la dirección por favor

It’s another one of those days where I could easily sit down and write for the next twelve hours. Partly due to my frame of mind, partly to the weather—It’s my favorite weather to write in: gray, wet, perfect fireplace-romantic-day by the fire.
I wrote a ton yesterday and when I got read to post, I lost it. That is a rare occurrence, but so frustrating. Especially when you really have poured out your heart and emotions. They were things I really wanted to put out into the universe and ponder; however, I don’t know if I have it in me to repeat. I think it would feel forced, so I may just let them be.
I am struggling with what I want and what I know. The date I wrote about a couple weeks ago is happening again. Without going into details, it is becoming clearer and clearer that I need to shut the door and run. At least I think. It’s ridiculous how much baggage I have from my first relationship. Scars and wounds that are so deep—and somehow still fresh so many years later—that it makes it nearly impossible for me to differentiate between what is reality and what is residual affect (yes I wanted affect—not effect). My gut is saying that if something is triggering such things I probably shouldn’t question and just go with it. However, there are other aspects that trigger a few of the wonderful moments with him—and that is really hard to pass up or turn down. It’s strange how an abusive and sadistic relationship and a relationship that poured goodness into me can combine to make a situation immensely confusing. If it was just one or the other, the choice would be clear, but having aspects of both complicates things. Or maybe, probably, I’m intentionally letting them be complicated. If the first relationship is popping up, that probably should be enough to confirm that the aspects of the wonderful relationship I’m experiencing now aren’t real. In true sucker-for-punishment fashion, I’m not yet clear what I will do. I don’t think I can pass up the moments that have a similar taste as the ones I fear I’ll never get back.
Switching as quickly as I can, I have to brag on my brother. He graduated with his Associates degree last night—with honors. This is the boy that none of us (him included) were sure would even graduate high school—not because he wasn’t smart or capable enough. He also had an interview yesterday and it seems likely that he will have his first full-time job as well! Very, very proud and happy for him. And while it’s rather funny, it also hard to see him have to face the reality that just because you have a degree and a full time job, it doesn’t necessarily mean you can afford a place to live and things to eat. Luckily, he has always been the best in our family with money. Someone needs to be so that they can support the rest of us. Ha!
The graduation was interesting. The audience was screaming and yelling the whole time at people on stage—even when the flags were being presented. While I have much less patriotism than I used to, that really bothered me—especially the number of people who either didn’t cover their heart or were confused which hand. Grown adults looking at one another trying to figure out which hand! And choosing wrong!!!
The other aspect that both intrigued and bothered me (though I know if I ever get rich and famous [LOL—yeah right!], this comment will come back to bite me), was how much of the ceremony was in Spanish. Not interpreted, just flowing from English to Spanish and back again. Over and over. The other part that I found interesting was how much of the Spanish I actually understood. Not full sentences and such, but enough to often know what the main idea was. A lot of it was religious and about God, which was pretty cool actually. I love Spanish and would kill to be fluent—Probably my love of Ricky Martin’s old Spanish albums that I fell in love with before he ever when English, but whatever.
The other part that is frustrating to me—through a ceremony done partly in a language not my own, I was able to follow and understand more than I often can about my own life and the direction that seems forced on it and that I sometimes choose.