Monday, August 22, 2011

this morning

It's how I can't believe that my father is actually pulverized dust in a plastic bag, wrapped in 2 other plastic bags, sitting in a cheap urn I bought at a garage sale 16 years ago.

It's discussing with my therapist that I should re-imagine positive outcomes because I've got a mind set to believe in low expectations or none. And how we talked about my passion for photography and she suggested I take a course to get back into it. The first thing I thought about was putting up a show of the photos of my dying and dead father. It's the closest I'd ever been to a corpse. It was beautiful and strange and I wanted to giggle and scream at the same time.

It's how it's a new day and I don't have to do again what I did yesterday. Or the day before.

It's struggling to understand the best way to "turn it over" to my Higher Power, while also being in the driver seat of my destiny. Co-pilot and map-maker I suppose.

Sunday, August 21, 2011


It's partly that the world is so damn unjust. There's all this pain inside. That you just want to find that one thing, you look for it. You don't cause it, but you take the opportunity to seethe in it once it's there. That one incident or that one action by the person you hope for - or just any ol' person - anyone - anything. A cat. A guy you crush on. A parent. A sibling. A stranger in the aisle of the supermarket. Everything is unfair and you've been robbed of things and people. And then they go an disappoint you. They don't call. They don't love you as much as you do them. You drive 4 hours to be with them or do something for them or bring them something. You love them that much to sacrifice. And they flake or they are selfish and ignore the time. But regardless of that moment - it becomes every moment. Every other moment you've ever had where you had a hope or expectation (and you've had so many) and they've all ALL every single one it seems like all been let down or dashed or you've been told not to, not to try, not to think about it. And that one person or that one moment becomes all the pain and hatred and rage and injustice in the whole of your being and past lives and all together now. And the pain is so pinpointed and spread out all over in every cell. You've been let down .... again. All you do is wish for, want, long... Your whole fucking life is just one long wwwwwwwaaaaaannnnnnnnnttttttttt. And you're never getting that love, that cuddle, that hand to hold, that forgiveness, that acceptance, that love... that love.... from your parents or from god.

And the heartbreak - again - once more - every fucking time - is unbearable.

Sunday, August 14, 2011


Good days, bad moments. It used to be doing dishes I would cry. One week it has everything to do with the vortexes that suck me in: the German girl on the bus wearing eyeglasses - towards the end he suffered cataracts and so badly wanted the surgery; trying to explain to someone the trial of what I lived - a vision of his fragile bony body like a concentration camp victim; and always, always, always, the one-on-one conversation we had where I told him how much I loved his hands and knew he'd always be with me because we had lived so many lives before together and he whispered, "L... I love you, too."

It's 8.5 months sober now. I feel amazing, life is awesome. No shit. Through all this bullshit, sadness, depression, missing my father, worrying about my mom's drinking combined with Ambian, struggling to form a real relationship with my sister, working non-passionately, war, famine, pestilence and all of life's tragedies - I am sober. I am feeling it. I am living it. I am awake. I think that's the biggest thing. I am awake. And I am making choices. It's incredible, really. Painful, ugly sometimes, confusing a lot, but thoroughly better than how I had been living.

I don't crave booze, I crave cock. And the healthy brainwashing of AA has me turning my focus on my sexual proclivities. Is it a craving - a verifiable craving of the chemicals in my brain that want sex? Or, am I simply a woman with a healthy sex drive? Am I replacing something with all the cock? Am I seeking something that is void in me? Or, am I feeling the pressures of society - thinking I should settle down, have babies, partner up. Am I a bonobo by nature or is it another chemical imbalance?

There was the monthly screw with Joe Awesome from January to June. Then, I introduced a date with Chris Depressed that opened a door for possibilities. A desire put me out on Craigslist again and in touch with Carl the writer, who I've seen twice and enjoyed thoroughly. A random decision to say yes to Will Rooftop and 2 hours of incredible, exhibitionistic sex on his open air rooftop terrace and another date filled with brutally honest discussion that made me feel like I was on a date with a mirror.

I don't feel desperate, I feel hungry. I want to justify that I'm still date-able, attractive, together despite these 2 overlapping current-quilts of personality change and disorder. I feel shifts within. I want the libertine freedom and independence, but I miss the partner that sticks by my side through it all. I want to cook together (albeit, I'll wear a maid's apron and nothing else). I want to clean our place (with nipple clamps and a hood). I want to go to the movies and we plainly share popcorn. I want to cuddle and wake up hungry. I want to be there for the tragedies that shake a person's orientation - my old boss, after his parents died "It's very disorienting" a perfect description. And celebrate the hurdles and wins.

Carl said his (ex-)girlfriend (debatable at this point), 15 years his junior, doesn't want to take care of him when he's in diapers. I don't know that I do either, but I want to take care of someone when he's in diapers. I've done it. I've see it. I'm not afraid.

I want love.

Mad, passionate, life-filling, prick our fingers blood-brother/sister swearing, television watching boredom, soup making when we're sick, swinger party exploring, whole and entire trust foundation love.

Life is changing on me, in me.

Or is it the same fabric, different shade?

I am the whore evolving. I wonder about pregnancy, but turn away at the prospect of swearing allegiance for 18 years and 50 more on top.


And then there's Salvador the cat. He's amazing. It's a lot of fun to have a lovable creature in my life. I think he likes it here with me. He seems to have missed me when I went to my mom's for a week. I had a friend stop in - the first sober share of my flat, the first lady friend to see my cave. He enjoyed the company, but I think he missed me. He's supposedly 27 pounds big - a large breed naturally and a bit over-juiced before I got him. We eat less together and we play with racing around the flat. He sits on my chest at night and we purr together. I wake up at 6am on a Saturday sneezing my eyes out, but allergy meds clear it all up. A small sacrifice, as I'm finding. Pets do matter. I'm starting to get it. He's pretty cool.


I wouldn't know where to start at all, but I'm dreaming more and more of putting some kind of book together. I have no idea what the running theme is or how to connect it all. There are bits and pieces and some good stories. A book of short stories? Ala "Little Birds"? It seems like so much of a business, something I would have no idea how to navigate - and not sure I'd want to. I wish I could just ship all the notebooks and all the pages off to some super scribe. I've already written it - I don't want to re-live it again.

This is of late.