worth fighting for

Maybe I can’t blog when I’m immensely happy and not stressed. Maybe I only can blabber when I’m hurting or scared. Maybe so. Seems like it. Oh well.
Smokey and I are going through are hardest time right now. Nothing truly huge, just some things here and there. No cheating. No lying. No fights. However, for Smokey, it is become more and more apparent what it looks like to be in a relationship and all the work it takes and how much sacrifice is required. For me, my fear is through the roof, which causes me to become even more clingy and needy (an inclination that I’m doing my best to fight with everything in me, as I know it has the opposite of desired effect).
I stand by what I have said before. If anyone, Smokey is the man that is supposed to be my husband. However, that doesn’t mean he will be. Destiny is fucked up all the time by our fallible human natures.
He’s proving himself to be strong. Everyday assuring me that he is here. That he is still in it with me, even when the thought of leaving and running away is also a constant temptation. As strange as it may sound, and as much as it hurts and scares me, I am very thankful that he is so honest with me. I like to know where we stand and where the truth is really at.
We are both raw and hurting right now, and still holding on and fighting the best we can for what we believe is worth fighting for, I just pray he continues to fight for us, persevere through the exhaustion of it. I’ve talked to enough married (for years) couples that I know in some ways this dance continues and ebbs and flows forever—to varying degrees. Terrifying thought. Again, I pray he continues to fight for us, continues to be here in this hard moment so that we can have beautiful ones soon. Moments that will make us stronger for the next time we face our shit.
I wish all it took was one person to fight the battles for the couple. I would face it. I could face it. I hate that I have to trust another person to fight for us as well. HWMNBN chose things over me that I don’t think were as valuable as I am. And while, again, I think we could have built a great life together, Smokey is here and fighting by my side, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. I just prays he chooses me. I choose him.

Learning to love with an open hand

While lonely, single life was easy. I had nothing to loose.
Now, the gravity of what can slip through my fingers weighs heavy, a constant hooked net over my heart.
“What’s the measure of a man. . . is it loving someone even when you know there’s a risk they could walk away from you forever?” Lover Enshrined, JR Ward
I’d like to blame all the things that have happened to me, like to blame HWMNBN, like to blame any and everyone else. And, honestly, some blame can go there. Moreover, the blame is mine, or my genetics to be more specific. Be it nature or nurture, I am the kind that holds too tightly. The kind who often looses the moment for fear of the future. The kind that can’t feel safe until each item has been crossed off.
We’ve past our six-month mark, Smokey and I. The further we go, the more in love I am, and the more terrified I become. I have to get a grip. It sucks the joy from the most joy-filled time of my life. This narrows it down too much, but I think it’s rather accurate; I think part of me believes that I’m not safe until I have ring on my finger and our names co-mingled on a mortgage. Is that the definition of safe to me? I think, yeah, kinda. However, how much you wanna bet that I’ll be blogging some equally equivalent fear half way through the honeymoon? Rings slip off. Houses burn down.
The ridiculous part? And, probably both side of this logic are equally ridiculous, I truly cling to and believe that moment on May 15th when he was walking down the sidewalk and the realization hit of, “Oh, You’re the one.” As clear and strong as anything I’ve ever felt. Possibly ridiculous that I give the credence, and ridiculous that I can’t let myself simply rest in that.
I think I have the timeline in my head, and if things aren’t checked out at the scheduled time, then the world will crumble. Smokey is thinking that he will probably buy a house in the next sixth months or so. Normal, good, healthy thing to do. He hasn’t had his own house that was solely his in probably close to ten years, and he feels like he needs to do that for a bit for his own process. Writing it out, even I can see the logic in it. However, where do I go? Supporting his need for this experience? Nope. I hear years, Years, before we get married and start building a home and family together. I hear that I’m bugging him and he doesn’t really love me. I hear that he’s going to leave me and I have to try to function sans/Smoke.
I have to get a shot of reality, to be able to see through and hear truth (and love) through my fear. I have to. I have to enjoy the moment we are in, whatever that moment it. I have to, for both of us—so that I’m not driving him crazy, and so I’m not driving myself crazy. Need to breathe, deeply, and bask in the love that is better than I ever dreamed possible. Need to turn over the worry and pseudo control that I convincement that I have.
Father, I thank you so much for the life you have given. Specifically, I thank you for man you have given me. Thank you for his kindness, gentleness, patience, and goodness. Please help me attain greater wisdom, both mentally and emotionally. Help me to rest in the moment, to trust in you and what you have provided. Help me to love that lifts wings to the sky, not suffocates under a down blanket.

our prologue

long have I known fairy tales rely on
witches
ogres
thorns

refused to ever open the book
the words upon my heart never to be
written by another

fallacious princes clamored sonnets
promised wings to fly
to the sun

sealed still
the pages
secure between solid bindings

enter the man
claiming no royalty
vowed no magic

dismissed upon first glance
then cover wrenched wide
leaves laid bare

the man lavished red upon each sheet through
actions
words
touch

ramparts crumbled
moats traversed
dragons slain

fantasy proven dull and flat
beside
reality with the man

eternity
both in hope and
authenticity

plot of witch
bellow of ogre
pierce of thorn

no shining armor
lacking white steed
and yet a fall

try as they may the covers shall not
close
bind
slam

lowly dirt embraces the tumble
cover and coat
humble and choke

through trepidation
pain and gash
hands extended and grasped

heroes of a quest
unrequested
stand on trembling limbs

villains encircle
waiting to seize
devour

magic not from fairy or wand
emanating from hearts and hands
our epic has begun

filled by destiny’s scarlet scrawl
strength
wings
love

knitting wounds

Home sick again today. Actually, I went to work then came back. Just utterly exhausted and achy. I decided to teach myself to knit. After four hours, I have the ugliest little rat of scrap cloth you’ve ever seen. Wow! It’s hard! Nice to simply sit on the couch and listen to a book on tape and forget everything else.
It has been a horribly hard three-four days. Smokey and I have hit our first obstacle, and it has left both of us aching, afraid, and in pain. It’s amazing the more you love someone, the more they can hurt you.
It has been a challenge to simply breathe. Every bit of me is in panic mode. Will he run away? Will he throw in the towel? Will he say it’s easier to simply be on his own? Will I be too much?
I don’t believe he will. I truly believe he is the man I’m going to marry. With everything in me, I believe that. It’s just, at these weak moments, where your wounds and insecurities are ripped open (just as you were starting to get a handle on them), it’s like an all-consuming monster! I believe that we will get through this time, stronger than ever, and more able to withstand future obstacles. I know what my life is like without him, and I don’t want to experience that ever again.
We prayed together yesterday. Pretty cool. Pretty amazing, actually. To pray with my BOYFRIEND, about our RELATIONSHIP! And to believe that God is honored by us turning to Him. How my views of God have changed!
That said, keep us in your own prayers, if you think of it. That we would lift each other up, that we would put the other first, and continue on this most wonderful journey of my life.

sick reading

I took a sick day today. And, yes, I actually was sick. I slept for over ten hours and then have sat on the couch the rest of the day, playing games on my phone and reading. I just finished Woke up in a Strange Place, by Eric Arvin. It was a gay fantasy novel. Think gay Pilgrim’s Progress or Gulliver’s Travels. All about what happens after death.
It was beautiful. Beautiful and sad. Beautiful and sad and lovingly full of hope.
One of my favorite parts was about Hell. Of course it was… In this version of the afterlife, there is no Heaven or Hell. It is all our own creating, mostly. However, in this section, there were scores and scores of people who were in Hell, in the fiery pit, burning eternally. The main character, Joe, asks how this could be since there is no Hell. For these people, the believed it so much they couldn’t let go of their belief in Hell. If they chose, they could have walked away anytime. This was the response Joe received:
“Well, human beings have always done one thing very well, and that is create their own hells and bask in their own misery. They complain about what they create for themselves; they relish the pain. What they don’t do so well most of the time is find a way out of it.
Arvin, Eric (2011). Woke Up in a Strange Place (Kindle Locations 2004-2006). Dreamspinner Press. Kindle Edition.
Those lines hit me as such truth. We all do that, and I am the King. Whether convincing ourselves we will never be happy again. Whether we believe we are damned due to being gay. Whether, whatever…. So many of us live, and/or have lived within our own Hells for most of our lives.
Another quote I loved was decribing what the gay main character experienced in regard to acceptance of family and other gay men. I’ve often tried to understand this concept myself, but was never able to put it into words. I think this nailed it for me:
It wasn’t the same kind of acceptance he had felt with Grandpa Joe. This was tribal, not kindred.
Arvin, Eric (2011). Woke Up in a Strange Place (Kindle Location 3459). Dreamspinner Press. Kindle Edition.

BookTalkSigning

Yesterday was the big day. I wasn’t overly nervous until Smokey and I were sitting in church. Then the heart started racing and the wanting to hide in a corner began.
Then, before I knew it, we were in Boulder and then it was over. It took about five or six hours for my heart rate to slow back down and for the headache to dissipate.
The book talk/signing went well. People said they couldn’t tell I was nervous. People say a lot of things. I got the crowd to laugh several times, which is good. Maybe strange too since my books aren’t funny. Overall, though, it was really cool. I kinda feel like what brides say on their wedding day. They look back and just see a big blur, the details clear here and there, but mostly lost in an unreality. I think part of me just went on autopilot.
While I wish it had been a book talk/signing that I’d been sought out for—instead of the other way around, I was aware that I was in one of those moments. One I’ve dreamed about for so long. One that so many people never get to experience. I’m so grateful for that!
I had about ten dear friends show up, which was wonderful, and for which I am so extremely grateful. To the point that one of the other authors commented about my turnout compared to the rest of them. My friends are amazing, it’s true. However, considering I contacted several hundred people multiple times. . . Well, it obvious who my friends are—and what wonderful, beautiful friends they are! For those of you who contacted me because of sickness, cars, life, etc., thank you so much for your continued support and love. You humble me and honor me so greatly, and are a huge reason while I am able to continue fighting.
One of the coolest parts, to me, was a teacher who had brought his high school student. They came up after to talk. (Hi, Grey! Gonna have to steal your name for a character sometime—I love it!) The student was so nervous that he was trembling. To him, I was an actual author. He wants to write fantasy and was asking my advice and experience. I wished I had more to offer him, but was touched that he cared about anything I would have to say. (If you ever come across this writing, thank you for being there, taking a part, and honoring me with your questions. Fight for what you dream of, for what you want. I will do the same. I hope we have a book signing together one day!)

perfection

The lights were off. Only the antique lamps cast soft glows around the room. The puppies were beside the couch. Dunkyn resting and licking the floor (such gross sounds); Dolan going from each of us, constantly trying to receive more pets and get a lick in here and there. We each sat at opposite end of the couch, legs intertwined over pillows in the middle, one free hand rubbing each other’s feet. Him going through his songbook, committing to memory as he sang quietly the music for the upcoming Gay Men’s Chorus Christmas concert. Me, reading Lost Voices until I began to doze off. Recognizing the moment for what it was. One of the perfect instances in life where you truly have all you’ve ever needed and all you’ve really ever longed for. Life in its perfection.

dice the slice

I went to rather scary places today after the unflattering book review. Despite all my self-talk, despite knowing that it was just another person’s opinion, despite all my educated/rational/enlightened bullshit, I let it whittle away and ruin my day. Making it very hard to teach, making me very edgy with the kids (which, I was award of and may have overcompensated by being more patient/indulgent than I actually should have), and even left me questioning my reality with Smokey. All those old feelings of worthlessness, craziness, delusions, and doomsday rhetoric came flying back and left me defeated. And, this with all kinds of support rolling in just from a blog and a facebook post. I had myself mostly back together when I met Smokey at home, but it wasn’t until he took me in his arms and spoke calm wisdom that I began to really breathe again. I was going to blog a ton about this, about all the inner turmoil today, but I don’t want to. No more power to that negativity. And, as another writer also reminded me, I’m writing the books I want to write, the way I want to write them. That will end when I get an agent/publisher (at least to a certain degree). I should enjoy that while I have it!

--Oh, and a correction: the reviewer didn’t say it made her skin crawl; she said I set her teeth on edge. Poor girl needs to get braces!

slice

Just got my first scathing review of Submerging Inferno. Scathing. The lady hated it. HATED it. Hated my writing style, my writing ability, hated the characters, hate the setting, said it was juvenile and rather pathetic. My book ‘made her skin crawl’ because she hated it so much. And—she’s a big gay fantasy reader.
I knew I’d get reviews like that. And, if it’s been a fluke that people have liked it so far, then I’ll get tons more reviews like that. It was a little bit like an out of body experience. She tore every bit of it apart. And, in so doing, every bit of me. Every bit of the past several years I’ve toiled over it, worked so hard over it, and every bit of myself I’ve poured into it. Felt like every word was slashing into me.
That said, I knew that’s part of the gig. Best writer in the world, or the worst. Both get scathing reviews, both get positive reviews. I knew it when I decided to go for this, there will be many times when I get torn apart. I was hoping those would be later, but whatever.
So, ouch. Major. Time to lick the wounds and stride ahead.

booktalking

I’m ready for a nap! What a week it has been. Parent-teacher conferences, redoing PBS programs at school, preparing for the book signing, submitting to publishers, getting rejected by publishers, tutoring. However, the end is in sight. I get to sleep in till nine or nine-thirty next Sunday. Sure, that’s a week away, but I’m glad for it. Although, I’ll probably be nervous enough that I won’t really be able to sleep in. That’s the day of the book-talk/signing.
We went up to drop more books off in Boulder yesterday. My book, Submerging Inferno, was on three different shelves: Local author, new fiction, and featured! What a crazy feeling that was. I’ve always dreamed of seeing my books in a bookstore. Even though it was me that pulled the strings and got them there, not a publisher, it was still a thrill. I can’t wait until it’s not just locally. Maybe walk into any major bookstore in the country one day and see Brandon Witt’s books. Lord, I hope.
We saw the line up for next Sunday as well. It looks like I’m going third. First is a poetry book, then a Christian book, then my gay urban fantasy and gay contemporary fiction novels, then another Christian book. Talk about art imitating life imitating art. Goodness! They seem like they are progressive Christian books, so maybe it won’t bee TOO weird. We’ll have to see. Either way, I’m so excited about it, and so ready to get it over with. I’ve tired to find video of other author talks at the Boulder book store and can’t really find any, so I’m not really sure how one goes, what they talk about, or what to expect. Just gonna wing it. I really pray this will be a step forward to publication.

Sweat, Hopes, and Praise

Smokey ran the Rock and Roll marathon. Twenty-six point two miles! Insane. I went from place to place to see him and cheer him on (and provide energy chews and kisses) at random locations. Let’s just say I made it through several hours (nearly six) of my Blackdagger Brotherhood, book four. I love seeing all the risks and accomplishments he is making. So very proud of him, and so very happy that I get to be a part of it. I could go on and on about where things are with the two of us right now, but I’ll spare you the details. I’ll just say that it blows me away what a difference mutual and equal investment in a relationship makes. He knows that he can’t simply love me—that he has to intentionally care and choose to nourish our relationship. Thank you for providing a man who has integrity and strength! He helps me flourish, and I pray I do the same for him.
I received another rejection letter this weekend. This one from one of my ‘safety net’ agencies. Those hurt the worst. It’s not fun when your dream publisher tells you no, but it’s quite a slap in the face when an agency you don’t really respect tells you that your work isn’t good enough. I’m sure the correct response is relief since you’re not with the agency you really want—however, I’m at the point where I don’t really care… On that note, I submitted to another agency last night (a process that took a couple hours to meet all their formatting regulations). It’s only for on-line books and doesn’t seem to have that high-reaching of audiences (although it would target my main audience for sure). I’m nervous about it, as it seems much different than what I’d hoped for, and I’m not sure how long I’d have to sign over the rights of my novel, but I also have my hopes up. I haven’t gotten to write anything fresh in two years; every time I sit down to write, I feel like I should be contacting agents or working on promotions. So, even if it is a minor jumping off point, at least it would give me the freedom to begin creating again. Let’s hope they like my work…
Filled with such a thankfulness of where my life is and where I hope it is headed. Thank you, Father!

800

I’m discovering a whole new world with the GoodReads website (the FaceBook for book lovers I told you about earlier). I will have to see if it remains as good and helpful over time, but at the moment, I’m rather enamored. There are a couple of drawings to win a free copy of Submerging on that website, so feel free to sign up and give it a shot. I’m also getting some unsolicited publishing advice, which is great! Even outside of my own writing, I’ve already been exposed to books I’d never heard of that sound awesome. If you’re looking for something fun to read, check it out!
I don’t think I mentioned it before, but I finally got an iPhone last week. My contract was up for renewal, so I went for it (plus it was the same price as most of the other phones, so why not). It’s change my life. Really. My brother has an iPhone as well. Last night, I got to have FaceTime (where you can see each other’s faces over your phone while you’re talking) with Gavin as he had dinner. It was soooooo much fun. He loved it! He was waving and talking to me as he ate, almost like being with me. That alone was worth the price of ten iPhones.
I remember being on the Wheel of Time ride at Disney World as a kid. Part of it showed what the future would be like, and the thing I loved the most was the big screens that showed people talking to their family back on Earth (because, of course, by that time, people would be living on different planets and such). And, look, here we are. What a wonderful world we live in. The gorgeousness of the earth that God gave us and the inventions of man that are so inspired.

love over pumpkin spice

I have a training that starts at 8:30 today, so I have a ton more of my morning than normal. Now that Smokey (who has been sans cigarettes for nearly a month now!) is nursing again, I get up at 5:30 with him. At least until he starts working overnights for a while. As a result, I thought I’d take the time to spend an hour or so at a coffee shop. I have several things I need to get done attempting to self-promote the novel. Plus, I wanted to blog. Shockingly, I had to drive around and around to find a Starbucks open around where the training will be held. I’ve discovered I don’t like ‘working’ in a Starbucks. It’s only good as a drive-through. Then again, I am a bit of a coffee shop snob. However, I can see the brilliantly pink sky outside that huge glass wall, and that is pretty perfect. So easy to let the magic and wonder of our world pass us by.
Things are going wonderfully. Knock on wood. Of course every relationship goes through those phases where you are more and then less in love. We are in the more in love stage right now, and it is awesome. We went to a relationship class at church the other night, lead by an independent psychologist—not a member of the church. She, while a scattered presenter, spoke about how our culture has fostered depression, alimentation, and damaged relationships with our constant focus on individuality and seeing those who need love as weak. We are supposed to make sure we don’t loose ourselves to others. That we keep our own personal identity upmost and forefront. In so doing, we never really experience love. She told research study after research study showing the effects of being truly given in to love and the results of the living with the absence of that deep and all encompassing love. They were all experiments and psychologists that I’d heard of many times and had even studies in grad school, I’d simply forgotten.
Besides being there with Smokey and loving that, it was also a moment of clarity for me. I spend so much time beating myself up about how clingy I can be and how concerned about our love and our life together I tend to be. I forget that so many studies have shown that in most ways the need to be loved and to love is as vital as food in regards of having a life that is healthy.
Give yourself to love.
Open yourself up to the risk of loss.
Check and check.

Bibles, Instruction Manuals, and Book Burnings

I spent a few hours going through old books last night, finally separating all my old college books and novels that I have carried around with me for the past eleven years. Always on shelves, then in boxes, then on shelves again. Never opened. Never used. By the time it was all done, there were nearly twelve boxes and one large trash can full of books. I’d forgotten just how many I had. Tons of teaching books. Tons of Youth Ministry books. What I’d forgotten was how many different Bible source books I had—lexicons, translations in Greek, commentary after commentary from a plethora of theologians. The crazy part was how much I actually remembered from those books. All the hours going through them rushing back. I often think of my youth ministry degree as a fluff degree. I forgot that it’s a theology degree. An actual theology degree. I remembered all the courses about how to engage kids. I’d forgotten about the equal number of Bible theory, philosophy, on and on and on. Also surprisingly, these were the hardest for me to give away. In fact, I kept three of them that I remembered the most—the rest taking up several boxes. Even just aesthetically, they are beautiful. So large, all bound in leathers, so masculine and scholarly looking. (I didn’t even mean for that to sound sexy, but it does—guess I know where my taste in men comes from…) If nothing else, it’s hard to cast away things you spent so many hours and hours and hours toiling over.
I would love to hear the people at the ARC going through all I donated. The catty (hopefully clever) diatribe that surely will ensue. Teaching text books, massage and anatomy textbooks, countless Bible resource books, and select gay books (even stuck a couple of my own novels in for good measure—never know where you might pick up a new reader/fan). Seriously? Who is this guy will all these ‘conflicting’ aspects of life?
As ever, I’d like to feel special and more complicated than most. But, really, we’re all like that—at least most of us. One aspect of ourselves in extreme juxtaposition to another aspect. Pretty great really. (So, if you’re looking for lots of Bible resource books or want to learn how to teach (in theory) in your spare time, stop off at the ARC by Casa Bonita—you’ll be in for a good time!)
I do have to say, I am looking forward to burning the ex-gay shit that filled my life for so long. There was a bit of power in the refusal to pass those on. Refusing to let them rip away at the soul of some other gay man or lesbian woman—telling them they aren’t the person God made them to be.
Look at me banning and burning books. Guess you can’t take the fundamentalist out of a boy no matter how hard you try!

the twists and turns

The water heater broke once more last week, water everywhere, much drama. I was able to fix it myself, thank goodness. As a result, the basement has been torn up for a several days. I’ve got it about half way put back. Through the process, I decided to use the opportunity to purge. One of the things I’m getting rid of is shelf after shelf after shelf of old college/grad school text books. Most of them look brand new. I’ve almost gotten rid of them before, but I hate to get rid of books, and they represent thousands and thousands of dollars that I had to pay. Some of the books were nearly two-hundred dollars a piece. Such a racket. However, I’m using a fifth of my storage space in the house to keep these books I barely read when I was in school. Why hold on to them now? The ARC will soon have its own college campus library—full of youth ministry instruction and special education theory.
In addition to college text books, I also came across all the books I had to read during my five years of sexual-orientation reassignment therapy. Most books were published by Focus on the Family and their ilk. There were also a couple workbooks that I had to process through. Those brought back the most memories. I hated doing those. I’ve always hated homework. However, I took them seriously, those and the instruction books. Reading my own words about my acting out behaviors (which were rather funny, all the things small, nearly innocent things) I was so, so guilty about, other parts about all the guilt, so much pain and self-loathing. All from a genuine place. All those wasted years, all that wasted money. It’s like reading about a white man trying to therapy himself into a different race. Not that all the years and money were wasted. I worked through lots of other issues besides trying to be straight. I’m truly thankful to God for not answering that prayer, although the damage done by his ‘followers’ spouting his ‘teachings’ is a different story. I did learn how to look and think critically, how to begin to grow a backbone, how to become a man. Funny, all the things that were supposed to happen when I was straight, brought me to being stronger in my identity and pride as a gay man, giving me a strength I wouldn’t have had before. Talk about learning and grown despite ourselves.
Those books, the ones who were teaching me that I was less than God made me to be, the ones that wanted to destroy God’s child and morph him into their own ‘god’s child,’ will not be given away. Those will be looked at once more, a reminder of where I have been, battles that have been fought, prayers that have been prayed, countless tears that have been shed, a moment of respect for the journey I have been through and the costs that have been paid, and then they will be destroyed—an act of vengeance upon words that cut at my soul, lies that were spoken into my heart, an act of cleansing out deceit and hate. One less copy of each in existence that could poison another as they search for God in this world.
Father, thank you for showing me your love for me, despite my own intent to believe the hate others showed and spoke in your name.

Why didn't they teach me this in grad school?

I’m trying, I really am. In some ways, I think I’m already making progress. (Why does progress always have to come with some type of pain, sacrifice?) I am doing my best to live in the moment, have faith/hope in the future but not live there already. I must say, however, that if I was more certain and guaranteed about the future, I could much more readily enjoy the moment. I know, I know. I’m sure I’m missing the point of the journey, not the destination, blah, blah, blah. I get that. Mostly.
The main thing I think I need to do is to starting having realistic expectations. Not low expectations or ones that cause me to compromise who I am and what we can and should be, but realistic. A part of me, a rather large part of me, has unrealistic expectations about everything. When you’re in a relationship, the other person calls/texts about every two hours. When you’re in a relationship, you don’t really enjoy anything unless the other person is there. When you’re in a relationship, you wait with baited breath until the next time you’re together. (Dear lord, I wish I was exaggerating.) Apparently, that’s not really how relationships go. At least, that’s what every single person tells me. Stupid, know-it-all everybody else! It seems healthy relationships don’t call and text every ten seconds (or two hours, or even every day during work). Rumor has it, people are able to fully enjoy other parts of their lives even when their other half isn’t there. Turns out, people are able to breath (and think clearly) even between times of being with their love. The legend goes that these things even make your relationship stronger! That’s what I’m discovering as I talk to people. Sounds like a bunch of hocus pocus to me. But, that makes sense that it would—the test results have come in and they show irrefutable evidence that I tend to fall on the overly needy, enmeshed, clingy, suffocating spectrum of things. One of those cases where if the rest of the world is saying one thing, even if it goes against everything in my gut, I must be the one who isn’t normal. Lucky Smokey (who is now over two weeks sans smoking), send prayers for strength and patience his way.
There are lots of prayers, lots of tears (that I’m doing my best to keep to myself, really), and lots of pain as I attempt to shift my thinking and actions to a ‘healthier’ reality. Both of us have stated many times that we want ‘this’ to work out, that we want to be together. Figuring this out is my part of nourishing and loving our relationship. It may be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but the pay off is beyond anything I’ve ever worked for before! As much as I know I need to focus on the moment. I know where I desire the end result to be, and where I believe it can and should be. However, for that to take place, the moment is where I need to stay.

my shit

I keep waiting to figure life out, for it to reach some kind of point where I can exhale and then simply be. I’m not sure why I even have the slightest hope for that to happen. I have yet to meet one person, of any age, that has that experience for long.
Even with my folks, now that the house is cleared and sold, when we should be able to finally say, ‘thank God, that’s over,’ we now face bankruptcy anyway, due to the legal bills uncured while fighting the evil bitch woman. You’d hope that you can relax now that there is a lull in the custody battle, since they reached an agreement that is supposed to last a few years. No such luck. You think when you type that last word of the novel that its over, you can move on to what’s next—but it is only the beginning of fighting for the life you birthed over a period of years. You think when you’ve found the man you believe you are meant to spend your life with, the man you want to spend you life with, your heart will stop hurting. So far from the truth. My heart is alive again, and therefore, remembers how to hurt. And love.
Smokey and I will be fine, at least I’m holding onto that. I’m so tired of my shit getting in the way. My neediness, clinginess, and emeshable traits are wearing him down. I’d like to blame it on my personality (which it is a part of my personality) and leave it at that. However, then I become my first boyfriend, who was so abusive, in every way but physically, and then would blame me for not understanding his hot-Latino nature because I’m white. I have to figure out how to love with all of me without suffocating the very essence of the one I love. The process hurts so much, but there’s not a choice. I have to figure it out or lose him. Have to figure it out or return to when I lived behind stone and ice.
When you think of it, say a prayer for us (sometimes, I get angry when I still ask for prayer, but what else can I do, what else do I believe in?). That I will deal with my issues and learn to love without suffocation, and that he will be patient and find me worth the wait and effort as I figure my shit out.

4

It’s one of those free therapy blogs. How exciting. Ugh.
I’ve spoken quite often of my dogs, Dunkyn and Dolan. Both as opposite as you could get. Each perfectly embodying both sides of my personality. Personalities, maybe… Sadly, my more unstable one, Dolan, is the one who most often holds up a mirror for his daddy. Typically around areas that drive me crazy about him. Dolan often can not enjoy the moment he is in due to his unending focus on what is next. Are we going to keep walking longer? Are we ready to run yet? Will you keep petting me? Never enjoying simply being on the walk to the point he’s not focused on the last minute run. Never truly sinking into being petting or cuddled with because he’s too focused on you not stopping. Quite literally begging to be petted as you are petting him. Whereas Dunkyn lets himself sink into every situation at hand.
I am Dolan.
Smokey is Dunkyn.
Each moment is a moment to be savored for Smokey, seemingly existing all on its own. Making what comes better, but the moment itself being the point. Not the next.
I drive myself crazy. My feelings get hurt. I start obsessing. It weighs me down and is a constant source of stress and oppression. Even through countless deep breaths, prayers, and reality focused self-talk/reality checks.
Smokey could spend every moment focused on me, telling me all the affirming words I want to hear constantly, assuring me of his love and commitment until the world ends. Like Dolan, I can’t sink into the moment and let it nourish me they way it ought—I am worried about when it will stop, maybe forever, maybe for five minutes. It’s exhausting on me, and I’m sure it’s exhausting on him. At times, I think, this is a normal relationship, I should be able to handle this. However, then I realize it’s not normal. Smokey is a MILLION times more attentive, romantic, and assuring than any other man I’ve ever met—more than any other person in a relationship I’ve ever seen. The very fact that he deals with his Dolan-like boyfriend is astounding. And still, I can’t put down the worry, fear, and compulsion that I’m going to drive him crazy, annoy him, cause him to fall out of love with me. (If anything would make him do that, it is this very character trait.)
I, truly (not even said through rose-colored glasses), have the best boyfriend I could ever imagine. He blows my mind with the love he shows me, and the grace he gives. I hope, wish, pray that I could give him the gift of a boyfriend who can rest in the moment, let it feed him instead of only focused on the next ‘meal,’ support his man with grounding arms that hold him close while raising him up to help him fly and soar to his dreams.
On our four month anniversary (which feels like years, in a good way), babe—even though you don’t read this—this is my gift to you: My commitment to strive to be more whole. Rest in who you are, who I am, and who we are together—so that you will be better, I will be better, and we will be better. I love you.

concerns of a distant planet

The past couple mornings have been out of this world beautiful. Especially Monday morning. As I drove to work, headed West on I70, I felt like I was traveling in a distant planet. A full, glowing, iridescent moon, so big and clear that you could see the craters with the naked eye hung inches above the jagged mountains that boasted a vibrant purple, sparkling with the pinkish orange reflecting from the sun rising in the East. It honestly was the most beautiful sunrise/moonset I had ever seen in my life, kinda felt like a once in a lifetime experience. I was so angry that I didn’t have my camera, but loved the moment, the brevity of the beauty, the magic of our own world.
It’s an emotional time right now. Work absolutely sucks and is so stressful, not because of the kids—who are doing the best they’ve ever done. (And, as worried as I was about the new principal… she’s amazing! I was prepared for this to be my last year at my school since often new principals ruin a special education experience, but she is phenomenal. It’s nice to know I’m still ‘home.’)
Smokey is quitting smoking (guess I’ll have to come up with a new alias) and is on a ten day cleanse, which means no food for ten days, plus. While he’s emotional, he’s handling it a lot better than I would. No food for ten days! Good lord! I’ve done five when I was fasting for my best friend in Missouri, but ten! I’m so proud of Smokey—his resolve, making good changes, his strength and hopefulness. I, as ever, am working on my neediness/smothering tendencies. I’m so thankful how patient and understanding he is, and how strong he is.
The closing on the short-sale is supposed to happen on Wednesday, which is great, but there are details with the bitch that MAY not be over for a long time, we are discovering. Fun stuff.
I have created new covers for the novels. I’m much happier with them, as they were simply templates before. I finally figured out how to work my computer to make my own the way I want them. I hope it will help attract more attention and get them ready for the book signing.
Maybe someday I’ll get back to using this blog as a more creative, venting tool, instead of just a diary, but still needing to just get things out of my systems sometimes….

New York Publishing House : Boulder Book Store (Tomato : Tomauto)

Well, it’s on! To the cost of a little over $400, I am taking parting in a book talk/signing at the Boulder Book Store in Boulder, Co. Originally, I thought it was just a book signing. Found out today that I have twenty minutes (up to twenty minutes) to talk about my book. Uhmmmm…. Terrifying. It seems the other two authors participating have written a poetry book and a Christianity book. Slide a gay urban fantasy novel to the panel and you’ve got yourself a jolly good time!
As nervous as I am, I can’t help be excited. It may come to naught, but at least I feel like I’m moving a step forward, demonstrating that I’m willing to fight for this dream.
It will be on a Sunday in October. I’m not sure which one yet, but I should know soon. One of the qualifiers is that I have to submit at least fifty address of people that they can send my book signing announcement to. If you have any interest in helping with this, please post a comment on here with your mailing address—I won’t post it or make it public. I’ll even erase it after I write it down. Thank you for your willingness to help with this.
Fighting for my dreams: Round 8878…

lessons in thankfulness

Completely rushing around already, but I had to take a moment for thankfulness.
Things went our way in court yesterday. While there is still a week for the evil bitch to pull something to mess it up and cost my family more money, she is supposed to be evicted within the week. As long as that happens, the closing can happen and we can deal with a short-sale and avoid bankruptcy awhile longer. Hopefully the other families she is doing this too fair as well.
Things have also been agreed upon with my nephew for the time being—hopefully until first grade, which would be a relief. The past year and a half preparing for this stupid legal drama was exhausting (and expensive) on my family (and Gavin’s only two!)! Time will continue to increase every couple months until we have him half time, just like we did in the beginning before other’s showed their true colors.
I’m very grateful for both of these things, so much. I’m struggling with doing my best to simply be thankful instead of resentful of things lost and the unfairness around settling in both of these cases. However, they were looking soooo much worse. I can be thankful for tragedy avoided. I am thankful for tragedy avoided!

fall of gluttony

It’s that time of year again. The time that is either my favorite or my least favorite time of the year. The weather beginning to grow colder, where you can almost wear a jacket but really don’t need one. The leaves are just hinting at morphing hues. The streets wet with early morning mist. The pumpkin chai or pumpkin white chocolate mocha warm in my hands as I drive, listening to my latest vampire romance (JR Ward, at the moment). Wrapped in cozy warmth. The days are still long enough to keep me sane (relatively), while hinting that I’ll soon be decorating for Christmas. When things are rough, this time of year is the hardest, knowing the long dark evenings and nights ahead alone, facing a forced Merry Christmas, the glaring of all that I’ve lost in my life nearly impossible to ignore. What a change this season in when surrounded by love, when happy and content, when living a gift. I’m so very thankful.
Today, in addition to being wonderful outside, is a key day in the drama of the evil house stealing lady in Estes. Eviction court is today. If it goes well, the short sale should go through. If not, my parents have no more money to fight her and will have to declare bankruptcy. I’ve never battled hatred as much as I feel for this woman. After years of sucker punches my family has endured over and over and over, fought and fought and fought. For this evil bitch to come in and rape away the rest of our dignity and resources. I never knew I could feel this way toward another supposed human being. We will see what the day holds. I need to stop this conversation, show some restraint, though I would at least love to use words to destroy her. In all my lack of faith, ‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord’ continues to ring in my head.
Throughout the continual rejection letters of agents, I have decided to move forward in a more proactive, less cost-effective, manner. I am in talks with the Boulder Book Company (an amazing book store on Pearl Street in Boulder) to do an Author signing and have them display my books for three weeks. It’s expensive and risky, and kinda fun. It could blow up in my face and cost a lot of money for nothing, but you never know. Someone might be there. An agent, the wife of an agent, the friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of an agent/publisher. Who knows? I’ve got to keep trying.
Selfish, I know. To have found love and still reach for my other biggest dream? I guess I want it all. Call me glutton.

breathe in smoke

One of those perfect weekends. Truly. Perfect, especially due the three days. Smokey and I had tons (Tons) of friend time, family time, and boyfriend time. While I’d love to take an hour to go on and on and on and on about how happy I am this morning and wallow in the joy of breathing again, I will do that on my own. Plus, I’m already overwhelmed with things I need to get done. But, yay!!!!!!

is the penis inside out or upside down?

Date night tonight!!! It’s a little ridiculous how excited I am. Even more excited than when we first started dating! Love that boy!
I’ve gotten a few inquiries about the photography business, so that is encouraging, but slow. Knowing how to advertise is confusing, and expensive, and word of mouth take a long time to begin to build up.
Submerging Inferno is now available for the Kindle. I’ve contacted sooooooo many agents, a few more last night even. Surely, surely one will show some interest soon. I really think I’m getting close to spending as many hours searching for someone to accept me as I did writing it. If you haven’t already, please take a moment to ‘Like’ the submerging Inferno page on facebook, and, of course buy a copy and write a review please! It doesn’t matter to me where or how you get a copy. I get next to nothing (sometimes, depending on where the book is purchased, actually nothing) for each copy. I just want some sales reflected and an increase in reviews. I found a copy listed for over $500!!!! Not sure how that came about, must be a scam. Even though I’d get no money from it, it would be really cool to say that someone bought one of my books for $500! (Whiny bitch moment, and this isn’t a comment about anyone who reads the blog—most of my friends don’t read the blog. I’ve been rather shocked, still, at the number of friends who haven’t purchased a book, attempted to read it, or write a review. I’ve purchased many books because of knowing someone who knows someone who wrote a book—it feels good to be supportive. I’ve done my best to not take it personally, but its rather hard not to when they all know how long I’ve worked on this and how much effort I’m putting into trying to make this dream come true. Strange.)
In other news, my plans to become a woman may be temporarily placed on hold. It seems Dancing With the Stars’ decision to place Chaz Bono (formerly Chasity Bono) is drudging up quite the drama. Many families are refusing to watch the show out of corrupting their children, supporting the gay agenda, and because he is only famous because of his parents (kinda agree with that one). I figure I should see how it goes for him before I commit fully to living life as Bernice Witt, authoress, photographeress, teacheress, unlcess, tutoress extraordinaire. Lord, I’d better start dieting if I plan on being a pretty little mermaid—in addition to the sex change, I’ll also be having a legs-to-tale transplant. I wonder if Bachman will still allow me to swim in America waters. Probably not. She’d probably see me as a terrorist threat.

Enriched corn, vegetable, salt, maltodextrin, sugar, monosodium glutamate, autolyzed yeast extract, citric acid, artificial color, corn syrup solids,

I am at risk of losing my children---maybe taken by authorities or to an early grave.
As you know, my children are Dunkyn and Dolan. Smokey and I were debating this morning whether having twelve children or twelve Corgis would be more conducive to a good and happy life. He decided that if it were four, we should choose children. If it were twelve we should choose Corgis. I decided that either way, there would be a lot of poop. But seriously, can you imagine waking up, opening your bathroom door to the rush of twelve Corgis scampering about, their fox ears trembling in anticipation of the first morning petting, their nubbin tails ferociously waddling back and forth in their compulsive love of you? How wonderful!
I may never have that joy as I am becoming an increasingly bad parent. While I never buy the topmost quality of dog food, as it is about sixty bucks a bag, I do buy good dog food—with meat being the top most ingredient, typically lamb. I read the labels of dog food with more attentiveness than I do my own. Last night, due to money and to location, I bought a bag that is ten dollars cheaper for the same amount of what I usually get. The main ingredients? Wheat and animal fat. The boys, of course, LOVE it! It’s doggy fast food after all. I’m sure the amount of diarrhea on our walk this afternoon will be staggering.
I felt the smallest bit hypocritical after judging one of my student’s parents all day. The kid always brings a huge bag of chips to school. A new one ever day. Really? When the mother dropped off the lunch yesterday, I thought I take a look and see what my student was going to partake. A bag of fried chips and a bag of beef jerky. I nearly went back and confronted her on how she takes care of her kid, then remembered the rest of the situation. For her, this is good parenting. At least she’s not abandoning her family at the moment, like she does from time to time. No wonder the kid is miserable all the time!
I hate all the stupid food laws and restrictions and warnings the government is trying to enforce upon the populace. However, at that moment, I was tempted to call up Michele Obama and become her campaign manager. Disgusting! In this case, as in so many, it’s not a money issue. Adding up the cost of the chips and jerky proved it to be more expensive than a school lunch. Insane!
Am I judging based on my own morals? As a hypocrite (as someone who LOVES Sonic)? Am I saying she loves her son less than she should since she is detrimentally affecting her child’s health? Am I a rich old white guy looking down at every one else (I wish! I would love rich to be one of my modifiers!)? You bet! Yes to all of them!
Absolutely disgusting!
And, in a way, heart breaking. If food is love (and the buttons flying off my pants on a regular basis attest that food indeed is equivalent is love), there is no love there.

clarity of love and weakness and love

The second week of school already. Now to fast forward to Christmas, then Spring, then Summer break. Not really. But kinda.
It has been the hardest transition back to work that I’ve had so far. Partly due to such an amazing summer and partly due to Smokey and I adjusting to a new rhythm of life.
It seems that my emotional work is never done. Trying to figure out how to love without suffocating him with my co-dependent and all consuming nature. I could be with him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week and never get tired of it. That type of intensity isn’t normal (or healthy) and it wears the other person down. He’s been so supportive of who I am, strengths and weaknesses, but this has be draining and consuming for him. The adjustment period has been a struggle and is nowhere close to being over. Many would simply run away or not say anything until they couldn’t take it anymore. Luckily, he is strong and caring enough to put his (and actual) reality out there and work through it with me. Not easy and very scary, but building trust the entire time. That I can trust him to mean what he says and not walk away the instant things get difficult. I know there are no guarantees, but the tighter I hold on, the more risk of losing him.
It’s difficult to know that I still have work to do, tears to shed, areas to grow. After all the therapy, after all the angst previous, after all the self-reflection and work, I want to be done and simply be where I am. However, where I am isn’t healthy, for anyone.
I was helping one of my new fourth graders last week. He is very impacted. He had picked one other boy that he relates to, and, after two days, considered him his best friend. When the other boy is the slightest bit busy doing anything else, my little one looses it. Sobbing, trying to run away, heart-felt wracking sobs of how the other boy hates him, etc. He couldn’t put into words his feelings. I gave an example of how I feel in similar situations. My heart tightening and constricting. The feeling of terror and panic and pain at the thought of the other person not loving you as intensely as you love them, the difficultly breathing, the heavy dark weight that seems to crush down upon you, . . . . He looked at me, tears streaming, his breathing starting to return to a human pace, as he just nodded, his eyes wide. I knew exactly what he was feeling. I knew how much pain he is in. How scary and wildly uncontrollable for a nine year old when its so consumingly agonizing for a thirty-three year old. In this little boy, I saw a mirror and my own reflection was crystal clear. I spoke of healthy relationships, how being equals in the relationship/friendship is vital, how they both need to be friends with other people, how doing things on there own would actually benefit both of them and their relationship. Things I know to be True, things I don’t really want to be true. He gave some nods of understanding and said, he didn’t want it to be like that. With a sad laugh, I agreed with him and told him I how much I understood and wished things like he did, and we came up with the beginnings of a plan to help him begin to try to have his first healthy friendship.
It’s a difficult, humbling thing to see the most insecure, most imbalanced, most unattractive characteristics of yourself modeled in someone so broken and hurting. It’s the last place you want to see your likeness. However, the clarity it brings can be life-altering. At least, I hope so.

reality

Back to reality. Summer is over. Sleeping past 5:45 is over. Working out in the morning is over. Being with Smokey 24/7 is over. This was the hardest year that I’ve had to come back to work.
Now that it’s arrived, I’m actually okay to be back in the grind of things. It will be fun to see how Smokey and I adjust to every day life.
It was the best, most romantic summer—a summer that I hope is the beginning of the rest of my life.
I didn’t get any writing done, which I have a little guilt about, but I really just needed to focus on being alive again for a bit. I did start the photography business (BrandonWittPhotography.com), which is off to a very slow start. Tutored a ton. And submitted to lots of agents. Received a few rejection letters.
There is tons of drama within with my family. A lady is attempting to steal our house, and is seemingly succeeding. Bitch! My nephew’s court date is the beginning of next month. Please keep that in your prayers.
Anyway, let’s see what’s next!

Us

Leap
I leap
I leapt

My wings were clipped
Gravity was too strong
Until I heard wind on snow

Leap
You leap
You leapt

Am I the wings or are you?
Am I the feathers or are you?
Maybe you’re the wind

Leap
We leap
We leapt

Hand in hand
Fall and crumble
Rise and soar

Leap
Still Leaping
Will always leap

Ride the currents with me
Reach the stars with me
Fold our wings around each other

prepare for liftoff

What a whirlwind. Insane! I’ve pretty much come to terms that I’m not even going to begin to write the next book this summer. After a little remorse, I’ve come to terms with that. So much is happening and everything (mostly) is wonderful. In the mostly category, please keep my family’s financial and baby issues in your prayers please.
In the wonderful category, my photography business is now up and running. Still have to get some minor details ironed out, but it’s all good thus far. Please check out the website: BrandonWittPhotography.com, and like it on facebook if you’d like. There’s a lot of steps in starting a business, many I haven’t even realized yet. And, pray that it will take off by mid-August to the point I don’t have return to massage. I don’t think I can face that again. It’s like part of my soul had died and is slowly coming back to life—or quickly (of course, we all know that not doing massage isn’t the only [or main] reason for returning to life).
It really seems that fear is a must for greatness and wonderful things happening in life. Starting my own business built on one of my dreams and talents is terrifying. Terrifying. Trying to get my books published is even scarier—gotten more rejection since the last time we ‘spoke.’
Opening my heart has been the scariest of all, which only makes sense. Less than when we first started, but still too often to enjoy, fear over-takes me around Smokey changing his mind and just walking away. I know those fears are normal for everyone, and especially for me since I’ve already been on the receiving end of a turn and bolt maneuver.
That being said, things (somehow) get better every day. More confirmation that I’m not psychotic and really did know that this is the man I’ll marry. More enjoyment and peace being in his arms and presence. Simply falling more in love with him every day. Gives me the courage to pursue even more of my dreams, not give up on the ones I’d already started, and start to be Brandon again. All the while finding enough love in myself to desperately want to do the same for him. It feels like everything that came before was practice to get me ready, to break me so that I could give of myself fully, to strip away all I was, all the weight that held me down so that I could fly. So that we can fly.

over dinner

I’m making progress on setting up the photography business. Smokey and I spent quite awhile going over names to finally settle upon Brandon Witt Photography. I know, quite revolutionary. However, all the others I liked sounded rather ostentatious and like I was trying too hard. So, go for the simple and obvious. I am now working on setting up and LLC and creating a website before I can do anything else. It’s scary, but I’m rather excited. I have some guilt around postponing writing, but this needs to take precedence right now if I have hope to have things in place by the time school begins again.
Smokey and I had dinner with my oldest friends in Colorado last night, P,C,SV,&SDR-L. Not too far into the meal, I announced to them that I was going to marry Smokey. It wasn’t a thought through declaration. Nor was it something that Smokey knew I was going to say. You know me… Their reaction was so swift, so heart-felt, so genuine that it completely threw me off guard. They both gasped and cheered, CR-L instantly got teary, and then she and PR-L got up and hugged my head where I was sitting at the table. It probably sounds weird that they hugged my head, but it made sense at the time. Of course, you’re probably thinking that the part of the story that doesn’t make sense is me proclaiming my intentions of marriage when yesterday marked our one-month anniversary. And you’re probably right. Completely. However, it’s the fact that it makes no sense that makes me trust it. I knew instantly, I still do, the feeling has done nothing but grow. And… CR-L said that she knew it from the time I started talking about him the night they took me to see Billy Elliot. So there!
I’ve had many (MANY) freak-outs and lost ‘sanity’ moments, even for me. However, not one of them has been due to worry that he isn’t the one, that I’m unsure if we are meant to spend our lives together, or fear out of me being caught up in some irrational whirl-wind. (Even if those are things I am supposed to be freaked out by.) Instead, the only fear I have is that I won’t be enough for him, or that I’ll be TOO much for him to handle or deal with, and that he will simply turn his head and walk away. We all know why those would be my issues, even if you feel they are the wrong ones or contradictory to my faith in our meant-to-be-ness (me? a contradiction? never!). I’m ready for those fears to subside. They’re terrifying and exhausting. And yes, I’m sure there’s a logical probability that I’ll look back on these posts and see my own sickness and delusion. Logical probability. Sure. Nevertheless, I am placing 100% of my surety, pride, faith, and being into the belief that I’ll look back and these and go, “Yep, no surprise. I KNEW it. Simply knew it.”

love as a faggot

It seems that being miserable is definitely better for art. I have a hard time sitting down to write or work on photos or anything, really… I do more than most people, but according to what I should be doing, not so much. However, this may be the only time in years that Smokey and I will have off at the same time and building our foundation is my priority—while still writing, photographing, and planning for the new business. It’s amazing how life has done a completely 180. Blows my mind. I’m so thankful. Terrified beyond measure, but so very, very thankful. It scares me because I’ve never really been an ‘it all works out the way it’s supposed to’ kindof person, especially the past few years. The last twelve years or so, actually. However, that is exactly how it feels. Like everything finally is beginning to make sense. Sound delusional? It’s a definite possibility. If this is delusion, please let me stay in this psychotic state for the rest of eternity.

In reality, not that the above isn’t reality—no matter what you may say—Smokey and I went shopping at the grocery store a couple days ago. We made a perfect and healthy dinner (he’s a health nut—no one’s perfect). While at the store, I had my arms around him while we were checking out an aisle trying to find Quinoa (I know... I know…). This man walked by the end of the aisle. He shouted out ‘Freakin’ Queers!’ You know me, I’ve never quite learned to turn the other cheek, so I yelled back, offering to let him join if he wanted. (I’m a polite Bible-Belt boy, it’s rude not to share.) He responded to my heart-felt invitation with a, ‘Faggot!’ He could have just sent an RSVP. Some people!
Granted, Smokey and I know we’re a little touchy-feeling. We’re that couple. We even make ourselves gag. However, we weren’t making-out or anything close, much the same as I’ve seen many straight couples act in public, much less than some.
It took a couple hours before I felt ‘normal’ again. I kept apologizing to Smokey, but he was supportive and related it to being harassed, intimidated, and threatened. Which, is exactly what it is, and my body recognized it for what it was before my mind did. The event made us realize that we need to be a little more intentional, so that we don’t get killed (and I’m not trying to be dramatic to make a point) or choose to do so both to simply live a normal life while making a political statement at the same time.
Smokey pointed out that the man could have at least given some reason or lesson for his hatred. Told us we were going to Hell or some such nonsense. It’s a piss poor argument when all you can do is call names.
Welcome to 2011.

almost jealous of myself

Going to my first gay wedding this Sunday and my first bachelor party tonight. I’m pretty excited actually. The wedding is at the Denver Clock Tower (which I’ve always wanted to go into), and I simply want to see a gay wedding. I should see one before I have one, right? I think it will be a blast and in inspiration.
I’ve spent so much time with Stephen and tons of friends I haven’t have time to blog or even begin planning book two of the series, plus I’m working like crazy to get all the photos caught up and scheming about the photography business. I’m rather excited. The thought of never having to do massage again? Wow! The thought of being able to teach, photograph, and write for a living? Wow times a trillion!
I love life right now!

this moment and the ones before

It has been longer than ever since the last post. In all actuality, I’ve needed to blog. Had so much to say. Finally have good things to say, and I’m not even blogging. Though most people wouldn’t even take seriously what I have to say or think I’m crazy (which we all know I am)—good thing I don’t care, huh?
Casual updates (you know I have to go from least to most important). I am starting my tutoring job today, which will enable me to stop massage, at least for the summer. Hopefully, by the time fall arrives, I’ll have a different plan in place and won’t have to ever do massage again (unlikely, but a girl can dream). I hope to start writing by the end of next week. I’m also going to start a photography business. I have no idea how to go about it, but I think, given the chance, I can pull it off. The people I’ve done photo shoots for have loved the end product, so maybe I can do the same and charge for it. Can you imagine? I get to do all the things I love? Write (with luck), photography, and teach? I really am grasping for the starts, for more than my share of happiness. So, if you or anyone you know needs photos……
May 30th was my 33rd birthday, which everyone calls the Jesus birthday. I knew that was the age he was crucified, but I didn’t know people referred to it as that. However, several people have said that from different, unconnected circles, so it must be pretty prevalent. The birthday was wonderful, rather surreal considering how my life has been flipped around, but I managed to realize that panic I felt that day was more do to my own fear of loss and the natural hysteria that my birthday conjures up—I didn’t freak out or fuck up anything.
HWMNBN contacted me a few days ago via email. Smokey was with me when I received it—there are no secrets, and he knows HWMNBN’s role in my life and that I will always love him, regardless of the degree. The email threw me for a tailspin for a bit. Tears, of course. He was so sweet about my book. It seemed he’d read my blog, which blew my mind. He was incredibly sweet about Smokey (how happy he was for me, how I deserve someone like this, etc.). At first, I was rather thrown off by his communication, but then, I realized it was perfect timing. While it confirmed my love for HWMNBN, it solidified that I choose Smokey. It also made me realize that I am able to change my interactions with HWMNBN—while I can’t be buddy-buddy, I can see him out and about and say hello. No matter what, regardless of the pain of the past two years, he gave me the best two years of my life that I’d know thus far and has changed me irrevocably. And, he did nothing wrong outside of changing his mind and what he wanted with me.
For my birthday, Smokey took me on a three-day road trip with Mesa Verde as the end result, with a couple stops in the middle. (If you’re a facebooker, you should check you the photos.) It was perfect. Truly, perfect. Tonight will be our first night apart since May 15th. My brother is taking me to a bed and breakfast, it was his birthday present to me, which will be wonderful to have some brother time. We are considering this the end of our first date, tomorrow starting the second date. Yeah, we’re both crazy. Insane. Boundary-less. Perfection. Every day with him confirms what I felt that first moment as we started our double-feature date: He’s the one. I’m going to spend my life with him. I am head-over-heals and every other cliché you can think of in love with him. Crazy? Absolutely. Believe in our fairy tale? With every ounce of my being. I love him fully. Period.

The one you can point back to and say, "He finally broke with reality, " or, "Wow, he really did know."

Gonna call it like I see it—even if it’s ridiculous.
From the night we went to the double feature movies (Priest and Bridesmaids), thirteen days ago, I knew Smokey would be the man I married.
Crazy, huh?
Yeah.
And granted, any number of things could happen and things end in a moment. I could be delusional. I could be simply needy and clingy and enmeshed. I could be acting out of hurt and fear. I could be pathetic and desperate. Or, I could be right. I suppose I could even be all those things and still be right.
I’m not saying this to get a rise out of people, or to celebrate something that hasn’t happened. I’m saying it because I’m thinking it. Feeling it. And have been for thirteen days.
Months ago, I preemptively called bull-shit on me being in a future relationship and being happy again—that I would be deceiving myself. Well, that may be true. Or maybe, life has shown me that it’s a little more magical than I believed. With HWMNBN, we did everything right. I didn’t choose to spend my life him for over a year, and it was a decision made out of love and logic (not the parenting/teaching handbook Love and Logic). And, I still stand by that decision. I loved him. I still love him. And I could have spent my life with him, always loving him, and being happy. We would’ve been, if he’d allowed it. However, with Smokey, there’s no logic. There’s no months of getting to know each other, no debating the pros and cons, no being convinced over months that we’re right for each other. There’s just this instant sensation and relief (despite the fear) of, ‘There you are. Finally.’ Delusion or magic or destiny? After the ‘smart’ way and its fallout, why not choose magic? Choose the impossible. In many ways, I’ve always lived my life that. Go for the impossible (get published –two more rejection letters this week).
My life has brought me to the point where I’m both insane and brave enough to bet on magic.

liftoff

Yesterday was rather torturous. All due to my issues. I couldn’t relax, utterly convinced he was going to leave, that he’d change his mind in the middle of the day and realize he doesn’t love me. (Wonder where those issues came from…) I was near tears all day and just sick to the stomach.
On the way home, I realized that I was sucking all the joy out of everything and going to end up shoving him away quicker than lightening. I had to get a grip. I’m sure I’ll have to have that conversation a millions time over. Gotta love baggage.
After work, Smokey called and said he was going to happy hour with a couple of friends and wanted me to come and then for us to go to dinner. It turned out to be one of the most perfect nights of my life.
Happy hour was fun, very.
Then, he took me to Beatrice and Woodsly. It was the most gorgeous restaurant I’ve ever been in. It was like an enchanted forest, amber light pouring through the trees. Unreal. I ate crawfish beignets and rabbit over carrot puree. Who am I? We touched constantly through the two hour plus meal, made friends with the people around us. At the end of the night, he took me to the wine cellar basement, which was gorgeous. No one was there, music playing softly. He proceeded to take me in his arms and dance with me, kiss me, and whisper his love, tears glistening as he spoke. The waiter that passed by us just smiled and kept going.
It was one of those perfect extended moments, one that will stay with me forever.
We lay in bed and talked and laughed and kissed until nearly three, when he made some ‘boyfriend’ reference. I paused and asked if he really meant to say that. He did, and at the risk of sound like at twelve-year old girl, we’re official.
Leap.

from the ashes

It’s gonna take some time to deal with the fear of losing again. I hope I can figure it out at some point, and it guess it’s okay to not be great, or even good, at it yet. I’ve spent the past two plus years grieving and dealing with loss. I guess it only makes sense that’s where my psyche would go now. In the midst of everything wonderful going on, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop (wonder what that meant originally…). However, on one hand, there’s this core/gut feeling that this is It that contradicts with the fear. I know it’s stupid to say after a week and a half, but there it is. I just don’t want my fear and my loss issues to get in the way of all the positive that’s happening and turn our ‘Honeymoon’ stage into stress and mini-therapy sessions.
At dinner last night, we were talking about going out to bars and such to see friends, and a crazy realization hit me. I thought, IF I ever started dating again, that I wouldn’t be able to go Out with whoever the man would be for fear of seeing HWMNBN. I wouldn’t want him to see me with someone else. Wouldn’t want him to think I don’t love him or taking back my promises to him. (I know, he left, not me. I know, I know.) While [hmmm… almost typed his name and I haven’t asked permission to use his name, and I’m not sure if I will. Please hold while I think of an appropriate moniker… Got it! One of his vices that I thought would be a deal breaker… and I mean this in a loving, pet name kind of way, not judgy… Smokey. {Smokey, if you ever read this, I’m smiling right now at my cute name for you—not thinking about lung cancer. Well, now I am, but I wasn’t at the time. }] Anyway, while Smokey and I were talking (I like that name, sounds kind sexy—even if I am more of a ‘bear’ than he is) I realized that I simply wanted to be out in public with him. I don’t care if HWMNBN sees (I do still love him, always will, but I love Smokey in his own right, not because I don’t have HWMNBN). I don’t care if people think I’m being stupid because it’s too soon or we’re moving too fast. I don’t care if it’s only been a month since I started to really live again. I don’t care that there’s a chance that I’ll end up looking like a fool. It was such a surprising feeling, such a liberating moment. I felt free. Free to breath easier. Free to take ownership of my city again. Free to revel in the love that has found me—whether my gut is right or wrong.
Hmmm… maybe Smokey works on multiple levels. As, it seems, he is sending my old fears up in smoke (while creating new ones).

airborne

So, I’m eloping this weekend.
Well, not really. But, I would. Crazy stupid, I know. I think one of the things that makes me trust this, besides the gut feeling, is that his ‘flaws’ are very obvious to me. Nearly half of my ‘must haves’ aren’t there, or are a different perspective than what I would choose if I were custom designing a man. However, after my own experiences and observing countless others, I know there is no realistic expectation for perfection or even close to it. He isn’t perfect. Neither was HWMNBN. Neither am I. Neither are the people in the few relationships that I admire and want to emulate. He does have my top three, however: 1. (Call me shallow) kissing ability. I don’t’ want to spend my life with, or even date, someone who can’t make me lose reality within his kiss. 2. Innate, gregarious, nearly compulsive, kindness/sweetness—not just to me, but to everyone. 3. Humor. The ability to make me laugh constantly—make it where I don’t want to be anywhere but by his side (which is a rare quality since I require so much me time and people can get under my skin so quickly). These three are my top, the things I can’t live without in a partner. Everything else is compromisingly gravy.
This whirlwind romance, this rocket launched, this flip of the switch, has the potential to blow up in my face, leaving me more wounded and bleeding than I was before. However, it also has the potential to be my own fantasy romance novel come to life. I just hope the author has a less gothic/tragedy flair than I do in my own writing.
Regardless of whether or not it’s smart, mature, realistic… I’m in love. Blows my mind—I truly thought this part of me had died. And, I for sure thought I didn’t deserve another chance at real love when so many never even get a taste. Damn the consequences. Screw figuring out every detail. Fuck that I’m at risk of devastation. I’m also at risk of having it all. I have leapt off the cliff. There is no going back. It’s either fly or fall.
I’m in love.

Rapturous Love

I went to an engagement party with the boy this weekend (Friday). We were the only gay people there, so it wasn’t a gay party. Outside of the couple, one of the main topics was the upcoming rapture the following day. Most people said they were for sure they would not be among the ones taken. The thing that struck me, in the midst of all the joking that was occurring, was the seriousness of the party guests as they talked about how they hoped it would happen (they didn’t believe it would, but were daydreaming about ‘what if…’). They spoke of a world without Christians and how nice it would be—not in a kill Christians kind of way, just in a ‘they’re gone’ scenario. How their hate over so many groups of people would disappear with them. How gays could marry. How they would no longer try to tell everyone how they should think and live their lives. Their accusations weren’t groundless or over the top. From an outside perspective (and, on a personal inside perspective), I could agree with every accusation they made. And it really struck me how the world perceives us. Even as I write Us, I realize that I can’t really count myself among that group. Well, maybe I could, but they sure wouldn’t count me among them. It’s interesting, if the rapture had happened Saturday, I knew I wouldn’t be one of the ones going. Mainly due to the fact that the group that was declaring this event held beliefs so opposite to whom I am that if they were right, their God was most definitely not my God. I did a little more research about them after the fact. I’d originally said that these posters and such didn’t seem to be in an attempt to raise money—that they seemed to simply be trying to reach people before it was too late. An act I can respect, even if it was laughable and completely unbiblical. However, I found out, due to these predictions, and previous endeavors, they have over $104 Million in assets! What also disturbs me is how many people who claimed to be long-standing Christians bought into this. I can understand people new the faith or those who never had any to begin with, but for those who have been Christians and have claimed to read the Bible, there should have been no question of the invalidity of these claims. If you’re going to hold so staunchly to the Bible and it’s teaching that you believe I’m damned to Hell, then at least know it enough that you’re not duped by things that are predicted to be falsehoods within its very pages.
On a personal note, man, am I in deep. I know it’s too soon, I know all the stupidity of it all. However, I’m in love. I’ve had crushes since HWMNBN, but I’m in love. Completely. And, it scares the shit out of me. I have something to loose again. I’m doing my best to simply enjoy it all and let it happen as it does, but that’s never been a natural state of being for me, and it’s a thousand times worse after the past few years. Despite the pain, there was as safety in the place I was in. Nothing could really affect me, outside of family. My walls were up so high, I was so solitary and confined, safe within the pain and seclusion. I don’t think I even realized it—I do now. The walls have crumbled, even as I tried to keep them up. I feel exposed, unprotected, and terrified. Of course I also am excited, happy, and anxious (good and bad). And stressed the fuck out! I so don’t want to be hurt again. Life is messy. Wonderful, but messy. [insert big sigh of stress and twiterpation here…]

closing my eyes and. . .

We leapt yesterday. Full force. No holds barred. (No idea what that really means.) Breaking every single rule there is.
Part of me is scared shitless. Most of me is screaming that I’m being stupid and I should know better. However, there’s just this core feeling that it’s gonna be alright. Of course, we know how accurate my gut feelings are.
Whatever.
I’m going for it!

in mid-leap

It has been a crazy four days. Crazy is probably the correct word choice.
The date lasted from Sunday to Thursday. It would have been our second date, but maybe it should count as our second, third, fourth, and fifth.
For one of the first times, I’m not going to write about all the details yet. One, it’s too close. Two, I don’t want people’s input effecting my perspective—negative or positive. Three, I need to sit in it longer to even put it into words.
On one hand, I’m being absolutely foolish—way, way too fast, way, way too enmeshed, way, way too everything.
On the other. HWMNBN and I did everything perfectly. Just how you’re supposed to. We took our time, and boy did we. And, till he left, things were wonderful. But, he still left, even though we’d done it by the book. Not that the end results negates the process, but it does show there are no guarantees. So, maybe the reverse is true. Just because you break every rule in the book, maybe it doesn’t mean the end result can’t be good.
This could go one of two ways.
More than likely, I’ll have to look back on this and lament about my stupidity and allowing myself to have more hurt, take another long look at my codependent tendencies, and own to setting myself up.
However, it could be exactly what it feels like. Right. Comfortable. Passionate. Genuine. That’s really what it feels like—almost instantly. One of those times you look at the other person and go, “Oh. There you are.” Almost a relief. An aching relief, but relief nonetheless. I feels like it’s going to be one of those stories you hear that the people just knew. Both of us. Both just knew.
Gonna be one hell of a story. Either way. But, I really think he showed up. Not ready for it. Wasn’t quite done doing my own thing and not having to answer to anyone. Wasn’t published. But, he’s shown up…

a lot can happen in two and half days

Pretty great weekend. Went out twice. Two nights in a row of dancing. Saw three movies (well, two, but saw Bridesmaids twice). A whole day with Gavin and the family. Finally got the backyard all raked picked up. Spent an evening with the bff. Went on two dates. Got three hours of sleep Sunday night. Right now, I don’t have words to describe what may or may not be going on. If I did, you’d think I’m crazy and pathetic and a twelve year old who should know better. However, if things go as they could, it will be a really romantic story in several months…
I’ll leave it at that.

why it is you're holding onto me like it's the end of the world

A few weeks ago I brought up about the end of the world billboard signs in Denver (at least I meant to… I think I did). Anyway, they are announcing that Jesus is returning in eight more days or so. I visited their website. They are for real, not seeming to be trying to get money, just letting people know. Well, it seems I’m not the only one who noticed (not that I expected I would be, they’re billboards), but I didn’t expect them to draw as much attention as they are getting. They were on my conservative talk radio station this morning. Well, they weren’t, but their topic was and the date they are providing. This show’s host is the most politically like me of any person in the media that I’ve come across. Very American-freedom oriented, fiscally conservative, but also a stanch advocate for gay-rights and gay-marriage. Which is odd for a sixty-year old biker-dude who’s straight. The callers range from the no-thing-as-Hell people to the ones that are convinced by the information presented by this group and are preparing for the world to end in a little over a week.
It’s funny. I don’t believe it at all. Been through the end of the world stuff way too many times as a child. Plus, Biblically, there is no foundation for it, just the opposite in fact—that anyone that says they know the day. . . don’t. At least how I’ve interpreted it (and was taught). However, I still get that same or similar feeing (san terror that I used to have). It makes me sad still. I know if the world ended, perfection would ensue. But… I still want to live my life. I want to see if I can have true love more than once (though I’m more okay with the end than I used to be, having experienced love I never dreamed I’d have). I want to see my books published. I want to see my children. And, honestly, more than anything, I want to see Gavin grow—live every phase of his life with him, even though there’s gonna be so many hard times for him. That date, even though I don’t believe, has this little grain of anxiety in my chest, that will be relieved when that time comes and goes.
Some things die hard.

tutoring with the gods

These rainy days when I have to work are difficult. Not in a depressing way, but it takes everything in me to not call off, go to the coffee shop, and write for hours on end. Talk about perfect! Soon, though, soon (sans rain, more than likely).
I took the night off massage (fiscally stupid, but emotionally necessary) and saw Thor in IMAX 3D with a dear friend. It was fun. Not one I’d see over and over again, but good nonetheless. However, it was a little painful. Most of the time, when there is a gorgeous guy in a movie, after a few minutes I become numb to him and just loose myself in the movie. It was impossible with Thor. And, it wasn’t even due to his one (only one!!!! WTF?) shirtless scene. Every moment he was on screen I was lost to him, not the movie. Holy crap! If he ever walked into a room, I would turn and run the other way, right after I recovered from fainting.
I am CONSIDERING adding tutoring to the job list this summer. It would be nice to have a job that doesn’t require me to stand in a darkened room for hours, and one that would allow me to be with kids (even if they are kids that don’t want to be in school in summer). I think it would probably be a good choice; however, I won’t do it if I can’t make a similar amount to massage, as I simply can’t sacrifice more of my writing time. That really (after family) has to be my priority this summer—both in terms of working for my dreams and also giving my psyche a rest from everything and loosing reality to the pages. I almost instantly said no and turned it down, but I’m starting to lean towards yes… We will have to see how it goes.
Turns out, I’m going out TWICE this weekend! Twice! Talk about playing with fire. I’m not sure what the trigger is, but I was in tears twice yesterday over HWMNBN. That’s not been typical lately, so I am worried about a set-back. Gonna get out there and force myself to live again, trying to get out of my own head and continued grief. Maybe this will be the weekend we run into each other. I doubt it, but you never know. I hope not.
In case you didn’t know, folks, it’s almost Friday. Almost the weekend!

$K

At first I felt kinda bad for Andrew Bynum, the Laker’s player who got a penalty for $25K for taking his shirt of on the court and has to sit out five games next year for a foul —consequently making him loose $700K. (Take note: I’m talking about sports—you know that thing will dumb, incomprehensible rules and balls, and not the fun kind.) That’s a lot to loose, especially for simply for giving some sex appeal to stupid sports and elbowing someone in the ribs. Poor guy. Then, after my brain realized this was sort of a math problem, I figured out, if you (700,000 - 25,000)/5=X (before the staggering amount of taxes he must be paying) you see how much he makes per game. Don’t feel sorry for that chiseled-chest elbow shover. Baffling.
Of course, it’s equaling as baffling that my student’s bill (the boy that was hospitalized for two weeks [the one they made worse, not better upon discharge]) was $40K. Holy crap! Our medical system is so fucked up. So is ObamaCare, but OMG!
Speaking of Obama, he is saving me $160 a month, or should be if the pre-approval is correct. I got a call from my bank that said I qualified for some program Obama is doing that ends in a couple weeks. My folks who are going through short-sales and forecloses don’t (makes sense), but I do (thankfully). I had to pay $400. Which means the energy bill is probably not getting paid this month, but whatever. So, spend money to save money. I had this fantasy after I got the call that my $1400 a month mortgage would go down to 500 or 600. I could quit my second job, just teach and write. Mom told me I was dreaming (sweetly). She was right. However, it pointed out my childish delusions that I hold on to. Some miracle that will come along and make everything better—Obama gifts, the lotto, getting discovered singing at the pump, picked up by a plus-sized modeling agency, a stellar book deal. The money saved doesn’t help with my second job or writing or anything of the sort, but I can soon quit putting my student loans into forbearance and being paying them (so I’m grateful for that). At this rate, my $17K loans will dissipate in mere moments. So, while I still don’t like you all the much, Obama, I do have to think you for three things: helping end DADT, not supporting DOMA, and for $160 a month. Oh, make that four—if reports are to be believed, thanks for also giving the okay to kill a demon.

ownership

I get so frustrated with my kids (even more so with their families) that are always upset at everyone. Who always feel they are the victim. That time after time, the same complaint is made about them or they get in the same fight, or whatever. They always feel it’s the other person. Being blunt, I always point out that if the same thing, or same complaint, keeps happening to them through unconnected people, then the problem is them, not the rest of the world.
Having preached the message over and over and over, it is time to take my own medicine. After my last post on this subject, I’ve had two more unconnected people either complain or hint at my unavailability. Asking what’s wrong, why I don’t want to be friends with them or wondering if even contacting me is okay—even though I never said anything about being upset or tired of their friendships. It’s amazingly frustrating and makes me both feel pressured and a little manipulated. However, looking at it from outside my own psyche, I have to admit that since this keeps happening, the problem is obviously mine.
So, I will own it. I’ve turned into a sucky friend the majority of the time. Regardless of my excuses or reasons (time, exhaustion, depression, finances, family, blah, blah, blah), obviously the issue is with me.
So, the options are these:
1. Make the time to meet with all these people and spend a larger portion of every day returning emails, facebook posts, take time from massages, trying to find and agent, or (you know, I was gonna add personal time to that list, but I don’t even see where that happens except before right before bed).
2. Cut the list of friends down to a select few, who have been in my life the longest, who I can’t loose, and accept that I don’t have what is required to be in a relationships with so many people, while still working the second job and working on the books.
3. Continue as I am, letting people down and constantly frustrated with the complaints about my correspondence and friendship abilities (this topic baffles me still, being a good friend was always the top thing I thought I was good at—although, the changes in my life and personality are massive when you compare who and where I was then with who and where I am now I don’t even think HWMNBN would recognize me anymore if he returned. Probably left just at the right time. Okay, now I’m slipping into poor me, which is totally unattractive).
I realize that even in the midst of processing through this, I’m complaining or venting. Not wanting sympathy around it or anything like that—there are several other areas in my life that may require that—this is not one of them. My frustration level is through the roof on this, even if the fault lies in me. The old me would have chosen option one. It’s not even an option anymore. Not really. I simply don’t have that in me any longer. The thought of it makes me feel trapped and even more used up than I already feel. Neither two nor three feel perfectly right (although, two sounds like the healthier option), so I think I’ll probably slip into a combination of two and three. Not sure how that will look or even what that entails…
When is that winning lotto ticket coming so I can move into the coffee shop, shove in my earphones, and get lost in my novels (even if I’m the only one lost in them?)… I think it’s time…

soon

A little over three weeks left. Three! Crazy. As normal, I am sooooo excited. Nervous too, as normal, as it means beginning installment number two on the series. I never wanted to do a series, at least not really. It’s intimidating enough to begin a novel and wonder how your characters are going to fill the pages. How much more so to think of filling several books. Anxious to see how it goes.
Despite this being the best teaching year I’ve had so far—more successes, less drama, finally feeling like I have an idea of what it means to be a teacher, not running to the bathroom to cry over HWMNBN—I don’t remember every being quite so exhausted before. The first few days I really think I’m going to just sleep and try to heal. We all know that won’t happen, but it’s nice to think about, kinda. Either way, with the exception of having to do massage, I get to pretend to live my dream life for a couple months. At least professionally and creatively. How great is that?
Ya know, there were several things I struggled with this weekend, and actually ended in tears on more than one occasion (we all know why), but I’m feeling pretty good today. Hopeful about the summer, about the books, and someday getting my waist back. I should probably just stop while I’m ahead, huh?

A friend showed me the video to this song a couple weeks ago. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. I was near tears and I could feel it move me. I thought it was just the beauty and romance of the video (go watch it, amazing), but then I bought the album today, and read the lyrics, and I knew why it touched and hurt so.
It's like it was written for HWMNBN and my last night. When he told me he was leaving me, and we held each other all night, crying and loving.

End Of The World
Matt Alber

I don’t want to ride this roller coaster
I think I want to get off
But they buckled me down
Like it’s the end of the world
If you don’t want to have this conversation
Then you better get out
Cause we’re climbing to our death
At least that’s what they want you to think
Just in case we jump the track
I have a confession to make
It’s something like a cork screw

I don’t wanna fall, I don’t wanna fly
I don’t wanna be dangled over
The edge of a dying romance
But I don’t wanna stop
I don’t wanna lie
I don’t wanna believe it’s over
I just wanna stay with you tonight

I didn’t mean to scream out quite so loudly
When we screeched to a halt
I’m just never prepared
For the end of the ride
Maybe we should get on something simpler
Like a giant balloon
But I’ve got two tickets left, and so do you
Instead of giving them away to some stranger
Let’s make them count, come on
Let’s get back in line again and ride the big one

Don’t you want to fall, don’t you want to fly
Don’t you want to be dangled over
The edge of this aching romance
If it’s gonna end, then I wanna know
That we squeezed out every moment
But if there’s nothing left can you tell me why
That it is you’re holding onto me
Like it’s the end of the world

the could be worse reasons

Salazar (the salamander, keep up) has grown to such a level that the ten gallon terrarium was no longer sufficient. He couldn’t turn around on the land part or the water part; therefore, I had to purchase a new aquarium last night. I promise, you could actually see the joy on Salazar and the toad’s (Pansy, Narcissa, Delores, and Petunia) faces as they entered their new domain. Really.
I spent my morning before school setting up the new habitat and doing a couple other things as well: ripping my pants, again, breaking a pair of scissors, breaking the old fish tank, and dumping the container of seventy or eighty crickets on my classroom floor. And that was all before eight in the morning. I was ready to run full speed into the wall in hopes of gaining unconsciousness.
One of my co-workers asked me if my. . . gayhood. . . was just to large to fit in normal pants. I, of course, simply said yes.
The conversations teachers have. Never would have dreamed.
Speaking of, the fifth graders are going through the sex ed curriculum right now. Six weeks long and VERY intensive. I wish I would have had it. I learned several things going through it last year. One little girl came up to the teacher after the first day, and returned the book to her. In a very reprimanding and shocked voice she asked, “Ms. H, did you know what was in this book when you gave it to us?!?!?”
There is a box in the class that you can put anonymous question about anything you want the teacher to ask. She reads the question aloud and then gives an answer. The question was this: Will your penis continue to grow as the rest of you grows, or will it stay the same? The answer was this: Yes, your penis will continue to grow in relation to your whole body. The response: A dark haired boy in the middle of the room doing an arm pump and trying to say ‘YES!’ under his breath and failing utterly. So much for anonymity.

Politically Correct Lefties and Politically Correct Christians and Me

On a night where I actually could get more than five hours sleep, I woke up with a little more than an hour before my alarm was supposed to begin to screech. I considered getting up and beginning the day. Then, I realized that would be stupid, so I went back to sleep. Big mistake. The entire time, I dreamed about HWMNBN, all mixed in with horrible situations with one of my favorite female students I’ve ever had, that the wall separating my classroom from the younger SIED classroom (which operates very differently than mine [loudly]) was taken down, and of Dunkyn stuck in the middle of the street while dogs all around him were getting hit by cars and I was unable to get to him, knowing it was just a matter of time. The entire time this dream played out, I knew it was a dream. It almost made it worse, I couldn’t figure out to get it to stop or how to wake up, and I was disgusted with myself for dreaming up such scenarios. Horrible.
Then, I woke up to find a countless number of updates on Facebook expressing disgust with the American people for rejoicing in the death of bin Laden—likening it to being the same as he was—reveling in death. And/Or posts asking God to help them be gracious in their feelings toward this demon dressed as human [my words, not theirs]. I’m sure it’s the Godly thing, or is at least supposed to me, but it sickens me. Are we really going to waste time and energy with guilt over our joy of his death (of which I’m still not convinced—really, really hope I’m wrong) and feel the need to ask forgiveness of God for our feelings toward him and ask for a compassionate spirit for him? Really? While I know none of us are perfect and all sin is equal (however, I don’t believe that at all. Feel free to covet something of mine, have lustful thoughts, steal my money—don’t kill my family), I, for one, would have no trouble pushing the down button on the elevator for that atrocity of flesh.
Maybe my evil and vindictive spirit is what brought on the bad dreams. Maybe, I prove myself to be no better than bin Laden. Well, if you feel like that—add me to your list so you can feel guilty about judging me and ask for an injection of compassion for my soul.