Posts Tagged ‘Love’

Halfway Through

“I misss youuuu,” I whine as I roll over in my bed, sliding on my new red satin sheets that he finds ridiculous because I’m not a porn star and because sparks of static electricity dance on his long, leg hairs when he turns over.

“I know, I know,” he dismisses.

I know that he misses me too. I know that he knows he’ll be coming home in just under 2 weeks from now, but it still hurts to only speak to me for 10 minutes a day. I know this. I remind myself of this on an hourly basis some days.

Some days, I go 3 hours without thinking about him. I’m busy at work, or worrying about paying bills, or trying to conceive new creative ideas. And then it hits me again: he won’t be home for dinner tonight. You have no plans this weekend. Pick up his mail today. And then that “Oh yeah….” sigh comes over me, and I realize that he’s just not here.

And then I start to wonder if he is thinking the same thing- going through the motions of his day, wondering what he’s missing on my dinner table, how I’m wearing my hair today or if I’m sleeping well. I wonder if my face is slightly fading in his mind as he wakes up each day thousands of miles away from my porno sheets.

I’m in between ok and sadness which is a very strange place to be. I’m almost sad enough to cry, I’m almost ok enough to not write about him.

“I should let you get some rest,” I hesitantly say, knowing that he will agree with me and it will be another 24 hours before I talk to him again.

“Yeah. Busy day tomorrow,” he replies ready to hang up.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he says like I should have already known that.

We hang up. I wait to hear his hands shuffle to find the END button on the phone before I let my cell slide down my face to lie next to me, only to wake me up at 6:55 a.m. to start another day without him. It’s not as tragic as I write, really. Just a fact of life.


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A Counting

“When you think things are bad, when you feel sour and blue, when you start to get mad… You should do what I do! Just tell yourself, Duckie, you’re really quite lucky! Some people are much more…Oh, ever so much more…Oh, muchly much-much more unlucky than you!”
–Dr. Seuss, Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are?

When I was a child, my Mom read me DIETYHLYA? about a gazillion times. She did and does have it memorized. As a melodramatic teenager, I listened to her pull phrases from that book and drop them to me as a gentle and loving reminder that I’d be OK, and that it’s not so bad.

Well, there are two kinds of blessings to count – positive ones and negative ones. I gave DIETYHLYA? to a friend when her son turned one year old. The boy’s daddy read it and said, “What? So everyone else’s misery should make you glad?” He entirely missed the point. You can enumerate all of the good things in your life, to remind yourself to be glad. But enumerating all the ways it could have gone wrong but didn’t… the “negative blessings”… that’s a way to remind yourself how quickly it all can change and how appreciative to be right now.

Well, in the past few months, I have had occasion to reflect on just how… safe… I should feel. The gambler’s fallacy says that I’ve had a run of good luck, so the odds of it changing now are greater than they were before. Superstition would say that to enumerate the good things in my life is tempting fate. But then I’m also told that “thoughts become things – choose the good ones” is a motto to live by. I like that better.

1) I have been married to my husband for ten years. We rarely fight and have virtually never gone to sleep angry. He’s carried me through the toughest times in my life, and I’ve tried (although feebly, at times) to do the same. And although some would say that it’s naivete to think this, I’m fully confident that 10 years from now, I will love him just as much and more. I love him more than I did 10 years ago, for a start, and I trust him to do the right thing.

2) I have a sunshine of a daughter. She is persistent as only a toddler can be, but she’s also easygoing, happy, and full of life. She’s rarely sick, she’s usually polite, she likes to sleep at naptime and nighttime, and she’ll eat almost anything. My daughter dances in delight at the simplest of things and is patient enough to sit [mostly] still long enough to get a haircut.

3) I have a family I adore. I was left behind by one deadbeat dad, only to acquire a Dad I know would never let me down. We haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but he has a heart of gold. I have a mom who nurtured me when her own heart was ready to give way, who taught me how to be a lady and a woman, and whose moral stature is unparalleled in my experience. I have three siblings, all at the cusp of adulthood. It has been challenging, to say the least, to watch these three grow up. Each has taught me a lot about life – compassion, internal contradictions, generosity, fear, addiction, passion… so many things that I remember feeling and not understanding at the time. And having watched my mom and dad navigate these rough waters (and helping them when I could) is bound to strike a chord when my own little one(s?) is there.

4) I have the best friends a person could ask for. And better friends, I often think, than I deserve. They’ve stuck with me through thick and thin, sick and healthy and sick again, generous and down-right mean. The winds of change have blown some of them away; I desperately feel those losses, but they twinge as a reminder of those I still have and those I’ve gained.

5) I’m healthy. I know, you laugh. But consider how much worse it could be. Everything that’s wrong with me is manageable, and none of it is terminal or even dangerous.

6) I have a well-paying job, with excellent benefits, working in the air-conditioning. It is satisfying, rewarding, intellectually stimulating, and busy. At the high point of frustration at my previous employer, I learned a lot and things got easier. At the next highest point of frustration, another job practically fell into my lap. At the high point of frustration at my current employer, I learned a lot and it got easier. I developed sustaining friendships to carry me through, and my personal life took a turn that took my mind off work for a while. And then, at the next highest point of frustration, I got this transfer. The first six months were hell on wheels, and I thought I might die. But somehow, here I am, happier than ever.

6) I could go on and on. Last but not least for now, though, is this. On September 11th of 2008 I went to work. On the way, I listened to the radio, and people were recounting where they’d been 7 years ago. Once I got there, I sat in a conference room all day. I watched and listened to a room full of brilliant scientists discussing dozens of ways to make the world a better place. Sure, each one of them had an agenda… an interest to preserve… a gain to be had. But at the core, each one of them had and has one central goal. To make things better. Going to work, and working hard, for that goal is the most patriotic thing we could’ve done that day. I left there proud to be one of this group.

A few “negative blessings” bringing all this to mind.
I didn’t just find out my husband’s been having an affair (or several). I didn’t just lose my parents in a tragic accident. I didn’t just lose my only child in a tragic accident. I wasn’t just diagnosed with cancer at an unreasonably young age. I didn’t just break my arm and have never broken a limb. The worst damage I’ve ever suffered in a storm is just enough hail damage to allow the insurance company to increase the value of my home. My auto accident totaled my car, but I walked away with brain and body intact. Not only do I not live several states away from my beloved, I live in the same house with him.

Enough said. I lead a truly charmed life.

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About Love

Sometimes, OK no… Usually, lines in a movie or song or book are on my mind. Some people have the capacity to say it just right.

From Stardust (movie not book; although book was still better):

“You know when I said I knew little about love? That wasn’t true. I know a lot about love. I’ve seen it, centuries and centuries of it, and it was the only thing that made watching your world bearable. All those wars. Pain, lies, hate… It made me want to turn away and never look… again. But when I see the way that mankind loves… You could search to the furthest reaches of the universe and never find anything more beautiful. So yes, I know that love is unconditional. But I also know that it can be unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, unbearable and strangely easy to mistake for loathing, and…. My heart… It feels like my chest can barely contain it. Like it’s trying to escape because it doesn’t belong to me anymore. It belongs to you. And if you wanted it, I’d wish for nothing in exchange – no gifts. No goods. No demonstrations of devotion. Nothing but knowing you loved me too. Just your heart, in exchange for mine.”

It is my wish that we all have the opportunity to love and be loved, like that, at least once.

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“Do you love me?” I prod.
“Yes, yes of course I do,” he answers.

After a question like that, he usually either hugs me or looks at me funny because he knows I’m a little strange at times.

“Are you surrrre?” I continue.
“Yessssssss,” he sighs.

Getting impatient now, I realize it’s time to turn on the charm and give him hundreds of micro kisses on his stubbled cheek.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” he complains. “That’s very nice of you…”

I continue for a few more than stare up at him with my brown eyes, hoping he’ll crack a smile and laugh at my strangeness. He does. He always does. Sometimes he’ll throw his head back and laugh real hard at some bizarre thing that I have said or some face I have made.

I act even stranger when we’re about to go to sleep. I walk my fingers starting at his belly and whisper…”There’s somethin’ commin’ fer u!” and he asks, “Oh no! What is it?” and I reply with some oddity like “It’s 400 Chinese men dancing on a tower,” or “A mean spider!”

It’s simple, really. I poke and jest, he sighs and shakes his head. The more I giggle the stranger I must look for after all, I am a grown woman behaving as goofy as I did as a little girl. He must enjoy it though because every night it’s pretty much the same thing, unless of course, I transform back into that adult woman, full of worries, anxieties, and panic.

It’s true, it is simple. We are simple. We may like fancy wines, nice dinners, and pretty electronics, but we are simple. We share cheese plates and remark on how much we love cheese. We watch movies and TV shows together, and more often than not, one or both of us is yelling at the TV in protest. We take walks. We drive places. We go to bed at reasonable hours and never skip breakfasts. Sometimes we have dessert. Sometimes we stay in bed late on the weekends. Sometimes I cry and he’s always there to comfort.

“Do you love meeeeee?” I whine in his ear.
“Yes. You know I do,” he says back.
“How much?!” I demand.

He holds his arms out as wide as they can go, a simple gesture, which is something that I should never and will never take for granted.

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A Little Scar

“I’m indifferent at worst.”

Before the man I’m with now, I had “dated” a few other men. In my own wierd ways, I “fell” for them all. I attached myself to them, idealized them, forgave them for unforgivable acts, regretted everthing until they came crawling back and promised me the world, and after that, I regretted some more.

“I’m such a fucking idiot.”

There must be something wrong with that girl…you know…the one who deliberately sets herself up for more pain and more failure. I gave each and every one of these people a piece of me, and it never was once returned. Perhaps I’m stored atop some dustybookself, or worse, tucked away in some box underneath an old bed, long lost; forgotten.

Every storybook romance has a handsome prince and a beautiful princess who fall in love and live happily ever after. How does my story end when the beginning and middle is a bit tragic?

I suppose if I had to go through it all again, every last unreturned phone call, snide remark, heartless stare, I would because I’m with who I’m supposed to be with (at the very least for the time being). Kissing frogs is one thing, taking them home and denying the warts is another.

“So what, do you hate me or something? Why do you keep doing this to me?”

“Hate is a strong word. I’m indifferent at worst.”

The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. Thanks for refusing to let this scar heal. I wish I was tucked away in someone’s shoebox right about now.

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West Coast

I’m a blogger, a multiple blogger, interloped into a passionate affair with bandwidth. While I would like to proclaim my dedication to multiple blogs as pure talent, I think the real stem of the obsession comes from OCD. It is a challenge I give myself to express my stories in my own tangled English. The way that I write in cryptic rhythms is confusing. I find myself changing person in the middle of a paragraph just because I starting thinking outside the box that is me. Sometimes I stare at the blinking cursor and scowl at it taunting me. I’m a very silly woman with a pen that has a mind of its own. I’m certain you’ll develop a lukewarm tolerance for me as this blog grows in beautiful bandwidth.

Introduction of Me.

I was born and raised in contrast. My father is a conservative German Lutheran from a prominent ranch family in Montana and holds a full eleven-year age difference from my Native American/French Canadian mother whose ancestors were primarily lumberjacks and moonshiners. It is dramatic indeed and maybe why I ended up being the polar opposite of both. Maybe it just explains why I dance to my own melody, but also happen to be tone deaf.

At first glance I’m your average, everyday, westcoast, mid-20’s woman struggling for all the things in life that make one happy. I enjoy stereotypical things that the world would expect me to enjoy; going shoe shopping, dancing in fields of flowers, the brightest shades of pink and getting my toes polished. If you scratch the surface though you’ll find a girl that also enjoys college football, infusing vodka with organically-grown habeneros, pwning nubz in online gaming and a crusader in the effort to continuously recycle everything.

Education is the milk to my cookies and I’m always finding a random class to take here and there. Even though I’ve followed my degree path to the end of my financial string, I find myself leaning towards classes in the arts more and more, mostly because if I’m required to attempt mathematical figures in my head during those classes, my mistakes are taken as “artistic perspective”. Hurray for the art brain!

The 8-5 struggle occurs in a nonpartisan office surrounded by political vultures where public politics is the Broadway production and I am merely the stagehand hiding behind the curtain. I rather enjoy it that way. To put it bluntly; if you don’t get caught in the pissing match, you never get wet.

Amor is something that I always thought I’d never fully understand. Coming from someone who has been engaged, married, divorced, I had romance stuffed in an old shoebox hidden in the darkest corner of my closet. Fortunately enough there was a man out there that hadn’t given up on love and was able to find me in my dark hiding spot. We tell our story in a collaborative blog known as Minutes & Miles. (You can find the link in our blogroll.) I’m certain as this blog progresses you’ll hear more about my panda-bear boyfriend.

After that small insight on me hopefully you will feel inspired to watch this blog. I know I’ve thoroughly bored myself reading about…myself. *wink*

The two other women I am collaborating with on this blog have glowing personalities of their own and I’m certain that the three of us will be able to keep you entertained with this calamity we call life. I hope you stick around and comment from time to time.

Ciao for now…


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