Contortion By Thunderstorm – Opus II

July 18, 2006 at 10:51 pm (Uncategorized)

*NSFW WARNING*

The air, magnetized by lightning, swarming with invisible ions, drew them closer, their breathing shallow, almost gasping. Their eyelids flickered open and found themselves gazing at one another and they met swiftly, crushing, their kiss softening and tongues meeting just as quick. Lightening flashed across the sky in flaming streaks sucking electricity into itself.

She twined her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck as he drug her onto his lap. He leaned her back into the post of the porch hard enough to jar them apart and he captured her hands in that instant, pulling and holding them away from him. Kissing and sucking at his lips, she strained against human bounds. She knew that he knew that she loved it and she hated it and that’s why she loved it. They struggled and fought, kissing and nipping and sucking.

His silky deep voice stilled her as he said, “Little bitch, I’m going to hurt you.”

She slid her tongue up the tendon of his neck, captured his earlobe between her teeth, and challenged him with her own husky voice, “Bring it.”

Transformers overloaded and blew out in showering sparks as he turned and slammed them both onto the porch floor, her head and spine cradled by his powerful arms. His eyes reflected the sparks of her own passion and lust, then another bolt of lightning, thunder cracked and rolled, its percussion carrying them into darkness.

Pandora’s Box was open.

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Contortion By Thunderstorm – Opus I

July 17, 2006 at 11:41 pm (Uncategorized)

She loved the scent of him. It rose from his body like the waves radiating off hot pavement. The blistering heat of day had descended into a muggy, cloying heat but neither cared as moisture beaded on their brows and dancing rivulets of sweat trickled down their bent spines. His hand was in her lap where she massaged his long fingers. He brought the corner of his forehead against her’s, rubbing like a needy cat.

“Hot and sweaty, like I like my woman,” he said. She felt his eyes on her breast and he twisted his head and even through her shirt and her bra, he unerringly found her nipple and teased it until it strained against the material. Without thought, she found her hands in his hair, urging him on, and from hooded lids, she saw the first streak of lightening.

Supple fingers traced through paths of slickness up her bare back to her bra strap and agilely he popped each of the clasps, releasing her, and again, tracing paths of slickness, lifting the damp garment from her skin, exposing her to him and anyone who cared to saunter by.

She did not care. His lips and tongue and teeth were on her breast, almost savagely they strained against one another. He was not gentle and she did not want him to be. She looked down into his eyes and he licked first one, then the other, nipple, teasing her. He glanced around her, perhaps seeking one who was not there and again he descended to her breast and she was powerless under the onslaught, and from hooded lids, she saw another streak of lightening, closer, and far in the distance, whether real or simply unheard over the roaring in her ears, thunder.

Kissing along his hairline, she inhaled his intoxicating scent, his essence, releasing more as she clawed down his back, raising his t-shirt so she could touch more bare skin. Gliding her hands down his sleekness, she kissed his forehead before raising her arms, bending at the elbows and pulled any hope of cover free from her body. He growled, he fingers biting into the soft skin of her mid-back, over the muscles, over the ribs, where within lay her beating heart. She cupped his face as a streak of lightning arced across the sky and she became aware at last of their gasps and moans as thunder rumbled.

His tongue lapped at the sweat between her breasts, that forgotten sensitive spot, and she brought her temple against his and she felt his consciousness raise, as did her’s. Their lips were mere inches apart, their breath co-mingling. Did they dare open this Pandora’s Box after so long?

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But. . . Let’s See What Happens Tomorrow

July 15, 2006 at 12:55 am (Uncategorized)

Shop time! AZ and I kicked the guys out of the shop so we could sit and talk and talk we did. I brought up a lot of points to him, didn’t beat around the bush, and he was open and, I feel, honest and so was I, especially about the situation at the shop and the rest of his life, his issues, my life, my issues, us, and our issues.

A lot was personal to him so I can’t get into it, but, it was a good start. A very good start. Bad Nanner. *Ahem*

Anyway, I have decided that even though unemployment is paltry that if I don’t take the time to work on my jewelry and get a big batch going that I’ll never be successful at it and I really do need to be successful at it. AZ and I worked out a deal. I get space in the shop for all of my beads, tools, etc. as it has now taken over my house and I have beads in a every room, even the bathroom, and I spent too much time looking for what I need. AZ was telling me I could clean out drawers and move racks and things to make it more comfortable. Whatever I wanted.

In return, I’ll make sales calls, crack the whip, organize and get a system going, basically, as we’ve skirted around, run the office. I was very direct with him this evening on that measure. I can make sales calls and still bead. Once I get a system going and get him organized, which he hates being disorganized, then hopefully things will smooth out for us all. As much as my house is a disaster, I’m very much a perfectionist, which is why I’m such a good beader, and AZ is very much a perfectionist as well. Yeah, we tend to somewhat alike.

Finances will be extremely tight after the end of August here for a while but I have to take this chance. AZ and I are still discussing money issues as neither of us have very much at this time. I’ll have unemployment after this job ends and I’ll have my money from my demonstration at the end of August and whatever else I can sell in jewelry. I have to be juried again to get in another shop, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Only problem is, it is consignment not direct pay. Regardless, I have to do this and try to get things off of the ground. Otherwise, I may as well pack in Peachworks and call it a day.

Basically, AZ said I could do whatever I had to do to get things organized, I could have the run of the shop for my beads and work on them anytime, I was to keep the shop running smoothly as far as personnel issues, make sales calls, have the flexibility I need for Nate and doing other things for my beadwork, like fairs and festivals, and tell the guys to shut up and get back to work if I had to, which, I’ll probably have to. We brain-stormed about personnel, sales, marketing, and other shite that would bore you guys to tears and wouldn’t make much sense.

His main concern with having me there? Paraphrased, “Keeping my hands off of you,” whilst burying his face between my bare breasts. Somehow, I can’t imagine complaining about that. (Please don’t be concerned, just let me enjoy the moment!)

Off to NC in the morning to buy beads and see the Mistress of Doom herself, El Sid. Ya’ll have a great weekend.

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Moving Right Along

July 13, 2006 at 7:41 pm (Uncategorized)

Let’s talk about Nate’s birthday. Lucky little dog, born just four days after the 4th of July, kind of like his Mama, whose birthday falls in close proximity to Thanksgiving. More often than not, July 4th is the official start of Nate’s birthday. Poor kid.

After our aborted attempt to see fireworks on the 3rd, we slept in the next morning and then went to the pool. It stormed again that night. Of course, at 12:01 a.m. on July 7th, we went to the premiere of “Pirates of the Caribbean.” On his actual birthday, Nate and I hung out for a while, then he went to his dad’s and had a party, and then the following day Nate and I went back to the pool. This Sunday we’re going to my Mom and Dad’s and I’m assuming my brother and SIL with clan will be there. No one has gotten back to me.

I’m supposed to go bead shopping in NC on Saturday… that can’t be messed up, especially since I was at the shop yesterday and the computer guy saw my necklace and wants me to make a necklace for his girlfriend’s birthday. This is where my creativity has gotten me lately.




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The Fourteen Years War – TBY – 2004 to The Present – Volumes III & IV

July 12, 2006 at 8:31 pm (Uncategorized)

I orginally had split up the last part of this saga into two parts, but you guys and gals have been so very patient and kind since I started this on Thursday, June 22nd, yes, it’s been that long, that I didn’t have the heart to make you slog through two more days for more of my insight and decisions concerning this situation. Plus, I’m just so tired. I haven’t been sleeping well, as you can imagine.

For those of you wondering, AZ is home, we spoke on the phone last night, we saw one another today (and I got a jewelry order from one of his friends, WOOT! I’ve been very creative lately as well… Uranus in retrograde and all that. (Did you all know, that on July 4th and 5th, Mercury, Neptune, Uranus, Pluto, and Jupiter were all in retrograde? Jupiter went direct on July 6th but it certainly is interesting what those retrogrades can signify and how it’s corresponding to my life. Read more about it here. ))

Anyway, I hit the tip of the iceberg which was just an honest observation of my fear that someday Jeff will kill me or at least attempt to, and how I live with that fear everyday and I’m sick of it. How’s that for a “welcome home?” I may wait until Mercury goes direct again on the 28th before getting into the heavy stuff since Mercury is the planet of communication. Then again, maybe I won’t. He’s aware that I have some things to say and he was very receptive to having porch time with me when he doesn’t have to get up at the ass crack of dawn the following morning. (I added that last part about the ass crack of dawn.)

Thanks for hanging with me and thanks for all of your concern and insights. I have a feeling the last half of the year is going to be far more interesting than the first part of the year.

As Forrest Gump would say, “I’m tired. I think I’ll go home now.”

When I told T-Bird, she said, “This is not good for you.” DUH!!! He may as well be an alcoholic. When I did realize it, I immediately thought of extricating myself from him period. Never seeing him again, never talking to him again, never having anything to do with him. Scary, even for the Giant Peach.

Then, I told myself I wasn’t running from this. I can’t change him, but he has told me, “I’m tired of being angry all the time.” Perhaps that’s just bullshit talking, maybe it’s not. I’ve always been here for him to talk to, but sometimes, I didn’t know what to say. Now I do.

Peeps, I’m not walking away from him for two reasons. Well, there’s more than two but the two most important reasons are: He’s told me he’s tired of being the way he is. Whether this means he’s actually receptive to change I don’t know, time will tell.

The most important reason is me. That’s right, me. For 14 1/2 years I’ve skirted, dodged, put up with, tip-toed around, and basically pansy-assed my way around AZ. Do I know how to deal with him? I thought I did, I still think I do for the most part. Do I like it sometimes? Fuck no. What a nasty creature he can be. But there is a connection between us and has been one since the day I walked into his living room and danced. I understand it better now, a whole lot better. I’ve been guilty of giving in to him, of not knowing what to say, or of not saying something because I didn’t want to upset him.

That jive is over. I’ve given him control over me through my love for him and his manipulations, whether consciously or subconsciously, for far too long. I’m still learning on how to stand up to Jeff but I definitely need to learn to stand up to AZ. I will not walk away until I learn how to do this. I’m doing research, I’m praying and meditating a lot. I have to take back the control that I’ve given him for ME.

All that and then I recognized aspects of myself in what is written about passive-aggressive personalities. All of us will find ourselves in those traits, perhaps not all the time, but at least some of the time. I now can recognize that my housekeeping problem is not only ADHD, not laziness, not being too busy, it’s a passive rebellion against my anal retentive mother.

I come from a classic p/a family. My mom was and is, very needy, my father, emotionally unavailable which just made her worse. I lived under tension so tangible it was like having another person in our house. I fear self assertion and confrontation, although I’m getting better. I would like to have someone in my life, but also fear commitment. I’m very independent and no, I don’t like anything that challenges that, to the point of pushing men away. And I loathe someone telling me what to do, not so much at work, it’s expected there, but in my own domain, hence the passive rebellion against my mother even though she’s never here.

It also bleeds over into my relationship with Nate. I really hate that. Nate loves video games and he always wants me to watch them with him. I hate video games and although I’ve tried to explain this to him, he is so insistent, and I become the “Yes Mom” to get him to leave me alone. Yes, I’ll be there in a minute, knowing I will stretch that minute as long as I can. And he does it to me so we’re becoming locked in the passive battle. Is this what I want my child to learn??? NO. Which means, I have to change.

Just goes to show. . . make sure you don’t live in a glass house before you start throwing stones and often those things we don’t like about other people, are things we don’t like about ourselves.

The week before AZ left was trying, very, very trying. His talk of “family is the only thing that keeps me on this Earth,” “my life sucks,” “I hate my life,” and storming out of the shop without saying so much as a goodbye to any of us Friday before last. Telling me he would talk to me about organizing the shop when he gets back. . . yeah right, another way for him to manipulate me, put it off and put him in control. Not.

After I told him that I had been writing to him, him saying, “Why don’t you just tell me.” That one, I haven’t figured out. Does he really want me to stop writing to him after so long? After 200 or so letters? After telling me for years how much he enjoyed them? Is this just a way to hurt me or push me away? Or does he really want me to talk to him? Does he really want me to find my voice? After all, he’s the oral communicator in this relationship and I’m the written communicator.

Verbal communication for me is my final frontier. That pain is so deeply rooted in me, the pain of the verbal lashings I received as a child, the emotional abuse I’ve received is so deep within me, I still quake and quiver when doing the least bit of verbal confronting, but I have done it and I will do it. I will work through this. Maybe he is right. Maybe it is time for me to stop writing to him and start talking to him. The real question is, is that really what he wants? Does he really want me to open my mouth and let the truth come out?

I cannot change anything about my past, but I can work through it and I will.

I cannot change AZ in the least, but I can change the way I react to him and I can change the way I deal with him and I will.

Now I see, and I hope some of you understand, AZ has always been a catalyst of change for me. Not every moment has been shining, not every moment has been made in heaven, but when he opens up to me, when he reaches out to me, when he touches me, when he lays his forehead against mine, when I feel his pain, anger, and yearning, I cannot turn away. I must face all of this. The good and the bad. I cannot fear what is to come. I must be strong for myself. I cannot doubt that I will come out on the other side stronger, wiser, and happier. If he wants it bad enough, he will too, and if he doesn’t, then I’ll still be stronger, wiser, and happier.

I’ll tell you what else T-Bird had to say about all of this, not about the part about me, because I haven’t told her, because I hadn’t figured it out yet, but the part about AZ.

“I wouldn’t waste my breath.”

Well, peeps, I wonder how she would have felt had I said that about her. Sorry, you’re unhealthy and broken. You’ll never change. It doesn’t matter that you’ve said you don’t want to be the way you are anymore, it doesn’t matter how you’ve tried, it just doesn’t matter because I’m not going to waste. my. breath.

How many “broken” people do you know who have changed their lives? Well, you’re looking at one of them and I’m not stopping. I’ll never stop. That is my nature. Yes, AZ and I are locked in passive battle as well. I can see it. I can see how we each manifest our anger and fear in different ways and how we ricochet off of each other. Do you think we enjoy being this way? Do think we enjoy being alone, and worse, lonely? Do you not understand how it hurts my heart to be angry and afraid all the time? I live under constant fear and sometimes an anger wells inside of me that I don’t understand. Do you not think I understand when AZ says, “I don’t want to be angry anymore.” I understand very well.

So, if you wouldn’t waste your breath, then please, go look in the mirror and congratulate yourself on having a perfect life with all of your perfect family and your perfect friends. Remember that anger that wells up? That’s it, right there. I’ve always felt broken, different, odd, strange, ad nauseum, but I’m worth it and I deserve so much more than I’m allowing myself to have because I’m really not any more broken, more different, odder or stranger than anyone else. I’ve just been lead to believe that.

Whether it seems arrogant or not, I was born a healer, an empathic healer. I was born with a gift and that gift was mangled and abused to the point that I hated it. Not anymore. I have to embrace it, I have to heal myself again in order to heal those around me. And I wasn’t the only one born with the gift. . . may the passive battle become active healing.

Someone pass me an onion. Oh, never mind, I think I found one last night.

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Cease. Fire.

July 12, 2006 at 1:26 am (Uncategorized)

It has become apparent that I will not be able to wait until Volumes III and IV have been properly posted and digested before the onion peeling tirades shall commence. For those of you unfamiliar with onion peeling, you may read about it here.

It’s long and it’s not pretty towards the end. Well, none of it is pretty.

*FEELING VICTIMIZED – The p/a woman protests that others unfairly accuse her rather than owning up to their own misdeeds. To remain above reproach, she sets herself up as the apparently hapless, innocent victim of your excessive demands and tirades.

Aimee asked that I not do this anymore so I will attempt to find a why for it first.

Certainly, I can see that I’ve done this. However, I do tend to be forthcoming with my failings and I do realize when I’m not doing what I should. I’ll throw out here that perhaps this particular symptom only comes into play when I’m actually the victim of something, I just compound it by actually playing the part.

I’ll offer you up a memory of my childhood. I was perhaps five or six years old at the time, maybe older, but not much older. My mother and I are sitting on the floor of my bedroom and it’s probably a bit messy. There is a small navy blue suitcase with wide tan stripes on it laying open on the floor. Inside, from what I can recall, there are underwear and socks.

My mother is raining down verbal fire and brimstone, berating me for not cleaning out my suitcase from an overnight stay at my grandparents’ house. She is so angry. Her voice always took a different tone when she was like that. She always asked me questions that I could not answer. Why are you so dolus? (This word was one of her favorites and means: evil intent, embracing both malice and fraud.) Why are you so lazy? Why can’t you just (fill in the evil blank)?

When she got like that, I stayed silent. Any attempt to defend myself just brought on more of the same. Are you cringing yet? Because I am. Because I knew what happened next. The slapping. My head, my shoulders, my bare arms, my bare legs, and the hair pulling. She always kept my hair short as a child and she would grasp the little hairs at the nape of my neck and give it a good swift tug upwards. You wanna feel pain? That is pain.

Then, of course, I would try to appease her by being “the good child,” by doing what she wanted. But, that wasn’t good enough either because she rejected the attempts that I made because I should have done it before. I should not have had to be reminded. I should have done it the first time. I should have done it right the first time.

This was not an isolated incident. This happened more often than not. It was always something. My father didn’t say anything, if he was even around to say anything. She was much calmer at times when he was home, meaning, she vented against him instead of me. He was the one she went after.

So, he became my savior. I loved my Daddy when I was a little girl. Not that I don’t now, but God I loved him so much when I was little. When he came home, I knew she would leave me alone. Granted, it was still terrible because they would fight and the tension, argh, the tension. And that is what I could not tell her that day.

I’m not sure if she had yelled at me, or yelled at my brother, or yelled at my dad after I came home from my grandparents’ house, but the tension, the tension was so heavy. I went up to my room, got my little navy blue and tan striped suitcase from underneath the bed, and put my socks and underwear in it. It wasn’t my clothes from my grandparents’ house that she had found, it was where I had packed to run away from home.

The day she came up to my room and found the clothes, I don’t remember what she was so angry about. I know I saw it in her face, I felt it as she slapped me, I heard it as she yelled at me, and I felt it inside of me. The most terrifying thing was not the words, or the pain, or what I saw, it was what I felt inside of me because I could feel her anger as though it was my own.

Overwhelming percussions waves of anger and hate and violence and loathing and disgust. I was afraid because I could feel inside of her, I could see inside of her. I could feel that she wanted to choke me, beat me, strangle me, slap me, she wanted to hurt me. She wanted to kill me. That’s how angry she was.

I’m still afraid and it manifests itself everyday and my co-dependent traits slide right in there with it. Everyday about two o’clock, I become afraid to pick Nate up from Jeff’s. I’m afraid that in my absence something I did or didn’t do will have made Jeff mad, and when I get there to pick Nate up, he’ll confront me. And I’m six years old again.

When AZ left for Boston, I was afraid the entire time he was gone, afraid he wouldn’t come home. Then I was afraid when he got home that he would be angry with me although he had no reason to be angry as I had done nothing for him to be angry about. He’s gone on numerous trips out of town and he’s never come home angry at me for anything. Yet, when he returns, I desperately want to talk to him and see him, but I’m afraid to. He’s never even raised his voice to me, how could I be afraid? But I am.

It’s that way with my parents, when I haven’t seen or talked to them in a while. Fear. Anytime I travel out of town, I come home with fear in my heart that there’s something I haven’t done or something I have done that has pissed someone off while I was gone. Fear.

So, can you imagine the freak that gets loose in my mind when I actually do something wrong? When I make a mistake? Yes, the freak runs loose but the freak admits wrongdoing and the freak makes amends. But if someone won’t let go of what I did wrong, if they keep picking at me, if they pick on me at all, then yes, I start seeing less and less of what I did wrong and focus on being the victim, on throwing it back on my accuser.

I no longer care if I’ve done anything wrong, because they’re more wrong and if they’re more wrong then I’m right and I’m not six years old anymore being beaten about the head and shoulders, my hair pulled, my bare legs and arms slapped, being degraded and berated and told I’m lazy and dolus over a FUCKING SUITCASE NO BIGGER THAN A BRIEFCASE WITH A COUPLE OF PAIRS OF SOCKS AND UNDERWEAR IN IT!

IT WAS FUCKING RIDICULOUS! SHE SHOULD HAVE NEVER TREATED ME THAT WAY. I DIDN’T DESERVE IT! NO ONE DESERVES IT. BUT IT HAPPENED TO ME AND I COULDN’T DO ANYTHING! NOTHING! I HAD NO ONE THERE TO PROTECT ME! I HAD NO VOICE.

YOU WEREN’T THERE. YOU DIDN’T SEE HOW SHE LOOKED AT ME. YOU DIDN’T FEEL HOW MUCH SHE HATED ME. YOU DIDN’T FEEL HOW ANGRY SHE WAS. AND YOU CAN’T FEEL HOW MUCH I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND IT. HOW I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND IT.

I’M SURE SOME OF YOU CAN UNDERSTAND HOW MAD THAT MAKES ME. I’M SURE SOME OF YOU CAN UNDERSTAND HOW FUCKING ANGRY I AM, BUT YOU’RE FAR AWAY. YOU CAN’T REACH OUT YOUR HAND AND TOUCH ME PHYSICALLY. AND COULD YOU LEAN YOUR FOREHEAD AGAINST MINE AND IN TWO WORDS MAKE MY WORLD SO MUCH BETTER? WOULD I EVEN LET YOU? MY GUESS IS NO.

BECAUSE I WILL LIE TO YOU. I WILL TELL YOU EVERYTHING IS BETTER BECAUSE I DON’T WANT YOU INSIDE OF ME EVEN WHEN I WANT DESPERATELY TO BE CLOSE TO YOU. THAT’S WHAT IT’S LIKE. DESPERATELY WANTING TO BE CLOSE TO SOMEONE AND NOT BEING ABLE TO.

NO, MINE AND AZ’S RELATIONSHIP MAY NOT BE MADE IN HEAVEN, IT MAY NOT BE THE HEALTHIEST, BUT HE IS THE ONLY PERSON THAT WHEN HE GRABS MY FACE, KISSES MY FOREHEAD AND SAYS, “I UNDERSTAND,” MAKES ME FEEL BETTER BECAUSE I KNOW HE’S BEEN THERE. HE HAS WALKED THROUGH THE SAME GATE OF HELL WITH ME.

THE SUITCASE STORY UP THERE, ONE OF MANY, MANY MORE THAT HE HAS HEARD BECAUSE HE WAS THE ONE WHO TALKED ME DOWN AND HELD ME WHEN I WAS DRUNK AND CRYING BECAUSE I WAS SO HURT AND ANGRY AND SCARED, BECAUSE HE HAS READ HUNDREDS OF MY LETTERS, WRITTEN ON BAR NAPKINS AND LEGAL PADS AND NOTEBOOK PAPER AND MATCHBOX COVERS AND TYPED, TYPED, TYPED, TYPED ON THIS COMPUTER.

But, it makes me sad and angry that he understands because then I know how he feels inside. And I love him so much, I don’t want him to feel this way. I don’t ever want anyone to feel this way.

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The Fourteen Years War – TBY – 2004 to Present – Volume II

July 11, 2006 at 7:47 pm (Uncategorized)

I’m not the least bit pleased to have figured out why our relationship has been the way it has. I almost screamed to the heavens, NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Between the guys at the shop, writing this, Cybele and Brighton, and my own insatiable curiosity, analytical brain, and non-stop reflection, I’ve determined that AZ and I are passive-aggressive individuals.

Just look it up, you may find our picture beside of the definition. Here’s a list (just replace the masculine with the feminine):

FEAR OF DEPENDENCY – Unsure of his autonomy & afraid of being alone, he fights his dependency needs – usually by trying to control you.

FEAR OF INTIMACY – Guarded & often mistrustful, he is reluctant to show his emotional fragility. He’s often out of touch with his feelings, reflexively denying feelings he thinks will “trap” or reveal him, like love. He picks fights to create distance.

FEAR OF COMPETITION – Feeling inadequate, he is unable to compete with other men in work and love. He may operate either as a self-sabotaging wimp with a pattern of failure, or he’ll be the tyrant, setting himself up as unassailable and perfect, needing to eliminate any threat to his power.

*OBSTRUCTIONISM – Just tell a p/a man what you want, no matter how small, and he may promise to get it for you. But he won’t say when, and he”ll do it deliberately slowly just to frustrate you. Maybe he won’t comply at all. He blocks any real progress he sees to your getting your way.

*FOSTERING CHAOS – The p/a man prefers to leave the puzzle incomplete, the job undone.

*FEELING VICTIMIZED – The p/a man protests that others unfairly accuse him rather than owning up to his own misdeeds. To remain above reproach, he sets himself up as the apparently hapless, innocent victim of your excessive demands and tirades.

*MAKING EXCUSES & LYING – The p/a man reaches as far as he can to fabricate excuses for not fulfilling promises. As a way of withholding information, affirmation or love – to have power over you – the p/a man may choose to make up a story rather than give you a straight answer.

*PROCRASTINATION – The p/a man has an odd sense of time – he believes that deadlines don’t exist for him.

*CHRONIC LATENESS & FORGETFULNESS – One of the most infuriating & inconsiderate of all p/a traits is his inability to arrive on time. By keeping you waiting, he sets the ground rules of the relationship. And his selective forgetting – used only when he wants to avoid an obligation.

*AMBIGUITY – He is master of mixed messages and sitting on fences. When he tells you something, you may still walk away wondering if he actually said yes or no.

*SULKING – Feeling put upon when he is unable to live up to his promises or obligations, the p/a man retreats from pressures around him and sulks, pouts and withdraws.

I don’t know what made me look this up. I don’t know how it all came together. I just don’t know. I know that when I read this, I screamed inside for two very good reasons. Me and him.

Deep, dark discussions to follow in Volumes III and IV.

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The Fourteen Years War – The Blogging Years – 2004 to 2006 – Volume I

July 10, 2006 at 6:09 pm (Uncategorized)

Are you ready for this? Are you really ready? Fine, continue.

I’m now getting into the Blogging Years. As far as Jeff is concerned, he was still as unstable as the wind. I believe though, it was 2004 when he told me he was very sorry he hadn’t been there for me and Nate, he had made mistakes, and he saw how much he had hurt me. Honestly, I had already put it behind me but it was apparent he had not and needed to make that amend with me. He probably also asked me to marry him at some point in a drunken stupor. I obviously said no.

I did eventually call Lex and we start seeing one another. Seeing Lex was odd and strange in some ways. It was the first time I had actually dated someone that AZ knew, was friends was, worked with, and saw me with. I went up to the radio station one morning and took them breakfast. Very strange. Very odd.

It didn’t stop me though. Lex stopped me. As much as those two complain about each other, it’s because they are so much alike, and so very different. AZ and I talked a lot during my relationship with Lex but we never talked about Lex and I. We talked about everything but Lex and I.

I, however, made it a point to tell Lex things first, even if I wanted to tell AZ. I worked my way out of emotionally cheating in my relationship with Lex. If something happened, I told Lex first, got his input, got his point of view, then I told AZ. It was hard too. It was even harder when Lex didn’t take much interest in some things that were important to me, whereas AZ took interest in just about everything.

As things started going south with Lex, I resisted the urge to talk to AZ about it. Not just because they were friends but also because I wanted to handle it on my own. It wasn’t until far after the fact that AZ got an earful about my relationship with Lex, why things went south, and my frustrations and hurt, especially after AZ called me and had both he and Lex on the phone at the same time. I was so livid and I wrote a nasty letter about it to him. Which he promptly received and called me about.

I also learned a valuable lesson, don’t date any of AZ’s friends if things aren’t “resolved” with AZ.

Towards the end of 2004, I wrote a post called, “Reason, Season, Lifetime.” It was about feeling as though I had moved past AZ emotionally, essentially outgrown him. In many ways I have. I’m even more aware of it now. However, the end of 2005 brought about another change for AZ and I. It was the first time he told me about his father’s death to a large degree. We talked a lot in the Fall, as usual. When I went down to visit Sid in NC, it was on the anniversary of his father’s death. For the first time ever, he called me after a trip to find out if I had made it home safe. Unfortunately, I was still on the road when he called and then of course, I didn’t hear from him again until January.

I’ve blogged mightily about Jeff and AZ in the past two years. But putting all of this down, running through it year to year, as been not been the least bit cathartic to me. I have brought up a lot of old hurts and that’s all they are… old. However, I don’t ever see my relationship with Jeff changing. He’ll still be an alcoholic and I’m counting down the days to when I’ll no longer HAVE to see him, speak to him, or otherwise be involved in his life. I want to be able to have a choice as to when I deal with him.

What this has done has shed a great deal of light on the situation with AZ. Since he was been absent last week, the guys at the shop were very honest and forthcoming with what goes on there. I’ve always known there was SOMETHING, something I wasn’t putting my finger on, something besides the depression that I was missing, something that would explain everything. I’ve searched high and low for a long time, not just now, but for many years to explain my relationship with AZ.

I found it.

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The Fourteen Years War – 2003 – Volume II

July 9, 2006 at 6:59 pm (Uncategorized)

You’ll notice, that around the end of the year, AZ and I tend to end up together in some fashion. We’re speaking or seeing each other. There’s no easy explanation for this. I know why, but I don’t know why. I understand, but I don’t understand. See, AZ’s father died suddenly within a few days after AZ’s birthday. His dad was only 52 or 53 years old. AZ begins his spiral downward around Thanksgiving and doesn’t come up for air until around the New Year’s. Same pattern, year after year. We do talk to each other more around this time. Yes, we normally see each other too.

Nothing different this year. AZ comes by the house to pick up some baked goodies and we have, “a moment.” After which, he’s sitting on my couch with this look of utter. . . despair. I can pretty much remember what he said but that’s very personal to him. The nutshell version is depression. Heaping dark clouds of doom. I talked to him about many things, many personal things, things from his past, things I never, ever had a clue about.

There are a lot of things over the years, especially since the winter of 2003 that we’ve talked about that I can’t write about. Not here anyway. Those things shouldn’t be shared. Just imagine you’ve told someone some of your deepest, darkest secrets. Things you had never told another human being in your life. Imagine cutting your soul open and letting someone look inside. Imagine yourself as vulnerable as you can make yourself. That’s what the conversation was like.

It answered a lot of unspoken questions, things I had wondered about, and personality quirks he had. So, now I understood better. . . but why did he tell me? Why is it me he turns to? And why is it me he walks away from? Because he did and he does. You might think after such a heart to heart, after such demons are bared, that we might have moved forward, maybe even towards being together as a couple, as opposed to “just friends with some benefits.” No. He walked away and basically shut down.

Regardless, I tried as best I could to encourage him to seek help. I just tried to listen and talk to him, talk him through, talk him down. I wouldn’t say he ignored me, but he suddenly became very busy, and I wrote him a long letter and still encouraged him.

Honestly, it frustrated me that at one moment we could be so close and the next, he’s hiding under that Scorpio moon, basically dodging me. That irritated me. It irritated me enough to ask him for Lex’s number, which he conveniently couldn’t find. I asked him three times over the course of three weeks. The geeks worked together! Don’t tell me he didn’t have Lex’s number! I was very frustrated. It was that same bullshit. AZ didn’t want me, was pushing me away, seeing someone else, but would not give me a simple damn phone number. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. . .

But when has that ever stopped me?

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The Fourteen Years War – 2003 – Volume I

July 8, 2006 at 9:09 pm (Uncategorized)

Honestly, this year as far as Jeff goes is just a blur. I know he was still Jeff. Still getting drunk and drugged up on occasion, and spewing his rhetorical shit. I can’t remember anything outstanding as far as Jeff goes about 2003.

As far as AZ and I, our phone conversations were titillating to say the least. One day, he called me and said, “They cut down our tree.” “Our tree” referencing the tree beside of the radio station that we had our tryst under back when. By now, way back when. Every phone conversation slipped into our past, the pre-Jeff past.

I’d finally had enough and sometime during late Spring, I finally told him either we needed to fish or cut bait. Either we needed to be together or we needed to stop living in the past. It was too hard on me. He came down one evening and we spent the entire night, from about 11 p.m. until 6 a.m., watching movies, talking, and his receiving an extended back rub. No. We didn’t discuss us or where we were going or where we weren’t going. That was as much my fault as his. And no, we were not chaste. As he left that morning, he stopped before getting into his car and looked back at me, like he was committing that moment to memory.

Since things had calmed down, for the most part, with Jeff, I finally felt more comfortable about going out, and most of the time it was to a local bar where AZ did a live remote every Wednesday. The place was often packed by the time I got there, and as I would weave my way through the bar, I would feel eyes on me and like a tuning fork, I would turn and AZ would be smiling at me.

Once, I was at Monday Night Football, eating wings, drinking beer, and trying to watch football, when this guy kept turning around to talk to me. He was. . . not so interesting. I really wasn’t in the mood since I was trying to eat and drink, follow the game, and the third eye in the center of my forehead was tracking AZ as he schmoozed. In just a few moments, two guys from the radio station I was acquainted with brought chairs over and insinuated themselves at my table which effectively cock-blocked Mr. Non-Interesting. Then AZ came over and brought a chair. Now I have four people at a two person table.

When Mr. Non-Interesting got up and left, I whispered to AZ that I was glad the guys had come over since I wasn’t sure Mr. Non-Interesting was going to leave me alone. He whispered back, “I sent them over to rescue you. I told them, ‘Go save her.’” *Laugh* What a great memory that is.

However, at the end of the year, it was once again AZ’s birthday and I went over the local bar and grill to help him celebrate the big 4-0. (For the record, AZ is 7 years older than I am and Jeff is 8.) I sat down and he brought Lex over to the table so we could keep each other company. I had known of Lex for a long time and we had cris-crossed numerous times in our Hair Band Days but Lex is sort of like the wind, if you hesitate he could be gone and I had hesitated a lot in my younger days. But we struck up one hell of a conversation that night. Enough that, given the fact AZ was dating Joanie or Joan or whatever the hell I call her, I decided that seeing Lex again might not be a bad thing, except, he was AZ’s friend and they worked together.

Danger, Danger!

Thing is, Lex walked away and said, “Call me sometime, babe. AZ has my number.” And again, he was gone like the wind. I stood there with my mouth open wanting to call him back and get his number then but he had already disappeared into the bar crowd and AZ was standing right there. Decisions, decisions.

Happy Birthday to my Nate. He’s 10 today!

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