Humanity

Golden Orbs and Mud

i’ve been trying to wrap my head around something in these past couple days.  bumping into alcohol again makes me feel pretty badly about myself, which is irrational, i know, but so it is anyhow.  i feel like mud.

but then someone said something so SO nice about me, something I am very very proud that could be said about me, not simply because i believe it to be true.

she commented on how strong my support was. and it is. when i love someone, i plant my feet and lean out over the water and face the hurricane down. i really fucking do.  and i deeply feel that the people that i love deserve the best that there is. and anything else is unacceptable.  it is deeply true and whether that friendship is virtual or not, i fucking think that my people are absolutely golden orbs in the world.

and many of you reading this are those orbs. and when i find someone in need of my support, i plant those feet again, or bring my ass right down to the ground, open my chest and send them all the light and love and fierceness that they need.  and most of the time, it is felt. almost always. because the energy around me shifts and the energy of the whole world shifts when that sort of love is shot out.

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So what i’ve been grappling with is this… how is it i can feel so lonely but feel so connected?  am i waiting for crises to happen to get that connection?

also, it makes it a little bit difficult with the number of people coming in and out of my life as i date. mostly, i will only date them if i feel this love… and i grow this love like the best green-thumbed organic farmer you’ve ever been jealous of…

its been hard to bump into people who don’t want this fierceness.  i fundamentally do not understand. its beyond, ‘well we’re not a good match’… i don’t mind that, at all, its true, so far, every single time… 🙂 however, the abiding, the glowing orb love is still there for me, i still would fill the room with my love for any of them. literally. and i don’t want that to change.

i just wonder about it. what is it?

my heart hurts a little.  physically, i mean.

i think with the mud feeling comes resentment, which is always a lie, i think.  but while i am being lied to, i wonder where i am in this energy surge. . .

its like a cost-benefit analysis, oddly enough.  i’ve just marie kondo’d my bedroom and there is a shit-ton of clothing that is out of my life, and old pillows, jewelry and blankets. gone. i mean, so much so i struggled to lift the contractor bag i filled . and the three or four others… and i’m not feeling the lift yet.  i ‘m not feeling the ringing of the bells, just the flat affect of a person who now only owns three pair of pants and two leggings and a lot, a lot of skirts. so whats the cost? a day of work, an hour of dropping off.  the benefit? mm. um… huh. i did feel glad that someone is going to be completely psyched to see some of my pants on the rack.  i did feel that postponed joy…

huh. so this. all this. i’m wondering. and feeling like mud.  while surrounded by you lovely orbs.

 

and if you are thinking, o, its so nice that she loves all her people, i say this to you in all sincerity… nope… its you. its you, too.  you get it, you freaking worthy glow-y orb.

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Humanity

learning curve

/again and again and again. kate, you must practice saying no to alcohol. kate, you must practice knowing yourself.

kate, you must learn more and more about your own fears and insecurities. all the time, focus on them all the damn time, because you will be pushed and plucked and placed into situations where you will be nudged,

making the first date is really easy for me. choosing to face the second is much more daunting i think . . . its the challenge to my system, a challenge to my arrogance that demands that i not have ‘feelings’… a second date demands consideration, i think.

maybe this is why i tend to just have first dates that last for months. its a simple act of self-protection. call it what you will.  its worked for me up until this point, but it strains now, pulls against the bit.

i’m just tired.

i wanted to have breakfast out today, but my date had a hangover and needed extra time to recover. so i gave him some.

i call bullshit.

 

Divorce, Humanity

Letter to that Guy- more online dating fiascos, by me.

Dear Guy,

I have to tell you how sorry I am.  My disappointment is not actually in YOU but in me. Its that classic, its not you but me bit that totally leaves everyone unsatisfied, no matter how true.

All we did was text, WE NEVER EVEN MET… so there are no children to care for, no body parts to have checked, no heart to re-invigorate…. nothing. nothing.  but what i did was something which is both old and well-known to me, and new and sparkling in its dysfunction.

i made you the answer to questions i used to have. desires i used to have.

you said, ‘i like to read’, i heard…

i’m the smart guy you’ve been waiting for… we can talk about books and i can teach you things you didn’t even know you wanted to learn… let’s hold hands!

you said, ‘my children are grown’… i heard…

we can meet anytime, anywhere, he has an EMPTY house… WE ARE FREE…. SEX! ALL THE TIME!!

you said, ‘i’m worried about you’… i heard…

( i heard it right, but my reaction went like this…)  OH MY GOD, this is what it feels like to have somebody care about me? to be watched out for? i’m going to cry.  i should ask him to marry me… i mean, arranged marriages work sometimes, right? why not? he wouldn’t be too freaked out, right? he must feel what i am feeling….

”””””’

sigh.

deciding to straddle the line between wanting a real thing and being ready for a real thing has made an interesting shift occur in me. this kind of mental gymnastics in which i singlehandedly create the makebelieve-come-true is something i did right before my very first date after the marriage ended .

i remember it so clearly. it took me a year and a half to be interested in dating. and my birthday approached and i went ahead and joined the online world and got a date. we texted ahead of time,  and i did the same thing i did this week… i made him into the ‘one’.

really? the first date in a year and a half is THE ONE? hmmm. what could be wrong about that?

i don’t even believe in the ONE.

so, upon seeing him, even in profile, still in car,  i realized what i had done, what i had created.  and never did it again.

and so the fact that i have suddenly succumbed to it, again? so curious.

what is this?

I’m 4 years separated. have had my first date, kiss, sex, whathaveyous… have learned a whole lot, have remembered more.  why, suddenly, am i back to square one ?

forgetting everything that i’ve learned, the power that i’ve reclaimed? would i really want to date and find myself an empty husk again? without the solidity and groundedness that i have now?

i suppose the fact that i’m seeing all this and adding ‘no text’ to my daily list shows a bit of something has dislodged… i don’t want to give into what seems to be a natural skill set for me, the creative imagination overspill.

i don’t know who, or what is coming… but i’m pretty sure that when it does, i’ll meet it face to face and not in my imagination. so i can just ask my monkey brain to step aside for awhile, go eat a banana for chrissakes.

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This picture? Mostly because of the spiral, the loop loop loop of my brain these days… and the variations of grey. 

 

Humanity

Holiday, handwriting…

Today one of my jobs is paying me to do all the company holiday cards.  they are red and green and lovely, but with lots of gold and seasonally Northern Hemisphere holiday animals, think otters, polar bears, orca, swan.  they are really lovely, really. and i’m getting my groove on in penmanship. all i’m doing is addressing and signing, really, and its still so lovely.  my kids haven’t been taught cursive writing in school and its a sadness for me, though they are learning signatures from their dad and I , they’ll never know the great satisfaction of a loop. One of the names I just had to write was Mazzella. Now, thats a name to bring fantastic satisfaction to a hand-writer.  OOh, man, double z’s and double l’s?

1211181035i love the back and forth, the curve and return of an ‘c’, the curve and return… ah, metaphors, you never fail me.

sigh.

we have heat today, all the kids are in school, at least, at this moment.  I’m finally able to look at some of the work I should have been doing during plumbing issues and pinkeye. there’s a healthy amount.

and in the background, i am trying to figure out larger meanings… i look chill but the number of health/stress connections is sad… and… the number of large ticket items that i’ve bumped into around my car and the house and such are pretty substantial.  what does it mean? what do I THINK it means? Am I believing I need to sell this house? that THAT is the practical step forward? And then I look around and fall in love again… Am I grounding down to settle in for a winter with a house that is all fixed up and safe for me and my kids?  AM i learning that money is just something I need to stop thinking about, because things are managed somehow?  (i live in a fairly frugal way, most of the time, so thats my baseline) but with family and a single credit card and alimony and child support and a wee bit of job money, i have swung this season of giant expense, and christmas is not even here yet, but i have decided already that whatever i have at this point right now, is what will be.  thats it. no more.

thats cool, thats right. the kids have more than enough. no one will be crying on christmas. and if they do, that is not a problem of mine.

and what about love? Am i finding that I am ready to begin looking for something more than sex? Don’t fucking tell anybody, but its a glimmer right now. just a fleck of light really.

I was just glancingly invited to my kids birthday party last weekend.  i had asked, but gotten no response.  my unbelievably crafty birthday boy begged me by phone to come, in front of his dad.  his dad was essentially forced into a ‘if you love me, mom has to come’ situation.   I was able to swoop into the place, see the set up, get the big hugs and the laughs and swoop out all with my emotions completely intact.

seriously, it was no big thing.

i can’t even believe it was me that typed that.  So much has changed with time. SO much.

swoop. and loop.

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arms raised to the magnificence.

Humanity

Snowblind. Blinded by the Light?

stymied.

this is the winter of my discontent, y’all.  i include the y’all to forcibly add some sun to my bleak inner bog.

and its really pretty easy to interject sun, because none of it is that bad.

I’m alone too much.  As much as I like it, the weekends are leaving me listless.  I have to force myself out into the world and then I run back home, but I’m depressed about it.   I don’t think thats good.

i’m happy pretty often. healthy, the kids are good, we’re in this blissful pre-teenager lull of everyone-is-pretty-content on the homefront period… and i’m digging it.

i know its fleeting and I’m watching it like the first snow. . .

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I go to Salvation Army and sit down in the sofas… because it cracks me up.  Its me and the other old ladies…i take some photos, i send them around to friends to make them laugh. this is me begging for a foot rub… mah foots, mah foots…

but really, theres something shifting here… something tidal going on… salty snow, maybe. that slurry at the shore during the winter when the water is spitting foam on the sand…

i’m laughing more. nothing is working. i’m scared about money. i’m soldiering on trying to get editing jobs, which is sometimes working.  things just really aren’t ‘quite’ panning out the way they would in a romance. but we all know those things are for absolute shit. everything is breaking.

i’m dressing in the weirdest clothing, as i try to suit my weight gain and my love of my curves… the body that i am ‘used to’ dressing isn’t this one, and i’ve never had so much to contend with… (!) so … i’m trying things on… wearing a lot of draping fabrics, swishing skirts and so much softness.  I’m turning into some sort of mobile stuffed animal, i think.

which might attract the wrong crowd maybe… blech.

*i did meet one guy online who liked to wear adult diapers. for fun. wanted to call me mommy. i’m not even making that up.

on the other hand, i’ve met a lot of men who respected the hell out of the job i do as a mom. and found it sexy.  and I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW MUCH THAT MEANS.

to have the perception of others AND self be that one is a nag, an abandoned housewife in apron with straggly unkempt hair and dirty children … and to have that SHIFT to powerful, life-affirming, grounded, nourishing, excellent fuckability… all-encompassingly womanly?!

holy mother of god.

i would recommend divorce for all of us, if i could guarantee that you’d get that, just for a minute…. (otherwise, not at all. i don’t recommend it at all).

 

on the note of ‘non-recommendation’, i am going to check out. i just had a kid come home sick with vague complaints… since when do school nurses buy into vague complaints? sheesh.  and when she called, she used my maiden name, which thrilled me.

like ice cold thrill.

 

ooh. might be more there.

love to you guys,

K