Tag Archives: patience

Neat

I think I stopped, really, updating with my own personal bullshit last March after I made that post: “Let The Games Begin”.  I’d said that after Botboy had deployed this time around, he had been good about contacting me and staying in touch at first, but that it had worn off after a time until the day that, after I’d reached out, he’d immediately asked me for money.

There was a part of that that I did not post.  And that was the part in which I’d written to him to tell him that due to his lack of communication, I was not waiting anymore.  I’m not posting the letter here, some things are best kept private, but I think what, perhaps, pissed me off even MORE (if possible) than his request for money that, to this day I am not confident I’d ever see again had I loaned it to him, was his response to that letter.  It was one word:  “Neat.”  Neat.  Neat?  Neat.  Who the fuck uses “Neat” anymore?  The funny thing is, whether he intended to or not, he found a loophole.  I’d told him that I’d wait as long as he kept communicating.  I may not have been happy with it, I may not have been particularly overwhelmed with the sincerity of the word (and, I might add, utterly confused by its meaning), but it was a response.  Technically it met the qualifications.

My friends were pissed.  I mean beyond pissed.  They have not been Team Botboy for a long time… not since last year when he came home and left me hanging, and even though he’d started, seemingly, to become interested again over the fall, they were not convinced he was sincere.  For that matter, neither was I.  That’s one of the biggest reasons why I did not even ask for or suggest that we commit before he left on this deployment, it is why I did not say I was taking my profile down the night we went out (and the night he bit me).  I wanted to wait and see – I wanted to see if he’d talk to me while he was away, and I wanted to see what he would do once he was back.  His behavior over the fall and over Christmas had swayed them to a degree, but they were being cautions.  Everyone was.

And, like I said, at first it was fine.  But then he reverted, to some extent, back to his own patterns.  It wasn’t a total surprise, and it did not hurt the way that it did last summer when it was a completely new entity.  Because last summer, it was a shock.  Think: you talk to someone all day, every day, for nineteen hours out of that day over the course of six months, and then suddenly they are gone.  I mean set aside for a minute the fact that I loved the guy, love only made it worse – the point is, here is someone who was a very, very big part of my life for half of 2013, and suddenly, and inexplicably, he was gone.  It was like someone had died.  I was devastated.  And it took a really long time to get over (and all of that is recorded here for those who care) that.  This time, at least, I was half expecting it.  Or, if not expecting it, at least prepared for the worst if I needed to be.

At any rate, I did not care to go through that again – at least not without good reason, and certainly not over the course of yet another deployment.  I mean, if someone is going to disappear from my life, I’d prefer that they did so after we’d made an honest effort to have a relationship – not some crazy “I never see you because I am always in a place that is not fit for tourism and then when I come back I’m going to run away” situation.  At least then I’d have the closure of knowing that a true effort was made.  Therefore, if I were even going to consider making myself vulnerable, if I were even going to consider the possibility that I’d have that loss again, I needed the effort behind it to be substantial enough to warrant the risk.  And I needed him to prove that he was able to do this.  With the receipt of the one-word email, “Neat.”, it became clear that, perhaps, this was more of the “Conflict versus Conflict” card that always seems to pop up in the tarot readings that I do about him (and I don’t mean just mine, I mean the ones others do for me too – with a 78 card deck, you do realize the odds of that happening, consistently, over the course of three months are slim to none, right?).

Ultimately, I was tired of the conflict.  I was tired of the inconsistency.  I was tired of the drama.  I didn’t cut off communication because, with that one word, he held the door open.  But I didn’t initiate it after that, either.  Not for awhile.  I can only really take so much drama, and I can only take so much “in and out” before I start losing my patience.  I was a patient woman last year.  I have been fairly patient this year.  But patience, even for the most patient people in the world, wears thin after awhile.  I didn’t start dating again, per se… I have this thing about breaking my promises, and I don’t do it unless I am completely, inarguably, let off the hook, but I started becoming more open to the idea of letting someone else in – someone who could be a little more enthusiastic about things, maybe a little less confused… maybe a little more mature emotionally.  Or, at the very least, someone who could appreciate the fact that I was willing and generous enough to make a sacrifice.

And I guess, really, that’s where the shit show actually begins… when I opened the door… a crack…

The Plan

I have had the same plan since January.

I’ve been tempted to waver over that time, yes.  Despite those temptations, I have not done so.  I have remained, and intend to continue to remain steadfast to those resolutions until I am given a concrete reason to abandon them.

I’m sticking to the plan.  It is a good plan.  And I believe in it.

 

Let The Games Begin

I knew this waiting period would be different.  I knew it would be different for many reasons, not least of which in that it started much differently than the last one did.  Botboy and I are not in a relationship.  We’ve now met in person and spent some, albeit limited, time together.  And, of course, there is that previous occurrence that happened a year ago that started this whole tumultuous ride that seems to take breaks but does not end.

I agreed, before he left, to wait for his return – in that I was not going to pursue anyone else while he was back.  I have kept my word.  There have been opportunities, of course, but I have kept my promise.  But after he left, I also amended that promise a bit (and he knows that).  As long as he kept communicating, I’d wait.  February was good… I didn’t hear from him all the time (and I wouldn’t want to hear from him all the time), but I heard from him.  Thought I could not answer because I was at work, he tried to Skype me once he got semi-situated.  After the end of February, though, he dropped off the radar.  And considering his job, that, again, didn’t surprise me.  I assumed I’d hear something out of him eventually.  He did promise to email.

Weeks passed.  I was still logging into OKC now and then to grab stuff for the Internet Dating Escapades.  One morning, I saw him on there.  And it wasn’t the fact that he was on OKC that bothered me … like I said, there is no agreement toward exclusivity.  What bothered me was this: if he had time to log into OKC, then he had time to talk to me too.  And he hadn’t been.  So, I decided to just send him a message on Facebook.  And when I did that, the first thing he did, after weeks of not saying a bloody word to me, was to ask me to send money.  No lies, I was a little pissed off.  And rightfully so, I think.  I had no money to send him – all of it was being filtered into the Kentucky trip fund and I’d just booked my car and hotel room.  But even if I had, I don’t think I would have.  It would have been different had we been in a relationship, and had we been in one for awhile (for example, if things hadn’t come crashing down last May, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it).  But as it was, I just couldn’t do it.  But we talked a little after that.  I was feeling… marginally… better.

But the overall silence continued, while the logins didn’t stop.  And I began to realize something: I am in Florida.  I am waiting for a man who seems to have become indifferent or disinterested but who fails to tell me one way or the other.  At any rate, if I’m wrong on that front, I am waiting for a man who cannot do me the favor, once in awhile of dropping a line.  I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again… Communication is of the essence in relationships.  THAT has to be the foundation – nothing else.  If you can’t communicate, then nothing else will last long.

It has been about a month and a half since the last time he really talked to me.  And like I said, I know he’s busy.  I get that.  But someone who has time to spend on OKC, someone who has time to spend all his money on toys, someone who has time to talk to people that are important to him (because regardless of how busy he is, I cannot for one second believe that he’s not been in touch with ANYONE over this period), has time to send an email or a chat or… well… something to someone he still wanted to be here.

I know that karmically I have to tell him I’m not waiting anymore.  I made a promise.  If I’m to go back on that promise, I have to tell him I’m doing it and, what’s more, I have to tell him why.

So, it’s going to go down like this:

I’m going to email him this morning to tell him I’m not waiting.

I’m pulling back from him then.  I’m getting out there.  I’m going to try to date.  I may not find anything, or anyone, but at least this way I know I’m not being stagnant.

He has until the end of July to tell me, one way or another, what he wants to do.

If he says he wants me, then when he is back, I will date him – non-exclusively, and we will take things turtle-slowly.  After all of this, I am not ready for exclusivity with him.  Not until I see that he meant what he said about not playing games.  Not until I see that there is consistency, and that’s he in it for the long haul.

If he says he has changed his mind, or he remains silent, then I cut him off at the end of July.  Completely.  No Skype, no emails, no phone calls.  That means I delete him from my Skype friends list.  That means that I create some sort of filter for his emails so that they are delivered to another place so that I cannot see them.  That means I do not take his calls. It means, essentially, that the in-and-out, hot-and-cold games can’t continue.

I wish I did not have to do this.  But I have to.  This can’t continue the way it’s been and someone once said to me, “We teach others the way we want to be treated.”  I’ve done that, I’m afraid, and I’ve done it all wrong.  This changes today.

And once it’s done, I’ll be letting it be what it is.  If July comes and we’ve spoken and we have decided to continue (turtle-slowly, and non-exclusively), great.  And if not, that’s okay too.  Because he won’t be my only option… I tend to forget… in the grand scheme of things, I am the house.  And the house always wins.

Let the games begin.

Sobriety, Creativity, and a LOT of Patience

So I did something drastic and gave up drinking.  Not that I really did it all that much anyway.  My rule is, and has been for awhile, that I don’t drink alone.  Partially because I think it’s pathetic, partially because it’s just not as fun to be drunk when you’re by yourself – and when I get tired of being drunk, which happens, more often than not, before I am actually sober, there’s nothing to do but to go to sleep – and then I have funky dreams.  Funkier than they normally are.  That’s saying something.

I did it, really, to maximize the amount of things that I get done creatively, since my writing is crap when I’m drunk.  And because I find it easier to do some of the other things I do (paint, for example, and tarot, too) when I am sober.  As far as painting is concerned, that is going very well.  I’m nearly finished with the series I’ve sold… only two more to go, and then I can get that out the door.  I’m working on a personal project right now for my own wall to replace some of the things that I’ve hung up there for awhile.

But the writing (and I don’t mean the blog) that is going VERY well right now.  I’m working on two concepts.

The first came to me when I was reading this thing about reincarnation.  It was an essay that proposed that we are all reborn, and we come back each time, with a purpose or something that we are supposed to accomplish.  The premise was that children, until they are a certain age, often remember where they were before, or past lives, but then forget as they grew up.  I’m writing this from the perspective of an adult that never really forgot.  Simple enough, right… except this adult remembers EVERYTHING – all the other lives, what is between, and has since childhood.  THIS person knows their purpose, and always did, but the problem is, no one else remembers.  If what the essay poses is true, and kids really do remember who they were before and what they’re supposed to do, I can only imagine how frustrating it must be to just try to even talk about it to people who only praise them for their wonderful imaginations.  That’s what I’m trying to do here with this – or at least that’s where it starts.  I’m not too far into it, but it’s coming together nicely in its early stages.

The second project is loosely based off of Dante’s “Inferno” and the circles of Hell.  It’s told from the perspective of someone who has committed suicide and who ends up in that seventh circle, trying to get out of it (and consequentially get to paradise).  This is a challenge because I really want to update Dante’s perspective of Hell with more modern concepts.  Right now it’s in the planning stages, so I’m taking it circle by circle.  The seventh was pretty easy to do.  The sixth hasn’t been.  In the original “Inferno”, the sixth circle was for the Heretics – and it was a circle where those heretics could only see the world as it would be, not as it is.  I played with this idea in two ways, though first I struggled with the definition of “Heretic” since that isn’t a word that’s used very often and in our more diversified culture, I don’t know that one could really call ANYONE a heretic.  But then I thought, you know, who says I have to really “define” what or who the heretics are… I’m not sitting here trying to create a “correct” answer for religion, since this is mostly supposed to be for entertainment value (very unlike “Inferno”).  The concept of the sixth circle of hell is what do these people see?  At first I thought well, if the opposite of enlightenment is ignorance, then maybe I could just throw the people in that circle in sheer, impenetrable darkness.  But then, after I thought about it for a minute, I decided to actually keep the futuristic theme that Dante started.  I’m setting that circle in a post-apocalyptic world, though I haven’t fully determined what that’s going to look like yet.  That’s tomorrow’s project.

Anyway, I’m writing a lot and that’s been good.  I haven’t been able to turn out fiction all that well since “Charlotte” last year and the final part of that that I was missing came out of finally understanding who the hell she was and who she was waiting for.  Whatever happens with Botboy, he gave me the ending to that and I guess I’ll always owe him for that one.  And “Charlotte” was the first piece of fiction I’ve actually managed to finish to my own satisfaction since the Mordred story in college.

I’ve been reading the cards a lot too.  Most of that came naturally to me, but I’m trying to get better.  They confuse me sometimes.  Because I do the spreads, and I see the answers in front of me, and I’ve been doing this long enough to know that they never, ever lie when they’re shuffled properly and when the deck is split.  There are 78 cards in the deck.  The probability of ones falling that are relevant to your current situation are… well… slim.  And when you put them out, again and again, and the same ones turn up in the same spots over and over, despite how often you shuffle them – and when you get the same results when other READERS do the same, you can’t really doubt what’s being said.  I guess where I have issues is with understanding how that final outcome will be reached.  Especially when the current environment does not currently support the messages that the cards are giving me.  Same thing goes for the runes which are an extension of the cards – same message, same things falling, just don’t understand.  I guess that’s where patience comes in.  Patience is not one of my virtues, but I am being forced to familiarize myself with it.  It’s a hard lesson to learn.

At least I am lucid.  I’m not drinking anymore, my mind is not distracted, and I can create the things that I need to create.  I don’t sleep very much, but you know, sometimes I’m better off (at least creatively) when I’m running on caffeine and creativity.  My ideas are a little off the wall, but sometimes it takes a little bit of insanity to make things believable.

Manifestation

I manifested a man.

Like, I didn’t create him out of thin air or anything.  I’m pretty sure he existed before I met him, as he seems pretty established in the world.  But after months and months of disappointments, after months and months of realizing that I needed to learn to let go, after months and months of self-flagellation over what happened with Bot, Metalhead and the multitude of fiascos I’ve been keeping company with, I finally sat down, I lit a few candles, and I told the Universe what I wanted.  I explained it so explicitly, and then closed it by saying, “Oh, and he needs to be so awesome that I won’t be able to find a reason to say no when you send him my way.”

Because they have been sending men my way.  And each, one after the other, had a major dealbreaker (or four) that I would either have to compromise on, or would need to walk away from.  I decided that I didn’t want to compromise anymore.  I mean, what’s the point in manifestation if you have to compromise?  So I told myself that I wasn’t settling anymore.  I wasn’t settling, in any regard.  He needed to be open-minded (so open-minded that I needed to be able to continue to write my blog and do my metaphysics without judgment).  He needed to be positive.  Accepting.  But he needed to be self-sufficient.  He needed to be capable of returning affection and emotion – someone as into me as I am into him.  In essence, he needed to be the best qualities of the ones I’ve dated in the past, all combined into one individual.  And to top it all off, he needed to be healthy, good looking (because I’m not compromising in the looks department anymore, either), and, as I’ve said, have his shit together so well that I absolutely could not say no.

I know I sound picky.  I am picky.  But when you manifest something, you put that request out there, and then you believe, with every ounce of confidence, that you’re going to have it.  I figured: May as well go whole hog with this one, and I did that.  I didn’t know how long it would take.  I didn’t know where it was going to come from.  But I knew I was going to have it.  Eventually.  Somehow.

So, long story short, this guy shows up.  He really is what I asked for… at least at first glance.  I’m a little amazed by the ease of the whole thing, but I go with it.

We talk online a bit, it moves to texting.  From texting it moves into a meet up for drinks after work one evening.  Drinks go so well that it turns into dinner.  We plan our second date.  Dinner and drinks on his side of the bridge, in Dunedin, where I’ve never been before.  We kiss.  Alright, we make out awhile at the end of that one.  Still nothing terribly unusual.  We’re moving kind of fast, but it feels right, and I’m still feeling pretty good about it.  We talk daily, most times every day.  The enthusiasm levels are off the chart… I haven’t see this much effort put forth since Bot.  And I’m liking it.  Also my psychics like him, which is another good sign.

I take down the profiles.  Not for him.  I want to be clear about that.  I take them down because the drama was getting irritating.  I have ten weeks worth of Internet Dating Escapades to get me by.  It’s a nice vacation from the idiocy.  Then I’ll decide whether to continue that or do something else.  Anyway…

We plan our third date very shortly after the second.  This time I’m going to his place to watch This Is The End.  Because we were out so late on the second date, and because I had had issues with finding a hotel in Dunedin if I needed one, I booked one on his side.  That way I had a place to sleep if I needed it.  No irresponsibility on my part.  The hotel I booked had a mini golf course.  We were going to play, time permitting.  I also discovered that it had a Jacuzzi.   Again, long story short, we had dinner.  Drinks.  Back to his place.  Movie.  More drinks.  Making out on the love seat.  He showed me where he lived – his dock, pool, etc.  Went back to my hotel.  More drinks.  Decided to find the Jacuzzi.  Walked around for awhile, never found it, back to my room.  More shots.  Made out on the bed.  But this time, it went further.  This time we slept together.  He stayed.  He was very hung over the next morning.  Like to the point of illness.  I felt bad about it… especially since we were both heading out to work and he was dragging ass while I was reveling in the afterglow of multiple orgasms.

So, it’s been several days since.  We still text every day.  He’s still initiating it, and I’m enthusiastically answering.  Because when I told him on Thursday that I liked him, I meant it.  Granted, I was very drunk… I am honest when I am drunk, though sometimes too much so.  I won’t say that the honesty doesn’t worry me to an extent, it does, I have a very bad habit of saying too much, too quickly. Also, three dates may not be a big deal, but it is really, really, REALLY unusual for me to sleep with someone I’m interested in (in terms of long term potential) before I get the long term commitment (and this would be why I am still in single digits – bedroom partner wise).  I like the guy.  I proved it.  Perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

Afterward I saw my favorite psychic.  The one who has been the most accurate.  I told her what I had done.  I told her what we did, reiterating that I was concerned that I said too much and moved too fast.  She reminded me that if I manifested all of this, then it’s my job to make sure I continue to do it.  If I start being negative, then things are going to GET negative.  Quickly.  She read the cards.  And then she asked me what I was afraid of… if this situation felt differently than the others, then how do I know FOR SURE that I fucked it up by opening my big mouth?  I got it… I didn’t… I was assuming things based on past behavior.

Bottom line:  Manifestation is absolutely real.

If your thoughts, your confidence, your desires, and your… determination… to make something happen gets you somewhere positive, it can, at the same time, take you in the opposite direction based on the things that you think, the things that you feel.  Amber, the psychic, told me I needed to be careful – use psychic protection.  I didn’t understand why when she said this… now I do.  Because I am prone to becoming a victim of my own insecurities.  That has to stop.  Because when I do that, then it gets out of hand in a hurry and, ultimately, I am the one that loses.

So, I’m letting it be what it is.  I’m letting it develop.  I am, for once, sitting back and letting things happen, believing that what is happening is, ultimately, for my highest good.  When we are together, we have fun.  Uncomplicated, unquestionable fun.  And for the moment, that’s all that matters.

If and when it needs to be something else, then it will happen naturally.  Without effort.  Because what is supposed to happen, happens… easily and effortlessly.  And because we believe in the possibilities.  And because we stop making things harder than what they’re supposed to be.

Housecleaning Take Deux, Part Deux – The Trifecta

They say that when you are dating, you usually best find someone to be with when you aren’t looking for anyone at all.  I never believed that before – with the invention of online dating, you can, if you choose, be presented with option after option and play the “numbers game” so to speak until you find someone acceptable.  It’s more about statistics than luck when you’re working with personals sites, and I’ve always found that I meet more people that way than I do in real life.  When your code is not to shit where you eat, and when you do not like the bar and club scene, or otherwise do much that would put you “out there”, online dating is really the only alternative.

That said, though, I am not looking.  If you read “Open Letter”, you know why and, for the time being, I am trying to put myself in order.  And so I have been throwing myself into work, into my writing, into some of my new projects, being with my friends and pursuing some new tactics to strengthen some of my other talents.  Focusing on “me” for awhile while I wait for Bot to get himself together.  It will make me better prepared to be who I need to be for whatever comes along.

And the funny thing is, all the times before when I wasn’t looking, no one materialized.  Considering I am waiting for someone for the time being, I assumed that this strategy would be sufficient to employ while I took a break.  It seems, this time, that I was wrong.

It started with work.  It seems, anymore, it always starts with work.  Part of my job is to acclimate new employees with the system that they are being hired to support or to develop.  And a couple of weeks ago, I was given two new employees to work with.  They were cool, these two kept me laughing through the majority of the day and made the orientation part of my job much easier.  One suggested taking a trip to Coral Castle which intrigued the more exploratory side of my personality.  I agreed to consider it, we exchanged phone numbers.  I didn’t think anything more about it.

I didn’t think anything about it, either, when he asked if I wanted to have dinner with him that Friday night.  I agreed to meet him… after all, the place we were going to was on my way and I had no reason not to.  He’d wanted to do more – a movie, perhaps, and some other things, but dinner was sufficient.  After all, I had other plans and I didn’t know him very well.  So I met him for dinner, with the full intention of paying for it my own meal, the way that I normally do.  And dinner was good… the food was fantastic, the conversation was kept light and unserious.  But when the meal was over a couple of hours later, he insisted on footing the bill.  I didn’t like feeling obligated, but there was not a whole lot that I could do beyond:

“You should know I do not shit where I eat.”

“Neither do I.  I need a job, and I am staying where I am.  At least until my desire to date you exceeds my desire to make money there.”

I was mortified when I left.  I’d been conned into a date.  I felt dirty – as if I were cheating, even though I knew I had done nothing at all.  This was not going to happen again, I assured myself.  I wasn’t at fault, here.  Nothing happened beyond the dinner and while I had enjoyed myself, the energy here was contradictory to my own.  As the events unfolded with The Groper and I got my office, I realized that now, with all of this swirling around me, I had to be even more careful.  I have not gone out with him anymore, and I won’t – partially because I do not want to deal with the work drama and mostly because he continues to try to date me.  He texts, I do not answer.  I cannot stop him from talking to me at work, but I keep things cordial and distant.  And when he enters my office, I am careful to stay on the other side of the room.  Appearances are important there, but even moreso, I do not like feeling obligated to someone I have no interest in.

And then there is Gatsby.  Called Gatsby because this is a man who has everything – everything but what he really wants.  We’d dated before.  The relationship had lasted for a little while, and then it had ended, ultimately, because things were too unstable to continue on as they were.  We remained friends afterward, however, and I got invited to go to a pool party at his condo complex one evening.  I showed up and, with some of his other friends, we had a party.  There was alcohol.  I drank… more than a little.

People began to leave, and still, I kept drinking, until it was just Gatsby and myself left behind.  He offered to let me have the spare room that evening and because I was in no condition to drive, I agreed.  We went for a walk that night – hit up last call at one of the bars downtown.

Alcohol, for me, is a truth serum.  It exaggerates the mood that I’m in and makes me introspective.  Downtown that night, drunk, I told Gatsby I needed to be alone for a moment and I walked away to perch on a concrete block in the park.  I sat there, looking up at the moon, thinking about all that had happened and I began to cry – partially because of what had happened with the guy at work, partially because I was sitting downtown, drunk, when I had made a decision to stop drinking, partially because all I wanted was The Botboy and it did not look as if I were going to be able to have him.  It was an awful feeling, and I hate to cry, and so, after shedding a tear or two, I rose and walked back to Gatsby who was waiting for me, awkwardly, on the sidewalk.  I would have been fine, really, had he not asked if something was wrong and I started up all over again.  He hugged me, walked me back to his house, and I went to bed in the spare room.  At five the next morning, I paid dearly for the alcohol consumption – I was very, very sick – and swore never to drink again.

Gatsby and I hung out more that week.  I felt guilty for crying on him like that, though he said it was okay, that he was glad to see that I was human, and the following weekend he told me that he thought he was falling for me again.  I didn’t know what to say.  We were friends.  I didn’t want to lose that.  But I knew it wouldn’t work, either.  There was too much baggage from before – his friends don’t like me, and while it would be a smart match – the package is there, after all, there would be too much climbing, too much repairing, and it would not be the way to begin a relationship.  I explained this to him.  I hurt him, though I tried desperately not to.

And anyway, in the case of both Gatsby and Work Guy, it would be hardly fair to start something when my heart still belongs to Botboy.  So clearly does it belong to him – enough so that I can uncharacteristically break down on the sidewalk in the middle of Downtown Tampa over it.  And it doesn’t make any sense – he’d been incommunicado again.  He was gone, or so I thought.

And then he wasn’t.  We went out.  We had a good time, he told me he wasn’t looking for anyone else, and, yet again, I decided to wait.  Because what else could I really do?  I cannot move forward – not in good conscience, with more than half of myself waiting for him to come back.  It would not be fair to whoever I chose to try to move forward with.

I promised to wait until the end of the summer.  Botboy and I make plans to see each other, he calls, he is like his old self again – lucid (for Botboy), funny, fun.  And then he disappears, no word of confirmation or acknowledgement that we had these conversations, we go from daily messages to sporadic communication again, barely a sentence.  I extend myself because he extends himself and then he runs away.

It is a vicious cycle.  Especially for someone who demands reliability.  I do, always, exactly what I say I’m going to do when I am going to do it.  I was brought up to be this way.  I demand it out of my friends.  Bot, it seems, may be incapable of being reliable.  It’s funny – he always was a few months ago.  Now?  I have a different Bot.  And yet he is still a part of this Trifecta.

He is the only one that matters, really, because he is the only one that I want.  Though wanting it, and waiting for it, is tiresome.  And he acknowledges that – as much as he can, as he asks why I want him despite all of his imperfections.  My answer?  I want him BECAUSE of his imperfections and because I know what he can be.  But I am forever worried that I will fuck it up, though I know that whatever is supposed to happen will happen and that when things do not go the way I want them to, it’s not due to my own lack of effort or my own unmaking.  For once, I am blameless.

While chasing all of these other hobbies, I saw the psychic again.  Because he was right about all of the other things the first time.  And afterward, I went to the island to think about it all.  I always have a choice.  That’s the beauty of free will, readings tell you what will happen if you stay the course, but you always have the option to move right or left.  I know what my choice is.  I began it in December.   I made it again, unconsciously, a couple of weeks ago, when I started the Housecleaning process and began to ward off the interest from the other admirers.  I redoubled that decision yesterday – I know what the consequences will be, and I accept them.

I clean house because it is not fair to me or to the others to keep them around when nothing can happen.  If I can be friends with them with nothing more expected, great.  If I cannot, then they have to go.  I wait for the Bot because this is not done.  No one believes that it’s done… not my friends, not my counselors, not my own inner voices.  It’s all about free will, and not just mine but his too – the will to wait, the will to walk, the will to work on things, the will to make them happen, the will to remember where we were and why we chose this.

Things are not as settled here as I would like, but at least there are no interferences.  The Bot may not here completely right now, and I am not with him the way I would like to be.  But I wait anyway, because I believe I am supposed to.  And while I wait, I work on the final piece of this Housecleaning project:

Myself.

To be Continued.

Housecleaning Take Deux, Part Un – The Groper

I had the closest thing to a nervous breakdown about a week ago that I have had since 1999.  Life doesn’t shit on me much… but when it does, man, it seems to have diarrhea.  The watery, runny kind that seems to never end, with a green color and a putrid odor.  May was not a good month for me.  And that’s ironic, because it was supposed to be the best month.  It was the month I’d been looking forward to all year – or at least since the first extension in January.  But it got off to a rough start, as I’m sure you can see by reading back over the last few posts.  And it seems like it kept going.

Granted, some of that was my fault.  I made the mistake of assuming that things were clearer than they were, that problems were solved.   My enthusiasm for what was coming was enough to make me… er… overlook the fact that maybe things weren’t as great as I thought they were.  I mean, how could they not be?  I’d gotten a new car, my boyfriend was coming home, things were going well enough at my job – and the parts that weren’t I thought I had fixed.  They weren’t perfect, but even still, Botboy was coming home and things wouldn’t matter so much when he did.

But, of course, even the best laid plans fall through sometimes.  And it seems, sometimes, that once things start going south, they just stay that way… at least until I jump in and start to take control of them.  It’s like the Housecleaning I did after 3.0.  But this time there was more of it… perhaps it was just an indication that I didn’t take care of it as well as I thought the first time.  More than probably it was just an explosion of shit that came out all at once.  No matter what it was, though, it had to be taken care of.  And it needed to be done before June started.  I wasn’t going into another month with this fallout hanging over my head.

You may remember, a few posts back, about the guy at my work that was harassing me.  We’ll call him “The Groper” – Botboy gave him that name, I like it, it’s appropriate, considering he DID grope me on the office premises.  And we’d had exchanges such as this via text, during work hours:

This took place after another work dude had dropped him off at the airport:

Groper:  Awe, I didn’t get to kiss you goodbye.

Me:  That would have been awkward

Groper:  Lol.  How so?

Me:  You left from work, yes?  Even if I’d not been responsive, people would have talked and I would be sitting here, by myself, dealing with the fallout.

Groper:  LMAO that would have been EPIC!!!  …and you would’ve been responsive!

Me:  …I would not be so confident, sir.

 

This had been going on for awhile.  I was steamed… he knew I was in a relationship, he could not let it go, even after I posted “Noli Me Tangere, Caesaris Sum,” this continued and so I stopped talking to him almost completely.  I deleted him off of Facebook.  It was then that I received this:

Groper:  So I was looking for you on Facebook yesterday and I realize that you took me off so now that I know that there is definitely something wrong.  So I figured one of three things has happened:  1.  You got offended by what I said on Friday while I was at the airport.  2.  You told (Botboy) what I said and he became upset and told you not to associate with me.  3.  The one guy I thought I could trust with how I was feeling about you just shitted on me.  If it was either 1 or 2, I apologize.  If it was 3 then I hope you’d let me know know so I don’t trust this asshole ever again.

Now, yes, I’d told Botboy.  There had been death threats.  Botboy was not happy.  I’d also gotten offended.  And that’s why I’d deleted him from Facebook.  Between the groping and the lines that were getting crossed, I needed to create some distance.  But this… he was TELLING people at WORK.  That crossed the line even further.  And so, when he got back, I took him outside and I asked him who he told.  He told me.  I was livid, I told him that didn’t he understand that that one guy was going to talk to the others?  He said he hadn’t thought about that, apologized again, I thought it was done.  I wasn’t talking to him much after that, staying in my corner for the most part, waiting patiently for Botboy to come home – not to kill the guy, but just to prove to all of the other horny assholes in the building that this man was NOT a figment of my imagination.

Things were quiet.  Work had gotten back into its usual mode.  Things were almost normal… people were still looking at me funny, but that was nothing new.  It got a little worse once word got around that Botboy had done what he did.  But still, no one said much to me.  And then, as that part of the world collapsed, the work world did too.  Groper, it seems, had reached an entirely new low.  Pissed that I’d rejected him, I can only guess, anyway, he began to spread rumors himself.  People I had known maybe a total of two days were coming to me, repeating rumors, things that he’d said, and a little bit of homework put the origination point back at the Groper.

I’d had enough.  I was in the middle of the drama… Botboy had left me high and dry.  I’d been the victim of drama from several unwanted advances made by other people (that’s next week’s post).  My aunt was not feeling well – she had pneumonia, pretty serious pneumonia and I was 1000 miles away from all of that, unable to do anything.  I was trying to heal, I was trying to get my life situated.  And then I find out that work was no longer safe for me either?

My first inclination, really the right inclination, was to sit in my corner and mull it over.  I still had the text messages.  I’d kept them, not sure what to do with them, knowing that I could turn them in if I needed to.  I’d sat on them all this time, not sure if I wanted to.  The minute I started rocking the boat, I knew that the world there would change… at least for me.  Did I want that?  As long as things stayed reasonably under the radar, I could handle it.  But this time… this time it was too much.  Here were these new people, people I was trying to train, spouting things that people I didn’t even associate were saying about me… it had to be stopped.

It all had to stop, really… all this drama… and I could start here.  It was tangible.  I could fix this.  I could find the proper channels.  And so, I went to the one person there that was corporate.  A female (thankfully) who listened to what I had to say and said she’d talk to my supervisor.  I barely slept the next night.  I didn’t know what they would do.  I’d asked them to keep it confidential.  It’s a small company… the minute someone starts to talk, everyone knows about it.  And the informants were new – they were worried about being fired.  I was worried, I was afraid I’d get fired (even though there is a no-retaliation policy).  I was worried things would not be the same.

And I was right.  I came into work the next morning to find the woman I’d talked to and my manager in a meeting.  And I knew, the way I know things, that it was about what I’d said.  I got called into the office later in the day,  I read the texts to my boss.  He proposed a change.  They wouldn’t do anything to The Groper.  They couldn’t.  Unless I filed paperwork, which would launch an “official” investigation (what I didn’t want), he was safe.  He wouldn’t even be written up.  But, they proposed to give me an office so I could get out of the general population.  It was what I wanted.  I could go in there, close the door, be out of everyone’s way.  And if someone got out of line again, I could just go to them immediately and it would be taken care of.  It was a suitable solution.  I took it.

Last week, I got to move in.  I sit in there, headphones on, door closed.  There is no noise… I no longer want to kill anyone during PMS week.  I still want to rip The Groper’s head off when I see him strutting around the office like he’s king of the world (he doesn’t talk to me anymore at all… I can only assume that someone blabbed that I was talking myself – and that’s fine).  But I know that Karma will have her day eventually.  And in the meantime, I’m in that little room where the air conditioning doesn’t blow down on me all day like it did before, where no one can hear what I’m listening to when I want my music to be loud, and where, most importantly, no one can harass me anymore unless I leave that little room –which I don’t do very often.

I’ve been waiting for this since I started working there.  I have it.  Housecleaning Part I complete.

Onward to The Trifecta.

 

(To Be Continued)

An Open Letter to the “D”.

D,

There never seems to be enough time to say what I need to say and when I do it always comes out wrong.  So I’m writing it here, knowing (from your quote last Friday) that you do, at least, sometimes still read the blog.  Maybe you’ll see this.  Maybe you won’t.  I think I prefer it that way.

I do not fully understand what happened in those days before your homecoming.  I know that whatever happened is not my fault, and that it is a product of events that transpired long before you walked into my life.  I know that whatever battles you still fight as a result of those things are yours to contend with and that there is absolutely nothing that I can do, save for what I am already doing, to make that any easier for you.  I cannot fight for you, I cannot help you unless you want me to.  I did not reach out because I did not know whether you would want me to.  I do not want to smother you.  I do not want to impede what you have to do in order to allow yourself to heal.

I wanted so much to join you, but because you do not seem to want me to, I left you alone.  Maybe that wasn’t the best tactic.  And that’s why I reached out and invited you to do something last Friday.  And it’s why on Friday I asked you to come watch those Dexter episodes and have dinner on Monday.  But I can only extend myself so much.  You don’t have to meet me halfway right now, but I do need you to meet me at least part of the way.

I cannot fix what is broken.  It’s not my fight.  But I can be here for you.  The way I have always been.  You are silent now, where you used to talk to me every day.  I miss you.  I miss what we had.  But I understand that this is the way it has to be.  You have to fix yourself.  I get that.  And we’ll take it slowly while you do.

I do not pretend to be the expert on everything.  But I do know what love is.  I know that love does not try to hurt anyone.  Love cannot hurt anyone.   It is not angry.  Someone that truly loved you would let you go.  Someone that truly loved you would, at least, let you be happy.  They would want that for you.  And they would not continually come back to haunt you, to torture you, to play games of emotional warfare.  I have never done that with you, or with anyone else, and I am not going to.  Love doesn’t hurt people.  People hurt people.  We both know who I am talking about here, and I want you to think about this:

After a weekend on a binge, you decided to stop drinking.  I told you then that I wanted you to be whole, and I told you I wanted all of you.  I meant it then.  I’m saying that again now.  I do want you to be whole.  You deserve to be whole, in every essence of the word.  But more than that, I want you to be happy.  Out of all of the people I have ever known, you deserve that the most.  I believed that I could make you happy.  I still believe that I can make you happy.  But you have to be ready to let yourself be happy.  I think you are getting there.

You aren’t looking for anyone else, you said.  I am not either.  And the ones that show up, I simply do not want.  There were two others.  One was from my past – and while it would have been easy to run back to that, I knew (and know even better now) that after having what I’ve had with you, I could not go back to someone who does not appreciate me for who I really am.  I could not be with someone who tries to change me.  The other is new.  He’s nice enough, but I can think of a hundred reasons why I do not want to be with him either.   I did another housecleaning last week, like the one I did when you and I met.  And with all of the other garbage, I threw those two out as well.  One went easily.  The other may fight a little… but in the end he will realize that there’s no chance.  I simply am not interested.

Because I meant what I said… I don’t want to see anyone else.   I know what I want, I want you, I want the D******.  I have never laughed so much or so hard with anyone else the way that I do when we are together (and even when we’re not).  I have never felt so comfortable with another human being so quickly in my life.  I told you on Friday that I believed that we could have done this, that it would have been easy.  I still believe that.  There is something here.  I know it.  So do you, I can tell.

I told you, when things began to fall apart, that I am here.  I meant that.  I am right here.  I am caring for your things as they arrive with the same dedication that I employed when you were away (though those two boxes you sent from before have still not gotten here).  My feelings for you have not changed.  And I am holding on, for the time being, because optimism, and my voices, tell me that I should.

You have not asked me to wait.  You have not told me to move forward, either.  You have only said, dejectedly almost, that you knew I would see others before telling me you weren’t looking for anyone else.

I do not know what to do.  But I remember, in those situations when I would ask you, you would always tell me to “do what feels right.”  It does not feel right to move on.  I do not want to move on.  And so, for the time being, I am waiting.  At least for awhile.  Partially because right now, with your boot-prints so fresh in my memory, I am not fit for anyone else.  But mostly because I believe in us, and moreso, I believe in you.

If you want me, though, I need you to act like it.  That does not mean I need you to run over here right this minute, but, you know as well as I do, the phone works both ways.  The Gchat works both ways.  I am waiting because I know what you CAN be, I had it for five months despite the massive distance, and I saw it for a few hours on Friday.  I believe that it is still there, even if you are afraid of it.

Truth be told, I, too, am afraid of it.  I am afraid of you.  I am afraid of someone who can possess me so completely that I am spoiled for anyone else.  But while I am afraid, I am also mesmerized.  For once in my life I am not looking over the fence.  I am in my own backyard, and while the grass may be dry and brittle right now, I have faith that it could be green again if we want it to be.  It’s the Law of Attraction, the “fake it till you make it” concept.  I believe that it can work, and I hope to science that I am not wrong.  I’m kind of in a vulnerable spot here.

Because things are so up in the air right now with my aunt, I canceled my vacation.  Unless something with her changes, I will be here before you leave.  I would like to see you before you go.  I would like to know, for certain, that there is something, however small, worth waiting for.  But I cannot reach out anymore, I have done that enough.  I will carry you, I will hold your hand, I will do whatever you need me to do, but I cannot do all the work.  I want you.  But I need you to want me back.  And I need you to show me that you do.  I have reached out twice.  Now it is your turn.

And so, unless you tell me otherwise, at least for the summer, I am here.  Skype is online again.  My phone is working.  Gchat is always available.  And when you are in town, if you want me, you can find me.  For the summer, these avenues are yours.  For the summer, I am waiting, occupying my time with my projects, taking it easy, trying to heal in my own way.

Once the summer is over, I’ll reevaluate.

 

Mesmerized,

V

Patience

I am losing my patience.

I never had much to begin with.  I’m the girl who wants what she wants, when she wants it, and if she can’t get it easily, she fights for it.  And while you might say that that is a form of patience, I disagree… fighting for it is my way of making sure I get it.  It’s progress.  It keeps me busy.  I am DOING something about it.

I am a control freak.  A control freak that has no patience.  A dangerous combination.  At least I’m not short tempered anymore.

It’s really quite interesting what goes on in my head.  On any given day, it’s full of plans for the things that I want and a strategy for making sure I get them.  Those plans float around alongside knowledge of all the things I DO NOT want to do – and ways to get out of having to do them.  Those swirl, clockwise, around a layer of frustrations I’m repressing because I do not want to lose my temper.  All crowded around a nexus of recognition – recognition of things, circumstances, situations I cannot control.  And the nexus often feeds back into my desires.  It’s a vicious cycle.

I can identify it.  I can’t navigate it sometimes.  My third eye can weed through it… at least it can see the eventual outcome of some of those uncontrollable circumstances.  But, as any sensible person knows, the third eye is fallible in the sense that it can see what IS and what WILL BE solely on the basis of current circumstances.  She is awake, and she is talking, and I am listening, but I am ever-aware that things change, and they change often, and that sometimes the things that change are changing due to circumstances beyond my control.

And having no control frustrates the hell out of me.  I don’t need full control.  I don’t need to have my hands on the steering wheel all the time (and I really do hate driving).  That said, if I’m not the one driving and I’m not the one navigating, I at least need to be able to call the shots on when I get lunch and when I get to have a pee break.  And when I don’t get that, though you’ll never see it, on the inside I’m the annoying little kid that kicks the back of your seat while you drive screaming, “Are we there yet?”

“Oh but you are navigating, and driving, it’s your life after all,” you’re probably saying.  But am I?   I am not a hermit, I do not live in this world by myself.  And because of that, I do not have utter control all the time.  On a more simplistic viewpoint, I don’t control the flow of traffic… I sit in it, just like everyone else, for some unknown reason.  More personally (and more complicatedly), some of the most intensive situations that I want to know the most about, and could really use some foresight on, are not solely up to me.  “If things stay the same, they’ll end up here,” she says.  But things DON’T stay the same.  That’s not how it works.  She doesn’t have an answer to that.

I live my life, but I also sit on the sidelines as an observer.  It’s like being the lifeguard of my very own swimming pool.  I am in the middle of it, swimming, but I am also in the chair with a whistle in my hand, ready to call it if I see some sort of infraction.  I should stop being so paranoid.  But then on the other hand, if I fire the lifeguard, and shit happens, there’ll be no one to tell me to get the fuck out.

The third eye has been restless lately.  I’m reminded of a quote that I read about the pineal and the third eye… someone who had awakened theirs described it like this:  “When it’s good it’s wonderful, when it’s bad it’s horrid, when I turn it off I am lost.”

I don’t know what it would be like to have a pineal that is not working.  Mine never turned off.  It’s how and why I can see what I see and do what I do.  But she’s been bad lately, and it’s been horrid, and it’s not even PMS week.  Which is why I’m paying a little more attention than I usually do.  I can’t turn it off… when it’s off, as I’ve said in an earlier post somewhere, it’s like being out in the middle of a crowded room, completely naked.  And anyway, likely it’s telling me that something is out of whack somewhere, or that something big is coming, and I need to prepare myself for it.  It just won’t tell me exactly what.  And so, blinded by the vagueness, I don’t know what to identify.  Though I have a few ideas.

I need patience to try to figure this out.  I need patience because I think a lot of it will turn right side up again very soon, in one way or another, and the only thing that is going to be able to rectify some of it is time.  But it’s gnawing at me in the same way that my once broken ankle gnaws at me when it’s getting ready to storm outside.

And my patience is wearing.

Crazy

There are voices in my head that tell me things.  They tell me what to do, they tell me what is, what was, and sometimes what is coming.  I’ll begin this entry with that, and also the affirmation that I am not crazy.  Not entirely.  Most of the time I trust the voices.  When they are at their peak, they have never steered me wrong.  They fuel my perceptions.  Together we are spot on.

There is one week out of the month, however, that I do not trust the voices.  I call it PMS week.  And during this week, they will say anything, ANYTHING, it seems to make me sabotage anything good that I may have going for me.  They will do ANYTHING to keep me on edge so that I lash out and yell at someone who is laughing a little too loudly.  During this week I am a mess of nerves, panic, anxiety, depression.  The conversations going on in my head are so ridiculous that I’m ashamed even to verbalize them and yet, what we make true in our minds becomes true whether we want it to or not.  And so it is a monthly battle to keep those demons at bay.  I certainly do not want to bring them out into the open.

I can’t really tell if it’s demons that take up residence in there for a week or if the voices just go on some kind of monthly hiatus and come back all amped up from their vacation, ready to wreak havoc on their usual digs.  I used to lose my temper a lot during PMS week.  My previous marriage, if it taught me anything, taught me to control my temper – at least better than I used to.  That’s not to say I do not get on edge.  When people laugh a little too loudly or when noises filter into my training office while I am working (and while it seems no one else is), I have to remind myself to stay calm and resist the urge to go out onto the floor and start screaming at the offender.  I keep my temper because I don’t like feeling guilty about things I would say or do at the height of it all.  That is enough motivation not to lose it.  My coworker’s laughter isn’t the only thing that gets me on edge, but it’s minor.  It’s a good example of how very extreme it can get.

But it manifests itself in different ways, too.  I am generally not an insecure person.  I’m not arrogant.  At least not most of the time.  But I am confident.  I model.  I write.  I do calligraphy fairly well.  I’m smart.  And I have a startup business.  I’m proud of all of these things, and I have every reason to be.  PMS week comes, though, and it doesn’t matter – none of these things, no matter how well I do them, are done well enough.  Last week I shelved the book I’d been writing for the last five years.  I did it because ultimately I had decided that going back and reliving the past, even fictionally, was more of a detriment to the person I was trying to become than I’d wanted to admit.  Like I said before, you can’t move forward if you have one foot stuck in the past.  I picked up the pen again and took up a completely different project – one based on fantasy, totally fiction, no basis in reality whatsoever.  (Because magical dwarves, demons, gargoyles, and gods/goddesses, and dragons don’t actually exist  – and people don’t travel on wooden ships either.)  I started writing it, the first few paragraphs… and then the voices started up.  They didn’t criticize the story.  They never criticize my writing (unless it’s warranted and in those cases, no matter what week it is, they are usually right). 

They got critical of other things.  Things I really can’t even be critical about because I do not know the whole story or have a full picture of the circumstances.  Logically I can’t make a judgment, but try telling them to be logical.  If they could jump around and laugh maniacally, they would do it.  Because for awhile, they were winning.  I got moody, depressed, insecure, anxious.  I panicked.  I stressed.  I hate the way that feels.

Worst of all, though, it fucks with my perceptions.  I felt distant this weekend.  Moreso than I have in months.  I don’t know if it’s perception or if it’s real.  The voices say it’s real.  If it were any other time of the month I would trust the voices.  And since I habitually trust the voices most of the time, it is difficult to tell them to shut up right this second.  I’m used to having perception.  I am used to being spot on about shit.  When I can’t be, I grasp for it because I can’t stand for it not to be there.  Without it, it’s almost like being naked in public (though probably worse for me, since I sort of enjoy being naked).

That’s why this weekend, particularly, was a struggle.  When less than favorable news came on Saturday, the voices went mad.  I tried to compensate for their madness.  I over-reached, and between their incessant screaming and my overcompensation for the fact that my instincts were way off, I did some damage.  I don’t know how much damage.  I’m not even sure if the damage I did was perceptible.  I hope it was not… damage that is imperceptible is much easier to fix than damage that is evident.  Irreversibly, though, things are different and once again, I’m in the dark.  I do not know if the difference is in my perception or if the difference is in the actual circumstance.  Logic and reason and the small tiny voices that are still in there that still have any kind of sense tell me to give it time, be patient, wait it out.  The ones in the forefront that seem to have taken speed or something over the last week want it NOW, NOW, NOW!!!  And when they don’t get it NOW they start pulling similarities between what is and what was – and what was is not a factor here.  I cannot, and I will not, apply the past to the present, even though they tell me that this is exactly what this is.  I think they lie.

It’s a waiting game.  I’m sitting here, because I called in to work today – I needed a mental health day, a day to get my shit together, a day to figure out what is and what is not.  I am taking steps to get this under control, once and for all.  I made some calls, things are getting done, but that will also take time.  Everything takes time and it is never my own time.  I sit, I wait, I observe.  I trust that sense will eventually be made – things will become clearer, because they always have before.  And whatever it is I blew out of proportion is probably not even remotely as bad as what I made it out to be. 

Patience is not one of my virtues.  It never has been.  I want what I want, when I want it.  My supply of patience has been anorexically thin most of my life – though it’s been gaining some weight lately out of necessity.  It becomes critically thin during this week of the month.  I’ve been doing better with it lately.  I slipped a little this weekend, but I am attempting to get a handle on it.  And praying that I didn’t fuck things up to irreparably.

Someone who read my blog once said that the reason they liked it was because it was honest, I take what is wrong with me, I identify it, and then I fix it.  Life is a learning experience, there is a learning curve here, though many times I have broken that learning curve, lost everything, had to start over.  I wonder sometimes how many second chances I’m going to be given.  And how many times I will take those second chances, do really well with them for awhile, then tear them to shreds and laugh at them while I watch them burn, only to look regretfully at their ashes once they are gone.  And then I realize that the only person who has any control over that is me.  And I laugh… not maniacally, but I laugh.  Because I am a doer.  I may not be able to have what I want right this second… the time for that may not be right now, though I cannot fathom why.  I can’t control the circumstances, but I can control how I react to them.  I may need some help this time, but even that is up to me.  So I’m making my calls, I’m getting this under control, and like everything else, I’m making it mine.

And, of course, praying that the voices will win this stupid mental battle sooner than later because I miss my Tarot cards.