Tag Archives: relationships

Today is March 7, 2015. I am alive and well.

He’s under my skin. Not like nails being hammered into my right nostril, nor like stones rubbing into my heels because I didn’t pause to empty my shoes. He is under my sin like apricots and honey softening my elbows, whipped cream resting on my tongue.

I hear hime in my mind telling me things:  you are kind, you are compassionate, you amaze me. I have friends who tell me these same things. But my friends are not trying to make up for the wrong they have caused. They are fresh, their actions, honest.

He wants to see me. A friend told me she thought of domestic violence victims because they, like me, will not let go. Don’t read into this…he has never hit me or said unkind things to me. In fact, other than being financially in the skids, we had the best relationship…other than his lies and another woman.

I will see him again. It’s in the stars. Just like there’s a moon and the night winds whisper tuned light, a soft chord on a guitar. It will be months, maybe years before I see him. But the day will come and there will be fire in the trees, burned to the root leaving nothing to smolder.

Or, who am I. He may tire of waiting for me. I embrace my singularity. I love my friends deeply, and they, me. And then there are Grams and Annie, my kittens who nestle up to me. I am smiling. The kind of smile that is goofy but genuine. I know the wrinkles around my eyes have come to kiss the smile. I am soon to be 51.

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Today is January 31, 2015. I am alive and well.

The following is an excerpt from my second book, which still remains untitled. If the blog is too long please let me know it didn’t hold your interest. Thanks.

The Dishes are Rusted with Mash Potatoes

I telephone my case manager after coffee in the morning and tell her I have dirty dogs and a dead boyfriend in my condo. She is quiet. In the pause, my goldfish has swum three circles around his glass bowl. I watch him. I count, and then feed him a pinch of food while my case manager waits for me to speak.

She sneezes.

I ask her if she is catching cold. I can hear her smile as she says no, relieved that I have changed subjects. I’m certain she thinks my mind invented false things, a momentary glitch that my medication has not coated in pink; Pepto Bismol for the brain.

I tell her again that there are dirty dogs and a dead boyfriend in my condo.

“Now,” she says, “what can you do for the dogs?”

“Wash them, I suppose.”

“Do you have shampoo?”

“Apple scented,” I respond.

“Okay then.”

And I think, what is okay?

There are daisies littered across my floor. The dogs have dragged them in from the yard, clumps of dirt attached to their fragile roots. The dishes are rusted with mash potatoes in the sink. The drapes kiss; it is dark in my condo. I can make out the silhouette of the couch and I think to sit down rather than turn on the tub’s faucet, a move toward washing the dogs.

I have not worn shoes for four days. I have not been outside. Dust pills in little balls on my placemat; I have not eaten since potatoes on Tuesday of last week.

My boyfriend died Monday when he packed all his underwear into his suitcase, along with the rest of his clothing and left. He did not bother to shut the door on the way out, hoping I would follow him. I couldn’t bring myself to plead with him to stay one more time. I waited for blue shadows to unwrap themselves from my mind leaving me bright. I keep his towels damp, pretending he has just dried himself from his shower and is in the other room shaving.

I do not know how to tell my case manager I missed love and cried. So, I tell her he is dead.

I stil fixed coffee this morning. I told her that and she thinks I am fine because I have begun to prepare for the day. She doesn’t understand that preparation is no longer enough. So I hang on the phone with her, wishing I could ask her to come feed me strawberries and black beans, hoping she might have my life ready.

I threw pennies in the wishing pond that is slowly being drained and I don’t know how to tell her otherwise.

Today is January 30, 2015. I am alive and well.

I wrote the following blog while still with Andrew. I was told Andrew would be hurt by some of the things I said, so I didn’t post it. My decision to post it now is because it’s honest.

I was the one to break up with Andrew. I love him. The decision was not easy. I won’t elaborate any further. Just know I’m in my castle again with no knight. I’m hoping to stay single for a very long time.

Blog I delayed…..

It has been a great deal of time since I last blogged. I have been  engrossed with Andrew. He has been spending the night with me on my twin bed. I have rolled out of bed twice. I find this funny. It would be not so funny if I broke something. And then, Andrew says I snore, so he has been leaving the bed for the couch where I originally thought he was going to sleep.

I don’t think being engrossed with someone for a long period of time is very healthy. It robs me of my chance to “follow my bliss,” which is writing and reading; two things I do in solitude. Both things take large junks of time.

Andrew asked me recently if I liked being in a relationship. I said yes. But the truth is, I don’t know. I still pine for Guy even though he utterly, I mean utterly betrayed me. And I often pine for time alone. Don’t get me wrong, time with Andrew is fun and we are both very loving toward each other.

It is still winter. I am wearing coats the I bought for Guy. My hands get lost in the sleeves. There is something comforting in losing my body to cotton.

I watched two pigeons dance a jig on the sidewalk. Can pigeons really carry notes from one person to another? I would send two notes, one saying “please don’t stop loving me” and the other saying “please just give me time.” One to Guy and one to Andrew. I would let the pigeons decide which went to whom. Funny to put love in the beak of a bird. I somehow trust the randomness of this. Maybe both notes should go to the same person.

The sun rose today and robbed me of sight; robbed me of intuitive sight. The glare of truth bounces off my living room window. All I know is that right now I am at the keyboard. Grams and Annie are curled up together in a chair on my left. I am not clear on who to love and how. Thank God I don’t need to make that decision today.

I don’t mean to offend anyone with this blog. Maybe honesty is sometimes overrated. I don’t know.

Today is November 23, 2014. I am alive and well.

If you’ve been following my blog, you know I lost a husband to a woman in Florida. You know I still love Guy despite the betrayal. Guy opened his heart to me and my heart answered back. I credit him with teaching me how to totally love someone with all I have to give. I discovered I have a lot to give.

Enter Mark. We dated for two months. Then I got the call this past Friday, “this relationship is not working for me.” I am no longer his “little Egyptian Princess.” I am a Queen in my own castle with no king to answer to. I am a vessel of love that radiates at the windows to my castle, and skips out the front door when a stranger calls. I embrace strangers with my stare and welcome them because they have no preconceived ideas of who I am. Love can be love for five minutes.

One of the best things I have done as of late is to not have had sex with Mark. I am so relieved and thrilled about this. Had we had sex, I would have felt violated. Two months is not a great deal of time, and if you know you’re going to end something, end it. End it cleanly.

I think I’ll remain a Kingless Queen for a while. It is good to be doting on Grams and Annie. Although they’re cats, the still cuddle up next to me for naps. And Grams likes to sit in my lap as I write.

I don’t feel alone in my castle. I conjure up people that I love who have died. I believe I am of them just as they are of me. I have silent conversations with them. I bask in the attention they give me. I tie my shoelaces and leave my castle as they wish for me to do. There is a large world out there. I am to miss nothing. The glitter on the pavement shines. I won’t get lost; I will arrive.

Today is October 31, 2014. I am alive and well.

Does a broken heart ever heal? Or do we simply move on, glass at our feet, ever reminded to wear shoes? How long before we can actually go barefoot? I know “how long” is different for everybody. I am still wearing shoes, although I have found new love. One man doesn’t replace the other; it is more a continuum. Things moving forward in an upward spiral is much better than things moving backward with one stone being heaped in a pile of other stones. The stones are the weight that brought death to VIrginia Woolfe, an amazing writer, who walked into the water never to arise again.

I had a pile of stones, and then borrowed a power drill from God, and turned the stones to dust. This dust, although bagged by me, sometimes shows up on my skin right before a shower. I have a continuos love for Guy, my ex, but have climbed into that upward spiral. This doesn’t mean I have left Guy behind. Quite the contrary. Guy taught me I could love. My forgiveness of him, my love for him, continues to fuel my life. I know I have love for Mark because I have love for Guy. I’m really at a loss as to how to make sense of this.

My love doesn’t compartmentalize itself. It is free flowing energy that is increased by loving many. However, Mark is the prime beneficiary of my love. I don’t wish to return to a pile of stones. Life continues to surprise me. I glow in the shadow of elms. At night, when all the shadows have been eaten away by the dark, I thank God for both Guy and Mark. Having love twice doesn’t fatten me. I feel light. My spindly arms are not frail and reach for…well, I don’t know exactly what. But it’s ablaze, I do know that.

Today is October 17, 2014. I am alive and well.

I have been working on my second book. Still no title for it. I am 260 pages in. It feels good to be writing agin. After my break with Guy, I found myself unable to concentrate. What does it mean to find oneself, able or not able? Is it like finding oneself in the dark, trying to count change? My height at six feet allows me to see over a crowd. I find it freeing to have my head raised and visibility good. I am finding myself with sight and my ass in the chair, ready to write.

Loosing Guy was devastating. 14 years is a long time to be with someone, at least a long time for me. A quote from Marianne Williamson speaks to how I involve myself with Guy today; “Dear God, I place my past in Your hands. Please purify my thoughts about it. May I only remember the love I gave and the love that I received. May all else burn away in the alchemy of forgiveness.”

I have forgiven Guy because it was necessary for my spiritual development and relationship to God. I have also forgiven Guy because, much to the chagrin of many of my friends, I continue to want Guy in my life. We are friends. I believe our connection is something other worldly. Truly.

Having Guy in my life brings me peace. It’s like having an extra towel when stepping out of the bath. The smell of fresh soap clings to my skin in a good way. An unobtrusive way. I will see Mark later today. I know my love for Mark is possible because I learned to love Guy with absolutely all of me. Cliche to say. But cliches are good for some things, aren’t they? I remain blessed by love. I am like my kitten on the windowsill looking out at the world, knowing there is a place for everything. And as Grams does, I feel alive in my own skin, ready to walk a new path I imagine. The imaginings are good, are strong, are freeing.

Today is September 17, 2014. I am alive and well.

I surf behind shut eyes. The surf is good, doesn’t swallow me. I grab a ray of sun and breathe slowly. I awaken. Today is my anniversary of being sober for 21 years. TIme has moved like a circle of marbles; lean down, use the boulder to push the bumblebee out of the circle and wa-la, 21 years have passed. It has been a hard but good ride. The carousel has never quit on me and I’ve been able to ride every single one of the horses multiple times. Today, my horse is outrageously purple. I settle down into consciousness and thank God. The miracle is me and I’m aware of it. God and friends have seen to it that I don’t fall off the ride; today, I lean into my destiny and know which step to take next.

I have invited love into my life again after realizing love isn’t a package wrapped tightly in twine and thrown into the glove box of Guy’s, my ex. Love is free floating. Love doesn’t need to be wet. I am responsible for my love. My heart strings are taught and flexible and far reaching. I hold hands with a new man in my life and my eyelids flutter. I’m aware of his pulse. It surfaces as we kiss. We come up for air and share a meal. He with spaghetti and meatballs, me with salmon.

We say goodbye in early evening. I have a cut off; I need to take my medications and be in bed by nine. He respects this. I am so glad.

I surf my dreams hoping to dream about him. This doesn’t happen. I don’t need it to to know that he is deep in my life. We hold hands as the hummingbird feeds on red syrup. There will be a moon tonight and I will silently pray. Life is large and I am so blessed.