Psycho Love, Get the Fuck Out, Quicksand Jesus and Wasted Time. I remember being in the mosh pit at the Skid Row/Pantera show sometime during the Slave tour and before Sebastian Bach made his exit. I remember watching Rachel Bolan’s hair swinging along with his nose ring to earring via chain ensemble to Piece of Me.
Caught a lonely lady
Crying on a cigarette
I got nasty, nasty habits
And that’s all she’s gonna get from me
One for the money, two for the show
A ’round and ’round and ’round we go
Take a look at what-a you might need
You better hurry
To get a piece of me
I don’t have looks,
I don’t have money
But I know one thing’s for sure
One night ain’t enough of my love
She wanted more, more, more
When I came home the other night I immediately started looking for Skid Row and found Slave to the Grind, which is cool but I also found Cinderella’s Night Songs, which includes Push, Push, Somebody Save Me and Shake Me.
She’s lookin’ fine
Flashin’ like a neon sign
She thinks it’s love
I said that comes with time
I’m gettin’ ready
The love’s lookin’ steady
It’s gettin’ sticky
I thought she might miss me
She looked at me and said
I need a little
Come and give a little
If ya take a little
Then you’ll get a little
AZ and I were discussing the greatness of the late 80’s, early 90’s… the time before responsibility, a time of fun and parties, headbanging, air guitar. He spoke wistfully, however… I still know that Push, Push is great song to strip to. I think he needs reminding that although he now has three jobs, a house and all the trappings of being a “real” adult, as long as the music lives, the memories live and as long as the memories live we’re still 21 and 28, I’m still drunk, sleeping in my car waiting for him to come home. He still owns a blue and green bathrobe and has long hair. I think its time to remind him.
I’ll try not to take anyone’s blog ideas with this post. (wink)
I finally crawled out of bed at 4:00 p.m. I had drank the night before with new medication and I was feeling very sluggy. I vowed to answer everytime the phone rang. One, because the Caller ID is in the kitchen and I didn’t want to get out of bed. Two, I wanted to stop telemarketers from bothering me. So, I fielded two calls from people looking for a towing company. On the second call I ascertained they were calling from a state north of me. They had used the wrong area code and got me. Sorry, no towing here.
I also pissed off the Troopers Association and some person trying to get me to take out a new Mastercard. My mother called and talked at me for 45 minutes and I talked to my friend KC. In between all of the phone calls I lounged with three or four of my eight cats. The mistress sleeps, we all sleep.
I trudged out of bed and checked the e-mail, chatted for a bit and decided, wow, I’m hungry. So, off I went to get breakfast at 6:00. I got to T-Bird’s at 6:35 and caught the end of “When KISS Ruled the World,” funny, I thought they still did. Did you know the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body? And Gene Simmons is one strong man!!
VH1 was running their “100 Best Moments of Metal” but they started at 80… dunno why, but I sat and watched the whole thing. I love the 80’s hair band, headbangers, metal gods… That’s my kind of music. So, then I got woke up finally at 11:00. Then, what to do? T-Bird and one of her friends had left me at her apartment watching TV and her ex-husband was puttering around but I knew I had that Winger CD in my car. Off I go.
First, I picked up two packs of cigs and secondly, went looking for my friend AZ. I drove by one place of employment, not there that I could tell. Went by his house, not home. Swung back by the place of employment… ahhh, there he is, hiding in the back. I buzzed up his cell phone. He was happy to hear from me and invited me in. (This is where we got caught by the fax machine, hee hee)
Now, I’ve mentioned AZ a few times. He and I have been friends for 12 years. Trust me, he is darkness, I am light. However I am yin, he is yang. Although the dark part of the yin-yang symbol is dark, due to the moon and yin is the light part due to the sun… Sun God = Ra, Moon = the Goddess, at least in my religion but otherwise… eh, male and female energies. AZ is 6’0″, maybe 6’1″ and I’m 5’3″. He’s dark-headed and dark-eyed and I’m blond and blue-eyed. I think Gene Simmons wrote the song “Charisma” about him. (By the way, that song is on Gene Simmons’ solo album, which was released about 1978) And… hmmmmm… AZ reminds me Gene Simmons, just less make-up and the tongue thing. Its something about the wickedness in the eyes.
Anyway, I’ll do a dissertation on my history with AZ another time. I will say, he is my best friend. When I was seeing Lex it was difficult for me to write or talk to him in some ways because he and Lex were friends or at least they work together and actually get along. Now I know why AZ never fixed me up with any of his friends. It sucked. I didn’t feel like it was cool to diss one of his friends to him and I think he was a little jealous. Now, I’m getting into this whole thing. Sigh. Okay, AZ and I have never dated. Not that I think we didn’t want to at times, it just was never the right time. When the shit gets deep though, we call each other, not our significant other at the time. Its telling me something but not sure if he’s hearing it yet.
So, I walk in and we go to the front office where he’s on the computer. I immediately just sacked out in the floor and he asked about my day. I asked about his.
Then he got up and I knew he was tired because he works all. the. time. But, he had me in front of him and was giving me directions. It felt like “Spinal Tap” being in the bowels of this business and having no idea where I was going, which ended up being a conference room. We each grabbed a seat.
If there is silence between us its companionable but tonight, since we hadn’t had much of chance to talk lately, we caught up on everything. He told me about taking his 91 year old grandmother to the casinos. How cool is that??? He said she had a cigarette in one hand, feeding the machine quarters with the other. She won too. Go Nana! For the most part though, he worked on her house. He’s good that way. I rubbed his back and his feet because I’m good that way.
Its amazing how many people are out and about at 1:00 in the morning. Finally, a lady came in and began to talk our ears off and we inched, I mean inched our way to the door. We gave the one-armed hug and I took off. He buzzed my cell 3 minutes later. We would have never gotten out of there if he hadn’t done that. Hahaha. So, he’s home with his dog and I’m home with my cats (told you we were yin and yang).
Luckily, I just put minutes on my phone because we used up 36 of them. Then we talked 10 or so more minutes on my home phone. He told me how glad he was to talk to me and I him. I’ve missed him. I told him I would see him Wednesday, hopefully. Maybe next weekend we will get together and watch a movie and I’ll massage his hands. That man loves a hand massage just about more than other things. (heh, I said almost)
Anyway, now I’m wide fucking awake. I get back up, get my CDs and get in the car and proceed to drive and drive and drive, listening to Winger and other 80’s shit. I almost hit two deer in the fog. Got that damn shitter off my ass for sure when I slammed the brakes on. He rode a little further back after that. Fucker. Then some ass monkey wants to race me in the fog on the Interstate at 3:00 a.m. Motherfucker, I’m sober as a judge and I don’t give a shit if the cops pull my ass over!! He ate my dust in the fog.
I get off the Interstate and back on the secondary and see a whole shit load of blue lights. I’m thinking its a DUI checkpoint, which is cool since I’m not drunk. There is that little issue of my inspection sticker being expired… oops. But no, thank goodness, it looked like a raid on a bar or something. There were eight cop cars there, blocking most of the patrons in. Oh well, there shittin’ luck. I came home, popped in some Cinderella and XYZ and I’m still awake at 5:13 a.m. Will attempt sleep here shortly. Wow, its been a great night.
That’s how many days I have been alive. (and yes you anal retentives, I counted leap years…hence the 1/4th) 11,201 days is approximately how long I have been old enough to have memories. That would make me three years old and that’s the first memory I had… busting my eyebrow open on the window sash and having to have it sewn up. So, give or take a thousand or so days, that’s a lot of days. That’s a lot of memories.
Not all of those memories are good ones. For some reason, I have an unusually evolved, technicolor memory. I can remember conversations practically down to the punctuation. OY! However, I needlessly torment myself by remembering shit better left forgotten. Keep the lesson, drop the memory, drop the baggage.
A way I have figured out to do this while “peeling the onion” is to know, not pretending anymore, to know I only have so many slots for memories. I no longer have infinite memory slots, now they are finite. With this finite number of slots I now have to decide how to fill them. What moron would fill them with bad memories? Not I!!
For example: My friend AZ and I have had some pretty wonderful times together, things we both remember. They have significance if for nothing more than to think of something good rather than bad. A time when life wasn’t perfect but together, it made us forget that for a while.
Hee hee, one night AZ and I were messing around, not sure how we even got to his place of employment, I’m sure he would remember that part but we weren’t alone so we went outside. It was dark, thankfully, and we walked around the corner of the building where this big tree was. Before long I was pressed up against the building with his mouth on my bare breasts (still have NO idea how that happened so fast) and suddenly a helicopter with a searchlight flew over. SHIT!! Figured we were busted but actually a train had hit a car at the crossing. Whew! Anyway, years later AZ called me and told me they had cut “our” tree down. Whaaaaa!!! No matter, the building is still there and I still feel the brick against my back.
Another time, we were in the middle of doing things we shouldn’t be, again in his place of employment although not the same place as before and, well, frankly, it was late and deserted but we just shouldn’t have been there doing what we were doing for a multitude of reasons, however, there we were. We heard a click and more noise… shit!! Gonna get busted and luckily with a few nips, tucks and zips we were decent. AZ goes to head off whoever it is, comes back in, I believe he may have been laughing, but it was just the fax machine. BUSTED BY THE FAX MACHINE!!!
Ha! Well, it happens. I have a lot more stories about AZ and none of them bad. Not that we haven’t fussed and shit happened between us but I have no capacity to see any of it as bad. It happened for a reason that was later revealed and he’s the one person I can say knows the most about me, the honest, insecure me, and still likes me anyway. I know a lot about him too. It took him a lot longer to come clean with me about some things but now that I know, I not only still like him, but I like him better. I realize that folks believe when you open up you make yourself vulnerable. If you do to the wrong people, you are vulnerable. To the right people, it only makes you more human in their eyes. It proves you are fallible and imperfect, just like they are.
I digress. The memory slots… getting there. So, there’s two memories of me and AZ, this most wonderful, important person in my life and I will fill Memory Slots 1 and 2 with these memories. Now, this is the hard part. I have to give up 3 bad memories for each slot. I now am responsible for giving up 6 bad memories. For Memory Slot 1, I give up anyone who has ever made fun of me for being messy and making me feel bad about myself because I am. I give up the guilt I felt because I called my host mother a bitch when I lived in Germany and she found out about it. She read my diary, I deserved privacy. I give up the hatred I have felt towards my mother for writing that horrible letter right after I went to Germany.
Now, I have to write that down somewhere else. If I ever think of those bad memories again, I have to think of AZ pressing me up against that building. Those bad memories no longer exist in my memory slots. Good bye!!
And so, it will go on and I will bore you or excite you with further details as they become available. For now, I have to write down my lost memories and fill them with something good. And… I’m writing a letter to AZ and I just had an epiphany.
I was going to post about something fun but decided not to. I can post about that great concert in Germany any time. Thank you all for your comments and support. That was a very cathartic thing, being able to rant and rave and let the hurt out. Now, I’m at peace. I know this was the best decision for me and for him. He didn’t have a say in the matter but… eh.
Lex finally decided to talk to me today. He did not ackowledge in any way anything I said in my messages to him over the weekend. I’m surprised he got the balls up to talk to me. No, I didn’t let him have it again. I had said all I was going to say about how he treated me. I just told him that I knew he was unhappy living here and wondered why he stayed. Money.
Fair enough. It was ackward and he’s still closed and, well, rude, but either we’ll make it as friends or we won’t.
The most important thing about being with Lex is what I learned. I learned, he’s not my ONE. He’s not the guy that will make me happy. I tried very hard with him. But, I learned, I shouldn’t have to. Love, is simple, so sayeth a friend of mine. It really is. Its as simple as sitting and watching a Disney movies until 4 a.m. and enjoying it, without saying a word, only holding hands, comfortable silence within the depths of cats and toys and enough clutter and junk to fill a landfill.
It is as simple as standing in front of a mirror with them behind you. You can see you, you can see them, they can see you and they can see themselves. That is beauty, that is whole, that is complete. Its the merest touch of a hand, its a smile. Its darkness and light, male and female, acceptance and understanding. Simply though, its not them seeing what we see in ourselves, its them seeing who we truly are. The core. Its the puzzle piece that fits our piece, exactly. The strengths meeting the weaknesses, the dawn and the dusk, the moon and the sun.
But simply, its realizing that although we may be weak, we have faults, we’ve been beaten and scorned, hurt and betrayed… we see all that is wrong with ourselves but they see everything that is right. And we see everything that is right with them. We match. We’re complete and whole. It is really that simple. (Thanks J. and C. for helping me see that.)