Distraction Between

It's funny how the sky is so rarely black in the city. I think e lost the night when we succumbed to the village being larger than we were. The lights have veiled the blackness into a deep blue that is beauteous in its own way, but distracts us from the primal night that we all know deep down lay just beyond. Every now and then, we have to go beyond that blue veil and into the starlit night because it is truth.

I had such distraction forcibly taken from me yesterday in a moment that very well could have gotten me killed. I fell onto the train tracks near my office. Listening to my iPod, completely not paying attention to the moment as I thought about my day, I tripped. Wet wood, high rails all prevailing against my complete state of unawares to send me into a face plant in the rocks. SPLAT. FUCK OW. The very act of falling was in severe slow motion, as if a part of me wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't, and then came the pain. I had enough presence of mind to brace myself for it, and thankfully neither head nor face ever touched the rocks or the rail. Something that very easily could have knocked me out, leaving me prey to the oncoming trains. No one would have known where I was. No one would have ever known I'd been hit until it was far too late. Between the two sets of tracks, I could have been missed by trains in either direction, or I could have been obliterated. Instead I walked away with four scratches, three bruises and a dead iPod. I got off LIGHT.

I allowed this to happen. It sucks even saying that to myself let alone writing, it, but I allowed this to be. I allow myself distraction because it’s easy. It's pretty and easy and time-consuming and fun and it doesn't serve me as much as I need but I don't care. That not caring almost got me killed yesterday.

And yet today, amid a flurry of distraction, I came across three very distinct and equally scary truths at the beginning of this night: I'm dangerously close to being in love, I'm dangerous close to either breaking someone or being broken by them from 2500 miles away, and I have no idea what I want in either case. That was the beginning of the story.

I will not use names out of respect. Lets us call them Jason and Eric and Dana. Jason is 2500 miles away and an enigma sight-unseen. Adrift in the wake of a very bad relationship, he has made the healthy choice to bunker in and heal before venturing outward again. And yet his agile mind and spiritual kinship latched onto me like an anchor tie, and I could not but hold it by my very nature. And yet now the boundary must be set. I cannot be what he needs, and I cannot help him heal in the way that he must. To do so would intertwine me in his healing, to make me a part of his whole that would be difficult if not impossible to disengage from without breaking again. Heals wrong, break the bone again and set it right. I can't be that wrong healing, and I will not be a part of any dependency situation. Not again. NEVER again. No matter how much I care for him, I cannot be what he needs in this way. I have to let go that tie and bleed as it pulls free, taking bits of skin in the friction.

And so to Eric, who all but fell out of the sky and into my existence. Esoteric and charming, intelligent and bold, yet a force onto himself in his silence and solitude, the lone tower in the storm. He keeps those around him safe while allowing them their own journeys. He takes apart the puzzles to know how to make them better. He pulls sci-fi from the heavens and makes it his own. Sound familiar to anyone else? And he is here. Before me. Interested. Just as scared as I am about how well our faults fit together. We have managed in a short time to find such a healthy balance of faults to compliment each other and become this understood thing that neither of us can name and yet we both already knew.

And then to Dana, who is a force onto herself, so fiery and child-like and potent even in her darkest moments. Forked tongue to cut the air itself, yet a laugh that could make the dead grin. So quick was our understanding, and so deep has out passion been that I have to wonder which one of us is more frightened: Dana, Myself, or Eric. Good thing they're already together, or this might be a very tragic story. Dangerous close to love in two corners, and perfectly content, yet allowing enough for distraction that it nearly cost me everything.

And so the night went on...

I have learned to ignore the obvious because it cannot possibly be so simple. It is in fact. And the simpler it is, the hard it is to wrap my head around. I bring complication where there is none, mathematics and numbers and words unneeded in the mere presence of simplicity. It is, and that is all there is to it. I allow things to get so complicated that distraction is the only way to deal. My own need for complication is the key. Why do I need it? Why must I have it? What purpose does it serve? My need to understand gives the expectation of complexity where none exists. It is this expectation that allows for the distraction to take root. No more of this circular nonsense. If it cannot serve the Will it is cast aside or cut clean, bloody and wet and lifeless at the roadside. And though I may bleed from the culling, I will heal in time, carrying the scar of memory as an understanding of NEVER AGAIN. and yet the path is not so lonely anymore, not so desolate and not so complicated, even withe the obvious change. Awareness is not complication. Awareness is just that.

So may basics understood for so long I forget how integral they are until one of them loses feeling. Like when my arms falls asleep and I try to move it. Always knew it was important. barely thought about it until I was without, and then it suddenly becoming vital in the way only an epiphany can. And yet it is not so grandiose. It simply is.

An evening of words and pictures and so much muck. Time to weed it out to the barest bits, in this time when the veil is thinnest.... oh, wait. I have all winter. Good, enough time to make sense of it all before I head west again…

Part the way

And so now do the seasons change once more before our eyes, within our bones. Mabon has passed into the cool winds, the leaves fall like rainbow rain, and the frost creeps in from the rolling north to bid the beginning of winter. Samhain looms before me like a great gatekeeper beaconing me forward as the old hinges creek open, the way black as pit in the night. So now do I stand before that gate, hearing the voices of those past and those who have always been sight unseen. I fear not the dark, I fear not the messages. I fear only my own inabilities. Yet I step, for though I may feel unworthy myself, those who call to me see some worth in me. I only hope to make good on such sight. A breath into the night…

Whee!

So, it’s been a bit for me. It’s been a very BUSY, BUSY bit. It’s amazing, really. I always wanted a social life, and now that I have one all I want is a break!

The wedding is now over. Thanks the gods. It was beautiful and wonderful and joyous and yes, I cried AFTER I did my section. Personally written vows. Get me every time. Aspecting Fire in fact did NOT set the altar ablaze NOR did it cause any enormous outbursts on the part of anyone, all wins in my eyes. But I did mange to let out my inner firebitch when I kicked out the reception crashers from the bachelor party next door. I’m sorry, no small horde of drunken rejects was going to come waltzing in and get a warm welcome, especially after one of them was eyeing my 16-year-old friend. It’s the kind of thing that makes a short chubby redhead into a demon who is going to EAT YOUR FUCKING FACE if you don’t do exactly what she says right now. Hee hee!

Stronghold is also now over and I am officially the talk of the social circuit of the Bristol crowd. JOY. What I get for being led around and introduced by an engaged man (known to be a shameless flirt) and his wife (who is a wench. No seriously, she’s in the Guild). I walked on his left while his fiancé walked on his right, which according to centuries of tradition makes her the wife and me the… Trying to find work for Faire next year just got INTERESTING.

I am now officially going to Kansas City without fail next weekend, which means that yet another weekend will be spent on the road as opposed to resting. And not just on the road, no no. DRIVING. 8 hours one way, and the first leg is Friday night after a full week at work. I get to bring all my stuff to work, get picked up, sleep for 2 hours, then drive for 6 so Sherry can get some sleep. The KC Ren Faire is going to ROCK, though. My Circle is meeting there, Tessa and the Yeomen (the King’s Guard) will be there, and I’m going to try and seek out a shirt for Windy Con. If I can find that and a skirt, Huzzah! But yeah, another whole weekend away from home. Without rest. My body is already objecting, and YET…

Syn in the weekend after. Granted, Saturday during the day is empty, and with good reason, but Friday night after work until who knows when and Saturday night until who the HELL knows when are booked so high and so deep I don’t even want to think about them anymore. Thankfully I get ONE DAY to myself that Sunday. Which means HOUSECLEANING. Oh my, we’re really having some fun now. But WAIT, there’s MORE…

Possible end of summer hurrah with two people I haven’t seen in literally YEARS. Canceling on them at this point would be not only insane and rude but also out of the questions, so another Sat gone. Then the next week is Halloween, which is going to be a nightmare, no pun intended.

Then November begins, and I get one weekend to myself before Windy Con. Thankfully. I get to complete my costuming and make sure I have everything I need in dangly bits and shinies for the Masquerade. Fun! Then one more weekend before Thanksgiving, and I haven’t bought my bus tickets yet. What’s WRONG with me, you ask? I haven’t got time to tell you about it, as you can see! Or can you see? Am I going too fast for you? I’m sure as hell going too fast for ME!! Whee!!

Obama, 1 and a 2...

Ok, so again I'm late to the party on these ideas, but it works in its own very special way.

To open, let's get this out right now: Rep. Joe Wilson (R-SC) -- the guy who shouted "You lie" when Obama said the health care plan would not cover illegal immigrants -- is a putz. And given everything else that's come out of the state of SC in recent weeks and months, that man REALLY shouldn't be talking about liars. Enough said.

Speech to school children :: what the hell? What was everyone so fucking upset about? The entire Wingnut brigade was up in arms about how no president had ever done anything like this before outside of North Korea (laughing) and how he was trying to hijack the minds of America's youth. We could only be so lucky, but I was actually IN school when Ronald Reagan pulled out this CRINGE-worthy PR move in '88, so unprecedented is not the word I would use for this.

And exactly what is wrong with a black president telling children they really can be ANYTHING they want to be? He's a first in American history! Why NOT have him address our children as living proof that anything can happen given hard work and want? Work hard, stay in school, set your own academic goals because your country needs you. Right. He's brainwashing them. Right.

Next up :: Health Care. Cue the sighs, the groans, and the cheers. honestly, I thought this one had serious promise. He said a lot of things that I've been screaming for a long time, especially given the medical history of my own family. NO ONE should go broke just becasue they get sick. No one should be denied medical coverage by an insurance company because of a pre-existing condition. when I was 13, I had to take a specific medication to control a very serious internal imbalanace. It was prescribed by a dR., but my mother's insurance wouldnt' cover it. It took FEDERAL legislation to force insuracne companies to cover this particular med, but int he meantime my mother had to pay full price for my meds. Never hated being sick so much in my whole life as when I found that out. NO ONE should ever have to feel that way.

And I'm sorry, but when you get told by an insurance company that they won't pay to give your 17-year-old daughter a liver transplant because according to the bureaucrats who decide these things in their cubicles somewhere she's beyond help, regardless of the fact that a team of Dr. has said it would save her life, and you spend over a year lobbying to get them to pay, but when they finally DO AGREE with the original diagnosis and agree to pay she dies on a donor waiting list, you should have the right to take every single person who had a hand in that decision and hang them from the nearest tree until their feet quit kicking. But that's just me.

And do not EVEN get me started on pharmacists being able to decide what meds they will and will not dispense. As a pharmacist, you are a member of the medical community. You have issue with giving out contraceptives or AIDS meds? QUIT. Someone who actually gives a shit about helping people and saving lives will GLEEFULLY take your place.

The rebuttal by Dr. Charles "I'm Even Worse Than Bobby Jindal" Boustany, however...I'm shaking as I type. Someone needs to bleed this guy dry so the FDA can approve his blood as a narcotic because CLEARLY he has been smoking something hardcore and foul.

And so now do we end the most recent few memorable moments of the Administration. My question becomes this: the Dems have control. When are they planning on waking up to that fact and actually getting things DONE around here? One has to wonder....

What did you do today?

I did dishes.

I’m one of those people that needs quantifiable, tangible accomplishment every single day, or I will go absolutely nuts.

I have worked at jobs in the past where I could work all day and I could explain to you exactly what I did, but there would no way for you to prove, no real way I could really prove, it, but I did it. It sucked. So I went home everyday and did dishes. I watched a sink full of dishes dwindle down to nothing and the stack of clean dishes piled up into this really cool pyramid thing, but I DID something. Or I’d clean the catbox. Or take out the trash. I accomplished something.

I mean, when I walk into my workplace every day, I don’t think, “Hey, I went to work today. “ No. Work is an opportunity to do something. With work for me, you have two options: you accomplish something, or you fuck off. What you accomplish isn’t always in your job description… My job title is in essence sales. I sell a product. What I DO everyday is grab teachers by the arm and say, “You gotta see this!” I help teachers get something they need, something they want, and something that will serve them. I put something in front of teachers and say, “This is where you are, this is what you do, this is what you WANT to do, this is where you WANT to go, and THIS program will help you get there. This will work for you. Why are you not already here?”

If I don’t accomplish something over the course of a day, I feel awful. I feel like I am wasting my life. Not just my time, but my life, because what is time but a part of life? Therefore my life get wasted when my time gets wasted. And that is completely unacceptable. So I go home and I do something. I finish something. If I get hit by a car tomorrow, my life is over, poof done, I will be able to say, “ I accomplished something.”

What did you do today? If you don’t have an answer right now, that’s ok. Continuing to not have an answer is not ok.

DO SOMETHING. Do something that you love. Do something that makes you smile. Do something that makes you proud to stand up and say, “YES! I did that.” But DO something. Even if it is as simple as dishes. Because at the end of the day it does not matter what you think. It does not matter what you intend. It doesn’t even matter what you say. Talk is cheap and I believe. I talk for LIVING, and I believe that. It is not what you say. It is about what you DO. What did YOU DO today?

You’ve got time. What COULD you do?

In Turn Sacred

A writer's moment, after midnight and several episodes of Babylon 5.

The cold dark of winter has come. Stark white glows beneath the starless sky, covering the earth like a gray ghost. I walk between the ancient trees caught in icy slumber. I envy them their ability to turn inward, away from the cold. I find a space cleared of bark and brush, a circle of white untouched by the surrounding forest. I walk to its center and suddenly notice that my feet make no sound. I look back. No footprints.

“This is a sacred place. All those who venture here are in turn sacred. All others simply never find it.” The voice surrounded me, as if the air itself spoke.

“What is this place?”

“Not what nor where nor when. Only why.”

“Who are you?”

“I am as you are. Why do you need to know more than that?”

“I seek understanding.”

“Fact and truth are not mutually exclusive. Which do you seek?”

“Neither and both.”

“Then you are ready.”

Wanderlust

I've gotten restless recently. I'm getting bored easily, opting for idle time-wasting as opposed to productive or creative pursuits. I managed to finish the first chapter of one project, a gift to its muse, and now...nothing. I'm not terribly motivated, which hasn't ever really stopped me before. I try to keep busy, keep moving, but I feel like I'm running in circles, not really looking forward to anything but still managing to get tired in the process.

My completely unacceptable physique got me working out again. bike riding is hit and miss considering summer decided to give way to fall after two freaking weeks, so I'm opting for indoor cardio. It's short and intense (shock), which works for me, but I still get antsy at night when I'm up and alone and wondering about the reasons for it all.

It took seven years to get established, and I haven't even been on my own a year yet. I have to wonder how much is loneliness, how much is boredom masked in exhaustion, and how much is truly a Calling, something somewhere beckoning my feet to the road.

And yet, every now and then, a literary gem still pops up to be heard:

"I have walked the streets of Faerie at night, knowing well their leafy lane, their log wood bridges. I have climbed the stepping stones to the house of my kin, and sat at their table, welcomed home."

So passeth a man worthy.

It seems death is making a list not unlike Santa's this year. The good ones are getting checked off, and the latest was one we really couldn't afford to lose just yet. His work is left undone, and so it passes to all of us who thought well of him to carry on in his stead.

Edward "Ted" Kennedy had a way of ruffling feathers. He was much like Harvey Keitel in that you either loved him or hated him. But like so many, he knew where he stood, and he stood on the side of equality, of justice, and he had the guts to speak up even when every other voice on his side was silent. Would that we could all have such strength in the trying times ahead. Compelling and engaging, it took a brain tumor to slow him down, much like it took my own grandfather. I don't think of Ted in that way, but I do know what it's like to watch a good, strong man wither away into a mere shell before my eyes. My heart is with his family now as they grieve, much as I did two years ago.

So passeth a man worthy. Rest well, Ted. You've earned it. Your work will continue.

You can tell Fall is coming when...

Hoodies and flip-flops suddenly become commonplace.

The cool wind catches the climbing ivy in waves like a vertical sea.

You can smell it.

It caught me again this morning as I awoke with the windows open to romping kittens and crisp air filling my senses with a need to burrow. I feel the sleep of the land creeping around the edges, my own want of hibernation just stirring.

The cycle continues. Feel it turn...

Reflections in the tides

I’ve been unusually sensitive recently. It started in the midst of my journey in the Pacific Northwest, but instead of being dulled or simply lessened by the return to mundania, this sensitivity has become sharper, more acute. It extends to all points and valleys of my existence. The very breeze vibrates through me like an echo. I feel like the crow perched within a willow seated next to a river, sunlight and moonlight reflecting from their sources but also reflected in the moving waters below me, further perspective, secondary impression.

And yet the time has come for such reflection. Though the leaves have not yet begun their color symphony, the wheel is turning, the time is coming, and the seeds are coming to their various points of harvest. Yet with eyes so forward and ears so perked to all that is so far out, could I lose sight of what’s in my hands? The barrage has been known to blind me, to clench my hands in shock and wonder, only to crack the fragile joys already within my grasp. To say nothing of the rather impressive backlog of things that I’ve been meaning to complete for years now. Delicate balance.

So many sign posts, so many wants, so many things left undone. A curious reflect.

Faerie Worlds Apart

Flying always kills me. I’m still sleep deprived after my second night home. Pacific time set in on my system just in time for Central to kick me back over like a can on the street.

But worth it. So very, very worth it.

The heat was reminisce of the desert, not the Pacific Northwest. It was 106 on the ground. Walking out of the airport was like walking into truck backwash. I could practically drink the air, and it burned. Oh, how it burned. The drive down was filled with laughter and song and “Thirteen” (http://www.vixyandtony.com/music.html) and “Mythcreants” (http://www.trickypixie.com/merch.php), along with new friend, Foxy. Considering I went by Crowe for almost the whole fest, it felt good that others like me knew their names and used them as I did.

We got to Portland just in time for hair dying and SLEEP. Sleep with big cats and really awesome attics and bumblebees. We awoke in the Hive to happy belly goodness of bagels with lox and cream cheese. Then we hung out, packing cars and making lists, checking as many times as it took to hit the road running. After grabbing all we needed, we set out upon our journey to Eugene and everything after.

Camp held new faces and kindred spirits alike. Fire kindled, altars set against the greet evergreens around us, walking the circle of our tribe to ensure its protection and sanctity. And in the great conifers within our fortress of love, my laughing brother birds fluttered and sang, waking me the next morning to the sunlight, the waning starlight, and the readying for our trip to FW.

Surrounded was I at once by color and light and sound, pan flutes playing on the winds, Fae of every shape and size and manner prancing about and dancing, wings floating on the breeze. Blessed breeze. It’s the only thing that kept us all from falling over in the sunlight. There is no sun in Faerie, not really...but I disgress.

I fluttered about, a Gaselli at play, coin belt jingling my presence into the ethers. It was a day of watering can blessings and fanciful creations given life and light. Wood nymphs danced as much as stood still, children running and playing with the inner children of those grown tall. Stilt walkers and sprites sang out their joy, pirates and steampunk minions mingling with Jerith and Froudlings.

My only downward moment was under the shade tent in the late day, pulling my skirt wide to shield a friend from the harsh sun’s rays as he ate and tried to recover from overheating. He is well, thank the stars, but we were all quite concerned. He did get better, drinking plenty and resting much, his voice ringing out in laughter again soon enough.

And so the sun rose and set upon the first day at Faerie Worlds.

The next day was much the same, though Bad Faerie’s day was one of mischief. Instead of bad Faerie I just went with Baddass. I think it worked well…

But the day proved too much for me, so coyote and I headed back to camp for shade, cold drinks, and talk. Talk we did in fact, of socks and shipmates and storytelling, cabbage heads and kingdoms. We were joined by other of the camp, also seeking refuge form the sun, and bearing whisky and watermelon. The night rang out with our laughter as we shared the cool night. And so the sun rose and the sun set on the second day of Faerie worlds.

The next morning held a sigh for me. I was headed off toward the airport come sunset, but not before packing and making merriment with my new tribemates one last time. And so we did, Monochromatic Faeries, we!

We frolicked and played one last time to the winding ways of Gaia Consort, and then the brick hit me in the face. I got the message that lit the fire beneath my feet and set the tears to my eyes. Chaldean was dying. I had to get home. I talked with Thistle as best I could, not looking at my emotions until the phone was shut in my hands, crumbling onto the dried grass in the arms of my Coyote brother. I will never be able to thank him enough for that moment, that solace, that shelter. But he let me purge and set me on my way, fast feet carrying me home.

Home too late, but goodbyes still said. I’m so thankful for that much. Got home to the kittens, who were VERY happy to see me1 So happy they haven’t left me alone yet, but I’m not complaining.

Such an experience. I’m definitely going next year to ensure the transition is a good one. Selling out the old venue and changing locations a month before the event was not the BEST choice, but it happens. I’m willing to give it a second try to see if they can get their act together complete with applicable SHADE….

His Journey Onward

the message was the first I'd heard in three days. My phone had been off due to low battery, and when I turned it on, Thistle's voice came to me in a tone I'd never heard before. "Chaldean is dying. Get here now." I called her back within seconds, keeping it together as best I could as she told me the what's and how's and why's. a dear friend, a coyote, stood by me as I listened, cracking with every word until I hung up, and held me as I crumbled. My precious fellow trickster. Will you ever know how much you meant to me just then?

And so I was on my way, 7 hours north to Seattle to catch a flight the next morning, the first one I could manage. The minutes flowed by like white water, rushing me forward, propelling me through airport, and train station and city street to the door of my friend and teacher. I called upstairs to be let in, but too late.

Chaldean, my dear friend and teacher, had died before my plane hit the runway and I hadn't gotten the message until I was at his door.

I first met his at Temple of the Four Winds. He was a lone figure of calm among so much bustle. He struck me as different, but I couldn't say why.

I met him again at Earth Day three years ago when we were in ritual together. I was among four dancers of the elements, and he was the embodiment of the animals world, the Green Man, the animal spirit given voice. Though deep and almost monotone, he called up a howl in me that echoed across the Circle. I knew then a moment of his power.

We met again and again over the years, moments here and there, each teaching, laughing, moving across each others' paths. He called me Faerie. He called me Sister. He called me sweet. I wasn't sweet, I was lucky. Lucky to have been in a place to have known such a man. And to that man I have this to say:

Dearest Chaldean, my teacher, my friend, thank you. Two little words that make up so much of what you mean to me. I will never forget all that you taught me, and all the laughter we've shared. I'm so grateful to have known you, and to have shared my journey with you even for such a short time. Rest in peace, and journey on, knowing you are loved.

Bringing the night to a close....

I sit again by candlelight. The altars are closed now, the workings done for the night. The building and maintaining of temple space has been interesting. The feel of it is crystalline; its song a gentle echo within the self. I sing its place here; I bring it forth and let it be less in word and more in meaning. Some languages have no words, and this one lines my walls, inlays my floors, and weaves through every surface and breath of air, song and story without a word.

The painting is finally finished. It took three of them, fittingly, to complete, but it’s done now, sealed at last as it should be. Now I can step forward again onto the path once more and toward what is next, no matter the direction. Though I do direct, I do not dictate. I cannot, for though the way is mine, I do not always know the way there. I find it an interesting way to go about it, self-understanding given context. The tools needed have always been there, the skills always present. To learn them again is to become closer to the self of Will, not simply the self that happens to be.

So much to be done, yet I am unafraid. Does that make me brave or foolish? Both? Neither? I don’t know of any who could say for certain. The only certainty I have left is that when it’s all over, I will be as I always was and more than when I began. It is the same for all of our kind, and it is an encouraging thought.

Need to stop writing when I’m this tired…

Sleep deprivation and bomb making

The guy sitting across from me on the train is muttering. No sound, but patterned, rhythmic. I want to know what he’s saying. Does that make me invasive? Curious? Lonely? Too tired to figure it out right now.

Just saw Hurt Locker. Still shaking a little inside. Makes mundania seem like a 50’s sitcom and a human interest nightmare had reality while on a bad trip.

It’s something that always in the back on my mind, the mindlessness. Violence begotten on strangers not because of wrongs done but because of ideals stood for. Fear. Fueled so much of man’s history for so long it makes me wonder if fear-based response really is the true governing body of our gleaming, progressive society.

I’m way too tired for this. That’s it, new rule! I’m not allowed to write when I’m so tired my eloquence filter falls off and I can’t keep from sounding delightfully unstable.

(This post is from several days ago, just catching up. Cheers.)

Tray of Fire

A serving tray filled with flickering tealights, one by one making their way onto scattered tables as the sun lets in the night across the city. It instills a kind of forced romanticism onto already bleeding décor. Yet it still tickles me how fire is lit in the night even in this learned and electric culture, lending an air of the olden ways and the inherent mysticism of perceived safety in the night. There are still predators to be afraid of. The night is still prowled by those who would use its wiles for mischief. A world filled with bicycles races and play dates, super computers and yoga retreats. A world so lit it can be mapped from the moon. A species afraid of the dark, annihilating it as it has every other natural predator its ever known. And thus a traveling tray of fire, sprinkling safety onto the subconscious of a people who have forgotten what it’s like to be someone else’s dinner. Let the hunt begin….

Blot

I’ve got ink on my hands again. If it’s not ink it’s paint, which I still find rather weird and fascinating. Two forms of creation in the same hands, both learning to breathe their own way. Writing has always been a passion. That and music, but there is nothing in this world or compare to music. Not laughter, not color, not chocolate. Seriously.

But I digress…

Writing is a passion long known while painting is a passion recently given light. Never been very good, mind you, but it still comes to be in its own way, its own voice. (More music references. Oy. ‘Me and my Arrow…’)

Plot on the page, blots on the canvas, and now blots on my skin. Ah, creation…it’s messy….

Fish gotta swin...or not (Woods Ramble, fair warning)

Ah, boundaries. Gotta love walking into walls. Brick, cement, stone, I just love walking along, thinking everything is pretty ok and then staring up at the sky from the flat of my back, a bruise forming where my thick head made contact. And of course, the more important the boundary, the harder I make that contact.

But its the boundaries that have no walls, no warning bells, nothing to strike against that often are the most damning and do the greatest damage not just to me, but to the owner of that boundary. And when the owner is me? Boy...

Now, self-deprecation is something I excel at. I spent so much of my life getting my pitfalls and failures shoved up my nose that I eventually didn't need the help. But my sinus is clear as is my windsheild these days, but I can't help but notice that every now and then pieces of myself I didn't know I was missing come totting up to kick me. Things like WANT.

Not need, because need is elemental enough that it can't be ignored most days. Need to eat, need to sleep, need to breathe. Needs are easy by themselves. Want is hard. And there are those who disagree. That's allowed. Why comment fields were invented. But I've found that when need is in question, survival need, want takes a side-step. And when want is in question, that need comes in to decide. But it's when the boundaries of need and want blur that I end up inadvertently cloud watching.

I was asked this question recently, what I was looking for/what did I want, and I gave my usual nonchalance masked in sarcastic charm answer. And then I got called on it. I didn't get pushed, but the panic still boiled up my throat to sit on my tongue and make everything tingle in unpleasant ways. I didn't have an answer. I had an idea, but even that didn't have words yet. A writer without words. NOT a good sign.

And I didn't have it in me to fake it. I COULDN'T fake it. What I was being asked was beyond sarcasm, beyond charm, beyond the masks that I have built for so long and tried so hard to let go of recently. Yet my defenses still went up when I didn't know what to do or say. That much was understandable, forgivable. Continuing to run in the same direction not knowing (and being fully aware of not knowing), however...

Now, I'm certain there are many out there that feel this idea is childish. "Why haven't you figured this out by now? You're an adult!" Huh. Do YOU know what you want? What you really, truly, hardcore WANT in this life? Yeah, didn't think so. When was the last time you thought about it? Uh huh. Stop clearing your throat, stop straightening in your seat, stop acting like this doesn't phase you because it does. And that's allowed, too.

Now, in living without self-worth for so long, I look back and realize that I did learn how to own what's my fault. I screw up, I own it, it's me. I did, however, tend to take full responsibility when things go wrong, wallowing in my own shame of failure without really seeing that though I played my part, it was just that. A PART. Today I find myself in that seat again, at the end of a screw-up that isn't entirely my own doing, but credit where it's due.

I let myself go beyond my own boundaries. I set these walls in place because I KNOW me, and I know what I like to do as opposed to what I SHOULD do. I'm a Fish, damn it, I swim. But after years of bucking the current and/or just letting myself get swept under, it gets hard to find the balance of riding the wave while still steering. The water got cold fast and it's gotten hard to move again, but movement is imperative or I'll get eaten, not by fishermen but by my willingness to just let go the line without so much as a word. Can't do it.

This THING, this situation, this moment, this meeting is not something I WANT to let go of. I want to keep it, keep it close and safe and real. But I also know that suffocation happens that way, and I'd rather have the bear walking beside me because he wants to then try to leash him and get mauled, nor do I wish to walk away from the bear. But the bear has walked away from me, and I stand in the woods a moment, breathing in the air and the scent he left behind, remembering it, keeping that much within me and safe. I leave behind a ribbon on the stone next to me, knowing that the bear knows this spot. If he comes back he'll find it there, and with it find me. And if he doesn't, no one will know what that ribbon is, so they won't know to understand it. I'm at peace with that much, never forgetting the past, but placing this want into the paws of another, knowing now what the want is and what needs are attached to it. And now as I wait, the backstroke...

Ding dong, the bitch is dead!

Ok, so I'm a little late to the party on this one, but it's been a long weekend, as many of you know. I knew this was happening from the beginning, and I have to say, I'm rather enjoying watching the circus unfold around the "Palin."

From tell-all books from the world's most famous baby-Daddy to making Engrish sound correct to Letterman, this bison-boffing bitch doesn't know when to quit. Oh, wait...

Yes, it's true, she quit. *Doing the Happy Dance of Joy in the background*

Now that that's out of my system, one has to wonder what the motivation is here. I mean, even as the republican party is finding new and inventive ways to commit ritual suicide over and over and over, this crops up and overshadows it all, not because she's a republican or even because of everything that's happened so far. No, this is because this bitch find new and inventive ways to get attention in the worst ways possible. I could start with her state and trickle down, but I'll stick to the ones that really got it for me this time.

I've covered this previous, and you may know, but it still amazes me that this botch is allowed to speak in public. Or at all, for that matter. the more I listen to her, the more I realize that the English language is something that pipes through her, but is never really understood by her. Sarah Palin going off script is worse than Dan Quayle and George W. put together, and for those of you who remember both these jokers, you realize how lucky we are not to have yet another speaking-impaired human in the White House. Joe Biden has NOTHING on these guys. NOTHING. One word: POTATOE. Yes, indeed...

Oh, but wait, she then has the unmitigated gaul to try and sue a blogger for making SPECULATION about a possible embezzlement investigation being made? Uh, honey, you've already proven that ethics mean simply that people do exactly what you want when you want or your army of minions go after them. This isn't a far stretch. Now, it may not be true. It is entirely possible that it isn't true, especially as hard as she has been campaigning for her PAC.

Speaking of which, HUH?! Not a week before she resigned, she was hardcore begging for money for this Political Action Committee, and then up and turns tail? If she's gunning for 2012, someone should tell her the story of Ross Perot...

But there's also the thought that she is leaving politics. She's sick of the media, except when they love her, she's sick of the scrutiny, except when she's using it against her opponents though heaven forbid the searchlight get shined anywhere NEAR her, and she's sick of having to constantly defend herself and her actions. It's politics, child. this is how the game is played in the REAL world, not just in your little head. There are no 'yes' men anymore, there are only people who seriously need you to get shit done. Since the only thing you can manage is to set women in politics back 50 years, I say don't let the door hit you where the dog shoulda bit ya.

On a side note, I have to admit to a boatload of respect for Sarah Palin's spokeswoman, Meg Stapleton. She has had to endure a great deal in the wake of this fiasco, and she has performed in a way that can only be called admirable. Especially since it seems like Palin didn't even TELL HER OWN SPOKESWOMAN that she was resigning. A truly rare showing someone who had to speak for a woman who thought Africa was a country. Respect, Meg, and lots of it.

Sooj in Waukegan

Every 4th of July should be like this. Beautiful, sunny, and filled with music. and not just any music, oh no, not just any will do. no, this weekend was filled with the Siren calls and pirate brawls conjured by SJ Tucker(www.sjtucker.com).

Our Lass of Song and Story arrived before I did up in Almost Wisconsin country. After making my mother's infamous "Oh My God" cheesecake, we made our way North, Evan, Alyse and I, to their house and to the event of the weekend.

it was incredible. Faces that had never heard our Siren before lit up in delight and broke into hysterical laughter at her hands, including poor Phil who broke down not once but twice into red-faced lack of breathing. The second time was especially amusing not because of the faces he made but because of the recovery time needed (Please don't lick my toes...). Kay was at his Mercenary best, though there was not room to jig. *Sigh.*

Gypsies, Pirates, and a song circle filled with voices ringing through the house, with enough extra help that the host and hostess actually got to relax and enjoy the show itself.

And as the day drew closed and the night fell, the evening dark was lit in LED wonderment, swirling around the hips of our Gypsy siren, showing off her fabulous hoola hoop moves. a glorious end to an amazing day.

And now it's National Fried Chicken Day, and my boss had hats. Pictures exist. Gods....

Solstice Dawn

The sky is on fire. Reds and pinks and golds over the underlying blue fading back from the determined dark of the shortest night. the dawn, a newborn seeking, fighting to burst forth from the known haven of the eastern horizon. Wave after wave of wondrous orange and copper bubble forth, the darkness bleeding away. the burgeoning crest of horizon shatters, and from it light, purest, deepest, brightest light breaks free and takes flight, and so begins the longest day of 2009. Welcome now the sun child, now become the king of the sky. and I, knee deep in waters set a blaze in his light, lose the words of writer. I stand at the edge of something words cannot touch, and I'm ok with that.

Duckon!

Ok, so this is only my second con this year, but by far the better! I walked in to furry friends and faces I hadn’t seen in years. Several, in some cases! Flashing back to old relationships well-remembered, old stories that needed retelling simply to remember the laughs. Newer faces richly remembered, embraced for the third time in a year, which to this day is unmatched. Sooj and Vixy and Kay and Brooke and YAY! Hearing the voices of my loved ones in song and verse, storytellers all, and new voices now know and smiling faces cherished, laughter given new light.

And within that light, new connections forged. Unwittingly, unknowingly, elusive yet existent. I dare not to speculate, not to even expect. All I know is this: I'm coming back. For the people, for the merriment, for the FILK...

And oh gods, the FILK!! so much fun! singing with Sooj and Vixy over the open filk was beyond lovely! Sitting behind them, casting no shadow upon their light, I added simply harmony, low and supporting to these sirens as they rang out into the night. A night held in the warmth of summer with a breath of things to come, more concerts, more festivals, more cons, more life...

Side note :: TOM SMITH. http://www.tomsmithonline.com/ Tell your friends. Tell your mom. Tell your friends' moms. Tell their dogs. Tell EVERYONE.

Breathe deep the gathering gloom...

The first storm has passed, lightning concussions fading into low rumbles at the sun’s advance. But the maple leaves are still turned over, aware in ways the cowan are not that this is only halftime. The dancing rage of a second wave is on the way. The lake is calm now, taking a breath before the harmonic cacophony of downpour turns it into a glistening minefield once more, a halo of light at the edge of the horizon. The animals remain hidden, taking no chances against that is coming. Can’t wait for the light show.

Homes of Whimsy

Liminal space. Between day and night, I sit on a great rock, one of a pile put here to keep the tide out and small children in. the light races the sun to the horizon in wild swaths of yellow and pink, the blue veil of night just behind in silent chase. The clouds that float above and within the fray reflect all that they see, water table communities dancing, showing the world a glimmer of something ‘more.’

I am a part of that 'more,' I'm finding more and more recently. Separate, though not the cold, untouchable, museum kind of way. But in a dancing starlight, firefly in a field kind of way, knowing I've got one foot here and one there, caught between two worlds much like time in this receding twilight.

I was called 'bizarrely fascinating' today by a woman I find amusingly attractive. She'd watched from her car as I raced along a curb, trying to see how fast I could go without losing my balance, all before ducking under a tree to take the grassy, pine needley shortcut. As she put it, I "just didn't care."

I've been called bizarre before. I've been called fascinating. And I've even been called both a time or two, but it's rare that someone says that I don't care. It's happened twice now in as many months, and both times it was an outsider’s perspective of my reflection of simply being. It's not that I don't care. I simply care differently.

It occurred to me rather sadly that the world has lost the necessity of whimsy. The absolute requirement of existence the shove aside custom and pretense and expectation (read 'prejudice') and be willing to accept the ridiculous and fanciful as being. We have it as children, with our faerie tales and our knights and their dragons and pirate journeys in cardboard boxes. Yet somewhere along the road we let them drop away, these fancy, fanciful things. Not all of them, mind you, for they can cling to us tenaciously, drawing our eyes and hearts to these tales and treasures in the form of movies and books. Yet still do we succumb only a moment, letting fancy pass as amusement.

I cannot exist thus. I never allowed the fanciful to drop away. On the contrary I swept up these fancy friends and kept them to me in pockets and bags and song and verse, desperate not to let a single sparkling one escape my notice. I am not always successful, but what fun it has been! And discovering new ones, new moments of wonder, little glimpses of prose and color, alive and dancing.

I see now that so many of these children swirl and spiral on the winds. They are homeless, orphaned. Is it any wonder they cling to one such as me? Like cats, the whimsy eat well and live loved in my care.

The edges of the liminal fade as blue waters flow to black in the coming night. The waves crash upon the rocks below me, white foam waving goodbye as I climb back down and return home, the Moon growing stronger, showing more of her wondrous face with each day, keeping the stars company.

Moving, and other nonsensicals

It’s been a bit, but it’s been a BUSY bit…

So, I moved. It went a lot smoother than it could have, but I have come to the point in my life where I will simply have to hire movers. Between the books and the piano, I’m not doing this again myself. Grant you it was a lovely day spent with my mom and my brother-in-law and my aunt and my cousin, cracking jokes and having a rather grand time between carrying crap-loads of stuff, this will be the last time I move myself.

Speaking of which, can I just say PIANO!!! I’ve been playing for about four weeks now regularly, and I’m getting good again. It’s an electric masterpiece, 88 keys, and it has sound-changing features that are too much fun to play with. Makes me SO incredibly happy!! Thanks, Mom!

I’ve also started painting regularly again. My walls are WHITE, staunch, stark, YOWZA white, and it makes me a little weak in the knees to look at how naked they are, so I’ve started creating work to hang. It’s going REALLY well, and I’m finding some interesting things popping up to be painted in colors I normally wouldn’t use. Give me 6 months and this place is going to be dancing off the walls.

Speaking of dancing, my living room is big enough to dance in. It’s also big enough to practice poi spinning in. I love this place. Can you tell?

And honestly, what I love is living alone. I was hesitant at first, being me and being afraid of being alone and forgotten, but in all seriousness, I fucking LOVE this. It’s less about responsibility and more about expression and self-revelation and being able to let loose and not give a crap because it s MY SPACE. I love people, I love being with people, and I love living with people, but it’s so nice to have my own space where I’m able to chill out and not feel cut off or shoved away.

I also live right down the street from Dominick’s, which means shopping is a challenge. I don’t like shopping at Dominick’s because they are expensive compared to Jewel which is about a mile down the road, but it has REALLY nice produce and their organic stuff is nothing to sneeze at and it’s 200 feet from my door. I can’t argue well against it. Although I did bike to Aldi’s then to Jewel and back home with almost a months’ worth of food about two weeks ago, which was very fun. Also being alone lets me eat exactly what I want, no more no less, and I’ve managed to lose almost 10 pounds already! Huzzah! 10 more and I’ll be set for July. What’s in July, you ask? More on that later.

All in all, life is good right now. I’m comfortable in a way I haven't been really ever, and I’m meeting my main goal without even trying: letting go the mask of reflection. Not entirely, mind you, because it has its uses, but for most of my life, I’ve felt like I was a mirror of all I see, reflecting back what I thought people wanted by mimicking and absorbing (to a point) who they were and showing them that image played back a la personal improv. It worked for a while, but I started noticing the difference between the mask and me. The more I noticed, the more the mask slipped or malfunctioned, leading to profound social awkwardness and leaving me not knowing what to do because I so rarely flew solo.

Now I’m finding that not only do I leave the mask at the door, I don’t always bring it with me. I have whole days outside my own little world where the mask comes up rarely, leaving me exposed. I do feel exposed much of that time, but not in the shameful, ‘I need to cover up’ kind of way, but in the ‘Here I am, world, worship my awesomeness!’ kind of way. Or something like that. Perhaps not the worship, though there are moments when I truly am worthy of it. And that understanding of self-worth is cropping up now as well, which is both new and exciting. It’s hard not to celebrate yourself when you hardly thought you were worth much and you come to find out, “Wow, I’m kind of a big deal.”

But anyway, I just came in from a walk and I have a second post to put up. It’s the result of Orion Foxwood and a beach walk sonnet, so prepare for Whimsy…..

Carrie under crass

I never thought I’d say this, but I actually think this semi-nude photo thing for Carrie Prejean is a positive development. If nothing else, it has the power to inspire empathy on her part for being attacked publicly for a conscious display of sexuality. Now she knows what it is like to have her own sexuality attacked simply for existing. She knew it was against the rules of the pageant, so she hid it. Now she understands what LGBT individuals go through with their own families, with friends, with society at large when they come out every single day. Some hide it, knowing what consequences there might be, much like Carrie did when she hid the existence of these photos, but others don’t. We step into the world, and we come out as being who we are each and every day, fully aware of possible consequence.

Personally, this nudity stigma that the has been hammered into current thinking like an ice pick is unnecessary anyway. I think the image of Carrie Prejean, aside from the pink, is quite lovely, and in different context could be seen as almost artful.

Needs better lighting, though...

Home alone - It begins

Note: Note sure why I didn't post this Apr. 30th... but here we go.

So I walked out the door yesterday knowing I was coming home to nothing. Theo and George were moving out ala hired movers about mid day, so I was going to come home to an empty apartment. It felt weird, and I thought it was going to be abrupt and strange, especially without Vivianne, resident kitty.

I wondered about it all, that changes coming and the changes happening, and in a fit of whim I pulled out my deck (alchemical tarot) and ended up with these three cards:

2 of Staffs (wands) – a joining of two flames toward a common goal. The sharing of passions, merging of actions. Whether between two people romantically, or between a teacher and student, one passing the flames of understanding to the other in emotional reverence.

7 of Swords – time to pick you weapon. Consider your options, and choose that which will serve you best in the future. The rest must be left to the wayside. Not necessarily cut away forever, but set aside for singular, appropriate focus.

Ace of Swords – The pillar of possibility in intellectual pursuits. The seeker takes the step upon the path to knowledge, discernment, and understanding. The time has come to dive in head first, and take in the beginning of a path that comes from traditional knowledge and the ways that have come before, so that your own way may become clear through interpretation via intellectual digestion and rumination. (Wow, run-on sentence, much?)

Whoa. Ok, I can do that. It occurred to me then that this was indeed a time of beginnings for me. I’m living on my own for the first time (I don’t count college), I have a solid job that is relatively secure, and I make enough money that I can squirrel away savings in case the unspeakable happens (commence wood knocking). Ok, that works.

Then I got a wild hair. I pulled out my rune bag and pulled out three of those as well, focusing on my personal journey as opposed to simply the environment in which events are taking place. I received:

Kenaz – the torch. Odin journeying into the cave to speak with the talking head oracle comes chiefly to mind. But in his hand, the torch to light the way. The way is set, and I have been given a Guidepost by which to know the way. Though I may not see the path, I can still see my feet, and that can be good enough.

Mannaz – mankind. To work for the community as whole, not simply my own existence. My community work is becoming more prevalent and more in depth as the weeks progress. I must make sure I understand what I wish to contribute and what I am capable of contributing. I’ve been known to downplay my gifts and strengths for most of my life, and though that leads to caution, it also leads to lack of confidence. I understand well my abilities as they currently stand. I know what I am and more importantly what I am not comfortable doing, alone or in community. The time has come to step off the ledge into the world, and build my wings on the way down if necessary. But even then, I may not need wings to glide.

Laguz – water. Not the tranquil waters of the element which most of us associate, but the turbulent, unforgiving seas on which the Vikings sailed. A storm is on the horizon, but I would not be forging toward it if I wasn’t ready for it. I know I can not only weather its trials and survive, but can I thrive. I fear it in a way, but it is foolish to fear that which cannot be avoided. I know the seas will rock and roil and throw me about, but I know well how to swim. I will swim and sail and ride the storm out, and know more about myself by its end.

So, I'm in for a fight. I knew that. Been feeling it for a while. I knew this summer was going to be hell, and I don’t mean the heat outside. I know now the time has come for me to start fighting for my life and battling for my community. Let the games begin.

Pt 2:

Home again, home again, jiggity jig. Home to… Open rooms. I actually forgot how much space we had in this place. It’s huge and echoic and all mine! For roughly three days, two of which will be filled with work. But last night proved lovely in its solitude. Theo and George left a couple odds and ends around (so not a big deal) including Theo’s speakers, so I got to listen to My Chemical Romance while working out a bit last night. Alone. It was beauteous.

And I actually slept with my door flung open last night. That hasn’t happened in YEARS.

My only dilemma now is how to plan out tomorrow’s time so all three things that need to get done can. Painting, getting my new cable modem/cable box, and finishing boxing everything up is going to take some doing, especially with a possible second coat needed for that one wall, but it should all work out in the end. And if not, whatever happens will work, too, so no worries. It is what it is.

Note: again, not sure why I didn't post this. Oh well....

Polyamory and Further Packing

So it was a rather lovely Sunday. Headed out to the Occult Bookstore on Milwaukee ala a Blue Line that had exactly one track running. What is about soggy days that makes the CTA think that crippling a critical public transit artery is a good idea?

Anyway, the discussion was facilitated by the ESC (Earth Spiritualists of Chicago) on Polyamory. Some of you may remember a similar discussion in Chicago with special guests Oberon and Morning Glory Zell on the subject, but as much as I love Oberon Zell, he tends to sugarcoat the entire idea structure of polyamory. He speaks of smooth transitions, flowing relationships, and how none of the women he’s ever engaged in this way were ever mad at him or bitter or anything. Maybe not to your face...

With that thought, a word on the negative connotations of this word. Polyamory: This is not a cheap excuse to cheat. This is not a ‘free love, no responsibilities’ situation. Hells no. This is about balanced, honest, healthy relationships between more than 2 people. It can happen, it can work, and it doesn’t have to end in bigamy or nightly orgies or other such things. Well, the orgies, MAYBE, but only in private, safe circumstances involving consenting adults. But I digress…

That is not to say that the sordid reputation of the poly community as well as the censure therein is not wholly unearned. Unfortunately, like any group of people, there have been instances where stupid people doing stupid things got noticed, and the entire group got slandered for their actions, regardless of involvement. These people are remarkably fewer than one would be led to think, but their philosophies of irresponsible behavior are trumpeted by those who disagree with the concept as a whole and cast the rest of us in a bad light. Let me explain.

One of the greatest misconceptions is that polyamory is an easy, ‘no frills’ way to sleep with whomever you so choose without losing the stability of your everyday partner. Thought process: you get the normal everyday meal package but still get to go out for a snack whenever you want. Cut this thought from your heart. (Catherine Valente, “In The Cities of Coin and Spice”) Polyamory, to me, is about WORK. HARD word, honesty, trust, and sound judgment on the part of everyone involved, just like any monogamous relationship, with one big twist: boundaries need to be established, agreed upon, comfortable, and maintained. These relationships are in a lot of ways much harder to keep healthy than monogamous relationships because of how much goes into them.

Now, the opener for the discussion was “Why Polyamory?” It’s a good question. I’ve always felt, as you may have surmised, that it is practically impossible to find everything you are looking for in balanced, healthy companionship in a single person. I’ve tried it, repeatedly, and it just doesn’t function. Monogamy works for some people, and to them I say, “You found a good one. Fantastic for you! KEEP HIM/HER!” For me, it just doesn’t work that way. I believe whole-heartedly that you can have a stable, healthy relationship involving more than one partner and be fulfilled as a person while still fulfilling the emotional, spiritual, and physical needs of those partners.

The big thing for me, as it usually is, is balance. Finding someone to share a relationship with not only me, but with any other partner(s) that may be involved. Understanding needs to be had from the offset on what’s going on, what expectations are in the relationship, and to me, being able to have these people in the same room without it being heinously awkward is a serious thing for me. I WANT to be able to openly communicate with each partner, and be able to say the name of the other without getting daggers or drama queen sighs. Trust has always been the most important thing in a relationship to me, sex or no sex. Being able to be open and honest and not be judged, but also knowing that I am receiving that same respect in being forthcoming. Even if my partner and I are free to see who we choose on the side, I would still want mutual check-ins on how things are going. Not necessarily for approval, but for healthy updates and understanding. If I see that someone is not good for the person I am with, I am going to speak up, and I would expect that same respect and honesty in return.

Definitions, I’ve found, within the Poly community seem so crucial to establishing these much needed boundaries. I don’t use them, personally. I seek ideas and understanding, but words are not necessary to define and ‘box in’ those ideas. This lends itself in my head to my own pagan ideology, and the concept that words have power. These words in particular, at least for me, bring a kind of closed-minded compartmentalization to the relationship between two people in this context. Words like ‘Primary partner’ and ‘secondary partner’ bring to mind a hierarchy structure that can be both useful and destructive.

Many participants in the discussion shared my views along with others during the course of the afternoon, which allowed me to sit back and take in other thought processes. So refreshing. The open dialogue also helped me to truly concretize my own perspective. And the group therapy feel was only prevalent for a few minutes as a couple who were newly exploring this avenue joined us late, bringing with them their ongoing story of explorative newness.

Afterward, I hitched a ride home with one of the great minds of my acquaintance and packed some more. Packing the altars was a trip, but what’s funny is that the energy in the room has remained pretty constant with a pregnant pause about it, as if awaiting the new surroundings. It’s going to be quite interesting to get these things set up in the new place.

Kitchen and bathroom now being primarily taken care of, it’s down to the awkward time of ‘most of my life is packed and I’m living on the minimum.’ Fun. But it’s ok. My biggest concern is getting those two walls painted Friday morning. Home Depot, here I come!

Sociologist coming out, fair warning

So, @theogeer brought something to mind today that decided to turn itself into a self-discussion. Blame him for this.

As I have said before, I tend to skirt the fence, or just plain stand on it, when it comes to a host of issues. That is not to say I am wish-washy, quite the opposite. I know where I stand, and generally I stand in the middle because I can see the validity of both viewpoints, but in the end, I do know exactly where I stand on 95% of the issues presented. The others I am still researching, because I like to be informed before I come to a conclusion. That said, spiritually I ride the fence of connection to the Divine and Deity, and that tends to perturb people. Let me explain.

I didn’t really have solid terminology for this until about three years ago, but in practice, I am a panantheist. The Divine is immanent in all things, touching all life, ingrained in every aspect of everything. It is also centered in beings, Gods/Goddesses, spirits, the transcendent beings that provide focus for the Divine.

But in my heart of hearts, I am a hardcore pantheist. The divine exists within all things, and the notion of ‘god’ is an abstract as opposed to an anthropomorphic entity.

The reason for this difference is two fold. First, and not the least of which, I recognize individual consciousness beyond my physical senses. I understand that a lack of consciousness that I am aware of does not mean that something does not have power, have energy, and have connection to the Divine.

Secondly, and this is a finer point that some don’t share, but I also recognize the deification of a person or idea. To give power to something is a heavy, hearty thing, and not to be taken lightly nor ignored. Concepts can be given power simply in their naming, consciousness in the thinking of those who ponder them. Angels, deified people, hell rocks in the ground such as the Blarney stone, are given power because of belief. Focused concentration giving energy to a concept, an idea given life through the light of those who seek it.

My own connection to Divinity becomes somewhat fractured at that point, because I recognize the validity of both views and exist within both viewpoints. I know that the Deity I connect with most readily, the Morrigan, is an entity onto herself (three in point of fact, but more on that another time). She is indeed a force to be reckoned with, the great howling form at the gate between, the guardian ushering the seeker across the threshold, keeping them safe but not shielding them from reality. The carrion crow flying down into the heart of battle to pull out the eyes of the enemy. The connection to death that all life has, whether they like it or not, and the lack of fear that comes at the moment of death, when all that exists is what lays beyond the veil. I know all this well, and yet I also know that is equally as valid and as powerful as the great geode sitting on my bathroom floor. It is no greater, in reference to the Divine, than a strand of hair upon the wind, holding the very essence of its owner even as it travels its own path. Separate consciousness, equal connection. Recognizing the Divinity of all creation, of all that is life, I see the differences between and yet know they are one, and through it all flows the essence of everything that simply is. By name, by sight, by scent, it simply is. And in so being, it is Divine.

And all this came from a notion by @theogeer that he had been experiencing a disjointation (Is that a word? It is today.) with Deity recently; a disconnection. Read here: http://tinyurl.com/d7bgme This really resonated with me because I have been feeling similarly.

Now this is not the severe, self-imposed feelings of utter lifelessness of past posting, but simply a wistful want of that connection, lost in the shuffle of mundania and most recently of moving. Nothing kills energetic equilibrium like trying to pack your life into a box or forty. I don't have NEARLY that many, but you get the point.

So tonight I’m off to the outdoors to get my head out of the crap I’m in and reconnect. I would do this at home, but it would simply be more of the same, and that won’t do.

I’m wilting. This day at work needs to be OVER.

Suicide at 11

My heart goes out to the families and friends of those two boys, Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover and Jaheem Herrera, who both ended their own lives due to bullying. This comes not only from someone who is compassionate of the situation, but who has been there.

When I was in school, I spent the vast majority of my life in therapy because I was violent in school. My shrink said it was my fault; school administrators said it was my fault. The only people who knew I was being provoked into self-defense were my parents. I was being bullied, tormented from the bus to school right until I get back to my front door, and as the years passed, the forms of torment became more complex, especially since the aggressors had friends who would gladly lie for them. If no physical marks were left, nothing could be ‘proven.’

Well, the marks are left, laid at the headstone of two young boys who didn’t need to die.

The bottom line: children are cruel. They are cruel because they are not truly taught otherwise. They are taught that doing stupid, mindless, mean shit to other people is funny, not wrong. Yet they get angry when it’s done to them. Or worse, they themselves become indifferent to it, not knowing pain until it’s exploding in their face, then they don’t understand what to do with it.

Children fear what they don’t understand. Anything new that is not given to them in a format that they are used to makes them uneasy. And anything they don’t like, they try to knock over, including other children. They think it makes them better; they think it takes the attention away from them when they force others to look at someone else. I was the someone else. I was the target of whole school buildings because I was different. I was the reason they didn't notice (or could at least ignore) the differences in each other.

I recognize now that I was abused by my peers. There is no other word for it. I was used as an outlet for their emotional stress, without consent or regard. Children in my school who knew nothing about me beyond the fact that I was a target taunted me with everything they could find, to the point of physical abuse. I struck back, defending myself, and I was punished by the teachers and administrators set to give us a safe environment to learn, encouraging the situation. I was touched, I was pushed, I was cut, and I couldn't prove it beyond simple accident. Some of my teacher eventually found my constant complaints a nuisance, brushing me aside for my 'important' matters. I was called names I will not repeat, hair was pulled, even cut, because I was too light to be black, but the hair was still there. I was called troll by faces I never knew only because they could. They were told they could by those who had come before them, and they laughed because they thought it made them like everyone else. Short, fat, smart with bad hair, I was beaten down to the point that I didn’t want to burden my family with my issues. At 11.

I do not wonder why students have brought guns to school, unable to take the strain anymore. I too lashed out, biting, beating, breaking anyone and everyone who got close enough, wanting nothing more than to make it all stop. But even then, my abuse had no end. It knew no limit, my tormentors making a game of finding new ways to hurt me, hurt those like me, because it was fun. Even when I changed school districts, I was different, I was DARK, therefore I was a threat, and I was a target.

These two boys experienced that same kind of abuse, and they cracked under the weight of it. I did not, by the grace of powers greater than myself, and because of this hell that was my life, I grew into someone compassionate, understanding, and a defender of those around me. I can only look forward now, the scars covered but never gone, to a future where schools are safe again, safe from bigotry, safe from hatred, safe from abuse.

And is it too much to ask that the fucks who tormented these two boys get brought before their mothers to answer for what they contributed to? Find these children, and have them justify themselves to the mothers of these boys. Let them explain why they thought this was ok.

And in their turn, once they understand what they have contributed to and why this cannot be allowed to continue, let them be forgiven. They are children, after all. Let them learn, let them understand, and let them stand as lighthouses amongst the disgusting darkness that is socialization in schools. Let this be the last time.

Zero tolerance isn't the answer. Understanding of the situation and combating the lack of compassion and the lack of understanding IS.

It has to end.

Diss America

Let me start off by saying I have to give her props fer speaking her mind. She said what she had to say on National TV, and that does takes balls. Good for her.

Now, about her being a misinformed, publicity-seeking, sore-loser of a bigoted COW....

I have to hand it to her, she's managed to get more publicity for herself and the Miss USA pageant than she EVER would have had she actually won. I'm sure the Pageant people were very happy about that, right up until the moment she said she might sue for losing. Seriously, bitch? You lost because you voiced a closed-minded opinion not shared by MORE THAN ONE OF your judges, and you're going to SUE? Really?

Honestly, she's nothing special. She's a California girl with an uninterrupted tan, perfect hair, a mega-watt smile, and cold stew for brains. But she opened her mouth, stupidity came out, and now she's an instant celebrity AND a loser? Remind me to get up on the mic the next time the Westboro Baptist Church morons come to Chicago so I can verbally stir-fry a few wingnuts and get my place on Larry King. Nothing in the world like getting arrested on National TV!

Oh, wait... I promised Mom I'd never do that. Damn...

Awkward Moments, Moon Jams, and Musings

So I ‘m an idiot. Try to contain your shock. I blew off dinner with people I actually wanted to see (by blew off I mean I totally forgot about it) to have dinner and a movie with a quasi-ex I hated seen in a while. No, not THAT one, but close enough that it was quite awkward. Both of us not meeting the others eyes much, talking was stilted until we managed a neutral topic, neither of us bringing up the past. We always crossed that bridge at dinner, but thankfully not. I don’t’ think either of us wants to dredge that back up. And so to a movie we both loved to hate, and then a parting of ways where both of us were politely running. He did it to get out of the house, I did it to test the waters. They are toxic, though not hopeless. But no swimming or fishing here, ladies and gents. Not ever again.

The full moon jam was incredible. I wasn’t expecting half that many people to be there, but it was beautiful and moving and powerful and I got to see so many faces I hadn’t seen in a while, and few faces I didn’t associate with the Jam.

I love this community so much. It works so hard not to take itself too seriously and yet be open to the moment, and to every face within it. So many beautiful people, so much love of life. As I walked through and met up with one person after another, I realized something truly humbling.

I don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ve never been good at making connections with people. I try too hard, wanting so much to share in the joys of life that I put people right off, making them uncomfortable. It was my existence for so long I didn’t think anything of it, so I never noticed when ti changed. It changed without my knowledge or say-so, and yet here I stand, in the glorious wake of it, wondering at this sudden embarrassment of riches. I never saw before the connection that were forged with people, and yet as I walk through the night, lit only by fire dancers, to the heartbeat of drummers, I realized that I have a community that cares for me as much as I care for it. I was sought out by face sint he crowd, held warm in their arms and hearts by their will alone. I never knew, but I do now. And I am honor bound to do right by them, and serve in the best way I know how.

By song and story I shall go, by brush and by note I shall show. I’ve always had so much to give, and now I have a place and people to share it with. I am humbled that I am so welcomed, and I open my own heart to them with everything I am. A perfect way to end a full moon.

RENT!

Oh my gods and goddesses alike, there are no words. But since I am both verbose and waxing poetic, I’m going to anyway. No day but today, right? Wow, cheesy. Anyway…

It’s been a LONG time since I’ve seen live theater, so my expectations were honestly non-existent. I walked in only knowing the music by heart and the story through and trough, but not really knowing what my eyes were going to be seeing. Dizzy. Dazzling. And my ears were trying to overlay the music I knew to the show before me. Dreams lie so hard. What was before me was more than music and light and movement and message. It was soul. Pure, unadulterated soul. It still takes my breath away to think about it.

One room became a city populated by more people than I really want to think about. And within it, a family. A series of people connected, by choice and by chance, but connected none the less. It reminded me of something I’d set aside. Not forgotten necessarily, but definite put aside or buried or whatever. The whatever is the problem, but I’ll get to that.

Family. Friends. How they become intertwined. Intermingled, essential to one another. A family of choice becomes extended, fractured, sprained/strained, healed but by the grace of Will with a capital, “Look, man, I love you even when you’re a cunt. I love you even THOUGH you’re a cunt.”

Yet sometimes, the cancer must be cut away, for chemo hurts as much as it heals, which SUCKS….

But in the end, it is said, ‘you can’t choose your family.’ Fuck that. I got mine: George, Theo, Shivian, Frank, John, MeganRose, Tessa, Lisa, Kir, Treesha, Katie, Julie, Sherrie, Sarah, Lois, Karen, Chris, Taylor, Thistle, Chaldean, Little Buddaha, Emily, Preston … I could go on without even leaving Chicagoland. Love cannot be tamed, cannot be denied. And gods (pick one, hell pick several) damn it, I’m not trying anymore.

It took the end to show me why the beginning began. It’s not as it once was and truly never could be again, but it is not quite as fractured as I had once thought. Sprained, strained, but healable. Given time. Patience is not my best virtue, I recognize that, but at least I know it can heal even these wounds, if I back the fuck off and let it happen. I will not say the “O” word, but whatever. A healthy shift in view, slapped in the face of yours truly once again, in time for spring. If it ever stops FUCKING SNOWING….

Int’l Free Hug Day

4-4, Int’l Free Hug Day

Ok, so I woke up this morning with a mission. I was going to hug for several hours. Random people on the street were going to be getting my hugs and sharing in the love and joy that is my existence for hours today.

I bought my poster board, made my sign, and headed to Boystown. And that is where the problem lay…

Now, being a nervous as hell drama queen, I made a PSA ON THE TRAIN about Hug Day, making sure people knew what was going on when they saw people hugging random strangers. It’s disconcerting, I admit, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

I held my sign out for the world to see as I walked to the corner of Addison and Halstead, right in front of the police station, and proceeded to announce my presence in my best Herald voice. That’s right, all those years as a Renaissance Herald, as well as vocal and theater experience, made useful to hug people. Broadcasting phrases like, “Int’l Free Hugs day! Free hugs for anyone and everyone!” “No hug will be denied!” “The hugs are free, but if not me, hug the people you love today!” Oh yeah, truth is stranger than fiction.

Anyway, I stood there from a little before noon to 4:10, laughing and smiling and joking, spreading love and joy one hug at a time. I even got a couple of the officers from the station behind me involved, which is awesome. That’s one of the two main reasons I picked that spot. Cops need love as much as anyone else. They have a HELL job. They are hated by just about everyone at one point or another, and that kind of stress needs to be let go now and then, even just a little, tugged free by a short little redhead bent on world-dominion ala “I love you, damn it!”

People were jumping out of cars, hanging out car windows reaching out for hugs. I had people on opposite corners from me hugging each other, which was so great! I passed a couple ‘air-hugs’ to people while laughing because it was silly and fun and beautiful.

But I know now why I was supposed to be there as opposed to Watertower Place where everyone else was. One man. It was about 2 hours in, and I turned, as I did often while waving my sign about, and saw his standing there. He was obviously upset, but he reached out for a hug. I gave him one, and he started weeping. Not enormous, ground-breaking tears, but he needed to connect, and there I was. The world fell away, and Int’l Free Hug Day was put on hold. This young man needed to go to that police station behind me for the same reason he was crying, and I was not about to let him ford that river alone. He explained what happened, and when he’d collected himself, I took him into the station. I emerged needing a hug myself, and I got one from a woman all too eager to share love with me as get it in return. It put me back on track to exchange my joy, and so I did. He emerged again, better but still hurting, so he got hug #2, and stayed near as things came to a close. Hug #3 capped it off, and though I never got his name, I know he was the reason I was supposed to be on that corner. I fulfilled the universe’s design for me that day. Can’t ask for more than that. And if he ever reads this, know that I will remember you always as a beautiful person that I want to see smile.

My hugs ended with aching legs and objecting shoulders, but I was high as a kite off the joy, so I decided to head to Give Peace a Dance for the first time. Awesomesauce, as Shivian would say. People I knew and people I didn’t, many of whom had Hugged as well, so we shared in that joy and some of those stories, ending our day together in companionship and community. What a day. What a glorious, beautiful, freakish, amazing day.

IOWA

4-3 – IOWA

My day started out like any other when someone was coming to invade. Today, it was again mandated by the landlord, which always SUCKS, so I was in a small tiff about everything, which is a failing of mine. I get worked up about crap mid-stride, only to look back and think, “What was I on about?” So I’d gotten done as much as I could, ie had time for, and turned on my computer…

BLISS. There, in black and white all over my RSS feeds, was the state of IOWA BEING AWESOME. And EQUAL. And beautiful. Seconds later Twitter knew. About a minute later Facebook knew, and both had links on how to find out more. Iowa had declared UNANIMOUSLY that the ban on gay marriage was unconstitutional. Talk about a slap to the face of the opposition. A state least likely to do anything that isn’t corn-fed or served on a Collectible Jesus platter said, ‘Nope, not here. Us and the gays? We’re good.’

Good as gold and better. You guys rock hardcore. Now, about California….

UPDATE: just found a fantastic video about Religious Freedom vs. Gay marriage, illustrating why the two are actually related in ways the Anti-Gay movement doesn't talk about, and why they don't talk about it. It's lovely. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0dKMhYSX20

Trip to Indy Highlight Reel

3-31 – Trip to Indy

Ok, so my trip to Indy just ended in a sunshine stroke of “you bet your ass.” Allow me to explain.

Me, Enterprise Rental, 7:30 am, 3/26. I pick up the car, opting for no insurance because funds really are that tight. They say the car has a ding, but we (the rental guy and I) can’t find it. We sign, I get the keys, and drive to work. I get nothing done. I’m far too excited. Work ends none too soon, and I hit the road with my lease, a series of burned CD’s, and a potted plant in tow. It’s a good time.

The trip takes both too long and surprisingly not long at all. I only go through one of my CD’s fully while drifting in the nebulous space of no decent radio stations between Chicago and Indianapolis. I get to Mom’s at 2, which is SICK, wake the dog thus waking the house, and crash out after the obligatory converse with Drew, my invalid stepfather. I haven’t killed him yet. Everyone should be VERY PROUD OF ME…..

Morning, 3/27, I grab Lexie, my sister the birthday girl, and we go have lunch with Mom. We’re late, which is my fault for being an idiot, but no matter. After lunch Lexie and I run errands before the party, heading to roll call to scare people with the ‘Lexie clone’ (me). Not many people there, but more on THAT later. We get booze and make 10 minute Guacamole that will make you weep with taste bud joy, and I manage not to get us killed TWICE on the road while driving through Indy (I swear that guy needs to be sidelined from humanity, to say nothing of the road), and we head out to Shelbyville for the party.

Amazing. Not a fan of using gasoline to start a bonfire, but then again, it took my hand to move the stick in place to get it going, so I guess the men need us little girl after all for their manly ways and means. What the fuck ever, these guys were sweethearts all around. A bunch of people I didn’t know, but worked with Lex, so they were righteously FREAKED when they had to look up see who was talking. Lex and I sound alike, look alike, speak in the same structure, so it’s always been difficult tell us apart without looking at us. I played the Japanese tourist with Lexie’s camera while she got brightly sloshed. She needed it, it was healthy. I stayed sober to keep watch and drive us home, both of which went off without a hitch. An amazing night under the stars, mapping the constellations with drunk people, and enjoying simple company without pretense. Made a couple new friends, too! Heidi… damn it all, she’s straight and married. Oh, well…

Morning, 3/28, I’m not lucid much, but we have cake and ice cream for breakfast. Lexie, Bert (her husband) and I took off to bookstores and things, just hanging out, then came back to Mom’s. I had wanted to see Michelle, but I was tired, so I opted for an evening with Mom. And the idiot man she married. I haven’t killed him yet. I’m proud. Aren’t you?

Morning, 3/29, and breakfast with Grandma. Note, I haven’t’ seen her in months, but she’s gone downhill. She’s getting thinner, and looking paler than normal. She seems to gain years as months go by. I don’t know that she’s long for this world. I also think she’s been here too long, but enough about her.

MY MOTHER IS A FREAK OF NATURE. I can’t believe I have this to look forward to in my Golden years. She uses colored toothpicks to make arms and feet for my cousin Josh’s sausage links at Denny’s every Sunday. EVERY SUNDAY. In public, and without remorse. While I admire her for that, JESUS, Mother…

But Sunday was relatively lazy, just me and Mom bumming around the house, making soup for dinner, and talking. Ti was so nice to just talk to her. I don’t get enough of that, I admit it, and when it happens, I try to savor it. Not that I’m planning on moving back for these talks, mind you, but I enjoy them, and I wish we had more of them. If we had more, would it mean as much? I honestly think it would…

Morning, 3/30, the day I go home. I head to Crown Hill Cemetery to visit my grandmother (my father’s mother, who died in 1989), and of course, I can’t find her. 3,000 stones in her section of the cemetery alone, and I can’t remember where she’s buried. I’m a bad grandkid. I’m going to find it, though, and make time to see her the next time I go, so help me. I drove to Broadripple for the hell of it…

And that’s when I realized I’d left my phone at Mom’s. Like a dumbass. So I drove back, managed to have very little further contact with Drew (he’s still alive. There’s pride here.), filled up my tank, and hit the road. I don’t remember much of the trip back, which is just as well, and I got back without much trouble. I missed having a car at my disposal before I had completed the walk home. SAD…

The 'you bet your ass' moment? The ding was found on the car, and they didn't charge me for it. Hotness.

So endith my trip play-by-play. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?

NEW KITTENS!! News at 11…

The New Place

3/18, the new place

I found it. I t took 2 hours and five flops, but I found it. I found my new apartment!!!!

Close to the old place, so that means I’m close to the lake, which is NECESSARY, I’m literally down the street from the grocery store, I’m close to the train, which is amazing, and I’m still close to the Synphorium, which is good because it means less walking time at 3 am. And people can crash as needed.

And it’s BIG. Big enough for me and my crap without stifling me, and small enough not to lose the two new kittens I hope to acquire in the coming weeks. Rooms are good sizes, I know what colors I want to paint for the most part (which means I need to go back and look to make sure) and I know where the bookshelves that need to be built are going!

What really gets me is the natural light. I saw this place close to mid-day on a sunny day, and this place was lit up. Almost every space was saturated in light, and it felt warm. The wood floors glowed with it, the white walls seemed sterile but malleable, and the place just sang. Even the guy from Chicago Apartment Finders walked in and said, “Whoa.’ Whoa, indeed.

Ketchup, blog style.

Ok, everyone, it's time to play that insane brain-dump of a game called "Blog Ketchup."

The Rules:

#1: You can't play the same way twice. No, wait, wrong game. Let's start again...

1. All posts must be posted at the same time.

2. All posts must be dated with the appropriate date of the thought so people can follow.

3. Posts must be in order date so as not to confuse people by going backwards or out of order or some such hysteria. though hysteria is allowed as mood permits.

Strap in, folks, its a short but brutal ride.....

Shattering Dawn

Ok, I admit I wasn’t sure what to expect in this situation. We all admitted that we felt disconnected from each other, i.e. Theo and George felt disconnected from me, but as the weight of reality has lifted slightly, the cockroaches of intention have started scurrying into the light.

It strikes me as odd, and by odd I mean hurtful, when I ask one of my soon to be ex-roommates how they are, or how their day was, I get monosyllabic answers and abrupt cut offs to conversation, yet when they ask these questions of each other, in front of me, they turn to one another and actively converse. Or worse, shut themselves away in another room where I’m just within earshot of their laughter as they dish to one another what they obviously think I’m not worthy of hearing. And I was labeled the secretive one of the group?

For months now, I have gotten looks in response to simple questions that said to me, ‘Why are you even talking to me?’ I thought it might be stress or fatigue, so I let it go, giving space where I thought it was needed because I respected that need for privacy. Now I realize that dismissal was willful, and I was being pushed away.

I guess I was expecting a little more class from this particular pair of elitists, but with the attitude comes the snobbery. I’ve felt for some time that I was being ‘granted’ attention grudgingly, but this is just uncivil. Uncivil, hurtful, and rude.

Perhaps it is because I came into my own more and became something they didn’t necessary feel connected to. Perhaps I simply became more difficult to lead. There have been moments in recent past when I stood my ground against one of my roommates when they were trying to lead me down the path to what they wanted, and it annoyed them greatly. Who was ‘right’ made no difference. The fact that they would stoop to trying to wave eloquence in my face to blind me from my own good sense is ridiculous and insulting.

A perfect example would be the naming of Circle and Staff. Theo and George had the discussion of the name of the group we had intended to start together within the Pagan community. Something queer welcoming, pagan/environmentally focused, and community present. This discussion was had while I was not present, then all but bullied me into agreeing when I walked in. Mind you, I like the name. I have no problem with it, but I had no say. I was put on the spot to come up with something else, having no warning that such a discussion was going to be had so of course I had nothing, and so the decision was made. To top it off, the domain names for the group had already been purchased before I was even asked!

Another most profound moment of this was our discussion to part company less than a fortnight ago. They both kept using the word ‘organisism' to express how they felt our mental separation had progressed. Forgive me, but I firmly believe that one of the lesser reasons these two believe in organisism is not because it is the allowance of natural process in a situation, allowing for the difference factors to germinate and mix as they are going to. No, for these two, it is simple sloth. They are both admittedly lazy, and I am not under most circumstances. This has caused us to knock heads more than once, from travel arrangements to extermination needs (see: bedbugs) to simple household chores. I don't care that things don't get done my way. I care that things don't get done at all. It is one of the things I won’t miss, but it is also one of the biggest reason I am so hurt.

In essence, it feels like my presence is either being ignored, or seen as little more than a necessary annoyance until we move. I feel like my voice holds no sway, and hasn’t for a long time. And the worst part of this whole thing is that I still care for these two so much. I want nothing but the best for them, and I get treated little better than dirt for walking into a room. I realize that we have our differences, but I haven't seen this kind of behavior out of the two of them since Josiah (see entry about former roommate's face exploding, one of the first two in the blog) was here. Is that how I'm seen now? A blight to be excised?

I was hoping this would not end up being a cat fight between the two of them and myself, but I cannot remain silent about this kind of dismissal any longer. I didn’t spend the last year being the responsible, forgiving, understanding one to be tossed aside like a used condom.

The more things change...

So, it’s been a week since it all came to be. Theo, George and I will no longer be living together. Sigh.

I have to admit, I’ve known this was going to happen for a while now. Since November, in fact. I just didn’t know exactly when it would be manifest, but indeed it has. I’m at peace with it for the most part. And part of me is really looking forward to the change. I will miss living with Theo and George, but I have never lived alone before. It’s something I really need to do, as an adult as much as for myself. I believe it is something everyone should do at least once in their life so they can truly understand what the life is like.

I think the only hitch in this whole thing is something trivial that really should have been left unsaid in my opinion. Theo mentioned he was considering moving in with George for financial reasons, i.e. being able to get a bigger place than he would alone and being able to save. He was, however, concerned because such an idea might be taken badly by me, the only roommate then who would be on their own, to say nothing of outside onlookers. That’s all well and good, but the truth of it all is that there is no good way to take something like that. If that is their decision, so be it. I have no control over their actions. But is it me, or is there simply no way to look at that and not think ill of this parting?

I support them in all that they do. I love them both, and honestly, living alone is something I want. But to voice something like that, let alone doing it, is not going to be seen well, no matter the intent. It’s bad enough that I had the distinct impression during the main discussion we had about our parting that Theo and George had already come to this decision together and were simply trying to gently lead me to the same conclusion. I've seen them do it before, I wouldn’t put it past them. And honestly, I’d be offended by it if I hadn’t already had an inkling that this was the correct move.

Perhaps I’m over thinking things, but circumstances here cannot be denied. All I can do now is be of whatever aid I can to the two men in my life who mean a thing to me truly, and make this transition as smooth as possible. And in the end, that's what matters most above all the other mess. I love these guys, and if they decide to move in together, it makes it easier to partition junk and get things packed. It is what it is.

I GET A KITTY OF MY VERY OWN!!