(Had a lot to say on this day about trust, didn't I? 03.19.10 @816p)
I've been staring at this blank page for days now, with no inspiration for a post. I had started a poem, a piece of erotica, a social commentary, and other bits of shit. My affect has swayed from lust to shame to anger. I've crawled into my head for safety as well as demanded the attentions of others. I've wanted to run away to cities hundreds of miles away and feared the possible journey.
To be honest, I've been preoccupied. When my mind wraps itself around something, my soul becomes a little chaotic. It both drives me and cripples me. Let's delve into some philosophy and psychology here. Naomi's dualism.
It's no coincidence that Light and Darkness is Light and Darkness. Obvious without the need of explanation and metaphor and blah blah blah. And since the inception of my little space here on the internet, I've reexamined and redefined some aspects of my life.
The hatred for Mrs. Devine is gone. I don't think I'll have that much malice for her ever again, no matter the circumstance. "God's" identity is no longer religiously based, as I've severed that tie to man's foibles forever. I don't believe...but still am working on this one...I'm mentally ill. I'm just emotionally fucked up.
Those three things alone were enough to empower the title, Light and Darkness. Enough fodder for posts. But for the most part, those are resolved. I had thought about changing the title of this place because it didn't seem fitting any more. Tis not true though.
At the core of each of us is our dualism. I don't think it has anything to do with evil and good, as seen in a religious, predominantly Christian, view. Religion has merit and my interest. God vs Devil, though? Is a baby born good and learns evil? No. God and evil, or at least the idea that they are intrinsically inherent, were created by man. Good and bad aren't natural instincts and nothing will convince me of that.
Perhaps dualism is simply nature and nurture trying to coexist within an individual. Our biology and animal instinct governing equally with our learned social norms. Trying to reconcile what we instinctively want with what is socially acceptable and expected of us. That's enough stress to create characters like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
Case in point is sexuality and love. Why are people polyamorous? Are we kidding ourselves when we think we can't fall in love or lust with more than one person at a time or within a lifetime? Do we really snub polygamy because we can't identify with its root?
In most of western society, it's illegal. However in tribes in Africa, the social norm is that polygamy works. The wives coexist in a community where raising children and trying to survive on the land depends on this concept of companionship and reciprocity. Here? Forget about it.
I have a mouth on me. I curse and get frustrated with drivers. I use profane words as easily as 'the' and 'it' during a story. I love sexual anecdotes and verbalize freely my sexual nature.
Every day I work with my general manager, who has quickly become a friend, we jump into conversations that are never safe for the work environment. Those pesky walkers that beat the employees to the mall in the morning are generally gray-haireds. And quite frequently, I can't see when they're coming around the corner.....many a time inappropriate words launch from my lips in perfect synchronization of an elderly walking out of my blind spot.
I'm surprised I haven't gotten in trouble for the freedom of use of 'vagina' (which I've toned down for work) or 'giving head' or 'handjob' or any thing like that. Perhaps I was saved by the single beat before they walked into my conversation. Melissa (the GM friend) laughs at me and usually this conversation ensues:
N: I'm going to hell.
M: I'm driving the bus and serving the drinks. With lots of ice.
N: I'm serving drinks you can set aflame.
M: (laughs) Smokin'
N: I'm planning the activities. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I'll be your activities director. Orientation will be approximately an hour. There will be a meet and greet with Satan afterwards!'
Always....each time. One of us will start it and something like the above will follow, which sends us into an absolute fit of hysterics. I should really be more of an adult. I'm thirty-six years old and should be stuffier. Right?
Thinking of my mother today. She is visiting family in the Philippines.
More and more I'm becoming like Mrs. Devine. There are definite characteristics in our personalities that are different but there are key ones that are identical.
In my neighborhood, a young grey cat wanders. She appears to be without humans; though sweet, she is skitterish and untrusting of we big creatures. You have to be patient, quick, and persistent if you want any attention from her.
The temperature dips into the thirties and forties at night. I know she has no home and no consistent means of food. We try to feed her regularly, but she disappears for days. Knowing this, we've put out water, food, and a cat sleeping cube.ko,
The morning before my birthday. The reflection for this year is nothing different than years in the past. As always, the melacholic weepiness of my personality runneth over the cup. Eh.
I hate to admit that of everything that I am, of everything that my closest friends see me as...I still cling to one belief. That I am missing a man in my life. A partner to experience our lifetimes together. I get embarrassed that I'm lonely for someone. I would never fault anyone that sentiment. I would understand and try to comfort him or her that perhaps it's just a matter of turning around one day and there she or he will be. But myself? Forget it. I chastise myself for wanting someone, desiring him, wishing he were here to "complete me." Such frivolous emotion! I smack myself and reprimand myself for being so wishy-washy, especially since I know I'm so fucked up that noone in there right mind would want me nor should I want anyone until I'm fixed.
But still, I wonder......I wonder if I've met him already. Someone from my past or present life. Or if he'll be that guy who decides to go to the dogpark tomorrow when I take Jolie. Or am I destined to be one of those few that will never partner up.
When I was younger, I held a firm belief that every person had a partner in this world. We were not designed to go it alone. I guess the old biblical ark belief of animals two by two surviving a devastating flood really spoke to my soul. But on the eve of my birthday, I just don't think that's the truth anymore.
Before life happens, we have these naive thoughts. Childish thoughts. Everyone gets along no matter our differences. Our parents are always right. I will grow up and be whatever I want to be. Adults are perfect. We all fall in love and it's always forever.
Then we experience the world and age. There are those like myself that have problems re-examining and adjusting those preliminary beliefs. I can't, or maybe won't, reconcile those idealistic hopes with what has happened in reality. And I'm left sad and angry. I guess that's why I sometimes feel I've never matured.
Going back to the partners thought.....After thirty-six years of life, I know there are lonely people and solitary people. Not the same thing. Partners don't exist for the solitary people by choice. And the lonely...well, maybe we're just fucked up in some way. I know that's harsh and I've insulted many, but examine your life. Are you functioning well? Successful? Happy? Do you have relationships? But do you still go home to your own existence and find yourself perfectly content with living alone and not committing to anyone? Then you're a solitary person. But if you're involved with hundreds of projects, socialize frequently, and still find yourself looking in a crowd of familiar faces wishing someone was standing beside you holding your hand, you're lonely. And you have issues. Face it. I have.
We, lonely people are too scared to take chances with our emotions. We're unsure of ourselves. We're relationship shy. We've been hurt before. We're ugly. We haven't prioritized our lives correctly. We're waiting until the right time. We're not putting ourselves out there. We're waiting for GOD to send us Mr./Ms. Right. We're not successful. We're not financially stable. We have a million excuses but it boils down to the fact that we're scared and perhaps a little scarred. I am. And the scariest thing is that even if I find Mr. Right, I'm afraid I'll still be lonely.
In my life, I've witnessed and participated in events that would devastate another. I've continued through with the belief that some good would come out of all of it. My little grain of hope that I've kept locked safely within me from everything. I've become this watchdog that is fierce and unforgiving and almost rabid, trying to protect it because somewhere, I believe, an answer will be revealed that everything that has happened to me is for some good reason and I will be rewarded. I will finally be happy. And stupidly, I continued to believe this.
God, it sounds horrific when I write it. Another reason I've stopped writing and I continue to withdraw from people. It's embarrassing to reveal this idiocy...this "dear diary" bullshit. Eh. However, continuing on...
Now, I'm trying to reconcile my youthful beliefs with my wisdom acquired through experience and age......And I'm having a mid-life crisis. I'm in the throes of a battle. I'm trying to not be the little girl with this crusade to be ever-after happy at whatever cost and who continues to get her feelings hurt; but I'm also trying to not be the cynical, fatalistic, pessimistic bitch who has resigned to a living death. In a movie, I would be
Not delving too much into the debate of nature versus nurture. I can probably find a few twin studies that could punctuate the topic but I'll not.
Emmaline and I went to register her for eighth grade; and as expected, it was horrible. Em is defiantly against uniforms, standarized dress, lemming wear.
I can't deny that I agree with her. In all honesty, I shake my head against those dress codes. I have read the papers and I have heard the educators praising uniforms and the increased test scores. They argue that children won't focus on what's on their bodies but will focus on what's going on in their heads. Poppycock. It shouldn't matter what they wear when an excellent education is all that we should be concentrating on. They argue my point wonderfully, don't they? It doesn't matter what's on their skin. Just teach my child.
Their arguement for standarized dress sounds like smoke and mirrors. Distracting us from the primary fact that so many educators have become lazy educators. I don't say this just because I'm pulling it out of my ass. I've encountered these folks as they set out to fill my child's brain with the necessary facts and figures that will help her claim her degree.
But I digress...this isn't really about all that. This is about my child's reaction to the whole matter. She knows
Emma and I have been watching a lot of HGTV, which has both inspired and deflated me. That creative side of me is wowing and jumping up to kick some uninspired spaces. That
I met the owner of the company tonight! I felt it went amazingly fantastic. Still buzzing from the time because he really appeared to be extremely happy with his time spent in the building. And it wasn't just him...he had family and friends. Amazingly Fantastic!
We always question the decisions we make in life especially when things don't happen when we want them or how we want them. When it's not easy, it's wrong. Illogical thinking. Boy, we're morons. I keep forgetting that it's necessary to put the time in to get the result we want.
It's getting easier despite the struggling; but ultimately, I'm happy with my decision to move and stay in Texas.
Work, work, and work.....
Yes. More hours than I can count. I can't complain about that other than the aching in certain parts of my body and wanting to bitch slap a few people...believe me, I would divulge but I know better than to talk about work unless I want to get dooced.
Em is going with my mother to
My daughter received her PSAT scores. She did a great job for her little sophomore self (64 critical reading, 53 math, 63 writing skills). She has some preparation to do before next year's test and eligibility for Merit Scholarships.
She's a smart kid. I have no doubt in her intelligence. I worry about her motivation and interest in school. I need to change my parenting to help her. No hesitancy in admitting I'm the cause her apathy.
And the strangest, disturbing dream I had about her this morning. Tornadic weather was howling outside the house we were living. I went inside and started eating this stew that Emma had made. I remember she had this cold stern look on her face. The stew was delicious. Thick and full of meat. I noticed there was a gratitous amount in the large glass I was eating from. Still eating, I ask Em what kind of meat did she use. I was thinking buffalo until I noticed a gold covered tooth. And with the realization of what the meat was, she tells me that it was the candyman who delivered candy in the neighborhood like an icecream man would. I wanted to finish eating the stew but felt obligated to stop. Felt like I would be condoning my daughter's murderous act if I ate more so I started feeding our dogs....a few more details about the dogs and then I woke.
Emmaline's response and look in my dream would unnerve the socios.
I feel like a child in my 38 year old body. Afraid of everything, everyone. Distrusting everything.
At 2am, I had a man pull a gun on me just a flight of stairs away from my apartment door. What small dysfunctional space I have created for myself all these years has grown smaller. I'm alive. I should be thankful. I am. I thanked the man for not killing me. I cry thinking of it. But now more than ever, I'm more scared.
Emmaline scared me when I finally got to sleep this morning at four. She had walked into my room. Since I never sleep soundly, I guess I heard her. In the dark, I only saw a shadow standing over my bed. He was in my bedroom is all I thought. I screamed. I fled as far as I could to the other side of the bed. Screaming. Crying.
I'm not brave. I've never been. But I still did things despite my fears. Now? I want to hide. I want to stay locked in my apartment. My bedroom. My own self.
My heart won't stop racing. I shake. I cry. I think of how fast he moved towards me as I pressed myself against the wall near the stairs. My begging of him not killing me as I see the gun come up from his side.
I haven't called the police. This morning when it happened I was afraid he would see their vehicles and know it was me. He knows where I live. I'm going to...I think I'm going to.
I am so very afraid of the world and its people.
Not sex. I'm just wanting and needing a good old-fashioned, boy and girl meet and fall in love romance. Plain vanilla, no married men, no long distance, no hidden agendas romance. The kind where other people envy and crave because we really like each other and there's no secret about it.
Too much to ask?